Jack The Roper (Axel Hatchett Mystery Book 6)

by Steven Nelson

  “You think a woman did this?” asked Breedlaw. He clearly didn’t believe me.

  “I didn’t say that. The note could have been a fake. But, yeah, a dame could have done it. Rumdab was a small guy. The killer likely slipped the noose over Rumdab’s head when his back was turned, then threw the rope over a limb and leveraged him off his feet. A woman could have done it. She might have knocked him on the head before putting the rope around his neck.”

  “What kind of a knot was in the rope?” asked Breedlaw, getting a crafty look on his weathered face.

  “I couldn’t say. It wasn’t a hangman’s noose. Probably just a slipknot. I don’t know if it was a Honda knot.”

  Breedlaw stared at me. “Who you been talking to, Hatchett?”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve heard about the Roper, but I think we all have by now.”

  “You think the same man who killed my wrangler killed Rumdab?”

  “Of course. There can’t be that many murderers running around.”

  Breedlaw ran his fingers through his silver hair. The others gathered around and asked a bunch of questions all at once. I saw something out the front window. Headlights were coming up the road. The sheriff had arrived. He and his deputy got out of the car and came inside.

  “Everybody here?” Sheriff Fish asked Breedlaw.

  “Yeah,” said Breedlaw. “Except for the dead man’s wife, and Sissy Dell. They’re in the dead man’s cabin.”

  “Who found the body?” asked Fish, looking around at all of us.

  Me and Tracy and Curt all raised our hands, like school kids. “Two of you are coming with me. I need you to show me where the body is.”

  “I’ll go,” I said. “It’s a lovely night for a stroll.”

  “Me, too,” said Tracy.

  Fish looked at her and took off his hat. “This isn’t something a lady should get herself involved in, ma’am.”

  “I helped find the body,” said Tracy.

  “It’d be better if you stayed here, ma’am, and helped with the widow. She’ll want all the women folk around her that she can get.”

  Tracy glared at him but he wasn’t going to budge. Curt stepped forward and said he’d come along. Mabel grabbed his arm.

  “It’s not safe,” she told him. “I don’t want you going.”

  “He’ll be safe with us, ma’am,” said the sheriff. “Me and my deputy are armed. Nothing to worry about.” He turned to the others. “The rest of you folks can stay here or go back to your cabins. We’ll be talking to you later. I know it’s late, but that’s the way it’s going to be. I don’t want any of you taking any walks or driving anywhere. I hate to say it, but you’re all suspects.”

  There was a collective gasp. Fish raised his arms in the air for quiet. “None of you’s got anything to worry about. I’m just doing my job.”

  That was that. Folks started heading for their cabins. The Buckaroo hands stayed put. I walked Tracy to our cabin, telling Fish I’d be right back.

  “I wish I was going with you,” Tracy told me, when we were halfway to our place.

  “You wouldn’t like it. They’ll be all night fussing over the body. I don’t know when I’ll get back.”

  We reached our cabin and I pulled my snub-nose from my pocket.

  “Keep this close,” I said.

  “No. You keep it. You might need it.”

  “I’ll grab my automatic from the truck. It’s in the glove box.”

  “OK. When you come back, knock before you come in.”

  “Sure. Keep the door locked. I’ll give you the whole story when I get back.”

  We kissed goodbye and I fetched my Browning from the truck and stuck it in my belt. I still had my flashlight. I joined Fish and his deputy at the grub house. Curt had grabbed a jacket from his cabin. I wished I’d done the same. It was getting cold.

  The sheriff looked at the gun I had stuck in my belt.

  “You must be the detective fellow,” he said.

  “You’ve been checking up on us, have you?”

  “Just doing my job.”

  I got the feeling the sheriff said that a lot.

  “Let’s go look at Doc Rumdab,” he told me and Curt. “I hope no coyotes have gotten to the body.”

  “There’s no blood,” I said. “That helps. We’ll have to carry the stiff back with us. We need some kind of stretcher.”

  “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk of the car,” said Fish.

  “That won’t work.” I said. “I wonder if there’s a folding cot on the ranch we can borrow. That would work swell. I’ll ask Breedlaw if he’s still around.”

  I went back outside and looked around. I found Breedlaw sitting at a table in back of the grub house, pulling at his mustache. He looked like he’d rather be someplace else. He looked up when I shined my flashlight in his face.

  “You got a folding cot I can borrow?” I asked him.

  He stared at me.

  “What do you want that for?” he asked.

  “I thought I’d take a nap, what else? We need some kind of stretcher to bring out Rumdab’s remains.”

  “Oh. We keep some cots in the barn for when folks bring their kids along. I’ll go fetch one.”

  “Tell me where they are and I’ll do it myself.”

  “OK. They’re in the loft. We store stuff up there.”

  “Thanks.”

  I followed my flashlight beam to the old barn. There were some horses in the stalls. I hoped I wouldn’t wake any of them. I climbed the rickety ladder to the hay loft, tracked down a folding cot and managed to bring it down the ladder with me without falling and breaking my neck. I carried it up to the grub house and went out back where the pallbearers were waiting.

  “Let’s get going,” I told everyone. “I’ll carry this thing until I get tired and then one of you others can spell me.”

  “That was a right fine idea of yours,” said Fish. “That cot will make a fine stretcher. We’ll walk side by side, if we can. That way we’ll be able to look at the whole trail before any of us make new footprints and ruin the crime scene.”

  “Is the coroner on his way?” I asked.

  “No,” said Fish, “I couldn’t get ahold of him. Didn’t answer the damned phone. I think he sleeps with earplugs.”

  “Why not send somebody over to his house?”

  “That’s a right fine idea, too. Wished I’d thought of it. Not much he can do in the dark anyway.”

  Sheriff Fish and his deputy, who called himself Lathe, each had a big flashlight. They shined the beams on the trail in front of us. It was a dirt track, worn into the ground by a generation or more of horseshoes. It was hard-packed and not conducive to showing the prints of murderers. We went very slowly. The wind picked up and there was the smell of rain in the air. Some lazy thunder rolled through the sky. I was really wishing I’d brought my jacket. My long-sleeved cowboy shirt wasn’t much for warmth. Curt had his jacket, and so did both the law enforcement boys. The temperature was still dropping.

  “How far along do we have to go?” Fish asked me.

  “I’d guess we aren’t even halfway there yet. The trail’s pretty straight and level, though. We’ll get there.”

  “Never thought I’d be spending my vacation like this,” said Curt. He sounded more excited than disappointed. He’d have something to tell the folks in Iowa about.

  I wasn’t exactly sure where we’d found the body, but in the end we practically stumbled over it. The doc looked small, and limp, and very much alone. His face was an ugly purple mask in the light from the flashlights.

  “Why’d you cut him down?” Fish asked me. He sounded mad.

  “Why do you think? I thought he might still be alive. When I touched his neck it was still warm, so I thought he might be playing possum.”

  “He sure ain’t. Looks like the last one, poor Brice. The knot on the rope’s different, though.”

  “Don’t tell me, a Honda knot?”

  “That it is.” />
  “I guess our murderer’s learning. Too bad he slipped up the first time.”

  “Maybe it’s a different killer.”

  “Three different murderers in two years?” I asked. “And all on the same ranch?”

  “Yeah, don’t seem likely. You two fellows stay back. Me and Lathe’s got work to do.”

  I set down the folding cot. I’d carried the damned thing under my arm the whole way, like a sap.

  The sheriff and his deputy shined their lights all over the area. They found a couple of faint footprints that might have belonged to me, or anyone. Fish got out a measuring tape and Lathe pulled out a Polaroid camera from a canvas bag he had slung over his shoulder. He took a bunch of pictures, the flash bulbs practically blinding us. Lathe even got out a magnifying glass, and damned if he didn’t find something. A dame’s dangly earring. They searched the pockets of the corpse but didn’t find anything you wouldn’t ordinarily find in a man’s pockets. No love note.

  Curt and me stayed to one side, shifting from one foot to another. I shivered and cursed myself for not having grabbed my jacket from the cabin.

  “You think a woman killed the doctor?” he asked me.

  “You mean the earring? It could be a plant. Why would a lady murderer be wearing fancy earrings out in the woods?”

  “If she wanted the doc to think she was trying to look her best for him. Maybe she met him earlier along on the trail and lured him up here.”

  “That’s a thought. You like playing detective?”

  “Right now I’d give up the opportunity just to get back to a fire.”

  “I know how you feel. Maybe they’ll be done soon.”

  The lawmen fussed around for a while more. Then we got the cot unfolded and put the doc to bed. Even dead, he didn’t weigh much.

  “I guess we’re ready,” Fish told us. “Lathe, you and me will take the front end, and these two gentlemen can take the feet.”

  That’s what we did. We started off down the trail. It was a long trip back, but at least the exercise warmed me up some.

  When we finally got back to the ranch buildings, Fish suggested we put the body on a table in the chuck house.

  “This’ll make breakfast interesting,” I said.

  Fish told Lathe to go to the car and get on the radio and have someone go rouse up the coroner. There was nobody but us grave robbers in the grub house. Somebody had been thoughtful enough to build a fire in the big pot-bellied stove. The heat felt good. Everybody else had gone to bed. I was a little surprised no one had waited up for us, not even Breedlaw, but he was no doubt expecting a pretty full day. While Lathe was out squawking on the radio, Fish talked to me and Curt. We’d found a table cloth to cover the body, and the three of us sat at the same table — to keep the doc company I guess — and Fish told us what was going to happen.

  “We’ll need to question all of you,” the sheriff said, “but it’s too damned early in the morning. We’ll let you folks rest for a while, at least until Rory, the coroner, gets up here. Why don’t you two go back to your cabins? Thanks for your help, by the way. I’m going to try to get some shuteye in my car. I figure we’ll get everybody together around breakfast time.”

  Curt and I didn’t wait for a second invitation. We headed off for bed. A light was still burning in my cabin. I remembered to knock.

  “Who’s there?” Tracy called through the closed door.

  “The undertaker.”

  She opened the door. She was still dressed. Eben and Mayhew were both on the bed, stretched out to take up as much room as possible.

  “You sure took your time,” said Tracy. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m OK. We had to carry Rumdab back with us. The coroner will be up here in a while. You should be asleep.”

  “So should you. Let’s get in bed and pull up the quilt. Our little heater doesn’t give out much heat.”

  We got into bed with our clothes on and pulled up the crazy quilt. Both cats woke up, yawned, and went back to sleep.

  “Did you or the sheriff find any clues?” Tracy asked.

  “Nothing worth putting in your diary. A couple of footprints, maybe yours. An earring.”

  Tracy sat up. “An earring! That’s important. You think the killer is a woman?”

  “I doubt it. The earring is probably a plant. Why would a dame dress up to kill somebody?”

  “So she’d look good in case she got caught. Was it a clip earring, or one for pierced ears?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “You should have noticed. Find out from the sheriff. If it’s a clip then it could belong to any of the ladies. But if it’s for a pierced ear, we’ll have to look at the suspect’s ears. Anything else?”

  “Well, the knot in the rope. A regular slipknot was used for the first killing. Rumdab’s rope was tied with a Honda knot.”

  “So our killer is learning how to tie his knots,” said Tracy.

  “Don’t refer to him as ‘our’ killer.”

  “No? You squeamish?”

  “I just hope we’re not next on his list, that’s all. We should try to get some sleep.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about Lilly.”

  “She’ll be OK. Who knows? She may not even have liked her husband.”

  “I like mine.”

  “I’ll try to keep it that way,” I said. “Now close your eyes and start counting sheep.”

  “This is cattle country, partner.”

  “Sorry. Count cows then.”

  We actually managed to sleep a couple of hours, until dawn. I went and peeked out the window. The coroner’s wagon was back, and there was a black-and-white cop’s car parked behind the sheriff’s jalopy. Fish was standing in the parking lot, talking to a fat officer in a blue uniform. Fish was waving his arms. So was the man in blue. They were probably arguing about some jurisdiction issue. Somebody was stepping on somebody else’s toes.

  “Who’s out there?” Tracy asked from the bed.

  “Bunch of law and order boys. We’re in for it now. They’re going to want to interrogate all of us.”

  “Will they torture us first?”

  “They’d love to, but their hands are tied legally. They’ll have to treat us almost like people.”

  “Poor Lilly. Will they grill her too?”

  “Sure, or maybe boil her. She’s a suspect. She might have killed her own husband.”

  “You think so? She was awfully upset.”

  “She needs to act her part, doesn’t she?” I asked.

  Tracy got out of bed. “Let’s go talk to the cops and see what’s going on.”

  “No. They won’t tell us anything.”

  “They might tell me something. I’m not their natural enemy. I’m not a private investigator. I want to find out about that earring. If it was for a pierced ear, we can start checking out the women around here. The dudes and the ranch girls.”

  “I’m sure it was a plant.”

  “Come on, let’s go talk to somebody. It won’t kill you.”

  “Do you really want me to get involved in this? What if old Primus Roan wants to hire me?”

  “You can always say no.”

  “Some people can’t say no.” I thought of Agnes Weatherby.

  Tracy got her coat and handed me mine.

  “Your gun’s on the nightstand,” she said. “You want it?”

  “I’ll leave it here. No point in making the gendarmes nervous.”

  We had to shoo the cats away from the door. They wanted part of the action.

  10

  Outside, it was cold and clammy and still almost dark. An invisible sun barely brightened a dull, cloudy, sky. A cop got out of the passenger’s side of the cruiser and came over to us.

  “You folks are confined. You’ll have to return to your quarters.”

  “I’m a detective,” I told him. I dug out one of my business cards. The cop was built like an anvil, short and solid. “I just want to look around, talk to some people. I know it’s
early, but there might be a cowboy or two in the barn. I won’t interfere with the official investigation.”

  “You’ll need to return to your quarters.” He casually rested his ham of a hand on the butt of his holstered revolver.

  “My husband is working for Primus Roan,” said Tracy. “This is his ranch.”

  “Ma’am, you need to return to your quarters.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “Let me ask the sheriff. I think this is his jurisdiction. Is he in the dining hall?”

  “I can’t let you disturb him.”

  “We aren’t disturbing anyone,” I said “We’re just going to the barn. If it’ll make you feel any better you can give me a ticket for jaywalking.”

  We started for the barn.

  “Hey!” the cop called after us. “I’ll have to report this.”

  Tracy turned and waved at the guy. “Give your boss a big hello from me.”

  We kept walking and the cop left us alone.

  “I’m not working for Primus Roan,” I told Tracy.

  “Sure you are. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  The morning dew settled on the shoulders of our jackets and Tracy’s hair. I was wearing my fedora. There were a couple of latticed windows in the barn and we were happy to see some yellow light showing through them.

  “Ranch hands get up early,” said Tracy.

  “You don’t seem to be that much of an early bird.”

  “I’ve been corrupted by city life, and by you.”

  One wing of the big barn door was open and we went inside. The bandy-legged Sheepy was dabbing something from a paint pot onto a sorrel horse’s hoof. The cowboy turned when he heard us crossing the straw-strewn floor.

  “Howdy folks!”

  “You’re up early,” I said.

  “I always am, but I’m up even earlier this morning. Couldn’t sleep. That damned killing. What’s this world coming to?”

  “An end,” I said, “but I hope not before breakfast. You putting glue on the horses’ hooves? Aren’t they slow enough already?”