Good Day for a Hanging (Book Two of the Western Serial Killers series)

by Hestand, Rita

  "That's probably true."

  Again the wind had gotten up and a chill ran through them as they approached the ranch.

  Jim pulled his jacket closer, and adjusted his hat.

  That lonely sound of the wind whistling echoed over the land, and Jim couldn't stop the feeling of depression crowding him. This was the first time in his life his job had become unpleasant to him. Not that it had all been good, but it had never been so bad as this. He hated being helpless in a situation. He wanted to solve this.

  As they approached the body, Saul slowed. "So where is he?"

  Jim hung his head for a moment, whispering a silent prayer for the man who was slain, then he lifted his eyes to the scarecrow. Saul followed his glance then winced, almost painfully when he saw for himself.

  "My God…" Saul looked away, as sweat dripped off his forehead, and his hands began to shake. "Poor ole Cal," he whispered.

  Some of Saul's men had followed them and they were all very quiet for a long minute. Then Jim faced them all. "I need help getting him down from there."

  Several stepped up without hesitation to help Jim remove the body. There was a sign around his neck, just like at Perkins place. "Good day for a hanging."

  "What kind of sick person would do such a thing?" Saul murmured.

  Jim was wrapping the body in a blanket, but he glanced up at Saul for a moment. "A very sick one, I'm afraid."

  Saul shook his head, and wiped away tears with the back of his hand. "He's a monster. Sheriff, I'll do anything to help catch this beast."

  Jim almost smiled at his offer. "Thanks, the best thing any of you can do, is just stay alert. Let me know if anything goes wrong, if anything seems wrong, if anything out of the ordinary happens, here or anywhere else."

  Saul nodded.

  "What did he want? The cattle are still here."

  Jim looked to the out laying pastures. "They need to be counted."

  Saul nodded and sent one of his men to do the counting.

  "Can I borrow your buckboard to get him back to town. We'll bury him at the town cemetery."

  Saul frowned. "You're not gonna bury him out here by his wife?"

  Jim sighed then looked Saul in the eye. "I have to take him back to town and let the doc determine how he was killed, and help me find some clues to all this. It would mean time I don't have to bring him back out here to bury him. I've got to concentrate on finding the killer. I just can't take the time for the trips it would take."

  Saul scrunched up his face, and shook his head. "I can't let you bury him in the town cemetery, Jim. I'll ride back to town with you and when the doc is done, I'll bring him back out here to bury. It's the least I can do for the poor ole fella."

  "That's a lot of trouble for you Saul. Can you spare the time?"

  For the first time in his life, Saul let real tears flow down his cheeks as he tried to answer. "I'll take the time. Cal was a good man. He loved his wife, and he wanted to be buried there beside her. I know that for fact. I can at the very least see it's done."

  Jim stared at Saul for a long silent moment, choking on the thoughtfulness of this man's gesture. "Alright Saul, if you feel that strongly I have no objections. And I'm sure Cal wouldn't either."

  Jim patted him on his shoulder and they carried the body back to their horses.

  Saul stopped just behind Jim. "Cal has a wagon here if you want to use it, I can drive it back when I pick up his body."

  Jim nodded.

  "The missus will want to come with me, I'm sure."

  "Okay, we'll pick her up on the way back to town. And I'd like to take the time to thank you and your men for this. A Sheriff's job isn't always one that is pleasant, but it helps to have some God fearin' people around in a time like this."

  The men nodded, but the grimness in their expression was real.

  One of Saul's men came back from the count. "I counted one hundred and ninety-seven head."

  "Thanks Martin." Jim wrote down the figure.

  "I have him down for two hundred, but maybe that's just a rough estimate. What do you think?"

  "If he's down for two-hundred then he had that two-hundred, at least when he reported it to them." Saul frowned.

  "Three cows…three cows are missing from those figures. Now who would steal just three cows?"

  Saul shook his head. "Don't make no sense."

  Jim shook his head. "Maybe he miscounted."

  "Not Cal. He was meticulous about his count. I've been around him when he was doing a count. He had it to the letter. If he says two hundred, then that's what he had."

  "Could he have given a neighbor a cow or two?"

  "Cal was generous, and tender hearted for a sad story, I guess he could have. He'd often bring my wife some pork when he slaughtered a hog, because we seldom had pork. I never wanted to raise hogs, but Cal had a little of everything on this place. It is possible he gave someone a cow or two just to feed them. That was his nature alright."

  "So the cows may not be missing at all?" Jim concluded.

  "Maybe…"

  The trip back to town was a solemn time. Mrs. Evans sat quietly on the wagon seat, her face a wad of emotions, her tears barely contained all through the trip. Jim knew what was going through most of their minds. Who could do such a thing? Would he be able to solve this to everyone's satisfaction? He'd never dealt with this kind of killer. He doubted anyone dealt with this kind of thing.

  Although Wesley Collins and the story of Victor Frank haunted him.

  Wesley had commented to him that time he stopped off to tell him of his struggle to find Frank, that even if he did find him, he planned on killing him like a mad dog, given no quarter. Now Jim understood. At the time, he thought Wesley a little cruel, but now he understood. A mad dog had to be put down. There were no places for crazy people.

  He wondered if Wesley caught Frank or not?

  The grim faces on the men bringing back Cal's body spoke volumes to the people in town as they arrived.

  Everyone turned to stare at the strange procession. It wasn't the parade of people but the parade of long and sad faces that got their attention.

  Smitty saw them coming through the office window and rushed out to meet them.

  "Jim…" he started to ask, and then his glance fell to the wagon and the body in it. "Another one?" Smitty's mouth fell open.

  "Who was it?

  "Cal Harding."

  "You don't say…Why Cal wouldn't hurt a flea. Give you the shirt off his back." Smitty gulped and tried to hold the tears back with a struggle. He followed the wagon and several of the townspeople came out to join the silent parade.

  It was a sad day, and the entire town were stunned into a silence that marked this day as a day of mourning.

  Jim reflected later that day in his office as he sat filling out reports, that this was Cal Harding's day. A man who was rarely noticed throughout life, rarely given a "Good morning". And yet on this day, the people paid a silent homage to Cal that equaled a great man.

  He had to get a telegram out to the only known relative, but that was all the work he was gonna do today. Today was Cal's day. And Saul Evans was gonna see the man was buried proper.

  It didn't shock Jim when he saw half the town riding out to the funeral. It was befitting.

  But Jim's struggle was ahead of him. He had to find the killer and fast. Rusty hadn't been over to report on the death yet and Jim was anxious to see if there was any discrepancies.

  But when Rusty came over to the office he had a lady on his arm. A very pretty lady, a stranger. Jim stood up.

  "Jim, this is Vivien Garcia. She is a doctor too."

  "A doctor, a lady doctor." Jim's brow went up and a smile formed on his face.

  "I'm delighted to meet you Sheriff, Rusty has been showing me around your quaint little town, since I just got off the noon stage."

  "Really, well we are glad to have you here in Melville, are you staying or just passing through?"

  She turned to Rusty and smi
led. "At Rusty's request I'm staying for the time being. We went to college together and I went to an all-girl medical school. We've been friends it seems forever."

  "Oh, so you've known each other a while, then?" Jim smiled again.

  "Yes, we've been planning on getting together, but this was my first opportunity, and Rusty seemed eager to have me come out here and help. He told me about your unusual murder case and thought maybe I might be of some help."

  Rusty smiled. "That's how I got her out here. But I plan to keep her here, too."

  Rusty nodded. "We've got a few things to take care of. But I'll be back later, Jim. I promise."

  "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere today." Jim informed him. "And it was wonderful meeting you."

  "Thank you, Sheriff." She smiled sweetly.

  "Call me Jim," he insisted.

  "Alright. Thank you Jim." She blushed.

  Rusty escorted her across the street to the hotel and Jim stared out the front window of his office at them. He'd never seen Rusty so enamored with a woman before, but having two doctors in town at once was okay with him. Between them maybe they could help solve this mystery.

  Vivien had quite a swish to that bustle of hers, Jim noted. He might have envied him had he not been so sweet on Miss Ruby. After all she gorgeous with her dark hair that shone like a mirror and dancing dark eyes to match. She also had a beautiful speaking voice. But she was so tiny, delicate and very female. Jim could see any man falling for her.

  He missed Ruby. But he knew right now he had to keep his nose to the grind, or the people would be all over him. There was no time to court his lady.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Autopsy

  Rusty examined the body, and did an autopsy. He and Vivien went over everything twice to be sure of their findings. As soon as they were done they went to see Jim.

  "We did a complete examination and autopsy. He too was killed with a strike of a blunt instrument to the head. We both agreed with that summation. This alone Jim is a trademark of the killer. The way he kills is fast and expedient, and precise, as though he had killed many times the same way. It is also very skillful. His blood was drained, his limbs removed. Same as Perkins. His body was fresher than Perkins, so I got a better grasp of the killing itself. The instrument he used was like that of an axe edge, or pitchfork. It creates a hole in the skull. It's an art some butchers have used when killing cattle. By the same token, the body is drained of blood in the same way cattle are drained. The throat is split. Oddly enough the throat was stitched back together afterwards. Don't ask me why. These killings are beyond me. The murderer has some very precise skills, as though he has done this for some time in the same manner. And the blow to the head is almost précised."

  Vivien shook her head. "I have to say this is a case I would never imagine. Although this person is obviously demented in some way, he has some skill with what he does. He's almost to the point of genius. I have never seen anything like it. The blow would be so precise that it would render the person a painless death but immediate."

  "The killer is very clean too. Both Perkins and Harding's places were cleaned well. There was no blood to be seen."

  "Now that's interesting," Vivien broke in. "The fact that you've said blood was not dripped, means he killed the person somewhere else. As though he had a place to do this already set up. Who would have such a facility?"

  Jim thought about that. A doctor, a butcher, and undertaker. That's all he could imagine.

  "Ranchers usually have a hand or two that are skilled in this sort of thing. Butchers from slaughterhouses, or doctors." Jim's eyes rose to Rusty once more.

  "What is so interesting is the work involved in what he does. He slits the throat, then sews the head back to where it should be. Then he puts them out as scarecrows. Why would anyone bother with so much detail?"

  "Now that's a dandy question. I don't understand the scarecrow thing at all. Unless there is some silent message in it."

  Vivien shook her head. "If you ask me this person has a child's mind in some respects. He's artistic, and yet childlike."

  "That's an angle I hadn't seen." Jim chuckled.

  Jim glanced at Rusty, noting the white around his mouth, and the grim set of his jaw, the frustration he wore from his own job. Why anyone would accuse the doc of this he didn't know. Anyone could see the man was as terrified of his own findings. The normally jovial man was now a quiet reserved man.

  "You know, I could understand someone killing Perkins. I know that sounds harsh but I knew him pretty well. He came to see me often about his lumbago. Perkins was not a real friendly fella. Not a happy sort. He didn't like docs, but he came anyway. The pain drove him to me. Knowing his personality, I could understand someone not liking him, someone hating him, someone deliberately killing him even. But, Cal Harding was not a hard man. In fact, just the opposite. He was one of the most respected and liked ranchers in this area. The very fact that his neighbor Saul Evans took him back to his place to be buried and that half the town went with him, says something for him. Why him? If it is some grudge, why Cal Harding? I see no link between them except they were both ranchers."

  "Did you know Harding well?" Jim asked.

  "I helped him bury his wife. Watched him send his little girl away. It nearly broke his heart, but he figured it best. I agreed. Without help, he really didn't need a kid to worry over. He was gone too much of the time and his wife being dead, he would have had a hard time raising the child alone. And she would need a female's raising. He just wasn't the sort of man to make any trouble."

  Jim listened. No one had anything bad to say about Cal Harding. It wasn't a grudge killing. So what was it? What was the common denominator between them…cattle? But only three cows were missing, that made no sense. If they were missing.

  "There's a reason in the killer's mind, why he kills. There has to be. But is it an irrational reasoning?" Rusty walked around the room as though it might help him discover some answers. "I'll admit this has me frustrated and angry." Rusty looked out the window.

  "No killing is completely rational." Jim said, his eyes cast to the floor.

  "That's very true," Vivien smiled.

  Jim nodded. "But doc, I need to ask the question. I have wrestled with this in my head ever since Wesley Collins stopped off to inquire about Victor Frank. If I find the killer, and he is crazy, what do I do with him? Wesley Collins had an answer, but at the time I rejected that. Now I'm not so sure he wasn't right."

  Rusty whipped around to stare at the Sheriff. "What do you mean? He's a killer, he'd have to go to jail, if he was alive."

  "I mean, if we don't kill him trying to capture him, and I bring him back to town, what do I do with him?"

  "You have to put him in jail send him to trial and then..."

  "But he's nuts. He might kill his inmates. How can they put a man like that on trial. He's a danger to society itself."

  "They'd have to determine his guilt or innocence."

  "Okay, but can they just shut him away and forget he's not right? And if he's off his nut, don't you think the judge would spare his life? Give him life in prison?"

  Rusty shook his head. "I hadn't thought of that. What is the standard procedure for this kind of thing, I mean as far as the law goes?"

  "There isn't any. A judge might sentence him, but what we have to establish with him and the jury, is that he is off his nut. Now granted, they got places up north for his kind, but who is going to take him there? I can't leave a town wide open for the time it would take to get him there. And if I get him to trial and the judge sentences him to years in prison, he could be a danger there too. So what do we do with people like this. It would take a damn good lawman to see him to the prison."

  Rusty sat down in a chair near the desk where Jim was slowly going through the wanted list, and offered Vivien a chair beside him.

  "I don't know…"

  "Rusty, Jim, I studied this kind of thing in my classes," She began. "I mean, I studied t
he mind as well as the body and no one could possibly do what he did and be sane. And you are right, Jim. You'd be sending him up north. To a prison with the capability of housing such people. It's not much different than the regular prison itself. They have four or five of these prisons up north, all a long ways from here. Perhaps the judge would appoint someone to take him up there. A special deputy or group of deputies if need be."

  "That sounds reasonable."

  Jim nodded.

  He stared at the wanted poster for a long time then raised his head. "I got a friend, he came through here not long ago and he was after the same kind of fella. He said the only thing to do was shoot them and get them out of their misery. At the time I thought that cold-blooded, doc. But now, faced with these murders I don't know."

  "I can understand that. Right now, to us, he seems more like an animal than a human being."

  "Yeah, but it's not something that you just know, it comes from being faced with the same problem as someone else. That's what it takes to see…"

  "Jim, don't let this drag you down. You will find him, and you'll bring him to justice. I'm confident of that."

  Smitty came in the back door, dusting off snow from his shabby coat. "It's snowing out there."

  "Snowing?"

  Smitty offered proof on his coat. Both the men went to the window to stare out.

  Rusty turned to introduce Vivien to Smitty. Smitty tipped his hat and smiled.

  "A female doc. Well what do you know about that?"

  "I wonder if snow will deter the killer?" Rusty muttered.

  "I don't know…" Jim replied. "Some of Cal's cattle were missing. Not many, not really enough to worry about, but would a man kill for three cows? The thieving that is going on, doesn't have the ranchers concerned and yet the fact that every one of them has cows missing leads me to wonder. It's as if this character has to have a few every so often, but not enough to make a fuss over. That makes little sense to me. Three cows are missing from Cal's count. Three! Now Perkins wouldn't have given him one cow, no matter how much he begged. But Cal, I can't see him turning anyone away that needed food. So why is he dead?"