The attorney that Rourke had hired to serve as his proctor was taking too long to finish the deposition. The man was thorough, but by the time he finished, the opportunity to call on Elizabeth would be lost. Charles Benjamin would not stay away from home all day when court wasn’t in session. Since Benjamin’s office was open for business this morning, Rourke figured he had until noon. Time was slipping away.
Rourke eyed the late morning sun through the grimy window of the cramped office. William Winston, Esq., did business in a tiny room on Duval Street so full of books and papers and dust Rourke could barely turn around.
Winston’s chair creaked when he leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve had enough experience with these cases to get a feel for how Judge Marvin will rule.” He patted his stained serge waistcoat until he came up with a pince-nez. He placed it on his nose and pointed to something on the complaint that Captain Cross had filed. “This statement worries me. The master seems to be saying that you knew the pilot and had some prior agreement with him.”
“I told you already that I know Mr. Poppinclerk. What master in Key West doesn’t? The man parades himself about town in that gig of his, yet he couldn’t navigate a pond.”
Winston shook his head. “You can’t say that. It’s defamation. State only the facts.”
“That is a fact.”
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. Stick to what happened. Did you know he was piloting the, uh”—he checked his notes—“Victory?”
Rourke frowned. The man couldn’t even remember the wreck’s name? Maybe he should have waited until one of the top attorneys could see him. “Of course I didn’t know Mr. Poppinclerk was the pilot. The first time I saw him was when he came across in the ship’s boat. Captain Cross knows all this. He was there.”
“That is not what he stated in his deposition.” Winston set down the pince-nez and reached for his pipe.
“I don’t care what Captain Cross said. I’m telling you the truth. You make it sound like Cross is saying I conspired with Poppinclerk to run the ship onto the reef.”
“That’s one way to read it.” Winston slowly removed a pinch of tobacco from his tobacco jar and deposited it in the bowl of the pipe. Only after tamping it down did he continue. “It’s our job to ensure your deposition makes it clear that you did not confer with the pilot prior to his taking on the Victory.”
“How could I? We were on different ships.”
Winston grunted. “You already said you know each other. Cross would say you met beforehand and agreed to wreck the next ship he piloted.”
“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t talked to Mr. Poppinclerk in a month. I’ve been at sea.”
“Hmm.” Winston peered at his notes. “Apparently the pilot boarded the ship at Fort Dallas, where the Victory took on supplies. Did you see Mr. Poppinclerk there?”
“No, I’ve never been to Fort Dallas.” The tiny port on the mainland was a mosquito-infested swamp from what Rourke had heard. “No reason to.”
“You could have met before Mr. Poppinclerk arrived at Fort Dallas.”
“I already told you I haven’t spoken to him in a month.” Rourke fidgeted in the chair, unaccustomed to sitting such a length of time and anxious to get this done. “When did he go there?”
Winston examined the complaint again. “It doesn’t say.”
“Then all we need to find out is if he left Key West while I was at sea. That would put an end to this talk of conspiracy over grounding the Victory. If Mr. Poppinclerk sailed that ship onto the reef, he did so on his own.”
Winston drew his bushy brows together. “Do you have reason to believe Mr. Poppinclerk deliberately grounded the ship?”
Rourke would not leap that far. “If he wasn’t generally known as a poor navigator and if not for the storm, I might have thought that. But no, I don’t have any proof of wrongdoing.”
“Hmm, then we’ll keep a wide berth on that one. One more question. Had you ever seen Mr. Buetsch before arriving at the wrecked ship?”
“No. Never. Does this have to do with the brooch he said he lost? I never saw it. When he made the claim, I let him search my ship. Nothing was found. Mr. Wright’s deputies didn’t find anything in my belongings either.”
“Good.” Winston puffed on his pipe, wrapping the office in a mellow scent. He might not spend money on his attire, but he didn’t scrimp on tobacco.
“From Havana?” Rourke asked, pointing to the tobacco jar.