The Deputy - Edge Series 2 (14 page)

Alvarez held up a hand, showed a vaguely embarrassed expression and said: ‘Again I must say I am sorry I doubted you
gentilhombres
when the attackers struck.’

‘I guess it cleared the air,’ the lawman said. ‘Trust has to be earned, especially when it’s the basis of this kind of life or death deal.’

‘
Si,
sheriff.’

There was a mumbling of agreement among the Mexicans as the two Americans heeled their horses into a gallop out on to Creek Road.

** ** **

Until they reached the intersection with the main east trail out of Bishopsburg the two men maintained a constant watch on the surrounding hill country. Although nothing was said between them each was aware they had little to fear from the cloudily moonlit night. For they both knew that if Martinez guns were nearby it was solely Isabella Gomez the men would be hunting.

The vocal silence was maintained as they rode west toward town at an unhurried canter that was reduced to a walk as they neared the Carter farm. The unobtrusive sounds made by the two geldings continued to be the only ones that disturbed the peace that cloaked the surrounding Texas terrain until North said:

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‘It’s real late for farming folk, wouldn’t you say? The Carters are sure to be sleeping at this time of night, I reckon?’

Edge replied evenly: ‘Yeah, I come from farming stock myself, feller.’

North made a long, lip chewing survey of the simple buildings and neatly tended fields as they neared the start of the track that angled off the trail toward the single story house. ‘Everything looks good and peaceful to me. Untroubled, you reckon?’

‘Sure.’

‘There’s got to be a better time to sound out Frank Carter? Less chance of riling him and Vera with the questions I got to ask them?’

‘No sweat, feller. Whatever you say.’

North looked sharply at Edge who was taking out the makings and asked: ‘You doing what I think you’re doing?’

‘What’s that, sheriff?’

‘Just going along with everything I say, no matter what you really think? It sure sounds to me like that’s what you’re doing, mister.’

Edge showed an easy smile to the frowning, tall, heavily built man and held up both hands in a gesture that signalled he was in no mood for bad feelings with the lawman as he replied:

‘I’m just being the same sort of feller I’ve tried to be since I turned over a new leaf awhile ago.’

‘Uh?’

Edge rasped the back of a hand along his bristled jaw line then started to roll a cigarette as he told the sheriff: ‘The agreeable kind.’

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CHAPTER • 9

_________________________________________________________________

BY MID-MORNING the next day the town of Bishopsburg was sweltering in a
temperature Otis Logan reckoned had to be close to a hundred degrees. Edge thought it felt even hotter than that as he sat on the bench out front of the Dancing Horse Saloon, sharing it for awhile with the elderly retired undertaker before the jug eared, homely featured Logan decided he had better join almost the entire population of town at the mass funeral of the Bellamy family and Judge Hiram Miller. Edge knew of at least one local citizen who was not at the church on the east side of the southern stretch of Main Street. Solemnly listening to the grave toned voice of the Reverend Crown who led the mourners in prayer, then sermonised on the goodness of the hard working farming folk and the fair mindedness of the visiting circuit judge. For he occasionally glimpsed movement within the law office where Sheriff George North was sometimes at his desk, more often was on his feet and pacing back and forth, surely worrying about the decisions he made last night.

Edge and the lawman had spoken briefly about one of these as they rode away from the again darkened and quiet Carter farm: after North had changed his mind and concluded there and then was as good a time as ever to broach the possibility that Frank Carter had involuntarily or otherwise revealed the contents of Alvarez’s note to a third party. Both the weary, dishevelled, hurriedly and incompletely dressed farmer and his wife were righteously angry at being awakened at what to them was the dead of night. And even more irate at North’s implied accusation that Frank had steamed open and read a letter not addressed to him. Close to furious that the sheriff could think him capable of making a profit by revealing information he should not have had. Neither of the Carters was assuaged when the sheepishly apologetic North assured them he had called so late primarily to ensure they were safe and well: had not been injured or worse in the event that hired killers had stopped by and used force to make certain the Carters were ignorant of the note’s contents.

The couples mood infected North and added to his anxiety about how he was being caught up in events over which he felt he had little control. He claimed he had always been a straight-down-the-line, letter-of-the-law peace officer who never bent the rules whatever the circumstances.

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Which had been easy until the killing of the Crowell girl at the church picnic. Because Bishopsburg people were decent and law-abiding citizens. And it had never been the kind of town that attracted trouble making strangers. So never before had it been necessary for North to accept the help of self-confessed criminals – albeit men forcefully driven to break the law in another country – to achieve an end.

But he had seen no other way than to agree to Raul Alvarez’s plan. And if Isabella Gomez was kept alive to testify at the trial, then surely that laudable end justified the questionable means?

As they rode closer to Bishopsburg and North ended the monologue about his doubts, Edge had not felt able to offer the troubled lawman the response he wanted to hear to ease his mind. Because no matter what kind of new leaf he had turned over in recent times, he and North were not the same kind of men. And he was not willing to voice any kind of comforting words in which he did not believe.

It was eleven as the funeral knell began to toll and the congregation started to file slowly out of the white painted clapboard church following four full size caskets and a smaller one.

Most of those who attended the service considered this had been enough to show their personal respects for the dead. And just a handful of black clad mourners moved into the graveyard to witness the interments while most drifted away to involve themselves in the usual business of their workaday lives.

One such was the bearded and bespectacled Rex Whitman who hurried by the saloon with just a cursory nod toward the man on the bench, clearly eager to return to his livery stable where he had left his newly hired Mexican helper in charge. The short and paunchy saloonkeeper accompanied by a dark haired woman advanced more slowly along the hotly sunlit street. Trailed by the good looking Ted Straker, the young deputy having represented the sheriff at the funeral. For North, according to Logan - who at breakfast had not stopped talking about the funeral and many of those who would attend it - had claimed he was depressed enough without going to a service for the dead and elected to stay in the office to guard the prisoner.

The young lawman looked longingly toward the front of the saloon as Jake Carr pushed a key into the door lock. And so did several other men, all of them in the company of women. But Straker, who studiously avoided eye contact with Edge, obviously felt duty bound by conscience to move on to the law office. While the others were persuaded with earnest words or

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bleak looks from wives to attend to chores in what remained of the morning before seeking their reward later in the Dancing Horse.

The woman with Carr who Edge assumed to be Rose Riley murmured mournfully:

‘Bad business, uh mister?’

She was near to or had gone beyond forty years of age and if she had tried to fight against the ravaging effects of her life style it had been a losing battle. Too short for her weight, she was plump rather than obese and her fleshy cheeks and double chin acted to detract from a kind of good natured prettiness still just discernible in the basic structure of her face.

Her blue eyes looked like they were unaccustomed to expressing sorrow and her small mouth was probably more comfortable with a smile than the frown it wore this morning as Carr growled:

‘We just gotta hope there’s no more killing before this murder trial’s over and done with.’

He held back from opening the outer doors, peered morosely along the street toward the church and murmured: ‘That funeral bell sure does sound like it’s announcing more than just the burying of folks already dead.’

The woman looked pointedly across at the jailhouse and said sourly: ‘Somebody has to pull on a rope to ring the bell, Jake. And maybe you’re reminded that pretty soon somebody else will see to it that sonofabitch Martinez swings at the end of another one.’

Now Carr opened the doors, fastened them back and pushed through the batwings as he slowly shook his head: like he had little faith in what she predicted ever coming to pass. Edge signalled for Rose Riley to go in ahead of him and she swayed across the saloon and went up the stairway behind the piano at the end of the bar counter. Announced that she could not wait to change out of the mourning black in which she did not look her best. As the saloon’s only customer moved to a point at the centre of the bar, Carr removed his suit jacket and necktie the fastened an apron about his middle before he asked Edge what he could get for him.

He bought a beer and carried it to a table far enough away from the counter to make it evident he was not interested in conversation. What did interest him as he sipped the beer, rolled and smoked a cigarette and reflected not too deeply on his immediate future, was the smell of cooking meat that started to emanate through the archway at the other end of the bar counter from the stairway where the saloonkeeper had gone. 83

Then as the appetising aroma of chilli flavoured beef permeating the hot air became stronger he found himself growing steadily hungrier despite the generously portioned breakfast he had eaten at Doris Hyams’ table a few hours ago.

‘What time will the food be ready for eating, feller?’ he asked as Carr emerged from the archway.

‘As soon as Rose says it is, mister. All I do is light the fire under what she gets ready and throws in the pots. Smells like it won’t be too long now.’

Footfalls sounded out front of the saloon, then George North pushed aside the batwings and stepped over the threshold.

‘Morning, Edge,’ he greeted without enthusiasm then nodded toward the bar. ‘Jake. I hear from Ted that the Reverend Crown said some mighty fine words about the dead at the service?’

He drew an acknowledging hand gesture from Edge and a more fulsome nod from the bartender as he approached the counter.

Carr confirmed: ‘Sure was a sad occasion, George. I guess there was only that one good thing to come out of it.’

‘Good thing, Jake?’

The man behind the counter shrugged and said ruefully: ‘Well, kinda . . . How Barnaby Crown spoke what was in everyone’s mind, George. About what fine people the Bellamys were. The judge too. And them getting murdered by evil sonsofbitches. Though the reverend didn’t put it exactly that way.’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean. I’ll take a whiskey, Jake.’

‘Sure thing, George. Coming right up.’ He set down a shot glass and bottle in front of the lawman who muttered morosely:

‘It wouldn’t need too much encouragement for me to drink the whole pint. But I’ll just take the one shot.’

North poured himself a drink, turned away from the bar and carried it to where Edge sat. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘No sweat, sheriff. Just so long as you ain’t still looking for reassurance?’

‘Only in a practical way, I guess is how I ought to put it?’

‘How’s that, feller?’

‘I reckon when a man’s mind is made up to believe what he wants to believe, then he ain’t never going to be amenable to persuasion. Even if he asked to be persuaded?’ North took out a cheroot and began to toy absently with it.

‘I’ll go along with that,’ Edge said.

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‘And I’ll get right to the point because I know that’s how you like things to be, Edge. What I have in mind now is that I’d feel mighty reassured if you’d agree to take on the job of deputy full time in Bishopsburg?’

‘I don’t know if I can go along with that, sheriff.’

‘Look, you did better than I could have expected both times you wore a badge, damnit. Better, in my opinion I got to admit, than young Ted Straker would ever have.’

He lit the cheroot. ‘And since it seems likely I’m going to need more of the same kind of help pretty damn soon, it’s just not convenient that I keep hiring you on piecemeal like I’ve been doing?’