Thousand Mile Case (9781101619520)

by Roberts, J. R.

  “Goddamn it!”

  Harvey looked like he was about to go for his gun, but Bodie was on him, clubbing him over the head with a massive fist. The man slumped to the ground, and as he fell, Bodie plucked his gun from his holster.

  The big lawman turned to Clint and said, “Go on about your business, Adams.”

  “I was just going to breakfast, Sheriff.” He turned and walked away.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Jenny greeted Clint herself at the door, took him to a back table.

  “Have you seen Claire today?” he asked as he sat down.

  “No,” she said, “not since last night. If she doesn’t come in, I’ll have to go and see if she’s at home, or at her store.”

  “I hope she’s all right.”

  “What can I get you today?” she asked.

  “Steak and eggs.”

  “Biscuits? Coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  “Comin’ up.”

  She went to the kitchen, came back almost immediately with a basket of warm biscuits, a coffeepot, and a mug. As she was setting them down, Sheriff Bodie came in. He walked directly to Clint’s table, towering over Jenny.

  “Is there gonna be trouble, Sheriff?”

  “Not in here, Jenny. I just wanna sit and talk to the man.”

  “Are you gonna eat?”

  “No, I ate.”

  “I’ll bring another coffee mug.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jenny left and Bodie looked down at Clint.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “I wish you would,” Clint said. “I’m getting a cramp in my neck.”

  Bodie pulled out the chair opposite Clint and sat down.

  “Where’s that feller, Harvey?”

  “He’s coolin’ off in a cell,” Bodie said.

  “Thanks for stopping him, so I didn’t have to kill him.”

  “I did it more for him than for you.”

  “That’s okay,” Clint said. “I don’t care who you did it for. You did it.”

  Jenny came out at that point, put a mug down on the table. Clint poured the coffee for Bodie.

  “Who is he anyway?” Clint went on.

  “Just a local,” Bodie said.

  “What sent him after me with five other men? Or who?”

  “I don’t know,” Bodie said. “When he wakes up, I’ll ask him.”

  “Maybe I should come by the jail and ask him myself,” Clint proposed.

  “Let me talk to him first,” Bodie said.

  “Okay,” Clint said. “It’s your jail.”

  Jenny came with Clint’s breakfast at that point. She set it down in front of him and withdrew. Clint picked up his knife and fork.

  “You mind if I eat?” he asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What else can I help you with?”

  “You can tell me what you’re really doin’ here in Black Rock.”

  “I’m trying to find out what went on between Ed Callahan and Tom Angel that made them enemies, made them kill each other.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because whatever it was, I got caught up in it, and I killed men I didn’t know, and had never met.”

  “Not the first time you’ve ever killed someone.”

  “Maybe not,” Clint said, “but when I do it, I like to know why.”

  “How do you expect to find out?”

  “By talking to the people who knew them best,” Clint said. “With Angel, I’m guessing that’d be Claire. And with Callahan, his wife.”

  “When do you intend to go and see Mrs. Callahan?”

  “Sometime today, I suppose.”

  “I’d like to go with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Mr. Callahan was well respected around here. I’d like to make sure his wife is treated with…respect.”

  “I’d certainly treat her with respect,” Clint said, “but someone needs to tell her how her husband died.”

  “Well,” Bodie said, “I’m gonna come along…if you don’t mind.”

  “And if I do mind?”

  Bodie leaned forward and said, “I’m comin’ anyway.”

  Clint shrugged and said, “You’re the sheriff.”

  “Stop by my office when you’re ready to leave,” the sheriff said, “and don’t try to leave without me.”

  “I’ll see you later, Sheriff.”

  Bodie nodded, took one sip of coffee, then got up and left.

  Jenny came walking over.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Clint said. “This food is just great.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Clint finished his breakfast, and Jenny brought him some more coffee. The place was almost empty now, so she sat down with him.

  “What are your plans today?” she asked.

  “Talk to Claire, then talk to Mrs. Callahan.”

  “I’ll come with you to talk to Claire.”

  Why did everybody want to go with him today?

  “I think I should talk to her on my own.”

  “Why?”

  “She might say something to me, a stranger, that she wouldn’t say in front of you.”

  “You think she’s holding something back?”

  “I think if she knew Tom Angel well, then she knows something.”

  Jenny shook her head.

  “I don’t know. Claire’s pretty…”

  “Pretty what?”

  Jenny shrugged and said, “Innocent.”

  “Is she?” Clint asked. “I guess I’ll find out.”

  Clint went to Claire’s Dress Shop first, found the door unlocked and Claire inside. She looked up as the little bell tinkled when he opened the door.

  “Mr. Adams.”

  “Claire,” he said. “Or should I say Miss—”

  “Claire is fine,” she said.

  She was standing behind the counter. He approached her. She stared at him with wide blue eyes. Clint could see the innocence Jenny was talking about.

  “I’m sorry I had to bring you that news last night.”

  “No, no,” she said, “I’m grateful to you. Now I can stop wondering if and when Tom was gonna come back.” She shrugged. “He’s not. I’ll just have to accept that.”

  “Claire,” Clint said, “I need to know what was going on between Ed Callahan and Tom.”

  “I thought I told you I don’t know,” she said. “Tom didn’t talk to me about his business.”

  “Was he doing business with Callahan? Was that it?”

  “No, I mean—I don’t know—I mean, all I meant was, Tom didn’t talk much about…things.”

  “So what did you talk about with him?”

  “Just…things. Not very important things.”

  “Did you talk about getting married?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “Well, I wanted to,” she admitted, “but he never did.”

  “Claire, I’m finding it really hard to believe that Tom had so much trouble with Callahan and never mentioned it. I mean, the man rode a thousand miles to try to kill him.”

  Claire played with her long dark hair nervously and said, “I just think you should talk to someone else.”

  “Is there somebody who knew Tom better than you did?” he asked.

  “Not better, exactly,” she said, “but maybe in a different way.”

  “Who was that?”

  “His friend Larry.”

  “Larry what?”

  “I don’t remem—I think it’s Larry…Kane? No…Cahill, that’s it. Larry Cahill.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Right here in town,” she said. “Maybe Tom talked to him about Mr. Callahan.”

  “Do you know where in town he lives?”

  “No.”

  “What about where he works?”

  “One of the stores, I think. I don’t know where.”

  “Do you know Mrs
. Callahan?”

  “I do, but not well.”

  “How well?”

  “Just by fitting her for dresses when she comes in,” Claire said. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Do you think that might have been the problem?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, could Tom have been doing…something with Mrs. Callahan? And maybe that’s why Mr. Callahan wanted to kill him?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, but she didn’t sound real sure to him. That was going to be the first question he asked Larry Cahill when he found him.

  “Well, okay, Claire,” Clint said. “Thanks for talking to me.”

  “Mr. Adams…you’re not gonna cause trouble, are you?”

  “That’s not my intention, Claire,” he said, realizing that wasn’t really an answer. “You take care.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  He stepped outside and looked around. If Cahill worked in a store, he had a lot to choose from. Clint thought he better get started.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Clint checked a couple of stores and came up empty. He decided this was going to take too long. It probably made sense to ask the sheriff, but he didn’t really trust the man. That left him with two other choices—Jenny, and the bartender at the Lucky Eight, Willie. He decided to try Willie first.

  * * *

  As Clint entered the Lucky Eight, he looked around at the few customers who were there drinking. They looked up from their beer or whiskey and, when they didn’t know him, went back to their drinks.

  The bartender knew him, though, and shifted uncomfortably as Clint approached the bar.

  “I’ll have a beer, Willie,” Clint said.

  “Comin’ up, Mr. Adams.”

  Clint waited while Willie drew the beer and set it down in front of him with a hand that shook slightly.

  “Nervous about something?” Clint asked him.

  “Just—n-no, not really.”

  “You know a man named Harvey Tracy?”

  “Um, I do, yeah.” Obviously, Willie remembered that Clint had seen him talking to Harvey at the end of the bar.

  “Do you know where he works?”

  “I do, yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “Um, he works out at the Callahan ranch.”

  That was interesting.

  “Now I’m going to ask you about another man.”

  “More questions?” Willie asked miserably.

  “Just one, then we’re done.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m looking for a man named Larry Cahill.”

  “Cahill?”

  “That’s right. Know him?”

  Willie bit the inside of his cheek while he considered the question.

  “I’ll be very grateful for the answer,” Clint said. “And I’ll be very disappointed if I don’t get an answer. Very disappointed.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Willie said, “I know where he works.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “Where?”

  * * *

  Clint found the feed and grain store with no problem. It was a three-story building at the end of Main Street, across from the livery stable.

  He entered and a man wearing a long apron turned and stared at him. He had curly, steel gray hair and a face that looked as if it had been chiseled out of granite. He could have been fifty or eighty.

  “Help ya?”

  “I’m looking for Larry Cahill. I was told he works here.”

  “If ya call what he does working,” the man grumbled.

  “Is he here?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the back,” the man said. “You gonna keep him long?”

  “I just need to ask him a few questions.”

  “You law?”

  “No.”

  “Bounty hunter. You gonna take him in?”

  “No both times,” Clint said. “I just need to ask him a few questions.”

  “Yeah, okay,” the man said. “Go on back. If you have to wake him up, tell him he’s fired.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  Clint walked to the back of the place, sidestepping bags of feed and grain that were piled almost ten feet high, and found a door to the back. There he found a young man using a shovel to fill some more bags. He was tall, thin, and covered with a thin layer of grain powder.

  “Larry Cahill?”

  He stopped shoveling abruptly and looked at Clint with a frown.

  “Who wants ta know?”

  “I do,” Clint said. “My name’s Clint Adams.”

  Cahill held the shovel in front of him, as if he’d be able to ward off bullets with it.

  “The Gunsmith?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Jeez,” he said. “Whataya want with me?”

  “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?”

  “A friend of yours.”

  Cahill’s frown deepened. “Who?”

  “Tom Angel.”

  Cahill lowered the shovel, but maintained his hold on it.

  “He’s dead,” he said. “I heard he’s dead.”

  “I know,” Clint said. “I’m the one who came to town with the news.”

  Cahill thought a moment, then his face brightened and he said, “Oh, okay.” Finally, he set the shovel aside. Slapped his hands together to get rid of some dust. “What d’ya wanna know?”

  “Well, the main thing,” Clint said, “is why did Big Ed Callahan want to kill him so badly?”

  Cahill shrugged and said, “I dunno,” so quickly that Clint believed him.

  “You were friends and you don’t know?”

  Cahill shrugged again. “He didn’t talk to me about that.”

  “What about Mrs. Callahan?”

  “What about her?”

  “Could Tom have been involved with her?”

  “Maybe,” Cahill said. “Tom liked women, and Angela Callahan is a lot of woman.”

  “But you don’t know for sure.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What about his relationship with Claire?”

  “What about it?”

  “She wanted to marry him,” Clint said. “Did he want to marry her?”

  “Tom didn’t wanna marry nobody. He liked women too much to limit hisself to one.”

  “I see.”

  “You need ta know anythin’ else?” the young man said, picking up the shovel. “I got work to do, or Old Man Jenkins will fire me.”

  “No,” Clint said, “that’s all, thanks.”

  Cahill bent down to resume shoveling, then turned back and said, “Hey, I got a question.”

  “Go ahead and ask.”

  Cahill leaned on the shovel.

  “Why’d you get yerself involved with Tom?”

  Now it was Clint’s turn to shrug.

  “He needed help.”

  “Did he ask for it?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I just saw him in a bad situation, and stepped in.”

  Cahill thought a moment, then said, “Huh,” and went back to work.

  Clint went back out into the main section of the building.

  “Was he asleep?” Old Man Jenkins asked.

  “No, he was working.”

  “What a shock. He’s probably asleep now, though.”

  “Well, he was working when I left him.”

  “Hmm,” Jenkins said.

  Clint left.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Clint went to the livery, saddled Eclipse, and then walked him to the sheriff’s office. He entered and found Bodie was seated behind his desk.

  “I’m ready,” Clint said.

  “For what?”

  “I’m going to ride out to the Callahan ranch to talk to Mrs. Callahan.”

  “I guess nothing’s happened today to change your mind,” the big man said.

  “Nope.”

  He sighed and stood up.

  “All right. I’ll get my horse and meet you out in front of your hotel.”<
br />
  “I have my horse already,” Clint said, “but I’ll walk you over to the livery to get yours.”

  As they stepped out of the office Bodie, asked, “Who else have you spoken to today?”

  “I had conversations with Claire and Larry Cahill.”

  “Cahill? Why him?”

  “He was friends with Angel.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Claire.”

  Bodie frowned.

  “You didn’t know they were friends?”

  “No,” Bodie said, “but I didn’t know either of them real well.”

  They got to the livery and Clint waited outside for Bodie to saddle his roan. When the man came out, they mounted up and rode out, Bodie in the lead.

  * * *

  “Have you told Mrs. Callahan her husband is dead?” Clint asked as they rode.

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “Well, Cahill had already heard about Angel being dead,” Clint said. “I figure word got around pretty quick. Maybe it got out to her. I’d hate for her to hear it that way.”

  “Well…yeah, I told her. I felt the same way you did, and I thought she should hear it from somebody she knows.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know her.”

  “I said I didn’t know her well,” Bodie said. “She knows who I am, so I thought that would be better.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “How do you think she took it?” the lawman asked. “I told her that her husband was dead.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way.

  * * *

  “There’s the ranch,” Bodie said.

  Clint saw a barn, a bunkhouse, a corral, and a large two-story house.

  Bodie led the way to the house. As they dismounted, a man came walking over to them, pulling off a pair of gloves.

  “Clint Adams, this is Ray Winston, the foreman of the ranch.”

  Winston was a good–looking man in his early thirties.

  “Mr. Adams,” he said.

  “I told Adams that I was out here to tell Mrs. Callahan about her husband.”

  Clint thought the foreman looked confused for a moment, then said, “Oh, yeah, of course. Well, she’s inside. Come this way.”

  Winston led them to the front door and inside.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll see if she’s ready.”

  He went into the house while they waited by the door.

  * * *

  When he was out of sight, Winston used the rear stairway to go upstairs. He found Angela in her bedroom. She was sitting on her bed, fully dressed, staring.