Second Chance (The Deadman Series Book 5)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Matthew could feel his jaw muscles starting to ache—he had been grinding his teeth, for hours, with rage and frustration. It felt like the whole world was filled with outlaws and no matter what he did or how hard he tried, there was no way to rid himself of them.

  Before Chance and Abner dozed off, he had filled his companions in on what transpired in Spokane. They knew about the house fire, of course, but didn’t know that their enemies had also tried to torch the newspaper office. They also had no idea how close Matthew had come to being shot down in the street.

  It wasn’t until Matthew told them what had happened that Chance jerked upright and struggled to his feet. Noticing the new, Australian style hat on his father’s head and the small bandage on his hairline, he cried, “Pa! Are you okay? Sounds like you should be home resting rather than chasing bad guys around!”

  Matthew, whose head was actually pounding like a kettle drum, said, “Nah, I’m fine now.”

  After staring at his father with concern for a moment, Chance said, “I’m going to go ahead and close my eyes for a minute. Don’t worry, though, I’m listening to every word you’re saying…” A few minutes later, Matthew and Dick smiled as snores filled the air.

  “So,” Dick said. “What do you want to do now?”

  Matthew smiled. “One thing I was able to do was petition the Spokane County Commissioner’s office. He assures me that Jacob’s land deed is valid and binding and, in this case, possession will NOT be considered proof of ownership.”

  Turning to Jacob, who was hanging on every word, Matthew said, “That’s very good news, sir. However, the bad news is, Sheriff Lobey has pulled the plug on extra security, both here in North Idaho and in Spokane.” Pausing for a second, he added, “and, he doesn’t even know about Bill yet…can’t wait to have that conversation!”

  He sighed. “This leaves us on our own—which would be all right if I knew that you and Hannah were safe.” Noting the stubborn look in Jacob’s eyes, Matthew sat up straight. “Jacob, listen to me! I know you don’t want to be forced out of your own home, but things are better for you and your family now. This land will stay in your name, no matter who squats on it.”

  Sitting back, he rubbed the tender scape on his head. “But my men and I need to move on. I’ve got the crook’s scent in my nose and a pretty good idea on where to go from here, but I can’t spend any more time protecting your property, okay?”

  Jacob, who had seemed ready to nix the very thought of leaving his claim seemed to deflate as Matthew’s words sunk in. Thinking for a moment, he asked, “Do you want me and Hannah to move back to your home?”

  Matthew nodded. “I had been planning on that but I’ve changed my mind. I talked with Clyde and Annie Thurston before they boarded a train to Seattle. Apparently, they own a huge mansion in the city. There are plenty of rooms and a wait-staff to help out. They have graciously asked you and your family to stay there with them, at least until this is all over.”

  As predicted, Jacob muttered, “I don’t want to burden those folks or prey on their sympathies…”

  “Don’t you see?” Matthew exclaimed. “You are both in the same boat and being targeted by the same bunch of criminals! I know, for a fact, that Clyde was hoping you would come and help protect him and his daughter.” (A small lie but one that Matthew hoped would seal the deal.)

  A different expression came over Jacob’s face as he considered the idea that some rich man might need his help. Grinning, he said, “Well, if they need our help, I say we go as quickly as possible!”

  Matthew sighed with relief. Actually, Clyde had already hired a private security firm to watch over him and Annie during their stay in the city, but knowing that Matthew could no longer afford to split his resources, the old man had urged Matthew to bring the Lindsays to the city, at least until the matter was settled for once and for all.

  “Okay, then.” Matthew said, handing Jacob a few bills and a piece of paper with an address and a couple of phone numbers written on it. “Tomorrow we need to take care of business. Chance and I will deal with the dead bodies and the Wallace sheriff, while Dick, Abner and you two jump on the train back to Granville.”

  Seeing the consternation on Dick and Abner’s faces, he added, “Jacob, once you get there, pack your family up and head to Seattle. When you arrive, call one of those numbers and Clyde will send a carriage to pick you and your family up.”

  Turning to face Dick and Abner, Matthew said, “You two head on back home. Roy has been patient but he needs your help, Dicky. And Abner needs to heal up from that gunshot wound.”

  Seeing that the younger deputy was fixing to put up a fight, Matthew smiled, “Don’t worry, Dicky. The minute I need more help, you’ll be the first person I call.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Breathing Room

  Five days later, Matthew sat in a small café in Spokane, staring morosely out the window as cheerful citizens scurried here and there, intent on their morning errands…innocent of the dark doings and machinations of the criminal element within their midst. He wished that he, himself, was just as naive. Sighing, he shook his head.

  Matthew knew that he would never be free of his deadly knowledge—that rotten fruit had been forced down his throat when he was just a boy of twelve. Indeed, he had actively sought out and hunted down criminals for as long as he could remember. Even after he retired from life as a lawman, he had itched to, once again, get his hands on crooks and now, at almost fifty years old, he was just as enmeshed in crime as he had ever been.

  He had just come from an interview with Sheriff Lobey and the bitter hurt in the old man’s eyes was almost more than Matthew could bear. He knew, as well as Lobey did, that the deputy’s deaths were not Matthew’s fault. Still, things had been running smoothly enough during the last two years of Lobey’s term as sheriff, until Matthew showed up, asking for help.

  Now, the sheriff had three dead deputies on his hands, including Bill Nash, whom Lobey had thought of as a son. The sheriff’s coffers were in ruins-what with the numerous fires, shootouts, ambulance calls and general mayhem—all of which seemed to coincide with Matthew Wilcox’ untimely arrival.

  Matthew had gone to the sheriff’s building to give his condolences, say thank you, and goodbye—just as Nash’s widow and children streamed, weeping from Lobey’s office. The widow Nash had looked up, saw Matthew standing, hat in hand, in the foyer and stopped with a wide-eyed stare. Then, she snarled, “You! If it wasn’t for you, my Billy would still be alive!

  Her two kids, a boy of about ten and a little girl who was probably no more than five years old, gazed up at their mother, then at Matthew. The little girl turned away, burying her flushed cheeks in her mother’s skirts but the boy balled up his little fists and charged. Matthew stood still and took the grieving child’s pummeling until two deputies peeled the boy away and sent the family packing.

  Matthew sympathized and was more than willing to take the boy’s punishment, but when it became clear that Sheriff Lobey also, for some irrational reason, held Matthew to blame for the deputies untimely demise, he made an awkward, hasty retreat and now sat in this café, checking his watch and hoping that Chance would make an appearance sooner, rather than later.

  They were slated to take the two o’clock train to Seattle this afternoon, and Chance was having his broken ankle tended to one last time before they traveled west. If Matthew had been angry at his friends Dick and Abner at all, it was over the fact that they had chosen a “home-remedy” over a doctor call for his son’s injury.

  He realized, though, they made the right decision. Matthew had met that drunken old sawbones named Troy Humphrey in Wallace, and he shuddered. If Dicky had taken Chance in to see that man, his son might have come back home missing a foot, or even a leg.

  The only thing that seemed to bring Humphrey any pleasure was talking about the good old days during the Civil War and how the arms, legs, heads and feet of Union and Confederate soldiers, alike, seemed to rain from the sk
ies overhead during that engagement…and how much he missed the “live” action.

  Matthew checked his pocket watch again and thought about how deep the roots of corruption were in Lobey’s city. He had been appalled to find out that all three men in the warehouse who were brought in for questioning were found poisoned the next morning. That sort of thing occurred, sometimes, but Lobey was aghast that it had happened in his own jail…especially since he prided himself on strict security.

  The only possible culprits were the cooks in the sheriff’s department kitchens, and after a thorough interview (and an even more thorough beating), two of the three kitchen workers (one was excused as she was an old woman who had worked with Lobey for over twenty years and was as innocent as the day was long) had confessed to being bought off.

  Matthew had sat in on that interview and at the end of the day, he did not believe the men knew who was paying them, nor did he believe they were active players in the Trinity gang. Still, the whole thing was taking its toll on lawmen and criminals, alike, and Matthew felt it was high time to beard the dragon in its own den…meaning, it was time to go to Seattle.

  Looking up and noticing that he was the only customer in the restaurant, Matthew signaled to the waiter for a coffee refill. Then he saw a tall, handsome, well-dressed man sit down at the next table. Matthew also saw and heard a number of other men pulling out chairs and sitting down at tables next to the newcomer. Feeling a sudden thrill of anxiety, he knew that he had just been surrounded.

  The man at the near-by table was probably in his early sixties. He had a full-head of silver-white hair and large, gray eyes. He wore spectacles but had taken them off with a small smile and used his table napkin to clean the lenses as he turned his gaze on Matthew. “My name is Stephen Castle. I work with a group known as the Trinity and I wondered, Mr. Wilcox, if I might have a word?” The man’s voice was whisper-soft.

  Matthew studied the ten, or so, men occupying the chairs surrounding them. He noted that they were all fairly old, heavily-armed and seemed both calm and, at the same time, more than ready for a fight. As his hand fell, automatically, to his pistol he felt his heart thumping hard in his chest.

  When the men watching him also let their hands fall to their gun-grips, Matthew knew that, for now, he was trapped as neatly as a rat in a trap. Lifting both hands and letting them rest on the table in front of him, Matthew stared toward the long counter that separated the kitchen area from the customers.

  He saw the cook and his waiter gazing over at him, but then he spied two additional men step up and usher the waiter and the café owner outside to the boardwalk, taking up position beside them on the street.

  Turning to face the Trinity member, Matthew said, “What can I help you with?”

  Castle smiled. “Why…I am here to help you, sir.”

  “Hmmm…” Matthew said. “Please, tell me you want before I lose my temper.”

  Castle frowned, briefly, and said, “Arnie, why don’t you bring Mr. Wilcox and me a pot of coffee from the kitchen? The rest of you men back up and give me and the investigator a little breathing room.”

  A tall, gangly-looking man with a bowler hat and a waxed, gray mustache hustled into the kitchen area, while the rest of the men got up and walked toward the front of the café. Many of them still fingered their pistols but seemed, for the moment, inclined to mind their head honcho’s orders.

  Arnie brought the coffee and a cup to Castle’s table, then went to stand with the other men. Stephen looked into Matthew’s face and said, “Do you mind if I join you? The things I want to say to you should stay between the two of us, for now.”

  Matthew shrugged slightly and watched as the man got up from his chair and moved over to sit at Matthew’s table. Castle poured coffee into his own cup and gestured to Matthew’s cup with raised eyebrows.

  Matthew said, “No, not right now. Say whatever is on your mind, Castle, and say it quick because I know you’re a crook and a murderer and I don’t like drinking coffee with dead men.”

  The older man sighed. “Really, Mr. Wilcox. Your theatrics are unseemly and quite unnecessary. I understand why you might be put-out with me and some of the men under my command, but I am here to help you.”

  “Help me?” Matthew snarled. “The only way you could help me is for every single one of you to turn yourselves in to the Spokane County Sheriff’s Office!” His voice had risen in anger and a number of Castle’s men turned around, glaring.

  “Well,” the older man laughed. “That’s never going to happen. These men have been with me since I was just a young man, and not a one of them have had anything to do with the events here in Spokane and Idaho the last few months!”

  Taking a sip of coffee, Stephen added, “I can tell you, however, who is involved, where they are, and even how to bring them all down—for good!”

  Chapter Twenty

  One Man’s Perspective

  Castle sat back in his chair and took a sip of coffee, staring over the cup’s rim at Matthew’s face. He wondered again if this man could be reasoned with, or if he—and everyone Wilcox knew and cared about—would soon be singing a list of their complaints to St. Peter behind his pearly gates.

  “Let me explain a few things about myself, sir, before I tell you about the Trinity and how to stop what they are doing,” he said, taking another sip and setting the cup down on its saucer. “I come from a long line of attorneys…successful attorneys at law, who can trace their legal prowess clear back to the Revolutionary War.”

  He paused for a moment, and continued, “However, the Castle and Castle Law Firm is not always as solvent as we might like. We have a lot of social standing and plenty of referrals, but we are defense attorneys for the rich and powerful. This means, sometimes, that we work for future favors and added political power rather than cold cash.”

  He sighed. “This is the way things are done…at least, at a certain social level,” he glanced at Matthew who sat listening with a scowl still etched on his brow. “But…I’m sure you’re familiar with how these things are done, Mr. Wilcox.”

  Matthew sat up and snarled, “I have never bought justice, Mr. Castle!”

  Stephen held his hands in the air. “I wasn’t referring to how you, in particular, practice law but I am referring to the fact that you and your family are wealthy and travel in the same social circles as my partners and I. Please,” he leaned forward and whispered, “Let’s not play coy with one another. I am willing to help you out, but I will not suffer your scorn!”

  Matthew sat back in his chair, eyes wide open. “How do you know anything about me, or my family?”

  Castle smiled. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Wilcox! I just told you that I come from a powerful firm of attorneys. Half of the men you see standing in the foyer and out on the sidewalk are private investigators, just like you. I, with their help, know just about everything there is to know about you and your family…”

  Castle smiled. “I know that you and your son Chance have opened a brand new private detective agency…I know that you own a ranch in the Granville area, along with your step-son Samuel. I know all about your step-daughter Abigal as well, and her family…”

  Matthew’s green eyes were blazing with fury and Castle paused, “Please, don’t be alarmed, sir. I just want you to know that you are not the only one who owns valuable information. Really, I quite admire you!”

  Stephen continued, “I have learned a lot about your past. I know about your younger years, and how you were kidnapped by a gang as a boy. I know all about the outlaw Top Hat and the Granville Standoff. I know about your subsequent life as a sheriff and later as a U.S. Marshal. You are quite the character, sir, which is why I chose to talk to you—as equals—before my partners and I are forced to take action against you.”

  Matthew let the man’s words sink in and willed his heart to stop trying to beat its way out of his chest. Swallowing, he decided, at least for now, to go along with Stephen Castle’s plans. First, though, he had to make it through
this meeting without throttling the man and getting shot for his troubles. Besides, if Castle was actually willing and able to undermine the Trinity, he needed to check his attitude and at least let the man prove his worthiness.

  He nodded and said, “I am sorry for my rude behavior. Please, continue…”

  Castle grinned. “Apology accepted, Mr. Wilcox. Now, where was I?” He paused for a moment and said, “Oh yes, solvency issues…” He shook his head. “I am the youngest son in the Castle and Castle family firm, you know. Both my older brother and sister are partners, but not I…not until my father passes and, maybe, not even then. So, I have had to make my own fortune.”

  He poured another cup of coffee, added cream and sugar and said, “I have known the other members of the Trinity since I was just a boy in college. We have made a lot of money together as a team, but mostly on the up and up. Lately though, the oldest of us, who is also the richest, has started to do things I can’t—as a man of honor—allow to continue. His name is Edward Branson…”

  Watching as Matthew whipped a notebook from his breast pocket and started taking notes, Castle admonished, “Mr. Wilcox, if putting words to paper helps you to remember names and places, fine, but my men and I will not allow you to carry proof of crimes committed out that door. Surely you can understand that?”

  Matthew paused and looked up. Well, he thought, it was worth a try, anyway. Matthew folded the notebook closed and placed it back in his coat pocket. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “Force of habit.” (A small lie, but one Matthew had every intention of making into a reality.)

  Stephen smiled. “It is Edward who has turned a fairly honest, recent enterprise into an exercise of theft and murder. Edward decided, a year or so ago, that he wants to own a gold mine. He’s not smart enough, or frankly, energetic enough to do it honestly, so we came up with the idea of buying out a number of landowners around a couple of existing mines.