by Ron Schwab
Trey said, “Do you mind staying in town this morning? I would like to have you look at Carrie’s sketch. Then I can take you home.”
“I’ll be glad to stay the rest of the day, if you don’t mind my tagging along. I’d like to stay in touch with Gabe’s condition. I do know people around here. I might be helpful if you want to talk to folks.”
“I’m sure I can use your help. If you want to call your grandmother, you can tell her you will be home before dark.”
“I’ll call Grandma Beth.” Of course, the gentleman would have her home before dark. Maybe he would give her a goodnight handshake.
Chapter 20
TREY
Kate and I stopped at the sheriff’s office, and I asked a deputy if the dead gunman had been identified or if they had learned anything that might connect the man to anyone else. The deputy, a big man, carrying about a hundred excess pounds of blubber, most of which lopped over his belt, struck me as something of a sloth and did not seem particularly interested in my inquiries. He knew nothing and suggested I check back later, when I was confident he would still know nothing.
When we stepped outside the sheriff’s office, I nearly bumped into someone, and, when I realized who it was, I wished I had. Liam Karlsson. I had taken an instant dislike to the man when he and Kate had exchanged pleasantries at the Belle Fourche Roundup. He had seemed a pleasant-enough man, and I suspect women found him charming and quite dashing. But I was annoyed by the way his eyes roamed Kate’s body with too much familiarity. And she didn’t seem to mind at all.
Kate spoke first. “Liam. I’m surprised to see you in Rapid City. I thought you were working in Custer. And you’re out of uniform. Did you leave the rangers?”
“No, I’ve got the day off. I was hoping to spend it with you. I called your house last night, but your grandmother said you were staying over in Rapid City, and I thought I might find you here. Did you stay at Alice’s?”
I gathered Alice was a friend, and the muscle-bound lout cast me the evil eye when he asked the question. I wished he would move on, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush.
“No,” Kate said. “Trey and I have a friend in the hospital . . . you do remember Trey? We stayed at the hospital last night.” She hastily added, “In the waiting area.”
“I see.”
But, of course, the oaf did not like what he was seeing. I supposed he thought we had secured a private hospital room for the night. Kate was looking a bit flustered now, evidently sensing the man’s displeasure. Gallant knight that I am, I came to her rescue.
I pulled out my pocket watch and feigned worry. “Kate, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we are running late. We should be moving on.”
“Oh, you’re right. We are late. I’m sorry, Liam. I’ll have to talk to you another time.”
“I’ll call next time I have a day off,” Liam said, as we hurried to the car.
“Yes, that would be nice,” Kate called back.
When we were seated in the Model T, I said. “I don’t think Mr. Karlsson likes me.”
“You weren’t very friendly yourself.”
“So, he’s your boyfriend?”
“No. We saw each other some last summer. We haven’t been out since I got back from school.”
“But you led him to believe you would go out.”
“That’s because I don’t foreclose possibilities. He’s really very nice and can be fun.”
That was not what I wanted to hear. “You have the directions to Carrie’s place, don’t you?”
She pulled out a slip of paper. “Yes, but it’s not even ten o’clock. She thought it might be noon before she would have the sketch.”
“We can check now and go back later if she doesn’t have anything.”
When we rattled up in front of the box-shaped, clapboard farmhouse not far from the city, I was pleased to see that a sheriff’s office vehicle was parked there and that local law enforcement was looking after Carrie Swanson. I was surprised, however, when Deputy Bing Compton emerged from the house and walked down the brick path to greet us.
“Bing,” I said. “Are you still on duty?”
“Not on paid time. The department’s short-handed, so I volunteered to stay over a shift. Someone else will be out here by noon.”
It’s amazing how a pretty lady can bring out the volunteer spirit in us. “How is she doing on the sketch?”
“She finished that an hour ago. I was going to track you down, but Carrie’s mom forced me to try her Swedish sweet rolls first.”
“And your priority was your stomach.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Wouldn’t have been polite to turn her down. Anyways, Carrie said to tell you to come on in.” He waved for us to follow him into the house, where Carrie was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by the mouth-watering aroma of baking breads. No wonder Bing was hanging around the place. He was a goner if Carrie’s mom was setting a trap for a husband for her daughter.
We went over to the table, and Carrie lifted the sketchpad, so we could see. Instantly, Kate said, “It’s the same man.”
“You know him?” Bing asked.
Kate looked at me, and I gave a barely perceptible negative nod.
“No, but I’ve seen him someplace.”
“Carrie,” I said, “I’d like to take your sketch back to the sheriff’s office and have someone take some photographs of it. They can distribute it to all the officers, and, perhaps, put something in the newspaper. You will be safer then, too. Once the public has viewed the likeness, the killer wouldn’t have much incentive to come after you. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. The surgeon told me Gabe wouldn’t have made it to the hospital alive without your help.”
Carrie tore off the page and handed me the sketch, “I just hope Mr. Riley pulls through. I didn’t do anything anybody else wouldn’t have done under the circumstances.”
She was wrong, of course, but I decided we needed some unrealistically optimistic people in the world to balance out the cynics, like myself.
After we left the house, Kate and I delivered Carrie’s sketch to the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Matthew Johnson was in, and during this visit, I received some cooperation. A bear-like man with snow-white hair and a brushy moustache, the sheriff seemed an easy-going, good-natured sort, but his translucent blue eyes suggested this man was nobody’s fool. I strongly suspected he was one of those men who gained an edge by having others underestimate him. The sheriff instructed the sloth I met earlier—his name was Orville—-to get some photographs of the sketch and to get something to the local newspaper. Before my eyes, the man turned into an efficient machine.
“Do you suppose somebody could get a photo of the dead man?” I asked. “He looked like an Indian, I understand. If he’s Oglala, somebody might know who he was.”
“We can do that. Body’s over at the undertaker’s. I’ll get Orville on it, and we can get this picture out there, too.”
Sheriff Johnson invited us into his private office, and Kate and I took chairs in front of his cluttered desk. He sat down in his hardwood swivel-chair and leaned back, slinging one booted foot over his knee. He looked at Kate with a twinkle in his eyes. “So, how’s the old Irishman doing these days, Katie?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Kate said, “Cranky, as usual. He’s on a heifer-buying trip in Nebraska right now.”
“I saw him a few weeks ago. He said he was recruiting a good Democrat to run against me next election. I told him that finding a Democrat was tough in this county, and a good one, tougher yet. He said he might run his self to get me out of here. Now, that would give me cause for concern. He might give me a run for the money.”
“He wouldn’t run. It would take too much time away from his cows.”
The sheriff looked at me. “So, Mr. Ramsey, is the BI taking over this murder case?”
“Please, call me Trey.”
“Matt.”
“No, Matt, I don’t work that way. I’m not taking over anything . . .
besides, the BI doesn’t have any arrest powers. We need you folks on the case. Gabe Riley and I were sent here to investigate some reservation murders. It’s kind of a jurisdiction entanglement, with the BI, your office, the city and the reservation police. I suppose the state could intervene separately, also. The assault on Gabe took place in your domain, and I’m not going to interfere with how you approach the case.”
I could tell he was sizing me up, as he studied me in silence for several moments, before responding.
“The state won’t come in unless I ask. The town cops back off felonies, and there’s no overlap with reservation authorities. That’s not to say this isn’t related to your investigation on the reservation. I think we ought to team up. How can I help you out?”
“We didn’t have enough people before Gabe got taken down, and the Secret Service can’t spare anybody. I could use a man to work with me and be liaison with your office. That way, you can be certain you are in the loop, and I’ll have an extra officer with arrest powers to rely upon.”
“I could take care of that.”
“Could you spare Bing?”
The sheriff grinned. “Herbert Compton? He’s not dry behind the ears, but he’s smart as a whip and works like a plow mule. Sure, you can have Bing. I’ll get word to him that he’s working for you for a spell. Get ahold of this office when you have something you want him to do.”
Herbert? I could see why he adopted Bing. The latter sounded much more like a western deputy’s moniker.
After departing the sheriff’s office, Kate and I located the White Castle and decided to try the hamburgers for lunch. I thought, perhaps, a visit to the crime scene would inspire me. I ordered my burger sans onions, and the waitress’s look of disbelief made me feel like a namby-pamby. Kate took the works. So much for stealing a kiss. It occurred to me she might be ingesting male repellant. I also wondered if she would have ordered onions if Liam the Ox had been dining with her.
While we waited for the hamburgers, I asked, “No doubt that the guy in Carrie’s sketch is the same guy who was stalking the president?”
“None. He didn’t wear a battered cowboy hat or boots that day, or an open-collared shirt, but I would swear under oath it’s the same man.”
“Most of Gabe’s inquiries were about the murdered and missing girls. We certainly should consider the possibility we’re looking at the same perpetrators for all the crimes. If the Sioux girl will talk to me, that’s my best chance for a lead, so I’ll still concentrate on that. I’m also going to have a conversation with Willy Hobson first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll have the Secret Service detain him as soon as he shows up for work at the lodge.”
When we left the White Castle, I decided to swing by the hospital and try to get a report on Gabe’s status. Doctor Harrington would not likely be there yet, but, perhaps, we could learn something. As I pulled out of the parking stall, Kate said, “You’re a man to watch out for. You really are one sweet-talking fool.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sweet-talked Matt Johnson into going along with you slick as a whistle.”
“I didn’t sweet-talk him. I just told him I wanted to work with him.”
“With more syrup than I put on my hotcakes this morning.”
“I haven’t been with the BI long, but I’ve seen a few cases stalled just because a federal officer steps on local toes. That’s not going to be my style.”
When we entered the hallway outside of Gabe’s room, I was pleased to see that one of Matt Johnson’s deputies was posted outside the door. I showed him my credentials and vouched for Kate, but she was already exchanging small talk with the middle-aged man, and they obviously knew each other. It seemed that everybody knew Kate.
“Is there any news about my partner?” I asked.
“He woke up. Doc just got here and is checking on him now. He ought to be out in a few minutes.”
“That’s good news,” I said. “We’ll wait.”
Kate sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting area, where we had spent the previous night. She seemed to be watching me curiously as I paced the hall like an expectant father. I was anxious for a status report on Gabe. I had been informed that Starling had notified Gabe’s wife, Clara, of the shooting, but she was a thousand miles away in Washington. It must have been driving her crazy, waiting for word of her husband’s condition. I promised myself I would call her personally as soon as I could confirm his status. I prayed that I would be able to deliver good news.
The door to Gabe’s room opened, and Doctor Harrington emerged. He saw me and walked in my direction. I felt Kate’s fingers clutch my arm. Somehow, like a silent, slinky cat, she had eased beside me when the surgeon appeared.
“He’s conscious,” the surgeon said, “and surprisingly lucid. This is very positive. My biggest concern is infection. That could set in anytime, especially with the lung wound. If he pulls through, he’s going to be down for a long spell. He will need to be hospitalized for several weeks. It will be considerable time before I can make a serious prognosis on outcome, but this is the best news we could hope for right now.”
“Can we see him?” I asked.
“For a few minutes, I suppose. But you’re not helping him if you don’t hold it to that.”
Dr. Harrington hurried down the hall, evidently planning to check on another patient while he was at the hospital. Kate and I entered Gabe’s room and found a nurse holding a thermometer in his mouth. Gabe was awake, but his eyes were glazed over, and his head was motionless as he watched us approach his bedside. The nurse removed the thermometer and noted something on a chart and left the room after tossing us what I took as a warning look. Kate broke away and moved next to Gabe, placing her hand on his cheek and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. That won a faint smile. She would be a tough act to follow, as they say.
I stepped closer. “I guess I won’t ask you how you feel.”
He answered anyway in a near whisper. “Like shit.”
Those words gave me hope. Same old Gabe. “Can we do something for you?”
“Tell Clara I’m fine. Not to come. Stay with the kids.”
“I’ll call her, as soon as we leave here.”
“Tell her I’m going for a desk job.” With those words, he closed his eyes and drifted away.
Chapter 21
THE RAPID CITY OUTFIT
Boss Bullock was outraged. His clumsy thugs had messed up again. Max Waters was dead. Not a great loss to the outfit, but he was another dot for somebody to connect. And some woman could identify Solly. He should kill Solly and have his body dumped out in the Badlands someplace. He decided he would do this. But not yet. He needed him out at the chick coop until they shipped out another load. As soon as the shipment headed for Chicago, Solly was dead meat.
His brother, Bull, Solly Cleaver and George Many Knives sat silently in the chairs across from Boss’s desk. “Listen up. I got some plans here. First, George, I want you to contact Chicago. Tell your contact we want a delivery truck at the pick-up point north of the chick coop one week from tomorrow, an hour before sundown.”
“But we only got eight chicks. We’re two short,” Many Knives protested.
“Then get off your ass and fill the coop. And one better be that bitch, Connolly.”
“Boss, the Connolly woman is trouble. Leave her alone.”
Bullock slipped the pistol from his desk and pointed it at the Sioux. ”Are you planning to call the shots now?”
Many Knives didn’t flinch and returned an icy glare. “No. I gave you my opinion. But we’ll pick up the Connolly girl and find one or two others. The woman will die in Chicago in a week, though, after they’ve used her up. They can’t hold somebody like that. Sooner or later, she’d escape. And she would know what to do. The reservation girls have never been anyplace. They’re afraid to try to get away. And some have been sold for wives or mistresses after a bit. Bettered themselves. The Connolly woman’s a different animal.”
“Get her to the coop before the truck comes. And I might want to try her before she’s shipped out, so let me know when you’ve got her. I’m thinking we might hold her for ransom, and then we’d have to kill her and forget about her Chicago vacation. Do you have enough help?”
“I’ve got two Oglala, who are in too deep to get out now, and Charlie. I might pull my nephew, Willy Hobson, in on this one. He needs work. He’s been my snitch at the lodge, but I told him to disappear. It’s too risky for him to go out there now. If somebody makes a connection and they squeeze him, I don’t know what he’d say. I told him he’s in big trouble if they find him out . . . from them and us. I’m going to teach him the business. I’ll put Charlie and the two Oglala on rounding up the girls. I’ll take Willy with me to corral the Connolly girl. And I’d like Bull, too. We’ll camp on the back side of an overhang that gives a good view of the Shamrock building site. We can hide the truck up there, too. We’ll take my spyglass and watch in shifts. The girl moves about by herself a lot, as near as I can tell. It won’t take but a few days to catch her alone.”
Bullock didn’t like it, but he agreed the breed had already served his purpose at the lodge. He turned to Cleaver. “There’s a picture out on you, Solly. You’re poison. I want you out at the chick coop. George will run you up to the drop-off. Grab your stuff and get out of Rapid City. When the delivery truck comes for the merchandise, you’ll ride with the driver to Chicago. You’ve done it before. Only this time, don’t come back . . . ever. I’ll give you all you’ve earned before you pull out.” He did not add that the moron had earned a bullet in the brain.
Grim-faced Solly Cleaver nodded assent.
“Bull, as soon as you trap the girl, I want you back here in case I need something in a rush. Nobody can connect you to anything that’s happened, so you can go downtown, if necessary.”