Wolf did. “It’s an unused linen cartridge. Either linen or a paper was used to load revolvers before metal cartridges came into use. Metal ones were available during the War Between the States but in short supply and not much used by the common soldier.” He’d done some homework after the first shooting.
“You think someone shot at me with a Civil War weapon? Like they did Maisy?” She looked disbelieving.
“Just like,” Wolf said, feeling grim, “except this time they missed.” And he was hellbent on finding them before there was a next time.
Kylah turned and walked a short distance away, staring into the trees. Wolf knew she was processing things in her mind. He understood the need. He looked down at Trouble. “I don’t guess you have a clue you can show me now? Something that will help me keep her safe.”
Chapter Ten
Bugger all, I feel like a bit of a failure and it’s a rare and uncomfortable feeling for me. A clue I do not have.
We withdraw to Kylah’s trailer as the sheriff and his men arrive to begin combing the area for any additional evidence. Before they disperse, Wolf takes a moment to show Sheriff Mitchell the intact cartridge. Like me, Wolf does not believe finding the linen cartridge is a coincidence. However, I’m not sure whether it was dropped accidently or intentionally. I applaud Wolf’s suggestion that the sheriff caution his men not to broadcast the incident, and more so the fact that the weapon used today was almost certainly another antique. I’ve seen more than one investigation stalled by a copycat prankster who has his or her own motive for muddying the waters. I hope the deputies find something that will help, another cartridge perhaps, either of the spent bullets, footprints, anything. Not, mind you, that I think they can do better than I. However, my place is with Kylah and my money is on Wolf for helping me solve this case. The sheriff was wisdom itself in bringing him in on an official basis.
Several hours later, they all troop back and I do my best not to feel gratified that they have found little more than we did as that would be immature of me and I pride myself on a very Sherlockian maturity. All they have in hand is another linen cartridge, which could be a mate to the first and of no more help at this point than the first.
The sheriff sends his men to begin questioning those in the area as to what they may have seen or heard and the rest of us remain in Kylah’s living quarters, although I suppose it’s more Jake’s for the present. With a slide-out opened that I had not realized existed, there is more than enough room for us. I take note of the fact that Wolf pulls Kylah to sit beside him on a small love seat – interesting name that – and she does not demur at his action.
* * *
Les gave Wolf a look that he had no difficulty deciphering. “We need to talk through some things.”
Wolf shrugged. “That’s fine but since Kylah was the intended victim and Jake was with me, we can talk it through right here. I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to reveal other than your thoughts and some possibilities and I’ve got the same.”
Les shook his head. The sheriff didn’t look happy but he yielded the point and started talking. “I’d hoped Maisy McGuire was a murder of passion, barring that, a random killing even though I knew that was a long shot. With Ella Necaise cleared and someone shooting at Ms. West today, I’m seeing at least two patterns, possibly a third.”
He shifted his look from Wolf to Kylah. “Both of you female. Both of you dressed in costumes. And both dressed as men.”
Once the sheriff started talking, Jake got up and began making coffee with quiet movements.
Wolf saw Kylah give him a quick smile of thanks before she answered the sheriff. “That’s because females weren’t allowed into the military at the time.”
“Can’t think with typical logic here. Anybody that’d shoot a woman in what appears to be cold blood may have their own brand of logic but you won’t be able to match it with sane thinking.”
Wolf knew what he was saying. Crazy had logic but it was a logic only crazy understood. In cases like this, looking for patterns was the likeliest method of identifying a killer.
“Both of you would be considered strong-willed,” Les pushed forward.
“And you think someone would kill because of that? Because we’re strong women?” Kylah looked insulted and Wolf couldn’t blame her.
“Limitless reasons people kill. None of them good.” Les rubbed his jaw, thinking. “I’m told Ms. McGuire was called a stitch-counter by some and it wasn’t a compliment.”
“No, it isn’t,” Kylah agreed. “A stitch-counter or purist is someone considered over-the-top about the need to stay in character. And as far as your patterns go, yes, my uniform is one hundred percent authentic and I did stay in character this morning even to keeping my cap on and hair hidden. But if someone’s been watching me, they’d know this is the first time I’ve been in costume since I got here. From what Ella told me, she and Maisy were always in costume from the moment they stepped foot on the site.”
Jake put a saucer of milk in front of Trouble, then began handing out mugs of coffee, placing sugar, creamer, and spoons on the table, but he’d fixed Kylah’s for her with cream and sugar. Wolf had paid attention to how much because he planned to make use of the knowledge some morning. Given the chance.
The sheriff took an appreciative sip from his cup before answering Kylah’s last comment. “I’ll admit this person may have been just walking around today looking for the next target.”
“That seems improbable,” Wolf injected. “Doesn’t it?”
Les agreed, “Improbable but still possible.”
Wolf was watching Les’ eyes. There was something the sheriff didn’t want to say and Wolf had a pretty good idea what it was. “What’s your third possible pattern?”
Les glanced his way. “Maisy McGuire and Ella Necaise shared a lifestyle which sets some people off. And, from what Ms. West has said, she was coming back from Ms. Necaise’ campsite and she’d been there for some time. The two of them alone together.”
“Which I wouldn’t have needed to be if your team hadn’t left a grieving woman to clean up a damned crime scene,” Kylah returned. “What were you thinking?”
Les closed his eyes for a brief moment, looking chagrined at her words. “I hadn’t realized. I’m sorry for that. It will be addressed and Ms. Necaise will receive an apology.”
Apparently mollified by his sincerity, Kylah’s expression turned thoughtful. “We were out in the open in front of the tent in plain view the whole time. But it could be the shooter either watched us walking to her camp and me coming back alone sometime later. Or, he chanced on us alone in front of her camp and then followed me.”
“Either way,” Les agreed, looking relieved that she wasn’t going to get in a twist over his premise. They couldn’t rule out any possibility at the moment.
Wolf knew it could never be easy to tell a person they could be a potential victim on multiple fronts.
“You might as well go on and say the other theory you’re looking at,” Wolf said in resignation.
“Well, both dressed as men, both with caps on so their hair was hidden. The shooter may not have realized either was a woman.”
“So, the uniforms could be the reason? Someone anti-war to that extreme?”
“Could be,” Les said. “Or could be someone who doesn’t like the event itself.”
“Like someone from the Boundary.” Wolf met the sheriff’s glance with a steady eye.
“I have to consider it,” Les agreed.
Wolf held his temper. “I agree,” he admitted, “and I know there were problems in the past, some not wanting to accept changes that seemed forced on them but that’s been decades ago and those were kids who are grown up now. And the worst of it was graffiti and small vandalism, not murder. The Cherokee aren’t living in that past.”
The sheriff took another swallow of his coffee. “Insanity lives in whatever world it chooses.”
And that was a point Wolf couldn’t argue. “So, what no
w?
“Now, I’m hoping you can convince Rita to cancel or postpone this event.”
Wolf couldn’t help the disbelieving snort of laughter that escaped him. “You’re not serious.”
“Damn it, Wolf! I’ve got a nut job trying to take people out with antique weapons. He’s been successful once and damn near was again today. No agency could provide enough security at something this big. No way in hell! He could be any one of hundreds of reenactors who are strangers to the area, strangers to the area law enforcement. What do you expect me to do?”
“Try applying a little logic. First off, no one’s going to convince Rita to postpone this event, much less cancel it. Second, if someone could, it wouldn’t be me. Rita’s never listened to me about anything.”
“Then why the hell did you marry her?” Les glared at him.
Wolf lifted his coffee mug in a sarcastic toast. “Might have been the shot gun you had pointed at my back.”
“Well, air the dirty laundry, for Christ sakes!”
Wolf grinned. Damned if he could help it. “Old news the entire county knew and forgot years ago.” He drained his coffee cup and got to his feet.
His escape wasn’t quick enough and the sheriff got the last poke in when he asked, “What were you doing here today anyway?”
“Just stopped by to check things out and damned good thing I did.”
“Back to my point,” Les retorted. “I can post a deputy or two but they sure as hell can’t safeguard hundreds of actors and thousands of visitors over the next two weeks. I need you to talk to Rita.”
“I’ll go later today but you know as well as I do she won’t budge.” He saw the defeated look on Les’ face. Damn. “But I’ll try.”
Wolf put his hand on the doorknob and looked at Kylah. “I’ll be back in a bit. You okay?”
She smiled at him and he wished like hell they were alone for one moment. “I’m fine. Jake and I are going back to work.”
He noticed she didn’t respond to his first comment. He supposed he could take it as a positive sign that she didn’t say there was no need for him to be back … in a bit or otherwise.
Les followed him out and Trouble scooted out between them. “Damn it, Wolf, there are times you’re a thorn in my side.”
“I can remember when that was all of the time and not just some of the time.”
His ex-brother-in-law snorted a little at that. “Not that long ago, either.” He put his hat on his head. “I’m headed to talk with the man who could be the last person to see Maisy McGuire alive before her murder. And, if he doesn’t have a damned good accounting for his whereabouts this morning, he might even be our guy.” Les hesitated then added, “You’re welcome to come along. I guess Rita can wait a while longer.”
Wolf looked down at Trouble then nodded at Les. “Obliged. Hope you don’t mind if the cat comes, too.”
The sheriff sighed and shook his head. Wolf and Trouble followed him to his patrol car.
* * *
Kylah had wondered why Wolf was at the fairgrounds as well but she wasn’t sure she would’ve asked. Nor was she sure Wolf would have provided a better answer than the casual, “Just stopped by to check things out,” he’d offered the sheriff.
She met Jake’s steady gaze. “Ready to work?”
For a moment he didn’t say anything. “Always ready to work, but … are you sure you want to stay? That was a close call and maybe we should pack up and head home.”
“I won’t do that. My job is here. But I won’t hold it against you if you want to go home.”
Jake looked affronted but the words had to be said. He didn’t even bother to respond to her offer. “You going to ride in that get-up?”
She smiled, hoping to ease the insult he felt he’d been dealt, “They’ve got to get used to it sometime, sooner better than later. I don’t want to get dumped on the battlefield.”
Not that she thought any of them would buck with her under any circumstances. They were too well trained. To her relief, Jake followed her lead. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile as he finished his coffee. “Might as well get started. If there’s gonna be a side show, I don’t want to miss it.”
* * *
What a prime opportunity! I don’t always get to sit in on the questioning of a person of interest, particularly not one who might prove to be the actual murderer. I’ve been in a sheriff’s car before and this one is pretty much run-of-the-mill. No fancy bells and whistles, nothing but the basics but I have the back seat to myself and it’s quite comfortable.
“So, tell me about this fellow we’re going to see,” Wolf suggests.
I sit up and move to the edge of the seat, the better to hear the exchange. The more information I have the more help I can be to Wolf in solving the case and protecting Kylah.
“Raymond Latimer is with a unit from somewhere up north. Pennsylvania, I think. I’ve got a file on him in my office. Nothing stood out. He’s never been in any trouble. Steady job in some kind of manufacturing plant. Married with two grown children, both in college. Wife’s into herb gardening, sells what she grows at a local market every weekend, and seldom leaves home otherwise. His hobby is this type of event, reenacting Civil War battles. He also visits and photographs Civil War cemeteries. Gone most weekends with some historical group or other.”
“Huh.”
Wolf’s grunt mirrors my thoughts. Do these people not have a real life?
“Yeah, well, the frequent separation may be what keeps them married.”
A commentary on the sheriff’s own marriage? Something to wonder about had I time for such inanities. Which I do not.
“So, how does this Latimer come into the picture with the deceased?” Wolf asks.
“Seems he was the go-between for the sale of the gun,” the sheriff explains. “We’re going to talk with the previous owner and then with Latimer.”
“Previous owner a friend of his?”
“Of sorts. He’s Latimer’s unit commander.”
“So, a person with authority and latitude in these surroundings.” I can almost hear the thoughts spinning in Wolf’s head. “Have you considered a gun ring of some sort? Or smuggling of antiques?”
I wish I could see more than the backs of their heads and a bit of profile now and again. Expressions can be so telling.
“Considered it and did a little digging. Nothing pops. The guy’s been a collector for years, goes to big gun shows but buys with caution, sometimes sells. No ties to anyone or anything out of the way so far.”
Wolf rubs his neck. “Nothing fits, does it?”
“Nothing at all.” The sheriff agrees, clearly no happier about the fact than Wolf.
“They both coming to the station?”
“Nope. I have Latimer headed there now. Going to let him cool his heels and sweat, hopefully get a little antsy so that he loses the thread of any story he might have made up.”
“You think he’s the one?” Wolf sounds dubious, as am I.
“I don’t but I’m too smart to treat him otherwise until I know otherwise.”
“So where are we headed now?”
“We’re going to drop in unannounced on Commander Fagan, Vance Fagan. My deputies tell me he’s inspecting uniforms all day today so he’ll be close to his field quarters.”
“Field quarters? I take it you mean his tent. These people take this stuff to heart, don’t they?”
“They damn sure do.” I don’t think the sheriff’s tone is expressing any admiration of the fact.
The sheriff parks and we exit the car and I stretch my legs. The drive was longer than I expected it to be, longer than if we’d trekked across the hills and through the creek but I daresay the sheriff isn’t inclined to walking if he can drive.
Now that the hordes have moved in, the vista is rather amazing. Reenactors are milling about outside of their tents, garbed in their historic raiment, carrying a wide array of weaponry, everything from handguns to rifles – with and without bayonet – a
nd swords. Somehow, I had not equated sabers with the war between the states but they doubtless were there or they would not be here. These enthusiasts are authentic to the core. More than the Confederate flags and unit standards flapping in the breeze, more even than the period costumes, it is the military bearing of the reenactors themselves that tell the tale. They are not only in costume, they are in character.
True to the sheriff’s expectations, Commander Fagan is close at hand and easy to find. He leads the way to his headquarters through an astonishing number of bipeds in their realistically stitched military attire of another century. He gestures towards a tent that sits upon a rise, slightly elevated from the many smaller ones that surround it. Intentional? That is my suspicion.
Inside, it is a true commander’s space with a long, crudely built table and an equally rough bench on either side. I catch sight of a wireless printer tucked into the bottom of a bookshelf and surmise a laptop might be secreted in one of the knapsacks scattered about. The glimpse of technology serves as a reminder that this historical reenactment is a jaunt for some but business to others.
Not, however, a padded chair in sight. Sigh. I settle discreetly upon the top shelf, careful to send nothing tumbling to the rug which covers the earth floor beneath us.
“Gentlemen.” I note that he extends his hand first to the sheriff who is wearing a badge, then rather offhandedly to Wolf, who is not. Were he more observant, he’d note from Wolf’s demeanor that he is twice the leader of the sheriff, who is more of the good old boy mentality. But, he’s sharp, I’ll give him that. Sheriff Les Mitchell is nobody’s fool. “I gather you have questions about the rifle I sold Ms. McGuire before her death.”
“You mean before she was murdered.”
Blimey, that was crudely done. But I suspect it was as purposeful as it was crude.
The commander stiffens and glares at the sheriff. “As you say. Please sit, gentlemen.”
He takes one bench and Wolf and the sheriff take the other, facing him. The commander glances at me on my perch atop the bookshelf but he says not a word nor does his expression change. Good for him.
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