by S A Falconi
Kraus shook his head. “What are you saying? Molly left you because she found another man? That’s preposterous.”
“Is it?” Donaghue asked. “Or does it make perfect sense?”
“It doesn’t,” Kraus argued. His own ruminations evaporated, leaving his mind poised and his tone terse. “Our top suspect is still Walter Blackburn. From what you’ve told me, Blackburn is nothing more than a lunatic furrier. Are you telling me that Molly fell in love with such a man?”
Donaghue considered the logic. Kraus was right; it made no sense. If there were two things Donaghue knew better than anyone else though, they were Molly and law enforcement. Certainly all evidence and circumstances pointed to Blackburn, but Donaghue’s familiarity with Molly revealed a stark contradiction. There was no way Molly could’ve known Blackburn, no less fallen in love with him. And yet, that was the only foreseeable explanation for why Molly left in the first place. It just didn’t make sense.
“Let’s consider something else,” Kraus added. “With the exception of Molly, the victims were found very near their locations of known residence. Eerily close in fact. But not Molly. Why?”
Donaghue considered it momentarily before answering, “Maybe Molly really was living in Denver and I just never knew it? Maybe she came back?”
“Or maybe,” Kraus interrupted, “she brought the Ripper to Denver.”
Donaghue shook his head with confusion. “What?” he retorted. “That makes no sense.”
“Just listen for a moment. What if Molly did in fact leave because she fell in love with someone else? They flee to parts unknown for a few years, but times get tough. They come back to Denver to get their feet back on the ground. She knows you’ve been exiled by the police department and the community. Hell, you probably don’t even live in Denver anymore, so there’s no need to fear running into you. Only that she does run into you one day. Maybe not run into, but she at least sees you, knows you’re still in the city. No! Something much worse. Her new love sees you. Maybe he fears that she’ll leave him and return to you? He can’t have that, won’t tolerate it. So he kills her and ditches her in the one place that’ll make everyone suspect you killed her.”
Although incredibly circumstantial, Donaghue knew it wasn’t an entirely insane theory. But what evidence supported it? None as far as Donaghue could tell.
“Why the others then?” Donaghue retorted. “One murder is enough to earn me the gallows. Why slaughter two others in the process?”
Kraus grinned. “Why not? He couldn’t risk the connection being missed as it was for several weeks. By killing those other women, he just added more evidence to incriminate you.”
“I suppose,” Donaghue mumbled. “But how does Walter Blackburn fit into this?”
Kraus’ grinned disappeared. He groaned, “That’s the problem … he doesn’t.”
Donaghue shook his head with disbelief, uttering, “We’ve got two working theories that contradict each other immensely. One is highly circumstantial, while the other just doesn’t seem to put all the pieces together.” Donaghue paused before adding, “And to top it off, we’re the primary persons of interest. How the hell are we going to hunt this bastard down?”
“I don’t know,” Kraus replied. “I just don’t know.”
X.
Donaghue and Kraus felt the locomotive shudder to a halt an hour later. Outside the window, Kraus could see the bustling train depot of Georgetown.
“Well,” Kraus remarked as he rose from his seat, “I suppose this is home sweet home for the time being.”
Donaghue’s brow lifted sardonically. His earlier yearning for liquor had merely transformed into a greater yearning to hunt the Ripper. Trapped in the alpine crags of a shanty mining town though, he knew the investigation would be completely out of his reach.
Donaghue filed into the narrow corridor of the train car and proceeded down its length to the exit. The narrow hallway stunk of something foul as the other passengers, many of whom were covered head to toe in mining soot, filed out of the nearby compartments in droves. The Rush had merely migrated farther up the mountain. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be long before the entire Western Slope was void of precious ore and the miners would have to brave the elements of the Divide to seize the plunder of its opposite flank.
Kraus coughed several times from the fumes. He was about to comment when Donaghue glared at him, a quiet warning to keep his mouth shut amongst such company. Donaghue had spent the better half of his life dealing with such breeds of men. As both an officer of the law and an enforcer of the peace at the Hanbury House, Donaghue had witnessed firsthand of what the brutes of the mines were capable. And right now, the last thing he wanted was to be in a brawl with these beasts.
As Donaghue passed through the train car’s threshold, the blend of crisp alpine air and locomotive smoke filled his lungs wonderfully. There was a certain purity to the air that Donaghue couldn’t explain. Maybe the gold and silver weren’t the only reasons why men flocked to the hills. Maybe they just wanted a taste of pure oxygen.
“AHHHHH!”
Every head on the depot platform spun in the direction of the heinous shriek.
“AHHHHH!” the shriek echoed, massacring the chaste alpine air.
Donaghue’s instinct as a lawman overcame him and, leaping from the train car, he tore down the platform in the direction of the scream.
“Donaghue!” Kraus hollered at his associate’s back. An instinct took hold of Kraus too, one that drove his body to leap from the car in similar fashion and pursue his companion.
“Out of the way!” Donaghue barked as he meandered through the mass of confused travelers. “Get out of the way damn it!” He tripped on the boot of a brute of a miner and, had he not stumbled headlong forward, the beast would’ve pummeled him into oblivion. Donaghue scrambled up from the platform planks when the shriek sounded again.
“Somebody help!” a man bellowed from the entrance of a train car near the caboose. “Somebody help!”
“I’m a doctor!” Donaghue heard Kraus holler from behind him. As if they were the words of Moses, the mass of travelers parted like the Red Sea, granting Donaghue and Kraus free passage to the train car.
The man at the entrance of the train car was a young brakeman. When Donaghue reached him, the man was panting and sputtering sentence fragments hysterically.
Donaghue seized the young man’s shoulders and shook him. “What is it!” he demanded.
“She …” the man stuttered, “she’s … b-b-bleeding … she’s … d-d-d-dying …”
“Where?” Donaghue hissed, shoving the man back into the train car.
“Th-th-th-there,” the brakeman stammered, pointing down the length of the car toward an open door.
Donaghue scrambled through the private train car and burst through the doorway. The room was a small, yet lavish bedroom that so severely juxtaposed the status of the other passengers that Donaghue would’ve marveled at the contradiction had he not seen the reason for the brakeman’s blood-curdling shrieks. On the ground near the bed lay a young woman, her hands clasped around her throat as mortal gurgles creeped from her mouth.
“Damn it,” Donaghue muttered as he rushed to aid the woman. Her dress was unusually formal despite the bright red stain of the blood as if poured from beneath her hands onto the delicate ivory fabric.
“P-p-p-ple…” the woman managed to sputter between gurgles.
“Hold on,” Donaghue whispered, sliding one hand beneath her head while holding his other on top of her blood-drenched hands. “Brakeman! Get me linens now! Doc!”
Kraus burst through the doorway. His face was crimson with exhaustion, but his panting paused when the sight of the dying woman forced him to gasp abruptly.
“Get those linens, Doc!” Donaghue barked. “We’re gonna lose her if we don’t stop the bleeding fast.”
Kraus’ shock disappeared with the realization of the situation. Turning, he tore the elegant linens from the brakeman’s grasp a
nd rushed over to Donaghue. Donaghue was quick to rip the mass from Kraus.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Donaghue muttered to the young woman as he replaced her hands with the linens.
“P-p-p-ple…” the woman gurgled again, tears of hysteria beginning to flow down her cheeks.
Donaghue held the linens to her gaping throat and saw their stark white purity transform into hellish red in a matter of moments. Her mortality was inevitable. The slash had surely hit an artery and it was just a matter of time before her heart had no more liquid to pump.
Donaghue leaned close to the woman’s face, his breath brushing the strands of unruly hair away from her cheeks. “Who did this?” he whispered. “Tell me who did this to you?”
“P-p-p-ple…” the woman stuttered, her lips and chin quivering uncontrollably as her life drained from her body.
In that moment, the woman’s face ceased to be foreign to Donaghue. Her tear-drenched eyes, her slight nose, her trembling lips, and her flushed cheeks became Molly’s.
“Who did this?” Donaghue uttered hastily. “Who did this to you, Molly?” Tears welled in Donaghue’s eyes as the moment crashed upon him like a mighty waterfall. “Who did this?!”
“P-p-p…” the woman breathed before the torment, the fear, the suffering vanished in an instant, leaving only the peace and tranquility of death.
Kraus stared at the scene in shock and disbelief. He watched Donaghue, momentarily drifting into the psychological abys of mourning, lower his head so that his trembling brow rested on the lifeless forehead of the young woman. Any structure of emotional protection that guarded Donaghue’s heart and soul was dismantled, leaving an empty canyon for his strife to flood down. Donaghue’s sobs were the heaviest that Kraus had ever witnessed. They were the sobs of a man whose heart, despite the hardy encasement of malice, was truly made of solid gold. They were the sobs of a man disgusted with the path of life down which he’d so foolishly stumbled. They were the sobs of a man burdened by remorse even greater than the biblical Jacob.
And yet, Kraus knew it was precisely the remedy a man like Donaghue needed. Kraus had his doubts not only about Donaghue, but also about his aptitude to hunt down the Ripper. But in that moment, any and all doubts disappeared. Kraus knew it wasn’t a matter of if they would catch the Ripper, but a matter of when.
Donaghue remained in such a state for the better half of five minutes, although it seemed like an eternity to both him and Kraus. Realizing that time was of the essence, Kraus approached Donaghue and placed his hand gently on his shoulder. Donaghue’s lamentation gently subsided, and within a few moments, he lifted his face from the young woman’s and sat next to her on the floor.
Only one question was on Kraus’ mind, but the sight of Donaghue kept him from speaking it. Finally though, he built up the courage to break the silence.
“Was it the Ripper?” Kraus muttered.
Donaghue continued to stare at the young woman. With a heavy sigh, he answered, “Only one way to know.”
Donaghue’s stained hand drifted down to the woman’s skirts. Ever so slowly, he pulled the skirts up along the lengths of her thighs, over her waist, stopping only once her lower abdomen was visible. Sneering at him and Kraus was a six-inch incision, sutured as if by the deft hands of a seamstress no more than a few days prior. It was unexpectedly disheartening seeing that vicious scar. On the one hand, it represented their proximity to the Ripper. He was on the same train as them, no more than a few hundred feet away. In fact, he must’ve only deserted the train car a few minutes prior, meaning he was still right under their noses. On the other hand though, the scar was a disturbing reminder that this bastard was not only demented beyond description, but also as shrewd as the Devil. He slaughtered this poor young woman right under their noses, and they neither saw nor sensed it.
Donaghue’s head turned and his gaze locked on Kraus. “We need to go,” he remarked. “Ask everyone if they saw someone leave this car. Hell, ask everyone if they saw someone leave the depot in haste even. This guy is smart, but he ain’t invisible.”
Donaghue and Kraus rose and scurried out of the room and down the length of the private car. The brakeman was still standing in the threshold. He held his cap upside down in his still-trembling hands. Donaghue and Kraus both smelled vomit when they neared the young man. He’d retched his breakfast straight into his cap.
“Brakeman,” Donaghue ordered when they reached him, “I need you to keep everyone out of this car until the sheriff arrives. Is that understood?”
The brakeman nodded slowly.
“Did you see anyone exit the car when you came down here?” Donaghue inquired.
The brakeman shook his head glumly.
“Anyone running down the platform?”
The brakeman’s head swayed again.
“Anything besides the woman drowning in her own blood?” Donaghue growled.
The brakeman immediately fell to his knees and buried his mouth in his cap as he hurled once again.
Donaghue stepped out onto the steps of the train car, ignoring the grotesque spectacle behind him. The majority of the travelers were still packed in a chaotic mass on the platform. Murmurs and hasty conversation made the air hum and crackle like an electrified thunderstorm.
Donaghue cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “ATTENTION!”
The conversations hushed and momentarily expired altogether. All heads turned and all eyes were fixed on Donaghue.
“I am Detective Armstrong of the Pueblo County Sheriff’s Department,” Donaghue began, the authority of his voice seizing the attention of the people. “We have a heinous crime that’s just been committed.”
Murmurs and gasps pulsated throughout the crowd.
“Please,” Donaghue demanded, silencing the crowd again, “We must act quickly and intelligently if we are to capture the mongrel that’s responsible. This crime was committed no more than a quarter hour ago, within minutes of the train’s arrival to Georgetown in fact. He has likely not fled too far, granting us an opportunity to capture him. Did any of you see someone exit this train car or leave the depot in great haste?”
Murmurs tore across the platform again. Few of the travelers spoke of things they may have seen though. Most were just curious as to the nature of the crime and the identity of the victim.
“Please!” Donaghue blurted. “Every second that passes cripples our chances of catching this bastard. I ask, did anyone see someone leave this car?”
“I did!” a voice bellowed from the back of the crowd.
“Yes?” Donaghue answered, “Who said that?”
A hand leaped into the air above the crowd. “I did, Detective. I was one of the first off the train and I saw a man sprinting across the platform toward the exit.”
Donaghue probed, “Can you describe this man, sir?”
“He was tall and lanky, I believe. He wore a cap, one of those ones common amongst Paddies. He had a moustache too I believe. Curled at both ends you know?”
“How the hell could you see that?” another man blurted.
“You calling me a liar?”
“I’m just saying it seems unusual that you’d notice something like that about a complete stranger.”
Donaghue interrupted the debate, “That’s fine! Please, anyone else see anything?”
“I saw a man,” a husky woman toward the front remarked, “but he wasn’t no Paddy. Matter fact, he wasn’t tall and lanky neither. He was a squatty character, toad-like. Waddled more than walked. Couldn’t have been taller than about five foot.”
Donaghue momentarily glanced back at Kraus with frustration.
He turned back to the crowd. “That’s fine, ma’am,” he said to the robust woman. “Anyone else?”
“I saw a big fella with an eyepatch,” someone blurted.
“A big fella with an eyepatch?” Donaghue repeated with skepticism.
“Yes, sir. But he wasn’t running. He was just strolling along like he hadn’t a care in the wo
rld.”
Donaghue’s head shook with agitation. “And what about that makes you think he’s guilty?”
“I dunno,” the man blurted. “He just looked queer as I’ll get out.”
Several people snickered at this and Donaghue could tell the severity of the situation was far beyond the concern of these oafs.
“Damn it, people!” Donaghue found himself blurting. “A young woman’s just been murdered in here and all you can do is crack jokes?”
It was as if Donaghue screamed ‘murder’ in an infinite cavern, for the word echoed throughout the depot ominously. But he had their attention again, and perhaps with the severity of the situation now fully disclosed, he could find a legitimate witness.
But before he could inquire again, a young man remarked, “Isn’t that the Bucke family’s private car?”
“Who said that?” Donaghue probed.
“I did, Detective.” The young man sauntered through the mass to the front of the crowd. By his dress, he appeared to be a man of modest needs. His hat was worn but well-cared for as was his suit and cowboy boots. The only item indicating any form of wealth was the silver pocket watch chain that swayed along his hip. “Name’s Leroy Wilmont of the Longmont Wilmont’s.”
“Very well,” Donaghue replied. “To whom did you say this car belonged?”
“The Bucke family, Detective.”
Donaghue shrugged. “Never heard of them.” He glanced back at Kraus whose expression wore a similar ignorance.
“That doesn’t surprise me much, Detective, seeing as you’re from Pueblo and all.”
“Who are the Bucke’s, sir?”
“Well, Mr. Blaxton Bucke owns about twenty mines across the Clear Creek and Gilpin counties. People round these parts call him The Rockefeller of Ore. Last I saw him though he was out west by Leadville.”
“Who else uses the private car besides Mr. Bucke?” Donaghue asked.