They parked in front of a small, yellow house more rundown than the others in the neighbourhood. An attractive, petite woman with reddish-brown hair answered the door.
‘This is my day off. You’re lucky to find me home,’ she said, inviting them into a room, neat but slightly shabby, as if she had trouble making ends meet.
‘Have a seat,’ she said, indicating the worn, flowered sofa and matching loveseat. ‘May I offer you some coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’ Jeff eased his long form down on the couch and sat, one leg extended. ‘We’re here to ask a few questions about your friend, Jennie Irwin. Jennie Kingsley now,’ he corrected. ‘Mrs Kingsley says she borrowed your white Ford Mustang last Monday.’
The mention of Jennie caused a change in her, a nervousness Kate hadn’t noticed before.
‘Jennie came over to my place about four that afternoon. She said she had been trying to contact Charles, but he didn’t answer his cellphone. She told me she was getting worried. Her Buick was in the garage, so she asked to borrow my car. She wanted to head out to Rock Creek. She had a feeling something was wrong. And I guess she was right.’
Ann Lectie directed all of her conversation to Jeff, gazing at him in a wide-eyed sort of way. The woman’s full attention caused Kate to look at Jeff, too. It wasn’t often that she noticed that he was a very good-looking man.
‘Did she go into any details,’ Jeff was asking, ‘about what she thought might be wrong?’
‘Of course she believed he had had an accident on the road.’
‘Why do you say “of course”?’
‘That’s how Jennie lost her first husband. He died in a car crash between here and Buffalo. You know, one where the driver goes to sleep and runs off the road. Charles’ health problems increased her anxiety. Jennie kept saying she should never have let him start out alone.’
‘But he hadn’t been gone all that long.’
‘I couldn’t blame Jennie for being concerned. She just dearly loved that man. When they weren’t together, they were always on the phone.’
‘Do you know what time she left for Rock Creek?’
‘I thought she was leaving from here, right away, but I guess she didn’t. In fact, I know she didn’t. I drove the van down to the grocery store about six, and I saw her pass by in my car.’
‘Was she alone?’ Kate asked.
‘As a matter of fact, she wasn’t. Some man was in the passenger seat.’
‘Did you see him?’ Jeff asked. ‘Did you recognize him?’
‘It gets dark so early now,’ Ann said. ‘Really all I got was a glimpse of his grey hair. It was kind of a shiny colour.’
Kate thought of Sam Swen, the way his hair sometimes glistened like silver. She broke in, ‘You’ve been a good friend of Jennie’s for some time. Maybe you can tell us more about her. Was she dating someone before she met Mr Kingsley?’
Ann’s gaze still held to Jeff. ‘Jennie’s very sociable. She’s always seen friends, although never anything serious. But, wait, there was one man she talked about a lot. He always took her out to dinner whenever he came to Casper.’
‘Can you give us a description of him?’ Kate asked. ‘Do you remember his name?’
‘I never met him. He had a funny name. Didn’t sound like a first name to me. Breen or something like that.’
‘Swen?’ Jeff supplied.
‘That’s it.’
‘Then you don’t have any idea what time she actually left Casper?’ Kate asked.
‘I figured she was on her way the minute she left my place. I cautioned her not to drive alone at night. I believe she followed my advice and decided to wait until morning.’
Jeff stood up and handed her one of his cards. ‘Thanks for talking to us, Ms Lectie. If you think of anything else of importance, please call me.’
‘What’s this about? I don’t understand why you’re asking me all those questions.’
‘We’re trying to establish an alibi for her, that’s all. Very routine.’
Ann Lectie remained watching from the doorway. Kate glanced back, thinking she looked forlorn and uncertain as if she regretted something she had told them.
This time Kate teased Jeff, ‘Ann liked you. I think you could have got a date.’
‘Not me. I won’t go out with anyone who lives on Poison Spider Road.’
They headed back toward the downtown area, turning on to a tree-filled street nestled in a semi-residential area. Kate spotted the place where Jennie worked first. ‘Over there. Talbart’s Insurance.’
A distinguished-looking man with an ever-present smile rose from behind a huge desk when they entered. Kate noticed that he had thick, grey hair and wondered if this had been the man Ann had seen in Jennie’s car.
He held out his hand to both of them in turn. ‘John Talbart.’
‘We’d like to have a few words with you about your ex-employee, Jennie Irwin,’ Kate said. ‘Now Jennie Kingsley.’
‘Certainly. I heard about Mr Kingsley’s death. Poor Jennie. I must say I was shocked by the news. Robbers everywhere. What’s gone wrong with our society anyway?’
He gestured to empty chairs and sank down at his desk beside a large photograph of himself, a plain-looking woman much younger than him, and two small children. He saw Kate looking at the picture, and said proudly, ‘That’s my wife and family.’
‘How long has Jennie Irwin – Kingsley I mean – worked for you?’ Jeff asked.
‘Going on five years. Jennie’s the best help I’ve ever had. I sometimes think people came in here just to talk to her. I haven’t replaced her yet, not that I’ll ever be able to. So now I’m my own secretary.’
‘When did you see her last?’ Kate asked.
‘Let me think.’ Talbart steepled his fingers together in a thoughtful pose. ‘I’ve been so busy everything runs together. She quit on a Thursday. She had given me notice a week before that, though, but said she would keep on working until I found someone else. I told her, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get by”.’
‘Did you know Mr Kingsley well?’
‘Not really. She introduced him to me, that’s all.’
‘Have you ever heard her mention or have you ever met a man named Sam Swen?’ Jeff asked.
‘I can’t say that I have. But then I meet a lot of people.’
They continued questioning him, but he remained vague and evasive, as if well-schooled by long years of dodging issues. After learning nothing more of help, they rose to leave. At the door, Kate asked, ‘Did you see Jennie Kingsley at six o’clock on Monday evening?’
‘Monday evening,’ Talbart repeated, then said quickly, ‘No, as I said, she quit working for me the Thursday before that.’
‘I don’t trust that one,’ Jeff said on the way out of Casper. ‘He’s too smooth, too guarded. Never answers any question he doesn’t want to.’ Jeff pulled into a little truck stop. ‘Let’s get a bite to eat before we head back.’
Jeff selected the kind of café he always chose, homey, with friendly waitresses and plenty of strong black coffee.
An older woman hurried over to their table, saying respectfully, ‘What can I get for you two officers?’
Kate’s gaze lifted from the booth with its worn, red upholstery and caught the reflection of Jeff and her in the mirror behind the counter: representatives from Belle County sheriff’s department in uniform, doing their job. She liked the image, the way people looked at them when they walked into a room. She loved stops like this after a long, hard day, the endless cups of coffee and the companionship of people – she had to admit it – like Jeff, whose concerns were the same as hers.
For a moment she felt a sense of pride. Her parents had been wrong: she loved her job in a way that she never would have loved teaching or any other profession.
‘What will you have, Kate?’
She hadn’t heard Jeff order, yet she knew he had asked for a hamburger, well done, and fries. ‘The same.’
‘Jeff, why did you take
up police work?’ she asked after the waitress had left. ‘You’ve never told me.’
‘My dad was a cop. I wanted to follow in his footsteps. He was and is my hero.’ Jeff cupped the rim of his coffee mug.
‘Bet you didn’t stop to think about the gruelling hours and the poor pay.’
Jeff gave one of his slow smiles. ‘That’s why my last girl broke up with me. Gave me an ultimatum: the job or me.’
‘And you took the job?’
‘Why not? She was costing me money; the job was paying me.’
‘It’s not fair for someone to ask you to choose between your work and them.’
‘Guess I’ll have to marry another cop.’ Jeff looked up, his eyes meeting hers, then glanced quickly away.
No, he wouldn’t be thinking about her. The two of them would never work out romantically. She could sum Jeff up in a few brief words: always stubborn, often annoying, never boring. But he could probably sum her up in the exact same way. In fact, if they weren’t both such obstinate donkeys, always pulling in the opposite direction, they would make a great team.
‘You’re smiling. What’s the joke?’
‘You wouldn’t want to know,’ she replied.
When they reached the outskirts of Rock Creek, Kate asked, ‘Has today made you change your mind about anything?’
‘No,’ Jeff stated. ‘I still don’t think Jennie had anything to do with Kingsley’s murder. Swen knew Kingsley was about to bring a suit against him for rustling cattle so either he or his hired man took him out. Swen’s motive was plain and simple: self-protection and revenge.’
‘It’s all too simple,’ Kate replied. ‘I just know we’re missing something. And Jennie might be a part of it.’
‘I think the car in front of her apartment places her in Casper.’
‘The car was there, but what about her? And who was the man she was seen with on Monday at six o’clock?’
‘Let’s just go ask her,’ Jeff said. Instead of turning toward the sheriff’s office, Jeff swung the patrol car onto the blacktop leading to the Kingsley ranch. The brilliant, glowing yard light made the house look more than ever like some stately Southern mansion. Jennie met them at the door as if she had always owned the Rocking C.
She welcomed them warmly. Her ruffled blonde hair, the jeans and oversized sweatshirt, lettered Casper Rodeo, made her look years younger.
Although she appeared puzzled by their late evening appearance, she seemed more than willing to answer their questions.
‘I followed Ann’s advice,’ Jennie told them. ‘I stayed in Rock Creek until about eight the next morning, then when I still couldn’t reach Charles, I headed right out.’
Kate studied her as she spoke, trying to measure the effects of her words. ‘Ann said she saw you about six Monday evening and that some man was in the car with you.’
A somewhat perplexed frown cut between Jennie’s eyes, as if this turn of events had not been anticipated. ‘That would be my boss, John Talbart,’ she told them. ‘I remembered some unfinished business and thought I should discuss it with him before I left town.’
‘Trouble is,’ Jeff returned, ‘Mr Talbart claims he wasn’t in your car that evening.’
Jennie flashed a quick, disarming smile. ‘He would say that. John has a very jealous wife. He gives her no reason at all to doubt him, but he would never admit to seeing any woman after office hours. What does it matter anyway?’
‘We are trying to help you establish an alibi.’
‘Knowing where I was at six o’clock wouldn’t be much help,’ Jennie said, ‘not when my husband wasn’t killed until midnight. What do you really want to know?’
Kate didn’t hesitate. ‘Were you seeing someone besides Charles Kingsley?’
‘Definitely not.’
Jeff looked relieved. ‘We’re very sorry we bothered you so late,’ he said.
Jennie walked with them to the entrance, waving as they pulled away. Jennie remained motionless, framed in the brilliant glow of light, and for a moment Kate had the strange illusion that Sam Swen, Charles Kingsley’s arch-enemy, was standing in the doorway beside her.
Chapter 5
Saturday arrived, Kate’s day off. In fact, her turn had come to have the entire weekend free. Glad to be just plain Kate Jepp again, she slipped into jeans and a comfortable pullover sweater. Despite the fact that she was on her own time, she couldn’t drive the Kingsley case from her mind or that curious invitation to Tom Horn’s hanging on the wall behind the dead man’s desk. It kept arising, as if intricately connected to the crime, despite the fact that, ironically, it had not been stolen.
The image of that handwritten letter, signed by the sheriff of Laramie County in 1903, prompted Kate to stop at the local museum to find out all she could about this relic from Wyoming’s bloody past.
Even though the museum’s curator, Jake Pierson, didn’t recognize her, Kate had noticed him at the funeral, offering kind consolation to Mary Ellen. He strode forward, his greeting friendly: ‘Welcome to the Belle County Museum.’
Once more, his longish tied-back hair and the fringed buckskin jacket he wore put her in mind of Bill Cody.
‘I’m interested,’ she said, ‘in the history of Tom Horn.’
‘That makes us two of a kind, then,’ he replied. The affable smile that remained on his lips suggested a person of vast interests, one who would have no trouble identifying with people, past or present.
Kate followed him towards a huge portrait of a man who looked bold and swaggering – larger than life – even on canvas. Pierson stared up at the painting, empathy reflecting in his pale, intelligent eyes.
‘Tom Horn started out as an army scout,’ he said. ‘Brave too, rode alone into an Indian camp and negotiated Geronimo’s surrender. After that, he spent time as a Pinkerton detective, chasing bank and train robbers.’ The curator’s alert eyes shifted to Kate. ‘Unfortunately, he worked both inside and outside the law. His name should “live in infamy” as President Roosevelt would have said, as a fierce gunman and hired killer.’
Kate studied Tom Horn’s handsome face; he didn’t look like any cold-blooded murderer. ‘Men like him are hard to figure out, aren’t they? Maybe that’s why today we’re still fascinated by his story.’
‘He’s a legend, all right,’ the curator agreed with great respect, ‘a symbol of the Old West, its code of honor and its cruel justice. Even today some find him admirable, his deeds justified.’
Tom Horn’s strong air of mystery, the square set of his shoulders, and the tilt of his head made Kate think of men like Sam Swen and Ty Garrison. Independence, individuality, fearlessness: heroes and those who lived outside the law often possessed the same qualities.
‘I’ve always been drawn to outlaws,’ Jake Pierson mused, his gaze returning to the painting.
‘Me too, but not from a historical perspective.’
He turned toward her, looking at her closely. As he did, recognition glinted in his eyes. ‘I knew you looked familiar. I saw you at Kingsley’s funeral, didn’t I? Just failed to recognize you out of uniform. When you came in, I took you to be a student looking for information for a paper.’
‘I do need information.’
‘About Tom Horn?’ Pale eyes became impish as he quipped, ‘Is he a suspect?’
‘In a way. What else can you tell me about him?’
Jake Pierson hesitated a moment and she sensed his attitude toward her had undergone a subtle change. ‘Sam Swen’s the local expert on Tom Horn, not me.’
Taken by surprise at his remark, she didn’t pursue it, only said. ‘You’re doing fine.’
‘I’ve written several articles about the man myself, ‘Pierson went on, a bit reluctantly now. ‘Around 1892 Horn began working for the Wyoming Cattle Grower’s Association. He had been hired as a horse breeder, but his real job was to track down rustlers. One day, Horn lay in wait for a man named Kels P. Nickell, a rival rancher who had been targeted for death.’ Pierson’s voice lowered slight
ly. ‘By mistake, he ended up shooting Nickell’s fourteen-year-old son. The boy was tall for his age and had taken out his father’s wagon.’
‘A tragic error.’
‘That’s why Tom Horn was hanged. But many people today still swear by him.’
‘Not very brave hiding in the bushes and taking pot-shots at unarmed men,’ Kate remarked.
‘Depends which side you’re on. Horn classified cattle rustlers with wolves and coyotes and considered himself a benefactor for stamping them out. To people like Sam Swen, that makes him a genuine hero.’
‘Why did he place under the heads of his victims that … stone of vengeance?’
‘I see you’ve been talking to Swen,’ Jake Pierson replied with a laugh. ‘Swen’s the one who coined that phrase, you know. He’s the man who began calling Tom Horn’s trademark the “Stone of Vengeance”.’
Kate had without thinking used the same term herself. In the stillness she recalled how Swen had told her that Tom Horn was only doing the law’s job, and the memory caused a chill to go through her.
‘Something wrong?’ Pierson asked.
‘No. I was just wondering how they caught him.’
Pierson gave another of his short laughs. ‘They wouldn’t have, if Horn hadn’t got drunk one night and started boasting. When they put him in jail he broke out, but he didn’t get far on foot. Innocent or guilty, he spent his last days writing his memoirs and weaving the rope they used to hang him.’
‘In Charles Kingsley’s study there’s an invitation to Tom Horn’s hanging.’
Jake paused in a moment of sadness. ‘Too bad about Charles. I hope they find the person who shot him.’
‘We’re trying.’
‘Charles Kingsley and Swen were sworn enemies, did you know that?’ he asked. ‘I only met Charles once, but he seemed like a really nice fellow. Of course, I’m more acquainted with Mary Ellen. She volunteers here, you know.’ In a kindly manner he said, ‘Poor Mary Ellen. She seems so lost and lonely sometimes. Working here does her the world of good.’
‘Have you been in Rock Creek long, Mr Pierson?’
‘No. I just came to town about five months ago. I was a friend of the recent curator’s so when he retired, I took over his job.’
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