Journey into Violence (12 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

It gave Kate a strange feeling to be once again standing outside Sarah Hollis's shack, stepping around yet another corpse.

“Anyone recognize him?” Sheriff George Hinkle said.

His question drew a shake of the head or a blank expression from the onlookers until a puncher in a black-and-white cowhide vest said, “Yeah, I recollect him now. I seen him gambling in the Top Hat.”

“Anybody call him by name?” Hinkle said.

“Not that I heard, but then I was only drifting past the poker table. I noticed him because he was a big feller and kinda looked like a hardcase.”

“Well, he don't look like a hardcase any longer,” Hinkle said.

“No, he don't,” the puncher said.

Rain driven by the rising wind pattered along the lane and the crowd began to fade away.

Hinkle turned his attention to Drugo Odell. “Tell me about it. After you put out your name.”

The dapper little man in a ditto suit and bowler hat kept his gun hidden. His smile was open and forthright, a practiced, reassuring facial gesture with all the warmth of an alligator's grin. “My name is Drugo Odell, Sheriff.”

“Drugo? What the hell kind of handle is that for a Christian man?” Yet another killing at the line cabins had irritated the sheriff.

“My pa named me for a favorite coonhound of his,” Odell said. “He never told me why.”

“What happened?” Hinkle said.

“I was walking out with my new lady friend—”

“Who?” Hinkle said.

“Her name is Nellie Wilde.”

“Nellie ain't a lady friend. She's a prostitute.”

“I wasn't aware of that.”

“She's selling it at the Top Hat, wearing a corset with her bosoms hanging out, and you didn't know what she was?”

“Sheriff, my father was a clergyman and I was raised to think the best of people.”

“So you were strolling with Nellie in a place where two murders had been committed,” Hinkle continued. “Very romantic.”

“Curiosity. A sense of adventure, I guess,” Odell said. “People in love do strange things.”

“How long have you known Nellie Wilde?”

“I just met her tonight.”

“Love at first sight, huh?”

“It happens, Sheriff.”

“Never happened for me,” Hinkle said. “Go on. You were walking and . . . ?”

“This man stepped out of the shadows with a gun,” Odell said. “I threw Miss Wilde aside just as he fired at her.”

“He fired at the girl, not you?”

“Yes. And even when he was dying on his feet, he still tried to kill her.”

“After you plugged him.”

“Three rounds to the chest. He was a hard man to kill.”

“Was the girl wounded?”

“No. She ran away.”

Kate spoke up for the first time. “Mr. Odell, what color hair does Nellie Wilde have?”

Odell looked at her. “Same as you, lady. Red. But I think she dyes hers.”

Hinkle stared at Kate in the gloom. “Coincidence, Mrs. Kerrigan. Lot of redheaded gals in Dodge right now.”

“Is this a coincidence, Sheriff?” She handed him the note she'd received and studied his face while he read it.

The lawman didn't disappoint. “Hell, no, it ain't happenstance. You were lured here.”

“I was to be murdered by the dead man, whoever he is,” Kate said. “He saw Nellie Wilde and mistook her for me.”

“If that's the case, he wanted to kill you real bad, ma'am,” Odell said, donning his sympathy mask. He looked over Kate's shapely body and wanted more than anything to do her in Sarah Hollis's shack.

Hinkle rubbed his temples. “Damn, I've got a headache.”

“Because you're so set on hanging an innocent man, Sheriff,” Kate said. “I'm getting close to identifying the real killer and he wants to be rid of me.”

An alarm bell went off in Odell's head, but then he relaxed. He could have been killed tonight escorting the woman's lookalike and was hardly a suspect.”

“Mrs. Kerrigan,” Hinkle said, “What I got here is two murders and two murderers. I know who killed Sarah Hollis and now I want to find the other killer, the murderer of Alva Cranley. I will concede that Alva's killer wants you dead. You saw her body and investigated the ground around the shack and now the man who strangled Alva is after you. He thinks you know something and he's running scared.”

“And so he should be,” Kate said. “Because he's the same man who murdered Sarah Hollis. And don't you dare to tell me otherwise, Sheriff.”

Driven by the wind, the rain fell heavier and Drugo Odell decided it was time he left. The redheaded woman's talk was making him uneasy and the two punchers with her looked like hardcases, especially the older one, who had the look of a Texas gun. Anyway, it seemed that Hinkle was ready to call it a night. The lawman was already talking about getting an undertaker to pick up the body.

Bat Masterson arrived on the scene and everything in Odell's world took a turn for the worse.

“Why are you here, Bat?” Hinkle said.

Masterson wore his usual bowler hat and a black opera cape closed at the neck with a bright silver clasp in the shape of a dragon. The handle of the cane he carried in his left hand was also in the form of a silver dragon. “This latest murder is the talk of the Top Hat, George. Little gal in there is hysterical, telling everybody that someone wants to kill her.”

“He did,” Hinkle said, nodding in the direction of the corpse. “We think he mistook Nellie Wilde for Mrs. Kerrigan here.”

“We don't think, Sheriff, we
know
,” Kate said.

Despite the dark, the wind, and the rain, Masterson gave an elegant bow to Kate. “I do not believe I've had the pleasure.”

Kate said her name, dropped a curtsey, and then extended her hand for Masterson to kiss.

After he did, Bat straightened and said, “You are very beautiful, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

“And you, sir, are very gallant,” Kate said.

Watching the exchange, Trace grinned and Frank suddenly felt like a bumpkin. He'd always heard that the sophisticated Masterson could set female hearts aflutter when he cut a dash.

Then Bat surprised him and everyone else. “Don't slink away into the darkness like a Louisiana alligator, Drugo. I want to talk to you.”

“I told the sheriff all I know.” Odell looked uncomfortable.

“You killed a man tonight, Drugo,” Masterson said. “Are you going to the Top Hat to boast of it?”

“No, I'm planning to get out of this rain and console my poor Nellie.”

“Poor Nellie, is it? Why did you bring her to this place where two women had been murdered?”

“It was only a lark, Bat. A pair of young people looking for adventure.”

“And I'd say you found it.”

“Yes. I suppose we did.”

Hinkle said, “Bat, it's pouring rain. Can't we talk about this later? Odell is not a suspect here.”

“He was sparking Sarah Hollis, George. That makes him a suspect. I heard about it no later than this afternoon.” Masterson smiled. “From one of my more low and disreputable friends.”

“You don't spark Sarah's kind,” Odell said. “She had something to sell and I bought it. I didn't bring her flowers.”

Driven away by the rain and the beckoning pleasures of Front Street, the crowd had dispersed. Only six people stood in the scarlet hell-light of the lantern, the body of the man at their feet silent and unmoving in death.

Masterson broke the silence. “Drugo, you're leaving?”

“I'm through here,” Odell said.

“Pity. I thought we could talk about Dora Redberry down Tombstone way. The poor girl is dead. Did you know that? I seem to recall that you jumped a Butterfield out of town just after it happened.”

Odell turned and faced Masterson full on. “Don't push me, Bat.”

“Nobody's pushing you, Drugo. I wondered if you wanted to talk about Dora was all.”

“You don't like me, Bat. Not liking me can be dangerous for a man.”

Masterson nodded, rain dripping from the narrow brim of his hat. “I know that, Drugo. Well? Be off with you. I'm sure Nellie Wilde is pining for you to comfort her.”

It seemed to Frank that Odell hesitated for just a moment, maybe thinking about the draw. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, and soon the rain and darkness closed around him.

Masterson smiled and echoed Frank's thought. “Ol' Drugo might have skinned it.” His Colt came out from under his cape. “I had my gun in my hand. I might have shaded him.”

“We've had enough killing around here, Bat,” Hinkle said. “Put the iron away and get out of the rain.”

Masterson looked at Kate. “Mrs. Kerrigan, there's a Chinese teahouse not far from here where they serve the most delicious little cakes. Would you and your friends care to join me?” And then to Hinkle, “Sorry, George, you're not invited since you have to stand guard over the dead man.”

“I'd love a cup of tea,” Kate said. “Mr. Masterson, this is my son, Trace, and Frank Cobb, my
segundo
.”

“From time to time I heard about you, Frank,” Bat said, his face expressionless.

“And I you,” Frank said. “Small world.”

Masterson nodded. “The West is vast, but there's a certain breed of men who are few in number though we tend to hear much about them.” He unbuckled his cloak and, with a fine flourish, draped it around Kate's shoulders.” “This will keep you dry, dear lady.”

“Thank you, Mr. Masterson. Indeed, you are very gracious.”

“Ah, but how easy it is to be gracious to a beautiful woman. And please call me Bat. Everyone else does.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

“Is the tea to your liking, Mrs. Kerrigan?” Masterson said.

“It's excellent, Bat. And the little cakes are delicious, so delicately flavored. If you ever get down to Texas, you must visit my ranch and I'll bake a sponge cake for you. Sponge cake with a cream and jam filling is a favorite of Queen Victoria, you know.”

“How interesting. Now I am really looking forward to your baking.”

“I only bake sponge cake, I'm afraid, nothing else,” Kate said.

“Then that will more than suffice, I'm sure.”

Frank envied Masterson's easy way with women. Kate seemed to enjoy his charm and fine manners, of which Frank had neither. Even holding the china teacup in his big, work-hardened hand was a chore, and he was sure if he held the little cup too firmly it would shatter like an eggshell. To his embarrassment, he'd already tried to pick up one of the tiny, delicate rice cakes and left it a crumbled mess on the plate. Beside him, Trace seemed totally at ease, enjoying Masterson's company.

Frank's misery increased. For the first time in his life he was actually jealous of another man. Bat Masterson would be an easy ranny to hate . . . if he wasn't so all-fired charming.

“I've always been much enamored of the Chinese,” Bat said. “Look around you, Mrs. Kerrigan. Lanterns of all colors and shapes, paintings of birds and pretty ladies on the walls, delicate, lacquered furniture. We might well be in a teashop in Cathay itself.”

“The chimes and tinkling bells are so soothing,” Kate said. “And the scent of incense is divine.”

“Sandalwood, I think,” Masterson said. “But there is also a hint of jasmine. More tea, Frank?”

Rather than let the cup beat him, Frank laid it on the table and Masterson poured from a blue and white teapot with a painting of a man and a woman crossing a wooden bridge.

“Rice cake?” Bat said.

“No thanks,” Frank said.

“They're very good, Frank,” Kate said. “Do try a pink one. They have a rosewater flavor.”

Bat Masterson's smile was the equivalent of an amused wink and Frank wasn't about to let him win. Using his thumb and forefinger, he gingerly picked up a cake about as big around as a silver dollar, but before he could transfer it to his mouth, it slipped from his fingers and landed somewhere on his crotch. “Damn.”

Bat grinned, but covered his mouth with his hand.

Kate was watching Frank. She smiled and said that hands accustomed to ropes, reins, and branding irons were not made for rice cakes. She took a pink one from the plate and said, “Frank, open your mouth and close your eyes and you will get a big surprise.”

Frank's misery and embarrassment could get no worse, so he did as Kate said and she popped the cake into his mouth. After she watched him chew, she asked if it was good.

Frank thought that it tasted like newsprint, but he smiled and said, “It's real good, Kate.”

A bell jangled as the front door opened and Sheriff George Hinkle stepped inside.

“Thank God,” Frank said under his breath.

Hinkle made his way to the table. Rain ran down his black oilskin and his hat brim ticked water onto the table. Irritated, Masterson quickly moved the cakes away from the cascade.

“The dead man's name was Morgan Braddock and he's been in town only a few days.” Hinkle picked up a rice cake and effortlessly tossed it into his mouth. He ate another before Bat glared at him, scowled, and slid the plate away from him and in front of Kate.

“How do you know this?” Frank said.

“Old wanted dodger in the sheriff's office.” Hinkle didn't bother to explain further. He didn't need to hear himself talk. “He was a hired gun.”

“Who hired him?” Kate said.

“Hell if I know, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

“Then you must find out, Sheriff. Now there are two lives at stake—Hank Lowery's and mine.”

Hinkle nodded and water poured off his hat onto the table. “Strange things happening in Dodge this cattle season. Did you know the tin man is back up and running? Saw him earlier tonight.” He looked around and saw blank faces. “Ah well, I thought it was interesting.” To Masterson, he said, “Tell me about Dora Blueberry.”

“Redberry,” Bat said.

“All right. Tell me about her instead.”

“She worked as a prostitute in Tombstone in the Arizona Territory. She claimed to be descended from Russian aristocracy and in fact she could speak Russian fluently . . . or what sounded like Russian to me.”

“Not much call for a Russian speaker in Tombstone,” Hinkle said.

“No, I reckon not,” Masterson said. “She was a pretty girl though—yellow hair and blue eyes—and she could sing and dance.”

“Cut to the chase, Bat,” Hinkle said.

A small thin Chinese man wearing a round black hat bustled up to the table, glared at Hinkle, and said to Kate, “This man bothering you, missy?”

Kate smiled. “No, he's not, but thank you for asking.”

Hinkle was less polite. “Beat it, Chinaman, or you'll be eating chop suey in my jail.”

“Big bully man,” the Chinese said before he glided away, muttering to himself.

“Cutting to the chase, George, Dora spent a lot of time in the company of Drugo Odell. Maybe it was a love thing, but I doubt it. Sheriff Johnny Behan, a congenital idiot, found Dora's body behind the Birdcage Theater. She'd been stabbed between her—” He stopped speaking and looked at Kate. “I mean, she'd been stabbed in the chest and had been dead for some time. Behan decided to wait for the doctor's report as though the cause of death wasn't pretty damn obvious, and by that time, Odell had lit a shuck for places unknown.”

“Bat, do you think Odell murdered Dora what'sher-name?” Hinkle asked.

“Redberry. Yeah, I think he did.”

“Thinking ain't proving,” Hinkle said.

“Sarah Hollis was killed in the same manner, Sheriff.” Then with a mischievous smile, Kate added, “A knife between her tits.”

Hinkle's eyes widened. “Yes, yes she was, Mrs. Kerrigan. I'll talk with Odell and hear what he has to say.”

“He'll deny Dora's murder,” Masterson said.

“What did Behan think about the girl's death?” Hinkle said.

“He didn't think anything. Dora was a whore and he let her murderer go. He was dealing with the Earp boys at the time and had more important things on his mind.”

Talking amid a rumble of distant thunder, Kate said, “Sheriff, is it possible that Odell murdered Dora Redberry, Sarah Hollis, and Alva Cranley?”

For the first time Hinkle revealed some doubt. “It's possible, Mrs. Kerrigan. Anything is possible. But now I ask myself the question, who is trying to kill you? Drugo Odell would hardly have walked into his own ambush.”

Kate said, “But it can only be Odell . . . somehow. There's no one else.”

“Sheriff, are you going to release Hank Lowery?” Trace said.

“No, not yet. Not until I get this thing settled.”

“When will that be?” Trace said.

“Young man, your guess is as good as mine.”

“But in the meantime, Hank Lowery could hang.”

Hinkle said. “I guess he'll have to take his chances like the rest of us.”

After Hinkle left, Frank Cobb said, “I reckon if we want to save Hank Lowery's life we'll have to bust him out of the juzgado.”

“Bad idea,” Masterson said. “As lawmen go, George Hinkle isn't much of a sheriff, but he's never lost a prisoner and I've never known him to back down. If he has to, he'll kill Lowery without a moment's hesitation. And there's another thing. If you want Lowery, you'll have to step over George's dead body.”

“No, no, we don't want that,” Kate said.

“No you don't,” Bat said. “I told the sheriff that I'd help him with this investigation and I plan to keep my word. Kate, I think we forget your puncher for a spell and concentrate on Drugo Odell . . . and hope to God that our guns don't jam.”