Lincoln's Ransom

by Tim Champlin

  “Come in.”

  Hughes opened the door for them, then departed with McGuinn.

  Kinealy sat at a small table by the window, writing something by the light of a coal-oil lamp. He immediately put his pen down and got up, his face clouded like an approaching storm. But Packard had been with this man long enough to know that the best defense was always a good offense.

  “Jim, it’s a damn’ good thing I went out for a little constitutional. I just saw Boston Corbett.”

  Kinealy stopped short, his mouth half open and eyes wide, like a man who’d caught a punch in the solar plexus.

  “He and a cop and some other man were coming out of the train dépôt about fifteen minutes ago,” Packard continued before Kinealy could recover his breath. “I didn’t say anything to Hughes and McGuinn. Thought you ought to know about it first.”

  He glanced over at Janice as if for confirmation of his statement. She nodded, but her eyes held a questioning look.

  Kinealy rubbed one big hand over his mouth and jaw, staring at nothing. Finally he said: “Did he see you?”

  “No. I was probably thirty yards away, and he was standing under a street light, gabbing with these two men.”

  “You say one of them was a policeman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn!” he exploded. He dragged up the wooden chair he’d been using and sat down heavily.

  Janice walked over and seated herself on the bed while Packard continued standing by the door.

  There followed a long minute or so of silence.

  “No telling what that crazy bastard is telling the law,” Kinealy muttered then, as if thinking out loud. “If they’re questioning the train crew and the station agent and the porters, they’ll be able to track us easily enough. Their next stop will be the livery stables and hotels, starting with the largest...this one.” He lapsed into silence once more.

  Janice and Packard looked at each other. He’d apparently forgotten their presence entirely.

  She undid the clasp at her throat and threw off the cape, laying it across the bed.

  “O K, we’ll fall back on the alternate plan,” Kinealy said, looking at them. “We have to move fast. Tonight.” He got to his feet, once more clearly in command. “Janice, go tell McGuinn and Hughes to get their stuff together. We’re checking out right now.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, standing up.

  “We’re taking that body out of Riley’s basement. Then I’ll show you.”

  “I thought we were done moving that thing,” Packard muttered quietly to Janice after they stepped out into the hallway and Kinealy closed the door behind them.

  “So did I. Are you sure that was the same crazy preacher you got tangled up with the night you boarded the train? It couldn’t have been somebody who just resembled him, could it?”

  He shook his head. “Once you’ve seen and heard this man, there’s no mistaking him.”

  To keep her from being alone with Hughes, he paused by the door while she rapped. He opened it and gave Packard a cold look.

  “Boston Corbett’s in town and has the law looking for us.”

  “Who?”

  “The crazy man who shot Wilkes Booth,” Janice said. “You remember, I told you that Jim had to kidnap him because he was going to give the whole show away.”

  “Oh, yeah. How’d he find out we’re in Saint Joe?”

  “I don’t know, but Jim says to get packed. We’re leaving here tonight.”

  Janice went with Packard to his room to tell McGuinn. At first he was incredulous, then said: “Why didn’t you tell me this when we were out on the street just now? Hell, we could have grabbed him again and kept him quiet.”

  “Grab him away from two cops? Not likely. And the way he was running his mouth, they already had the full story, anyway. Somebody probably escorted him out here on the train.”

  “I hate the idea of running from that runty, little loud mouth,” McGuinn grumped as Janice nodded to Packard and ducked out of the room. “We should’ve done for him when we had the chance.”

  “You mean killed him?”

  He balled a knotty fist under Packard’s nose. “I could have punched him a lot harder than I did.”

  “And swung for murder if you were caught. Right now, all you’ve got against you is body-snatching and property damage, which are only misdemeanors.”

  “Missed...what?”

  “Small offenses in the sight of the law. Why do you think I’ve never done anything worse than robbing graves? That way, if I was caught, I wouldn’t get the death penalty.”

  “Some things are worth the risk,” he said, angry as he snatched up his spare shirt and rolled his razor and toothbrush into it.

  Packard borrowed a towel from the washstand to hold his few items of spare clothing and the personal effects he’d bought.

  Ten minutes later they were in the lobby, checking out. Janice and Rip Hughes were the only ones carrying small grips.

  “I have to charge you for tonight,” the desk clerk said primly, peering over his half glasses. “You might as well stay until morning.”

  “Urgent business,” Kinealy grunted, shoving several bills at him.

  As they trooped out the front door, Packard glanced back and saw the thin clerk look up at the big wall clock. It was only nine-twenty.

  They were virtually silent as they walked the several short blocks to Riley’s saloon. When they were several doors from the place, Kinealy turned to Hughes. “Stay here and keep an eye on Janice. I don’t want anyone thinking she’s alone in this part of town.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said quickly, throwing a fearful glance at Hughes.

  “No. The place looks pretty busy. You’d draw too much attention. I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Packard offered, trying to sound disinterested.

  “Why is everyone starting to question my orders?” Kinealy exploded, turning to face them. “I said Hughes and Janice will stay here. You two come with me.” He gestured at Packard and McGuinn.

  The three of them went on ahead and entered the saloon. The frosted glass door let in a wave of cold air that stirred the hanging haze of tobacco smoke. Three or four men nearest the door looked up, but they occasioned no notice from the rest of the two dozen men in the place as they headed for the bar. Riley was helping his bartender. In the minute or two it took him to wait on them, Packard used the back-bar mirror to study the clientele in the room and was relieved there was no sign of Boston Corbett or anyone else who looked like he might be a law officer.

  They ordered beer, and Kinealy gestured that he wanted to see Riley in private. Riley nodded toward the back room. The two of them slid away, leaving Packard and McGuinn.

  Time dragged as they leaned on the polished mahogany and sipped their tepid beer. The big, wall clock slowly cranked itself around to ten after ten. Packard was beginning to worry that something was amiss, but, just as he started to suggest they go find out what was taking so long, the door to the back room opened and the two of them emerged.

  Riley went back behind the bar, and Kinealy slid up alongside McGuinn. “He’s got a buckboard in a shed out back we can use. We can borrow his team to pull it...as soon as he gets rid of this crowd.”

  “Gentlemen!” Riley called, walking out from behind the bar and raising his hands. “Gentlemen! Let me have your attention!”

  The hum of voices gradually died.

  “Afraid I’ve got some bad news. I’ve just been told that my sainted mother has been struck down with apoplexy and is in a bad way. She lives some ways out of town, so I’ll have to close early and go see about her.”

  There was a murmur of disappointment, and someone said: “Why can’t your bartender run the place?”

  This met with general agreement.

  “Sorry, gents, but that’s not the way I do business. But I’ll be open at the regular time tomorrow. Just to show I appreciate your business, everyone have a drink on me for the
road.”

  With a clatter of chairs and comments of approval, the men at the tables moved toward the bar.

  For the next few minutes Riley and his young barkeep were kept busy pouring the free drinks. Then, one and two at a time, the men put on their hats and drifted out into the night.

  As the last customer left, followed by the bartender, Riley closed and locked the door behind him. McGuinn, Kinealy, and Packard went out the back way, following Riley who carried a lantern. Across the alley and some way behind the privy was a small, wooden building that served as a wagon shed and stable. The place smelled musty and was festooned with cobwebs and layered with dust. But instead of the neglected, dried-out, old trap Packard half expected, the buckboard showed considerable care. The axles had been greased, the wood recently varnished. The harness, hanging on a peg, was also in excellent condition, the leather cleaned and oiled. One of the two duns they backed out of their stalls to harness up was apparently Riley’s saddle horse, but the saloon-keeper seemed almost gleeful that they were taking his only means of transportation.

  “We’ll get this rig back to you as soon as we can,” Kinealy was saying as McGuinn, Packard, and Riley set about hitching up.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he chattered. “Just keep it as long as you want. In fact, you can have it. Yes, it’s yours. You don’t have to bring it back.”

  Kinealy looked at him curiously. “I’ll pay you for it right now, then.” He reached inside his coat and drew out a wad of bills. Apparently he had gotten more from his contact in Chicago than Packard realized.

  “You’ll get your regular fee later, after I get paid,” Kinealy continued, handing over three or four one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “I know. I know. No rush about that,” Riley said, stuffing the bills into his pocket without even looking at them. He went to the stable door and peered through a crack into the dark alley. “Just take that coffin and go.” He seemed both nervous and relieved, as he pulled out a bandanna and mopped his face and head.

  After the team was harnessed, Riley extinguished the lantern, opened the door, and they walked the horses and buckboard around to the side door of the saloon. The sky was still overcast, and the only light showing came faintly from several other saloons up the street. Riley unlocked the door and held the duns while the three of them went down into the basement once more with the lantern. Kinealy struck a match to the wick and set the smoky light on the floor while they made short work of uncovering the lead coffin, wrapping and tying the canvas around it, and muscling it up the wooden steps to the wagon outside.

  “Just keep your head down and your mouth shut,” Kinealy said in a low voice as he mounted the seat and took the reins. “I’ll be in touch in a few days.”

  “You can count on me,” Riley answered, stepping back out of the way as Packard joined Kinealy on the wooden seat, and McGuinn climbed into the back.

  Kinealy clucked up the team, and they again began the perilous task of moving the body through a town that was not deserted or asleep. They paused a block away to beckon Hughes and Janice out of the shadows of the building where they’d been left. They quickly clambered in over the tailgate and joined McGuinn in back.

  People were still up and about even though it was around eleven o’clock. Kinealy took a circuitous route to avoid the well-lighted saloons near the waterfront. They passed the old, brick Pony Express stable, and within a few short blocks had left St. Joe behind. Kinealy whipped the team to a trot, and the buckboard made good time, running north along a deserted road that roughly paralleled the Missouri River.

  Packard wondered if the others had any idea where they were going, but he had learned his lesson about asking Kinealy too many questions. Nobody spoke, and Packard hunched forward and sat on his hands to dull the bite of the wind.

  They traveled about four miles as nearly as he could estimate before Kinealy pulled the team to a walk and guided them off the road and across a flat field, bumping in and out of shallow washes and holes. Then they were back on some sort of overgrown road, and, by the time they began winding up into some steep hills, the horses had their second wind and were pulling strongly. They were apparently in a range of low hills, northeast of town, some distance back from the river.

  Finally, after several twists and turns, Kinealy drew up in front of a large, white house Packard could dimly make out.

  “Here we are,” he said, setting the brake and stepping down.

  “Where?” Packard asked. It appeared to be an abandoned two-story frame house.

  “The old Hanrahan place.”

  This told him nothing, but Packard kept silent until he continued.

  “Thomas Hanrahan made a fortune in textiles in New York. Retired here with his money and had it built around Eighteen Fifty-Two. Unfortunately, he got to meddling in politics, got crossways of some Southern border raiders who killed him and his wife just before the war. Tied up and stabbed in the cellar. I heard there was a big wrangle among his relatives about the estate.” He paused as the four of them dragged the heavy coffin off the buckboard and started toward the house. “Anyway, nobody’s lived here since the murders. Had an idea about stashing the body here to begin with, instead of fooling with Riley. Probably should have. Would’ve saved time and money.” He grunted as they leaned into the slight incline with their burden. “We’ll take it in the front door. Watch your step on this porch. The boards could be rotten. This place has been deserted for years.”

  “Just what I wanted to replace the Patee House,” Janice muttered under her breath as she walked beside Packard.

  “What’s that?” Kinealy snapped, catching her words.

  “Nothing.” she replied wearily.

  “If you don’t like it, you can go back to Springfield, or any place else you want to go,” Kinealy replied coldly. “It was your idea to be part of this operation, so quit complaining!”

  “The least you could do is tell me in advance where we’re going, so I can be prepared,” she retorted. “But, no. You drag us up here to some ratty, old, haunted house. I thought you could find something better than this.”

  “Would it have made any difference if I’d told you?”

  This exchange was going nowhere so she lapsed into a sullen silence. Packard was thankful for the darkness, because he didn’t want to look at either one of them. Marital arguments made him very uncomfortable, and even more so since he was enamored of her.

  They set the coffin down on the porch while Kinealy shoved the front door aside with a gloved hand. It squeaked open on rusty hinges and glass tinkled as the remaining shards of an oval window fell out.

  “Fetch the lantern from the buckboard,” Kinealy ordered his wife.

  She obeyed without comment, and a couple of minutes later they had the canvas-wrapped coffin inside the front parlor with the door shut. “I hope this house sets far enough back in the hills that no light can be seen from the road,” Kinealy said, striking a match to the lantern and sending warm, welcome light flooding the space around them. The house had been left furnished, and the dust of years lay over a horsehair sofa, wingback chairs, marble-top table, and Oriental carpet. “Even if somebody should see it,” Kinealy continued, “we can count on them believing it’s the spirits of the dead, so nobody will come to investigate. You can see how nobody has stolen or vandalized anything in here. Fear of murder victims is a powerful deterrent. The Hanrahan house has the reputation of being haunted, as Janice says.” He added with a touch of sarcasm: “But, just in case, better make sure the shutters are closed.”

  “Hell, boss, about half these shutters have fallen off,” McGuinn said, examining the front windows. The heavy, moth-eaten drapes looked as if they would drop into a dusty heap if anyone so much as touched them.

  “No matter,” Kinealy said. “Let’s get this box down into the cellar, anyway.”

  “Damn it, boss, do we have to carry it down more stairs?” McGuinn groaned. “Let’s just set it in one of these empty rooms. We’ll be here t
he whole time, I reckon. Nobody’s going to bother it.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right. Janice, lead us into the back parlor with that light. We’ll just set it across a couple of chairs.”

  This accomplished, they explored some of the other rooms, trying to find some reasonably comfortable place to bed down for the night. Candelabras were still intact on the big sideboard even containing a few candles that hadn’t been chewed up by hungry mice. This gave them a little more independence, since they could each have a light of sorts.

  “What a magnificent mansion this must have been before the war!” Janice marveled, as her initial disgust with the state of the place began to ebb. By the wavering light of her candle, she was examining the ornate furnishings and the darkened oil portraits that glared down from heavy frames.

  “I imagine this house has a magnificent view of the river from this height,” Hughes said, sliding into their conversation with an oily persistence. “You know, of course, that we are in the lower end of the Loess Hills.”

  “The what?” Janice asked.

  “The Loess Hills,” he said, then smiled. “An irregular string of hills that stretches from the Dakota Territory down into northern Missouri. Formed eons ago by wind-blown dust. There are no rocks in these hills.” He was obviously trying to impress her with his knowledge.

  “Oh, really?” Janice sounded less than enthusiastic with her geology lesson.

  As she and Packard and Hughes stepped into one of the front bedrooms, she gasped and jumped back as something scuttled away from the light and disappeared under the bed.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a nest of pack rats up inside that mattress somewhere,” Hughes remarked.

  “I think I’ll sleep in the front parlor,” Packard said with a laugh, but laying the groundwork for the escape he planned before daylight. “And, speaking of sleep, I guess we’d better see to the horses before we settle in.” Packard had to know exactly where the horses were so he could lay hands on one of them in the dark.

  He went back into the kitchen where he found Kinealy working the handle of an indoor water pump. In a minute or so water came gushing out into the deep sink. “Ah, good! It still works. Water, but no food. I’ll pick up some food, when I go back in to the Western Union office tomorrow. If everything goes well, we can stash the body somewhere out of sight around here and then head on up the river to Nebraska City. Maybe get a steamboat from there to Omaha. Once the body’s well hidden, we can move on and deal with the governor from anywhere.”