by Lynn Landes
“How long do you think before it wears off?”
“Not sure, her fingers and toes are moving already, maybe a couple more hours. She did vomit, and that usually helps to clear the system pretty quickly. I would say we give her more in two or three hours. Once she can sit up on her own.”
“We better get on with it then.” Mrs. Killian suggests, and Eve nods and gets her tools. Each girl will be marked with an identical flower on their wrist below the thumb.
“What about the other girls?” Ms. Eve asked. They talk while she begins the tattoo process. A needle is dipped in black ink and hammered into her wrist, while the blood is wiped away. Sweat breaks out on Bronnah’s body from the unexpected pain. She struggles to not twitch and thankfully it doesn’t take long. Her wrist is wrapped in white gauze which will be removed in the morning and cleaned once more to avoid infection. They walk away to mark the other girls.
Bronnah forces herself to remain still. She knew it would do no good to try to fight back while she was outnumbered five to one. Each time they check on her she pretends to be sleeping or doesn't move. Escape! I need to escape. Moving her head, she turns to look around the room and sees Kai through the window looking at her. She lifts a hand and struggles to lift a foot.
Voices are coming her way once more, so she pretends to be sleeping once more. "Put her on the other bed. Don't mess up her hair. I don't want to have to fix it when they come for them in the morning." They place Helene in the bed across the room, and she never wakes up. "This one had three cups. She won't wake up until the train is already halfway to its destination." Mrs. Killian laughs, and they shuffle out of the room.
“Eve, the first six of this batch were already sent to the mining towns and the second batch will need to be dealt with in the morning. Why don’t you all go get some sleep? I’ll rest here until it’s time to load them on the train.”
They all agree and quickly filter out. Rose orders room service and rests in a chair flipping through her ledger, making notes. She keeps tabs of all the women, coming and going in this ledger. Soon the food arrives, strong, flavorful soup, with biscuits and fresh coffee. Kai watches and listens from the double doors. Thinking quickly, he runs to one of the bedroom windows and knocks softly before running back. Kai grins when she goes to check on Emma and Diane. He opens the unlocked French door and runs swiftly to her tray. Inside is a bowl of soup and biscuit. He quickly pulls out a dropper and squirts half the bottle into the soup and then dashes into Bronnah's room and slips under the bed. Mrs. Killian returns and finds everything quiet. She sits back in a chair and drinks her soup.
"Mmm, delicious. This time tomorrow, the train will arrive, and I will be five hundred dollars richer." Picking up the bowl she finishes the last drop and begins chewing on the biscuit. Yawning she stands and walks to the room where the French girls are sleeping. "Exquisite," she runs a hand up the net stocking covering Emma's pale white legs and checks the garters are tight. "The saloon boys are going to enjoy you. They like French girls." Emma is dressed in a dark blue and black corset, stockings, garters, and black ankle boots. Each girl was given exquisite clothing, designed to tempt a man.
“Don’t worry, Diane, you’ll have your fair share of attention too.” A wave of dizziness has her shaking her head. She giggles and runs a hand over Diane’s lush breasts. “So pretty,” she stretches out beside her on the bed and touches her red painted lips with her fingertips.
"Tomorrow those lips will be busy, but tonight they are mine," she whispers and her body jerks. Ms. Killian tumbles from the bed to the hard-wooden ground below and convulses. The opium hits her, and she's unable to fight it. Half a bottle, in a small cup of soup, will either kill her or take her out for days.
Kai waits until he hears the noise and scrambles out from under the bed. “Come on!" he pulls on her hand. Bronnah glances at him and sits up slowly. She tests her feet and hands, before trying to stand. The room sways, but she clutches at the bed frame and nods at him. Her tongue doesn’t feel as swollen.
"No time!" He urges. Bronnah searches for her trunk but finds nothing, and they took her bag with all her cash the moment she was incapacitated. Stumbling to Helene, she tries to wake her, but she's out cold.
"Too much, poppy! We go now!" Kai pulls her from the room, but she is desperate to save at least one of the girls. When she moves into the girl's room, she stares in horror at them. They are dressed like strumpets, and Mrs. Killian is on the floor in a pool of vomit!
Dropping beside her on the floor she searches the woman for her small bag, to no avail. Rose opens her eyes and grabs Bronnah by her upper arms. Bronnah screams and pushes away from her with Kai leaping to help pull her back. Rose stares at them with hatred before her eyes roll back into her head once more. Bronnah rushes back to her body and searches her dress. She is rewarded with a small rolled up amount of cash, and a pistol, hopefully, that will be enough. Kai is desperate to escape, he knows they will need to get her far away, quickly.
Feeling stronger by the second, Bronnah nods and jumps up to follow him from the room. On the table in the sitting room is the ledger. She grabs it before looking down at her clothes in shock. “No!” she whispered.
Bronnah is wearing a very revealing dress, with lace trim and low-cut corset of black and emerald. Matching lace stockings and garter belt complete the look. She skids to a stop searching the room, desperate for her clothes. Kai watches and realizes what she's doing, he grabs a bag near the door and tosses it at her. It's full of the girl's clothes. Bronnah drops the ledger inside the bag as he yells, "Not now!" and pulls her to the double doors and points.
“We run!”
Bronnah nods in understanding and follows him clutching tightly to her bag. They run into the night desperate to put as much space between them and her captors.
Chapter 9
"Our new refrigerated rail car was built in New York. Chase, we saved on the shipping costs by attaching to the westward bound trains. Here's the itinerary." Dalton slides a paper to him with the stops the train made along the way.
"We know from the condition of the bodies that the girls died in the past few days." Chase studies the paper and frowns. "The most recent switch was in Illinois, guess that's where I'll start."
“I figured that would be the way of things. I booked you on the first train bound for Chicago in the morning. It’s a sleeper car so you can rest on the way. It’s a two-day journey, arriving in Chicago on August 24th. Lucky for you, I know people.” Dalton laughs and stands up.
“Thanks, Dalton. I’ll check in at the local police office as soon as I can. Hopefully, they can help with the investigation. I’ve already sent a wire to the U. S. Marshall's office informing them of the murders. They’re notifying all the Sheriff’s offices along the train route.” They walk outside Dalton’s office into the living room at the main house.
“What will you do about your next delivery?” Chase asked.
"I'm going to take your advice and hire some men from Fort Laramie. It should only delay us by a few days, and hopefully, with the ride along security we will make our delivery on time."
“I’m sorry I can’t help, but this investigation takes precedence. How’s Pierce doing?” Chase asked.
“I won’t lie to you, he's shaken up, but he’ll be okay,” Dalton answers. “You worry about coming home to us and stop whoever killed those girls.”
“I will.” He watches Dalton walk away to check on his very pregnant wife and play with his son in the front room. Chase smiles with satisfaction before going to his room to pack.
He packs quickly, strapping on his pistols and inspecting his rifle. Once he cleans and polishes it, he checks it over carefully. “You going to stand out there all day or come in?” He snaps gruffly without looking up.
“I just wanted to see you before you go,” Pierce replied stepping inside the room from shadows of the hallway. Chase glances at his brother and sighs.
“Pierce, I’m sorry you had to see those women l
ike that.” He tosses his duffel bag on the floor, followed by his rifle and places his handcuffs on the back of his belt. Pierce shrugs and watches him polish his black cowboy boots.
“What exactly does a U. S. Marshall do, Chase?”
Chase rubs his boot with a dry cloth, and looks up, “Mostly they serve warrants and arrest those who need arresting. Sometimes we handle prisoner transfers. Those who wish to not be in the field handle census duties or distribute Presidential Proclamations. Some protect the borders in their jurisdiction.”
“But not you, what do you do?”
Chase grins at his brother’s perception and the cold glint of determination flickers in his eyes.
“I hunt, Pierce.” His smile fades as he stares at his brother. “I hunt fugitives who have no integrity and think they can outrun the law. I deliver justice.”
Pierce walks over to the bed and picks up Chase’s U.S. Marshall Pocket watch and rubs his thumb over the engraved words on the case. “Chase Rivers, United States Marshall, Wyoming Territory.” He hands it to Chase who slips it into the pocket of his jeans. “We’re lucky to have you protecting us. I hope you find them. No one deserves to die like that.”
Haunted eyes meet steel, “I’m very good at my job.” He stands up and clasps his brother on the shoulder. “Those images may never fade, Pierce, and I’m not sure they should. Sometimes we see things that scar us, but those scars can make us stronger, better men, if we let them.” Pierce nods and clears his throat.
“You just be careful. Whoever did this will have no mercy on a Marshall.”
“I don’t need mercy.” Chase pulls on his black duster and slips on his cowboy hat. “The winds of justice are blowing, and I’ve caught their scent.”
Three days later, Chase is standing in the street holding a map given to him at the train station, they called it a guide book. "The visitor's guide for the City of Chicago." It's a paper map showing all seven major railroads crisscrossing the city. They have one thing in common. Each major railroad line has its own depot, where all the trains come in or out of the city.
“Damn,” he growls. It's bigger than he expected. He locates the Police headquarters and decides to start there. Before he left for Chicago, he’d received a wire from the U. S. Marshalls headquarters. This case was bigger than any of them realized. Chase turns and flags down a waiting carriage.
"Central Police Station." Holding his duffel, he climbs inside and settles down for the ride. The streets of Chicago are busy. Dust is flying as carriages, wagons, and people on horseback dodge around each other. The sun is shining high in the September sky, and a cool breeze is blowing. Chase jumps, and his hand goes to his rifle when a high-pitched siren erupts in the air.
"Easy cowboy, don't shoot," The driver pulls to the side, and Chase watches in stunned silence as a horseless carriage comes by carrying a massive black tank on its back with men riding on it or flanking it on horseback.
“That is our first steam-powered fire engine.” The driver said with pride. “She’s a screamer.”
Chase laughs and watches as it passes. He can’t help but think of Pierce and his creative mind. “Amazing.” It releases a loud hiss of steam and people wait for it to pass before moving back into the street. They pull back out into the dirt road and continue. A few minutes later he is paying the driver and walking up to a two-story brick building. The inside of the building is dark and dreary. The noise from Chase’s boots seems to echo on the wooden floor as he steps up to a desk and drops his bag.
Black benches line the walls, filled with people staring at him. The smell isn’t much better inside than it is outside. The city of Chicago is teaming with people. You won’t find the elite hanging out in the police stations of big cities, it reminds him of New York and San Francisco. Poverty, desperation, sickness, and despair.
“I need to see your Police Chief. He should be expecting me, Chase Rivers.” The man sighs when the front door slams open. Loud voices erupt as two police officers drag in a drunk from the street.
"The Chief will be with you shortly," the clerk snaps.
“Won’t doing nothing but trying to sleep!” An old gravelly voice shouted.
"You'll have your say later." The officer moves around to help. "Now sit down, or we'll put you in a cell." He shoves the old man into a bench seat and goes upstairs to talk to the Chief. Another officer offers him a cup of coffee to sober up.
“That sounds nice,” he slurs and glares at Chase.
“The Chief will see you now, Mr. Rivers.” A young officer leads the way. He shows him to an office on the second floor of the building and knocks twice on the door before pushing it open. The upstairs offices are a relief from the gloom of the station house.
"Police Chief John Mox, at your service." A tall, refined-looking gentleman with a handlebar mustache shakes his hand.
“Chief Mox, I’m here to investigate the four dead girls found on a railcar in Wyoming. I was told the Marshall’s office would notify you of my arrival.”
“Yes, they sure did. Have a seat, Marshall.”
“Thank you. Chief. I’m here to investigate a railcar that was transferred in one of the depots here, coming from New York. All four young women had their throats slit.”
“Why not just let the police handle this? Why bring in the Marshall’s office?” Chief Mox leans back and waits for Chase to answer.
“Chief, this is a federal investigation. I’ll need to inspect all seven train depots in the city. You can assign the officers, but I’ll need to direct them in this investigation.” Chase stands and groans inwardly when the Chief begins to puff and sputter.
“Now, just who do you think you are? No one directs my police officers but me.” Chase turns and pulls his badge slamming it on the desk.
“I’m a United States Federal Marshall, Chief Mox. I have jurisdiction over this case. I’m certain it would look good on your record if you helped stop these criminals and apprehend the ones responsible. You might even get a commendation for your efforts from the President himself." Chase picks up his badge and leans over the desk. "Chief, you must understand the President is really invested in this case. Four young women were murdered in cold blood and dumped like yesterday's trash. They were reported missing by their families after answering ads to come out West to be matched to husbands. The President is pushing to bring more families to settle out West, and it doesn't look good if they are being murdered."
“I had no idea.” He sits heavily in his chair and stares at Chase. “Of course, we’ll help in any way we can. The President, you say?” Excitement gleams in his eyes. “What do you need?”
“Thank you. I will start by inspecting all seven train depots.”
“I will assign my best officers to assist you. Whatever you need.” Chief Mox jumps up and bellows down the stairs for Bowman.
“Neal Bowman is a patrol officer and my right-hand man.” Neal hurries in and smiles as he is introduced to Chase.
“Marshall, nice to meet you.” Neal is young, about the same age as Pierce.
“Bowman, I’m going to assign you to help Marshall Rivers with his investigation. I will pull as many officers as needed to search all seven railheads. This will take more than a day, Marshall. I hope you’re prepared for that.”
“I’m here for as long as it takes.”
“Bowman will get you settled in the office across the hall.” He digs in the drawer and tosses a key to the patrolmen. He quickly leads Chase across the hall, unlocks the door and lights a lantern. Chase tosses his canvas bag and shrugs off the duster and hangs it over a chair.
He sets his rifle in the corner, then removes his hat hanging it on a hanger, turning he finds Neal staring at him.
“So, exactly what are we looking for?”
“Evidence, traces of these women. How could four women be loaded onto a train and no one notice?” Chief returns with a map and spread it out on the table. He quickly begins to label each of the twelve rail lines coming into the city. Cha
se studies the map, watching the Chief label each.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to do the briefing with all the officers at once. Saves time.” Chase asked.
“Of course.”
“Chief, I need you to assign teams to each of these rail lines.” The next few hours are spent organizing. Chase steps in front of the twenty-four officers and fills them in on the details.
“Gentlemen, we’re looking for evidence in a quadruple murder. Four young women were killed. First, they were drugged, then someone bound their hands behind their backs, slit their throat and locked them inside a brand-new refrigerated car. They bled out somewhere between here and Wyoming.”
Chase glanced from person to person as he speaks. “I’m looking for evidence, clues, and any information that might lead to the killer or killers. We’ll interview every runner, pickpocket, drunkard, and employee at the railroad. One team will be assigned to hit all the saloons, these girls were dressed in garb that suggested they were companions. Officer Bowman will call your names and break you up into teams. Let’s get started.”
Chapter 10
Bronnah follows Kai, sticking as close to the shadows as possible. He seems to know where he's going, and her head is pounding. She still can't talk. What did they give her? What is she going to do? Those other girls are in so much trouble. Maybe she can help, but how? It's the middle of the night, and she's sick and desperate for a good night sleep. Stumbling behind Kai, she stops with a glance around. Her knees are growing weak, and she's having trouble standing now. Is this where her journey will end, in the back of some back alley?
"Stay here," Kai whispered and knocks on a door. A door opens flooding the alley with light. Bronnah slides to the ground, and her eyes begin to close. A cold hand touches her forehead, and someone lifts her eyelid.
“Qui est-elle?” Who is she the voice asks? Before Kai answers, Bronnah speaks.