They didn’t have to wait long before the retired soldier appeared, and as promised, he was happy to help. Deputy Gibson reached for his cousin to pull him back up on his feet.
“You know, Dougie, if you let me go I will give you something worth your while,” Louie started to bargain.
“I know you, Louie, you know nothing, now walk,” the deputy commanded.
Louie scoffed. “I know that Sheriff of yours is still looking for the Ghost.”
Hope’s heart started to beat a little faster. Could it be this man actually knew something useful?
Deputy Gibson paused for a moment, eyes narrowing. “What do you know about the Ghost?”
“Do we have a deal or what?”
“I think you are lying to me, Louie. Either way, we will find out soon enough when there are no ladies present.”
“I can prove it to you,” Louie insisted.
“I’m listening,” Deputy Gibson looked bored while saying that. On the other hand, Louie looked petrified. Why is he so scared all of a sudden?
“I know Ghost leaves playing cards for the Sheriff, the Diamonds. I know why he does it. I heard one of the lads speak about Ghost one night. I can tell you all about it,” Louie said in one breath.
Deputy Gibson sighed. “Captain, if you would be so kind and take him away.”
Hope wanted to protest, urge him to continue questioning him. This was far too important to simply stop mid-way. Louie started to struggle. “No, I can tell you more.”
“You have nothing for me,” the deputy insisted. “And here is how I know it. The story about the Diamonds is false. The Sheriff created it so we could spot men who simply wanted to take advantage.”
Louie looked ready to cry. “Please, Dougie, you know I can’t tell you anything about the Michaelson’s,” he begged. Louie was terrified of his fellow robbers, Hope realized. They must be rather ruthless to entice these kind of emotions.
“You can either talk or face the noose.”
“I am dead either way.”
It was really hard for Hope not to feel sorry for the man despite him being a criminal.
“Nobody chose this life for you,” Deputy Gibson was relentless. After saying that, he pushed the bandit toward the door, to the waiting hands of Captain Stevenson.
“Do not worry, Deputy, I will keep him safe for you until your departure,” he said a bit gruffly.
“Thank you.”
Once that was settled, Hope knew it was time they looked for Jessamine.
“Mr. Bower, I have something else to ask of you,” Deputy Gibson told the other man.
“Of course, anything you want.”
“I was informed that a certain young lady was in the train during the robbery,” he glanced at Hope and she approached the two men.
“Her name is Jessamine Reynolds,” she started to speak. “She is about my height and build...” as she continued to describe her best friend, the conductor listened intently, as though he was in deep concentration.
“It is very important if you could remember seeing her.” Hope cursed at herself for forgetting to bring a sketch of Jessamine. That would make this inquiry more effective.
The old conductor frowned, then started shaking with his head. “I can’t say I saw someone like that on my train, Miss Hope.”
“But you must have,” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, Miss, I am rather good with remembering faces, even at my age, this is still sharp,” he tapped his head.
Hope felt like crying. Was it all for nothing? “Perhaps we could ask around. The other passengers—”
“The other passengers dispersed, went home to their loved ones, or continued their journeys the moment the train stopped. You have nobody to talk to,” Mr. Bower replied to her, squashing the last piece of hope she had.
Hope did not know what to make of this. She could clearly remember the Sheriff informing her of some lead about Jessamine being here. And this man was telling her something completely different.
Was it possible that the Sheriff was misinformed? Is it possible he lied to me? Why? The reason did not matter at the moment. Suddenly Hope was beyond furious.
“Thank you for all your help,” she said to Mr. Bower. “When are we leaving?” she asked the deputy.
“As soon as I make all the arrangements, send a telegram, and procure a horse. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Good,” Hope replied.
She had a bone to pick with Sheriff Owen Rundell so she needed to return to Rippingate as soon as possible.
23
Owen found the farmer’s property without a problem. A man with a heavy beard came out of the house to greet him.
“Good day,” Owen said to the man, dismounting. He rode the entire day, taking breaks for rest only when he absolutely had to and his body started to protest a little. It was good to be on solid ground for a bit.
“Good day to you, too, Sheriff. I see you managed to come,” the man sounded relieved.
“Of course,” Owen replied instantly. “Are you Patrick Bennion?” he asked.
The man nodded. “Yes, I am. I found the body, and I can take you to it,” he added, anticipating Owen’s next question.
“I would appreciate it.” Owen was not that familiar with this terrain, and he would surely get lost if he attempted to go on his own.
“Just give me a minute.”
“Of course.”
Once Mr. Bennion returned, they set off.
“When did you find her?” Owen asked without preamble. Mr. Bennion did not look like a man who enjoyed small talk, and Owen preferred it that way as well.
“About two days ago,” he replied, wiping his brow. The sun was already starting to bother them. “I just left her there, Lord save my soul, but I did not want to move her.”
“You did good,” Owen reassured him, and that comforted Mr. Bennion a bit since he looked rattled. Owen did not do that from the goodness of his heart. Owen needed to see how the body of the girl was left to determine if it was Ghost’s doing.
“Sheriff, I am sixty-four years old and I never in my life witnessed something like that.”
Owen wished he could say the same. Since he became an officer of the law, he was constantly shown the worst parts of human beings.
“That is the Devil’s work, I tell you,” Mr. Bennion crossed himself.
“It’s even worse than that, Mr. Bennion. It’s the work of a very deranged human being,” Owen countered.
While Mr. Bennion contemplated Owen’s words, Owen paid close attention to the roads they were taking. They crossed a small stream on their way.
“My farm ends here,” Mr. Bennion explained. Still, they kept going. After another quarter of an hour of riding, they reached a small hill.
“She is right over there,” Mr. Bennion said, pointing. “That poor girl, nobody deserves such a fate.”
“Nobody does.”
“If you don’t mind, I would prefer to stay here,” the farmer added.
Owen completely understood the man’s reluctance to see that again. “Of course,” Owen replied simply, going the rest of the way alone.
He found her spread out under a tree and cursed. She was arranged in the same way all the other Ghost’s victims were.
Her white dress was dirty and the flowers around her withered. The candles were knocked down yet there was no mistake this was that fiend’s doing. Owen found the card right where he knew he would. The highest number so far.
Hopefully the last number.
Looking at the face of this innocent girl, Owen wished to do the same to Ghost, without all these ceremonies. Simply be his judge and executioner and be done with it once and for all. Afterward, he would bury that monster’s body so deep into the ground as though to personally deliver it to the Devil himself.
The elements were not kind to the body that lay in front of him. Owen knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who it was. He saw her picture too many times to ever forget. It was Jessamine Reynold
s. His thoughts went to Hope.
Actually, his first thought went to Jessamine’s parents. They would be devastated, learning such a cruel fate was bestowed onto their daughter. And his second thought was about Hope. It pained him he was going to have to be the one who would break this painful news to Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds and Hope alike.
That was a true curse of his job, constantly being surrounded by tragedies. There was a silver lining, though. If the Sheriff managed to do his job properly, he could bring some small comfort to the grieving families.
Owen searched the crime scene with complete focus, trying to find something, anything, that could help him discover the identity of Miss Reynolds’ murderer. Unfortunately, he found nothing of any use. He felt like raging and cursing the heavens and knew he could not do that. He owed Miss Jessamine the best version of himself so he could catch the person responsible.
He jogged back to his horse. Mr. Bennion was right where he left him. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Just about,” Owen replied, taking a blanket.
He returned to the body and started to wrap it. Considering the heat, he did not know if he was making the right decision, however, he just could not leave her here as she was. He needed her safe in her final rest even though she did not have that in life.
Owen remembered to put the playing card inside his pocket. That thing close to his heart served as a constant reminder of his duty. From now on, there would be no other cases, no other distractions, until he solved this case. Before he covered her completely, Owen noticed she was wearing a necklace. That was the only inconsistency with the rest of Ghost’s victims. The other girls had no jewelry on them.
Carefully, Owen took the necklace off and placed it inside his pocket.
“Your friend was quite worried for you, but I found you,” he told the resting girl while he worked. He found her too late, like always.
I am sorry, Jessamine. I will give you justice, I promise, he vowed.
Putting the cover over her head, he stood up, surveying his work. It would hold until the coroner came to collect the body.
Owen returned to his guide. He mounted his horse with a heavy heart. Another victim set heavily on his conscience.
“Do you know whose land this is?” Owen asked Mr. Bennion.
“I do not know that. Heard some businessman from out of town bought it a while back. Didn’t catch his name. Never seen anybody come here, either.”
That was disappointing and Owen cursed. Sometimes it appeared as though everything, the whole universe, was against him.
“You could make some inquires in town,” Mr. Bennion suggested, seeing Owen was frustrated by this whole situation.
“I will. Thank you for all your help.”
“Do this world a favor, Sheriff, and catch this demon.”
Owen nodded. “I will do my best, Mr. Bennion,” he replied gravely.
“I guess that’s more than any of us can ask for. Am I free to go?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck, Sheriff.”
Owen felt like he would need it. He inclined his head in farewell and they parted ways. Mr. Bennion returned to his farm and Owen started riding toward Brexville. He had so much work to do and felt like there was so little time.
His first stop, once he reached the town, was to the post office. He sent several telegrams. First one was to Kit, informing him of the identity of their latest murder victim. The second was to the undertaker, pleading with him to come at once to collect the body and prepare it for the funeral.
Owen paid for the funerals for all of Ghost’s victims out of his own pocket. He knew he was doing that out of guilt yet it couldn’t be prevented. He felt the way he did and truly believed no matter what happened in the future, victory or defeat, he would continue to feel the same way. Since he couldn’t save them. None of them. The list of names was long inside his head.
In moments like these, Owen really hated his job. Sometimes it felt there was just too much bad and evil spread throughout the world and not enough good.
On the other side, being the Sheriff could be rewarding. Owen felt accomplished and loved his job any time he managed to catch a bad guy.
Thanks to Ghost, Owen had not gotten that feeling for a long time. Focus on the job!
He gave the undertaker Mr. Bennion’s name in case Owen was not available to be the guide. Owen was certain Mr. Bennion would not mind helping them one more time.
He debated with himself if he should send something to Hope. By now she certainly returned from her trip to Black Creek. She must feel rather disappointed at the moment, since Owen sent her on a fool’s errand. Eventually, he ruled against sending anything. Everything Owen wanted to say, professionally and personally, needed to be said in person.
Thanking the clerk inside the post office after asking him for some directions, he continued his investigation.
After a bit of snooping on the Main Street, and asking the right questions to the right people, Owen discovered the name of the attorney who took care of the sale transaction for the property the body was discovered on. Owen hoped he would learn the name of the owner from him. He found the attorney inside his small office.
“I am sorry, Sheriff, but I cannot give you the name of my client,” the attorney said to him, appalled Owen even suggested something like that. Owen started to feel a headache coming and knew he would lose his patience with this man pretty quickly.
“It is very important for me to get that name. Lives are at stake,” and Owen meant that quite literally.
“The buyer wanted discretion, so he empowered me to act in his stead in all his dealings,” the attorney explained. Owen could not care less about his client’s wishes.
“Are you planning on going to jail in his stead as well?” Owen countered, dead serious.
“I beg your pardon?” The attorney’s voice rose ever so slightly.
“Do you really wish for me to accuse you of being an accomplice to murder?” Owen threatened. “For as far as I’m concerned, your client can be the murderer I’ve been looking for these two years,” Owen matched the attorney’s tone.
“Sheriff, I must protest.”
“Your protest is noted,” Owen replied, faking boredom before narrowing his eyes. “Now tell me what I need to know.”
Owen was not above threatening a little if it meant accomplishing what he wanted. This case and finding Ghost was far too important to be sidetracked by some small-town attorney.
“I cannot,” the attorney replied stubbornly. Owen gritted his teeth.
“You know,” he started conversationally. “Judge Orwell is a dear friend of mine.” Owen knew the attorney heard of the esteemed judge and not simply because they lived in the same town.
“Do you honestly want to make me go to the judge and complain about you?”
The attorney immediately went red-faced, a vein appeared on his forehead, and for a moment Owen was concerned about the other man’s health, fearing he went too far with that threat.
Luckily, it did not last. The attorney took a deep breath and stood up. “You win, Sheriff,” he said theatrically and went to a small cabinet.
He started pulling out various drawers, rummaging through all kinds of papers until he apparently found what he was looking for. He returned with legal documents and sat back down behind his desk.
“Do you have the name of the seller as well?” Owen remembered to ask.
“The local bank was the owner of that property before deciding they didn’t need it,” the attorney replied and Owen could not believe how helpful he was all of a sudden.
He must really fear the judge’s wrath a great deal. Owen would be amused in different circumstances.
“The name of the buyer is Mister Wyatt Dalbow,” the attorney read before giving the legal document to Owen for verification.
The whole world stood still for Owen. Did he just say Wyatt Dalbow? He must have heard it wrong. Great, now you started to even hallucinate from all th
e stress.
“Come again?” Owen stammered, accepting the paper.
“Mr. Wyatt Dalbow,” the attorney repeated, looking at him, perplexed, clearly wondering why Owen acted like this all of a sudden.
Owen looked at the agreement. True enough, Mr. Dalbow’s signature was on the bottom of the page. Owen recognized the handwriting immediately since Mr. Dalbow wrote a statement in the station not so long ago. I got him! Owen exclaimed.
The Redemption 0f A Hunted Bride (Historical Western Romance) Page 22
