Copper Canyon Killers

by J. R. Roberts

  “By asking more questions.”

  “Of whom?”

  “Well,” he said “to start with, members of the town council.”

  “Including Judge Miller?”

  “Including Judge Miller.”

  He swallowed the last bit of his second cookie and washed it down with the last of his tea.

  “You’re going to go up against Judge Miller? In this town?” she asked.

  “I’m going to do what I have to do to prove that boy innocent,” he said.

  “If you go against the judge,” she said, “you’ll also be going against Daniel Thayer.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “He owns a lot of businesses and buildings in town,” she said. “Some people think he’s richer than Big Al. Others don’t agree.”

  “Well, I guess I can talk to Big Al about that, too,” Clint said. “Maybe the judge and Thayer arranged to have Jason framed for murder.”

  “If you can prove that,” she said, “we’d be able to get rid of both of them.”

  “Probably.”

  “They won’t go easy, Mr. Adams.”

  “Call me Clint.” He stood up. “Thank you for the tea and cookies, and for your cooperation.”

  She also stood. She was tall, young, blond, very pretty—and in mourning.

  “Do you think the sheriff would let me see Jason?” she asked. “I’d like to . . . apologize to him.”

  “I’m sure he would.”

  “I should also talk to the judge—”

  “No,” Clint said, “don’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d like the judge to believe that you still blame Jason for your father’s murder,” Clint said.

  “Oh . . . well, all right.”

  “Go by the jail later today,” he said. “I’ll try to arrange for you to see Jason.”

  “All right.”

  “Can I go out this way?” he asked, pointing to the door that led to the outside staircase.

  “Of course.”

  He walked to the door and opened it.

  “Clint, you should know one more thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, turning back.

  “Daniel Thayer has been trying to buy my father’s store for months.”

  “And your father wouldn’t sell?”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “You’re right, Beth,” he said. “That is something I should know.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Clint went directly to Milty’s for a beer. He also wanted a conversation with Randy, the bartender.

  “Beer?” Randy asked as Clint appeared at the bar.

  “Definitely.”

  Clint looked around, It was early, and there were only a few other patrons in the place. That suited him.

  “What brings you in so early?” Randy asked.

  “You,” Clint said after a healthy sip of cold beer.

  Randy frowned.

  “What about me?”

  “You know everybody in town, don’t you?”

  “Pretty much, I guess.”

  “You willing to talk about them?”

  Randy frowned again.

  “Some,” he said.

  “Big Al?”

  “Sure.”

  “Daniel Thayer?”

  Randy hesitated.

  “He doesn’t own this place, does he?”

  “Naw, I own it,” Randy said. “Not that he ain’t tried to buy it, though.”

  “So you’ll talk about him?”

  “Sure.”

  “And how about Judge Miller?”

  “Is this about the Collins killin’?” Randy asked.

  “It is.”

  “Why are you interested?”

  “Big Al asked me to look into it,” Clint said. “He thinks his son is innocent.”

  “You a detective now?”

  “Something like that.”

  Randy looked around, then leaned on the bar.

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “I hear Collins was on the town council with these other fellows,” Clint said.

  “That’s right.”

  “You think any of them would have a reason to kill him? Something that has to do with the council?”

  “Well, not Big Al.”

  “Why not?”

  “They was always votin’ together on the same side,” Randy told him.

  “What about Thayer and the judge?”

  “Now they was always votin’ together against Big Al and Ed Collins.”

  “Was there anything important enough to kill for?” Clint asked. “Maybe now that Collins is dead, they think they can get the vote through?”

  “Well,” Randy said, “I ain’t never sat in on a meeting, ya understand.”

  “I get it.”

  “Thayer’s always tryin’ to buy up more property.”

  “Like this place?”

  “Best saloon in town, figures he’d try to buy it.”

  “And the mercantile?”

  “Yeah, I heard he was tryin’ to buy Ed’s place.”

  “What else?”

  “Different pieces of property around town,” Randy said. He laughed. “He wanted to pull down the old church and build somethin’ there.”

  “What happened?”

  “Big Al and Collins blocked him.”

  “So maybe now he can do it.”

  “That would depend.”

  “On what?”

  “Not what,” Randy said, “who. Depends on who replaces Ed Collins on the council.”

  “And who do you think might do that?”

  “Well, there’s a few choices.”

  “Like who?”

  “A couple of businessmen in town,” Randy said. “And oh, by the way . . . me.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Clint got the names of the two other members of the town council and decided to interview them first. In each case, when he told them he was working for Big Al, they cooperated. Yes, Big Al and Thayer were always at odds at the meetings. Yes, Collins sided with Big Al, and Judge Miller sided with Thayer. When asked who they sided with, both men said it depended on the issue. Both men ran successful businesses—one a hotel, the other a large hardware store—and neither of them seemed particularly afraid of Big Al, Thayer, or the judge.

  When asked if they thought either Thayer or the judge would have Ed Collins killed in order to get their way, both men said, “Definitely.”

  When Clint asked them who was going to replace Collins on the council, they both said a meeting to discuss that had been scheduled for the next day.

  Clint thanked both men and left, fairly certain neither had a dog in this fight. However, he was no clearer of whether or not Thayer or the judge was behind Collins’s murder.

  He went to Big Al Henry’s hotel, found the man seated in the large lobby in an overstuffed chair, reading a newspaper. When Henry saw Clint approaching, he closed the newspaper and stood up.

  “Do you have something for me yet?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes,” Clint said, “more questions.”

  “Have a seat, then.”

  They both sat, Clint occupying a twin of Big Al Henry’s chair. It was extremely comfortable.

  “Here are my suspects,” Clint said. “Thayer or the judge, or perhaps one of the men who is in the running to replace Collins on the council.”

  “You think somebody killed Collins for his seat?” Big Al shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

  “Okay, then who had more to gain from Collins’s death, Thayer or the judge?”

  “Thayer,” Big Al said with no hesitation. “He wanted Ed’s business, and he needed Ed’s vote.”

 
“So he’ll get the vote from whoever replaces Collins on the council.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And will he get Collins’s business?”

  “I’m sure he’ll make Beth a generous offer,” Henry said.

  “And what will she do?”

  “I don’t know,” Henry admitted. “Since her dad died for it, maybe she’ll want to keep it. On the other hand, maybe because he died inside, she’ll want to get rid of it.”

  “Okay, what about hired killers?”

  “What about them?”

  “Does Thayer have anybody working for him who would do the job?” Clint asked.

  “Who knows?” Henry said. “If he doesn’t, he could always bring somebody in. He’s got that kind of money.”

  “And the judge?”

  “He’s got some men in town who do dirty jobs for him, but no murder,” Henry said.

  “Does he have the kind of money it would take to hire it done?” Clint asked.

  “He does,” Henry said, “but he wouldn’t need it. He has that kind of influence.”

  “Look,” Clint said, “I’ve run into crooked rich men and crooked judges before. It usually helps to bring in some Federal help.”

  “If you’ve dealt with men like this before, then you know they have their own influence. Even on a Federal level.”

  Big Al was careful to say men like “them,” ignoring the fact that he was one of these men, as well.

  Clint decided to broach the subject.

  “Do you have that kind of Federal influence?”

  “I have some,” Big Al said without bristling. “I’d hardly kill a man and frame my own son, though. Besides, Ed always voted with me on issues.”

  “So I heard. Who do you think will replace Ed?”

  “My best guess? The saloon owner, Randy Kenon.”

  This was the first time Clint had heard Randy’s last name. It meant nothing to him.

  “Do you think he’d kill for it?”

  “No,” Big Al said without hesitation.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I know Randy well,” Henry said. “He likes my boy and Jason likes him. And the reason I think he’ll get the seat is that he doesn’t care if he gets it.”

  “I see.”

  “Have you spoken with Beth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she give you any inkling of what she intended to do with the store?”

  “No.”

  “Does she still think Jason killed her father?”

  “Actually, no. She listened to what I had to say, and she realized she made an error. She wants to get in to talk with your boy.”

  “What do you think of that?”

  “I see no harm,” Clint said. “I’m on my way to talk to Brown about letting her in.”

  “Why was she so sure Jason did it? The judge?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not going to be happy that you changed her mind.”

  “I’m going to talk to him—and to Thayer—after I see the sheriff,” Clint said.

  Henry grinned and said, “They won’t be happy to learn that you’re working for me either.”

  “That’s okay with me,” Clint said. “I’m not particularly concerned about making them happy.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “She wants to what?” Brown asked. He obviously wasn’t sure he’d heard Clint correctly.

  “She wants to talk to Jason.”

  “But why?”

  “She no longer thinks he killed her father.”

  Brown sat back in his chair.

  “You accomplished that already?” he asked. “You changed her mind?”

  “I just told her what I knew,” Clint said. “She made up her own mind, On the other hand, she hadn’t made up her own mind before. The judge had.”

  “He’s not gonna be happy.”

  “We’ll see,” Clint said. “I’m going to talk to him when I’m done here. Will you let her in?”

  “Sure,” Brown said, “but I’ll have to search her for a gun. I’m not so sure she’s changed her mind.”

  “You’ll see,” Clint said. “Try not to enjoy searching her too much, though.”

  “I’m a professional, Adams,” Sheriff Brown said.

  Clint started for the door and said, “I’m depending on that, Sheriff.”

  * * *

  Clint was able to convince the judge’s male clerk that he should announce him to the man. The clerk came out of the judge’s office and said, “This way.”

  He followed the clerk into the judge’s office. The last time he’d done this, he’d encountered a man so fat he couldn’t get up from his desk. This judge, however, though portly, stood up to greet him. Also, there was no food on his desk.

  “Mr. Adams,” the judge said, “what a pleasure.” He might have thought it was a pleasure—or not—but he didn’t offer to shake hands. “Have a seat, please.”

  Clint sat in a hard wooden chair across from the judge. The man was in his sixties, but seemed to have a vitality that belied his years and showed in his bright, clear blue eyes.

  “Tell me, what brings you here?” Miller asked, taking his seat again.

  “Big Al Henry.”

  The judge frowned.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s hired me.”

  “Big Al has hired a gunman?”

  “No,” Clint said, shaking his head, “not my gun.”

  “What then?”

  “He’s hired me to prove that his son didn’t kill Ed Collins,” Clint said.

  He watched the man’s face closely. The judge was good. He played his emotions close to the vest. He had an excellent poker face.

  “And why would he do that?” Judge Miller asked. “The boy is guilty.”

  “He doesn’t think so.”

  “And he’s paying you to prove it?” Miller asked. “He’s wasting his money, and you’re taking it under false pretenses.”

  “I don’t think so, Judge,” Clint said. “From everything I’ve learned so far, I don’t think the boy did it.”

  “You rode into town when? Yesterday?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you think you know the boy that well?”

  “I’ve been asking questions,” Clint said, “so yes, I’m pretty sure he’s innocent.”

  “Well, if you feel that way, then you must have some idea who’s guilty.”

  “I have some ideas.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, there are some members of the town council who might have hired it done. When the boy walked in on the deed, the killers decided to frame him.”

  “Wait, wait, go back,” the judge said. “Somebody on the council? You mean . . . like me?”

  “You’re on my list.”

  Miller stared at Clint, then slapped his pudgy hand down on his desktop with a loud bang.

  “By God, man, you’ve got gall!”

  “Maybe you,” Clint went on, “maybe Daniel Thayer.”

  “Thayer is an upstanding citizen of this town,” Miller said. “And may I remind you of my own title?”

  “I know who you are, Judge,” Clint said. “I also know that you and Thayer vote together on the council, and were often opposed by Big Al Henry . . . and Ed Collins.”

  “If that’s the case,” Miller said, “then why isn’t Big Al Henry dead?”

  “Well, that would be a little harder to explain,” Clint said. “The murder of one of the wealthiest men in the county? Daniel Thayer would go right to the top of that suspect list, with you a close second.”

  “More and more gall,” Miller said.

  “Of course,” Clint said, “there are others . . . also, I’m sure you or Thayer would hire it done. I
just have to find the men—or women—who did it and ask them who hired them.”

  “Women?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “maybe one woman.”

  “You think a woman killed Collins?”

  Clint spread his hands.

  “I’m just saying it could be anyone,” Clint said. “But I’ll find them, and then we’ll know who they work for.”

  “I think we’re done here, sir,” the judge said.

  “So do I, Judge,” Clint said, getting to his feet, “so do I. Have a good day.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Clint was surprised to find that Daniel Thayer did not have an office in town, and lived in a modest house just inside the town limits.

  He knocked on the door. Normally, he would have expected a man who owned half a town to have a servant answer the door. A tall, broad-shouldered man in his fifties but in good physical shape answered.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked.

  “I’m looking for Daniel Thayer.”

  “You found him.”

  “Oh. I thought . . . I didn’t expect you to answer your own door,” Clint said.

  Thayer smiled. It was disarming.

  “And I bet you expected some huge house with four white columns,” he said.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, the reason I’m as rich as I am is that I don’t indiscriminately spend money. And you are?”

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  “The Gunsmith!” Thayer looked very pleased. “What a pleasure. Come in, please.”

  Clint entered and Thayer closed the door.

  “Please, in here.”

  He led Clint to a small but well-appointed living room. Clint could smell something cooking.

  “Something smells good,” Clint said. “Do you cook?”

  “No,” Thayer said, “I may not have servants, but a cook is absolutely necessary. I’d probably burn down the house. Can I offer you something? Coffee? Brandy?”

  “Coffee would be good,” Clint said. He was off balance. This wasn’t the type of man he was expecting.

  “Have a seat.”

  Thayer went into the kitchen. Clint heard him have a short conversation with a woman, then the man reappeared with a cup of coffee in each hand. He handed one to Clint.

  “If you want cream or sugar—”

  “No, just black is fine.”