O’Dell smiled crookedly. “Yeah, well, the cases I get called on these days are the toughest ones. Sadly, on most of those I don’t have the luxury of giving good news to the client.” He looked off into the distance. “Maybe nine out of ten cases I work don’t end well.”
Arnie frowned as he took that in and he and O’Dell sat in companionable silence for several more minutes. “It must be difficult to give bad news to people.”
“It is. Rips your heart out, to tell you the truth. You might wonder why I keep doing it, but it’s that one time, the one case where the police or other Pinkerton agents have given up, maybe the family has given up hope, too. It’s that one case where, against the odds, I find a child that’s been abducted or a daughter who has gone missing . . . and I can give good news to a family. I guess that’s what keeps me doing this.”
He puffed furiously for a minute. “Anyway, I said I wanted to tell you a story.”
Arnie nodded. “I’d like to hear it.”
“All right, then. Starting about two years ago, Pinkerton offices in the east began receiving requests to find young girls who had disappeared. It was a small number, but one of our agents noticed a possible pattern to the disappearances. The missing women were typically poor immigrants. What the women who disappeared had in common was that they answered a same or similar advertisement to come work in Denver, Colorado.”
Arnie sat up. “That’s what Uli and David and their ‘underground’ network had discovered, too. The two girls they spirited away told them how they had been tricked.”
“Yes. Being fairly new to America and without means to support themselves, you can understand that the women who answered the ads were desperate for work. The reports we received were that the missing girls had been untruthful with their prospective employers. They had told them that they had no family because the employer seemed to indicate that an applicant without family ties back east was more likely to be hired.”
“We interviewed one girl who answered such an advertisement. She arrived in Denver, realized the danger, and managed to escape from the man sent to pick her up. She ran to a church and the folks there helped her get back to her sister in Boston—her only remaining family. She reported her experience to the police. They didn’t expend much effort on a poor immigrant woman’s report, but they did pass the girl off to us. The Pinkerton Agency was working on four disappearances in three separate states.”
“Like I said, one of our agents saw the pattern and cross checked the cases against how long the ads had been running. That’s when we realized that many girls had probably gone missing. However, without families to report their disappearances, we could only guess at the number. It was those few women who had a friend or family member who sought us out.”
“Anyway, I was sent to Boston to interview the girl I just spoke of, and while I was there I met a man who was also looking for someone.” O’Dell took a breath and let it out slowly. “This . . . is the part of the story I want you to hear.”
“He walked into the Boston Pinkerton office one morning. At first blush, the Boston office added him into the small group of clients in our other case. But, upon deeper investigation, it turns out that his is an entirely separate missing persons case.”
“Who is he looking for?” Arnie asked.
“He, too, is looking for a woman.”
“What woman?”
“That’s the problem. He doesn’t know.”
Arnie snorted. “What?”
O’Dell drew on his cigar. “Now let me tell you his story.”
“He calls himself Branch. His first memories were as he recovered from a severe brain fever. He has absolutely no memories from before this. He woke up one morning and knew nothing about his life.”
“However, when he sleeps, he dreams, and his dreams are always about a woman, the same woman. He sees her but cannot remember her name.”
Arnie interrupted, “What does this woman look like? Young, old? Coloring?”
“She is young, with long, flowing hair. He says that she calls to him, ‘Branch, Branch’ and he tries to call back to her or go to her—but he cannot remember her name. And then he wakes up.”
Arnie stared at the red glow of O’Dell’s cigar. “You said he recovered from a brain fever. Surely you know where? Someone must know him there?”
“Yes, well, it’s more complicated than that. You see, he awoke in a little fishing hamlet. I interviewed the crew from a whaler out of that village. They say they plucked him from the sea one morning. He was barely alive—his arm was tangled in a life preserver—and he had been in the frigid water for hours. They took him aboard and back to their village where they treated his wounds. He battled a fever and lingered half-way between life and death for several weeks. When he recovered, he had no memories. None.”
Arnie grew very still. “You said you wanted to tell me this man’s story.”
“Yes.”
“You must have felt . . . there was some reason for telling me.”
O’Dell sighed. “Yes, I believe so.”
Arnie tried to swallow; his throat had gone dry. “Where is this little fishing town, O’Dell?”
“On a small island off the southeastern tip of Nova Scotia. It is a remote place, and the people there are simple folks, not much in touch with the rest of the world. Often not up with current events.”
Arnie shuddered. His eyes misted over. “O’Dell, when did this happen? When did those fishermen find this man in the water?”
O’Dell sighed again. “A year ago last fall.”
“And he has been looking for this woman ever since . . .”
“Yes.”
Arnie wiped his hand across his face and was quiet for a long moment. Finally he asked, “Where is this man . . . Branch . . . right now?”
“He was in Chicago last I saw him.”
Arnie rested his shaggy head in his hand for a long moment. Finally he spoke and his voice was grave. “Not a word to my cousin, O’Dell. Not a word.” He stood up. “I need to see this man myself.”
O’Dell put out his cigar. “I know. The Chicago office knows where I am. I’ll send word to them to send him out to Denver.”
Arnie touched the other man on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, friend. I realize now what you have been struggling with.”
O’Dell nodded but said nothing. The glow of his cigar burned silently in the dark.
~~**~~
Chapter 38
O’Dell and Arnie left in the morning. Joy expected to see the sheriff and his deputy soon afterwards, but they did not appear. Growing concerned, she had Billy ask Flinty if he could come and keep watch from the second floor with Mr. Wheatley.
Around three o’clock, Mark, the son of one of David’s deacons, tapped on the door. Breona let him in and he asked for Joy.
“Miss Joy, we got some trouble. Pastor sent me over t’ let you know ’bout it.”
“What is it?” Rose came up behind Joy and they both held their breath.
“We’re told the sheriff an’ his nephew were ambushed last night on their way home. Group o’ men with clubs. He an’ his nephew managed t’ get away but they couldn’t get back t’ the sheriff’s house, so they went t’ the pastor’s place.”
“Are they all right?” Joy began to feel light-headed.
“Sheriff got busted up pretty good,” the boy replied soberly. “Miz Kalbørg, she’s doctorin’ both of ’em. We’re keeping it real quiet so no one knows where they are.”
So Banner and his men hadn’t waited to strike back, and Wyndom and Luke were injured and hiding at David and Uli’s. Joy’s hand went to her throat.
O’Dell and Arnie stepped off the train and O’Dell set the pace, Arnie close behind him. Several blocks later they entered the Denver Pinkerton office.
“Bickle!” O’Dell forged his way to Beau Bickle’s office. “Things are breaking open on our kidnapped girls case.”
He introduced Arnie and quickly outlined the events of the l
ast week. “Two very young girls, Ruby and Beth, found their way to the lodge belonging to Arnie’s cousin and asked for help. Not in Breezy Point, but a little town west of here—Corinth.”
“Arnie’s cousin, Joy Thoresen, and the sheriff brought them down from Corinth yesterday and then put them on a train out of the state. Before they left, one of them positively identified Gretl Plüff. She is a girl who has been missing from Boston for 18 months. She is still being held in Corinth. Additionally, Miss Thoresen has two young women with her who answered the ads and narrowly escaped being kidnapped when they arrived here in Denver.”
O’Dell took a deep breath. “Finally, she is hiding an especially ‘valuable’ girl who escaped from the ‘gentlemen’s club’ in Corinth—that said club is owned by Dean Morgan. You must have heard of him here in town. The gang of thugs that manages security for Morgan has been looking hard for that girl.”
“They broke into and vandalized the lodge Miss Thoresen owns a few weeks ago. Although they didn’t find the young lady, they now know with certainty that we helped two of ‘their’ girls escape from Corinth. Things are coming to a head, so Arnie’s cousin is asking Pinkerton to provide security.”
Bickle looked unblinking at O’Dell. “Could I have a word with you, Ed? In private?”
With a sinking feeling, O’Dell managed to answer affably, “Sure, Beau. Say, Arnie, would you mind waiting in the lobby for me?” He opened the door for Arnie and as he turned his back to Bickle, managed to whisper, “Watch out,” before closing the door behind him.
“You know, Ed, I tried to be a friend when you were here last, tried to steer you away from trouble. Now I’m not sure how to handle you.” Bickle managed to sound a little remorseful.
“McParland know you’re on the take, Beau?” O’Dell kept his tone neutral even as he seethed inside.
“I told you. He’s away, and Siringo retired last year. So I’m in charge.”
“They paying you well?”
“Well enough. And it’s not as though I’m breaking the law—they have enough cops and politicians on the take here for that. I’m just . . . overlooking a few things when they cross my desk.”
“That explains a lot. Like how we could never intercept anyone at the mail boxes. Like that wild-goose chase you sent me on to Breezy Point.”
Bickle nodded. “You need to understand, Ed. Denver is still a young city, a little wild and rough around the edges. Still sorting things out, so to speak. People make their fortunes in a town like this. Why, the convention this past summer brought 50,000 visitors to Denver, mostly men, many of whom needed some entertainment.”
Bickle cocked his head to the side. “The question is, Ed, are you willing to make a little extra under the table? Or are you determined to make the biggest mistake of your life?”
O’Dell snorted in derision. “You need to ask?”
“Well, I’m sorry, I truly am, Ed.” Bickle lifted the revolver he held from where he had held it under his desk. “Let’s take a little walk, shall we?”
“You sure you want to do that?” Every finger of O’Dell’s hands wanted to wrap themselves around Bickle’s throat.
“Got to. Now let’s move.”
O’Dell turned around and Bickle placed the barrel of the gun in the middle of his lower back. “Just open the door and walk, Ed. And don’t make a fuss.”
They stepped through the door. O’Dell, keeping his head straight forward, still caught a glimpse of gray suit coat on his right as Arnie’s arm came down on Bickle’s head. O’Dell heard a satisfying crunch and Bickle sank to the floor. Arnie held an old-fashioned six-shooter by the barrel.
“You know how to use that?” O’Dell asked.
“Only as a club. It’s not even loaded,” Arnie replied ruefully.
O’Dell laughed and then snatched up Bickle’s gun. The two of them hauled the felled Pinkerton man back into his office. O’Dell threw open a closet and they stuffed him inside, locking his office door behind them. They left quickly.
“We don’t have much time. Need to get a wire off to Groman letting him know the situation. Then we need to get back on that train to Corinth before Bickle wakes up and alerts those in local law enforcement who are dirty.”
Recognizing how outgunned they would be in Corinth, O’Dell put as much information into the messages as he could while still trying to keep the text cryptic. Wanting to ensure that someone tracked down McParland, he copied the wire to both the Omaha and the Chicago office. Then he and Arnie caught the afternoon D&RGW out of Union Station.
The household at the lodge gathered around to hear what O’Dell had to report. After Joy finished telling O’Dell and Arnie about Sheriff Wyndom and his nephew, O’Dell related his and Arnie’s recent experiences, including the disturbing news about Bickle and the Denver Pinkerton office.
“I don’t know how many agents—if any—besides Bickle are dirty. What we do know is that the crime bosses in Denver have very good cover politically and with the police. We got a wire off to the Omaha and Chicago offices and can expect them to begin cleaning house but . . .” he looked around the kitchen table. “It’s not going to be fast and it’s not going to be pretty.”
That evening O’Dell stood hidden within the tree line watching and waiting. He did not hear the man approach until he spoke out of the shadows.
“Mr. O’Dell.”
O’Dell recognized the voice immediately. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.
“Your office told me you were here. I couldn’t stay away. You should know . . . I have to find her.”
O’Dell sighed in frustration and defeat. “I told you that I might have a lead, nothing definite.”
The man nodded and wiped his forehead with his left arm. His other arm hung uselessly by his side. “Can you tell me anything at all?”
O’Dell, knowing that things in Corinth were reaching a boiling point, was not pleased by the complication. “I may have found her . . .”
The man’s excitement was palpable. “Can you point her out to me? If I saw her, it might help!”
O’Dell thought about the promise he’d made to Arnie. “Soon. I will arrange something, but it needs to wait a few days.”
The man nodded again. “All right. Thank you.”
“Look. You need to stay out of sight. Things may get rough here soon.”
“I can do that. You can count on me.”
Despite the man’s lost memories, O’Dell couldn’t remember knowing a man with more innate dignity. “I know I can, Branch.”
He turned to face the man, but he had melted back into the shadows and was gone.
O’Dell sighed and went back to watching.
~~**~~
Chapter 39
Joy was dreaming.
In her dream she smelled smoke and she twisted away from it and from the memories that came flooding in with it. In her dream she came upon the ashes of their business in Omaha, and began choking on the wet, cloying haze rising from them. She saw Billy poking at them with a stick. He turned to her, shouting, but she could not make out the words.
She awoke to chaos. Billy was in the apartment shouting that the house was afire.
Her nightmare was real.
Blackie nearly tripped her as she pulled clothes about her and grabbed her shoes. She rushed to the door and then stopped, turned back, and grabbed the leather satchel on her desk. She raced down the stairs with Mei-Xing and Breona just ahead of her and stopped in a panic on the second floor.
Mama!
But O’Dell was hustling Rose out of her room and waving at Joy to keep moving. By the time they reached the bottom floor, the kitchen was filled with smoke. Billy already had Will, Marit, and the others out the back door.
Gasping and coughing, they ran around to the front of the lodge only to find the great room engulfed, burning like a pyre. The flames quickly ate their way through the seasoned beams into the second floor. Joy and the rest of the household backed away hopelessly as the heat fro
m the flames increased. Joy already knew what would happen . . . the fire would race upward until it burst through the roof. Then the lodge, in a mighty inferno, would collapse on itself.
“Heard the windows break in the front,” Billy was shouting to Arnie and O’Dell. “Got up and saw the drapes and walls already on fire.”
“Likely someone tossed torches and jars of kerosene through the windows,” O’Dell seethed.
Joy stared at her home—not only her home, but Breona’s, Billy’s, Marit’s, and Mr. Wheatley’s—watched helplessly as the home they had built together burned down. She carefully clutched the leather satchel she had carried away with her. Dear Lord! What if she had left it to burn!
She felt Rose’s arms reach around her waist and Joy leaned into her for a long moment. Then she straightened and checked again that each person was present and safe. Mr. Wheatley held a blanket around Mei-Xing and thought to pull it over her head to somewhat hide her.
Joy suddenly blanched. Where was Blackie? He had been with her in her room . . . had he followed her outside?
“Blackie!” The flames had turned the night about the lodge into flickering day. She broke away from her mother and raced around the yard, feeling the first fingers of panic twist themselves on her heart. Not Blackie . . . not again—please Lord!
“Blackie! Come!”
Out of the gloomy depths of the trees near the road Joy saw a shadow move toward them. It stopped, just beyond the ring of light cast by the fire. A man. He stayed there, not moving, watching them . . . watching her. Under one arm a small shadow struggled.
“Blackie!” Joy screamed. The man raised his chin just a bit as though listening. And then he bent over and released the wriggling shadow. It raced toward Joy, breaking into the light, streaking toward her. Blackie!
She bent and he jumped into her arms. Joy squeezed him hard, crying in relief. She looked back toward the man in the shadows . . . he was studying her, his head slightly cocked as if he were thinking hard.
Then he moved his hand across his face, a gesture like brushing the hair out of his eyes. And something inside Joy leapt and then froze. She didn’t know why, couldn’t explain the sudden anxiety that filled her . . . but she could not draw a breath, could not move. And then her legs failed her and she fell to the ground.
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