People usually made mistakes when they thought they had covered their tracks well. That was to his advantage, but how long could he wait, and how many would be killed before the bad guy slipped up? But the most important question of all, hung in the back of Jim's mind. Why did someone do this…and in this particular way?
Who was Mr. Perkins enemies?
Could it be some loco Indian? He doubted that. The fort had become pretty good at keeping the Indian uprising down.
It was a known fact that Perkins sold his beef up north, could this be the problem? Was there a connection there? He couldn't see it. The only problem there was that some of the townspeople were envious of the profits he made.
He wiped his eyes and focused on the cloud of dust. He had to try to settle his own nerves, as he was going to need them when everyone saw what happened.
Like Smitty, he felt hesitant to say anything. They'd be just as shocked as he when they saw what happened, and it would be all over town in a day or two. There would be no way to stop it.
That was a panic he didn't want to handle, but it was his job.
He grimaced.
Maybe someone else could help fit the puzzle together. The doc would have a little information after he examined the body, for cause of death.
Jim realized he didn't know whether Mr. Perkins was shot to death, knifed, or maybe even strangled. He did know his throat had been split, and that alone could account for the death. That was a job for the doc, and hopefully he'd shed some light on that much at least. He was pretty sure unless there was a bullet wound or knife wound on the body, that Perkins hadn't been killed by an instrument.
Was there a murder weapon? How had he cut off his arms and legs? Where were the arms and legs? Why had he cut them off? What was the purpose? And what had they done with them?
This was going to be a hard case and he needed as much help as he could get.
Chapter Two
The Witnesses
Jim stood up, put his hands on his hips and waited until they all reined their horses in, the buckboard was last to swing around toward the house.
Doc Peters drove the buckboard, so as to haul the body back to town. Obviously Smitty had told them there was a murder. But from the questioning faces, he also gathered Smitty hadn't given them the gruesome details.
Jim nodded to them as they dismounted and gathered about the yard.
"Did Smitty tell you all what we found?"
Rusty came forward, the young doctor, eager to explore his field of knowledge and shook his head. "He just said there had been a murder out here."
Jim eyed the young doctor, an impeccable dresser, with an eagerness to discover and learn. He was tall and lanky. His dark blonde hair was cut neatly, but what made him stand out in a crowd was his was his inquisitive dark gray eyes, handsome and quite respected by all in town. That was something considering he took ole Doc Wells place and everyone in town thought him too young to be a suitable replacement. It took a while for the doc to be accepted by the community as Doc Wells had been here since the town was built before the war.
"Smitty just said to bring a buckboard, and get out here as fast as we could. He sounded a little rattled, I figured it must be important."
Jim grimaced. "Okay, what we got is a murder. For starters. There's nothing ordinary about this one though, as you will all soon see. And before I show you, I want everyone's solemn promise to keep this quiet. What you are about to witness will shock you, make you queasy even, so be prepared. You are out here to witness this and perhaps shed some light on any circumstances that could have led up to it."
He let that sink in a moment, as murmurings went every which way in the crowd.
"Who did it, Sheriff?" Bill Taylor asked, he was the town banker and nosey as they came. He had a staunch build and dark wavy hair with piercing dark eyes. His mustache was long a curled on the end. Why had Smitty brought him? He'd expect the mystery solved already.
"We don't know that yet. And when you see…you'll understand what we are up against gentleman. I need the town council witnesses. I wanted part of the town council here, because this will be a town problem, and I am not going to solve it that easily. I'm going to need cooperation from everyone. There is just no gentle way of putting what happened here in words, so we'll go on out there and I'll show you. Doc, I want you to check things out as well as you can, to help me with this one. It's not gonna be easy to solve this and when you see it for yourselves, you'll understand why."
The doc seemed anxious, "Of course, I'll do all I can to help, Sheriff."
They began walking around the house, all of them talking at once and a clear uneasiness growing.
When they reached the field, no one saw it. Jim cleared his throat.
"It's the scarecrow!" He said when no one spotted Mr. Perkins for themselves.
The doc looked up and his eyes got big and round and he turned away for a second, but only a second. The other gentlemen witnessed it and all of them were shocked and horrified at the site. As Smitty removed the hat, there was the face of Mr. Perkins.
"Doc," he motioned for him to come closer. "His arms and legs have been cut off." He whispered.
"Good God, who could have done this?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
The others all glanced up, looked away, and glanced up again. As though they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. One man puked.
But as Jim and Rusty removed what was left of Mr. Perkins body, they all nearly choked and backed up a good distance as the smell of the body reeked the air. Another clue that Mr. Perkins had been hanging here a while. A few beak marks were on the head, and the throat had been slashed and then sewn.
Now that the body had been removed, the stench seemed stronger. All of them grabbed their handkerchiefs and covered their noses. Most of them couldn't look.
They lay the body on the ground. Then after figuring out how to carry it. Smitty had brought a blanket from the back of the wagon and Jim nodded his thanks to him. Their eyes met and Jim knew that Smitty was doing his best to help him. They silently grabbed each side of the blanket and hauled it quickly to the wagon.
As they lay him down, Rusty began to examine him thoroughly. Removing some of the clothing, his hat and examining him as best he could in the back of a wagon. Minutes later, he sat in the back of the wagon very still when he finished, his head bowed, his face a mask of emotions. He covered his eyes, shook himself and frowned into space for a long moment.
Jim realized even the doc had to compose himself.
After about an hour, Rusty jumped down from the back of the wagon and rolled his sleeves back down. Without a quiver to his voice he exclaimed. "He was most likely killed by a severe blow to his head, with a sharp instrument, the tip of an axe maybe, a pitchfork. Looks to me like they couldn't reach him and that's why it's at such an angle. His necks broken but I suspect that happened from hanging him up there. And of course he has lost all his limbs and his throat has been slit and sewn back. It is possible that he simply bled to death. Normally that would mean he would have been hanging there for a week. Normally, if that were true, the ground would have been soaked at the point of the cross. But we found no blood on the ground. Now," He paused trying to form his words carefully. "Part of the body is stained, as though he might have been set in a tub to drain the blood away. That would account for no blood at the scene, I can't be certain of all my facts until I do a complete autopsy. And I would recommend it."
Jim nodded. What he was hearing sounded as though someone had just related a bad dream. But this was real, and he had to solve it.
Drained his blood? Those words stuck in Jim's mind for a long time.
Murmurings of vampires echoed as Jim saw the looks on everyone's faces.
He wouldn't be voicing that thought. He'd have to contend with their hysteria.
He shook his head. "Let's don't go there, folks. This is a murder, clear and simple. Just staged a little differently than most. N
o ghosts, no vampires. A person did this. A very sick person did this. That's what I am looking for."
"But who could saw his bones off like that?" Someone in the crowd shouted.
"I don't know…" Jim admitted.
"This is a strange and horrible thing, Jim. Unbelievable. You haven't found any body parts? Even if he or she cut them off, what did they do with them…?" The doc asked as though he were looking for some reasonable explanation. "And more importantly, why did he go to so much trouble?"
"I've found nothing. And it's so clean around here, it's gonna be hard to figure. I mean, there's blood all over the wood on the cross, theirs blood on the shirt, but there's no blood on the ground where the blood would have dripped. But if it was drained, that would explain it. Can you drain blood from a person?"
The word vampire floated around the crowd once more.
Jim shook his head again. "This isn't about vampires, it's about a murder. Please keep that in mind, folks. We don't need hysteria. Vampires are not real. A person, a very sick person did this. And you are going to have to bear with me until I can solve it."
"There is a hole in the skull, not a bullet hole, but maybe he was strung up to bleed out."
Jim closed his eyes and put his hand over them, as though blocking out those words. Every word spoken conjured terrible thoughts, nightmare kind of thoughts.
"There's no trail of blood where he might have carried the parts off somewhere. Whoever did this was thinking about all this beforehand. Planned it. I gotta a strong suspicion that whoever did this, didn't do it out there, they killed him, dismembered him, and then took him out there to hang. They knew exactly how to do it too. So where do I begin, doc? What am I really looking for?"
Rusty shook his head, and wiped the back of his neck with his hand.
"I don't know. I've never ran across anything like this before." Rusty admitted. "But…if you ask me, I'd say, they hung him in the cornfield so no one would discover him too soon."
"Now that's a rational thought." Jim admitted.
"Do you think opening him up might be a good idea?"
"Definitely? It'll be the only sure way to give account for his death."
"Then do it. I want anything you can tell me about this, anything. Anything out of place, anything unusual, anything that don't fit. That's what I'm looking for."
The doc nodded. "Of course, I'll do all I can."
"Thanks." Jim said and walked toward the barn. He heard everyone talking, whispering, murmuring and he knew there would be great speculations. The sadness of such a cruel act hit Jim and made him sick, but he had to get away from all the people just now. He couldn't think about it without some sort of emotion controlling him. He threw up in the corner of the barn and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The doc came inside, but when he saw Jim, he moved back to the yard to give him time.
Jim bent over the stall door and hung his head. How was he to solve something like this? He wasn't searching for a killer. He was searching for a monster.
But almost like a voice from the past come to haunt him. "It's your job son, so keep yourself together."
Jim's father had been a lawman, and it seemed to run in the family, his uncle, his grandfather, all of them had been lawmen. It was natural to assume he would follow their footsteps, but at times like these, he wondered if he had chosen the right job.
Jim moved about, kicking the hay beneath his feet in agitation. He joined the crowd building in the front yard. He ignored the murmurs of vampires and ghosts. He was looking for a real man, or woman.
"I want everyone to look around you. If you spot anything that don't seem in the right place. I mean anything. Tell me."
Everyone glanced about the place, and most of them shook their heads.
If Perkins was killed with a sharp tool, then the first place to look would be the shed, and the killer had to have something to cut off the limbs with. Luke stopped, thinking about how easily he come to think of it as body parts, not arms and legs. When had he become so unattached, but then he realized, in cases like this, you had to, or you could go crazy yourself.
While Jim inspected the barn once more, he took every tool down from the wall, he inspected everything with a fine tooth comb, but everything was clean and put away. Had the killer used his own tools? If he had then he had really planned the killing.
The most obvious question was what had the killer done with the arms and legs of Mr. Perkins? Did he hide them somewhere, bury them, or throw them in someone's trash pile or take them with him
Smitty came into the yard and Rusty directed him to the barn.
Smitty peaked his head in the barn.
Jim spotted him immediately.
"Smitty, I want you to search the area, check everywhere for any evidence. And I do mean everywhere. The killer was just too clean, too immaculate. There has got to be more…"
"Yes sir." Smitty replied.
"Smitty, get a shovel, and dig anywhere it looks like someone might have buried something. Move leaves around; get a pitchfork, jab into stuff, to move it around. I want this ground searched, every inch of it. Check the trash pile out back, where Perkins burned it. Look through it thoroughly."
"That'll tie me up out here a while." Smitty scratched his head.
"Get some help. And if you find anything, let me know, right away." He instructed.
"Will do…Jim what did he do with the arms and legs?" Smitty asked sadly.
It struck Jim as more than a little sad that the only person asking that question was Smitty and the doc. Leave it to Smitty to worry about Mr. Perkins, but then that's the reason he hired him as his deputy. He cared about people and in Jim's books, you had to care.
"I don't know, Smitty. That's part of what I'm trying to find out."
"Was he off his nut?"
"I'd say so. And we haven't even considered the fact, that it could have been a woman either." Jim said lowly.
Smitty shook his head. "I don't think a woman could hang him like that, nor cut off his legs and arms. I just don't."
"Maybe you are right, just considering all possibilities."
"Yeah…I guess you have to…" He looked around the barn. "Gee, Mr. Perkins sure left the place clean, didn't he? Last time I looked in here, it was a mess."
"Yeah…I suspicioned that too. Someone cleaned it up. I wonder why they bothered. And I guess that's why I'm considering a woman too."
Smitty nodded dully. "Yeah, I guess a woman would be the first one to worry about whether something was clean or not. Either that or he was trying to clean up his messes."
"Yeah, looks like." Luke pulled the two axes off the wall of the barn and examined them.
He held it into the sunlight to inspect it.
"Is that what he killed them with?"
"Maybe, I am just checking. Could be that whoever did this brought their own tools. Or maybe they had some tools and had to use Mr. Perkin's too. I don't know anything for sure, Smitty. But I do know one thing…I'm going to find out."
"Yes sir." Smitty got Mr. Perkins shovel and pitchfork, and started to go outside with them when he spotted something.
"Lookie here, Jim." He called to the Sheriff as he picked up another pitchfork strewn in the hay.
Jim came to look. There was on the inside of the pitchfork a small red spot. The Sheriff took out his clean handkerchief and wiped it off. It appeared to be blood, but it had dried and it would be hard to prove that it came from Mr. Perkins.
"Looks like we got something, Smitty. Thanks."
"Could be from an animal or something."
"Yeah, you are right about that, too. It might not have anything to do with the killing."
Smitty tried to smile, but he was still choked up about the death of the man and he couldn't smile.
Jim patted him on the shoulder. "Good work, Smitty."
"You want I should leave the pitchfork?" Smitty asked.
"No, I saw the blood, but it won't prove anything in court.
But my theory is, they might have used it on him and threw it over there in the hay not to look conspicuous. Or like you say, it could be from some animal."
"I better get to diggin' around then."
All day long they searched the place, some of the men went back to town, and others hung around to help Smitty.
Before they left Jim told them to keep this quiet, as it would scare the women folk.
"Mr. Perkins was a fine rancher," one of the men was saying.
"I liked him," Smitty admitted.
"Who would do such a thing?"
"He always paid his bills, tended to business first." The banker said.
"I never seen him take a drink. Only cattleman I know that didn't drink." Clem the bartender shook his head. Clem was a big man, with big muscled arms and strong. His hair was oiled down on his head and parted straight down the middle. He seldom wore a hat either.
But then Smitty stood up from his digging around and looked about. "He had two men working for him, wonder where they are?"
The others looked about.
"That's right he did. Bull Hayes and Orville Canton. Funny thing, I ain't seen either one of them at the saloon in days." The Clem said.
"Me neither. Reckon they could have done this and run off?" Another suggested.
"Those two didn't have a lick of sense. Nah, I think they are around somewhere. I don't think they would have the backbone to kill Perkins themselves." The banker said as though he knew them well.
"They weren't much account, but they weren't bad to the bone." Smitty shook his head.
"That's true…"
"Guess the Sheriff has got his hands full now." Clem glanced at Jim as he came out of the barn. "I sure wouldn't want to be in his shoes."
"If the hands are here on the property workin' what time would they be comin' in, you reckon?" Jim asked Smitty.
"Well the way Perkins worked them, I doubt 'til sundown."
Jim nodded. "Okay, you boys that aren't helpin' Smitty, why don't you get on back to town. The doc's gonna ride with you. We'll be in directly. Try not to mention this for a while, will ya. People are gonna be spooked enough when they do hear it, and right now I'm not ready to answer any questions. I got a lot of work to do."
Good Day for a Hanging (Book Two of the Western Serial Killers series) Page 3