“Can’t be too sure, sir.”
“Good point,” White said. He looked at Roper.
“Well, thanks for an exciting evening,” Roper said.
“You know,” White said, “I’m not forcing you to leave tomorrow.”
“No, you’re right,” Roper said. “If I’m going to do this, I better get to it. You watch your back.”
“And you yours.”
Roper climbed down. “I never asked. How long have you been…in your current job?”
“Going on five years.”
“Do you like it?”
White thought a moment, then said, “I think that comes under the heading of ‘Be Careful What You Wish—and Work—For.’ ”
“Well, good night, then. I’ll be in touch when I have something to be in touch about.”
“Watch yourself, Tal,” White said. “We’re not a hundred percent sure that shot was meant for me.”
“I’m always careful, Donny.”
He went inside to the hotel lobby, approached the desk, and asked the desk clerk to prepare his bill.
“Are you leaving now, sir?”
“First thing in the morning,” Roper said. “I’d just like you to have it ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roper went to his room, undressed, sat on the bed, and thought about the evening’s events. Considering Donald White’s job, someone taking a shot at him was not so unusual by any stretch of the imagination. But someone taking a shot at Roper, in Washington…well, that would be too much of a coincidence. Roper would have to assume that it had something to do with his job for the Westovers. But why? Why would someone want to kill him for that? And did it have anything to do with Westover’s records being gone?
Roper got his gun from his holster and set it on the night table next to the bed. He thought about reading some more Twain before turning in, then decided against it. He wanted morning to come quickly so he could catch a train and get the hell out of Dodge before somebody else got trigger-happy.
17
Donald White looked up as the door to his office opened. Captain John Morressy walked in.
“How’s the colonel?” White asked.
“He’s okay. He’s back at his residence. And he’s being watched.”
“You’re sure he didn’t tell Roper anything?”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Morressy said, sitting across from the Secret Service head. He took off his hat and rubbed his hand over his short-cropped black hair. “Did he believe your story about the files?”
“Apparently,” White said. “Roper is difficult to read, but he seemed to.”
“I hope so,” Morressy said. “I don’t know how smart it is to let him go out on his own.”
“He wasn’t recruitable,” White said. “It has to be done this way. He has to be working for us without knowing he’s working for us.”
Morressy looked dubious.
“And what happens when he finds out?” he asked.
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“You don’t think he’ll walk away?”
“Not at all,” White said. “I know the man. He may not be happy, but once he’s involved, he’ll see it through.”
“You knew him years ago,” Morressy said. “How can you be sure he’s the same man?”
“Roper doesn’t change,” White said. “He just becomes more…Roper.”
“You trust him?”
“With my life.”
“But not with the truth?”
“Not yet,” White said.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s Roper.”
Morressy waited, but when there was no more information forthcoming, he stood up, put his hat back on, and turned to the door.
“You took a big chance,” White said.
“What?” Morressy turned. “What are you talking about?”
“That shot last night,” White said. “You took a big chance.”
“What shot?”
“The shot outside the restaurant.” White studied Morressy’s puzzled expression. “That wasn’t you? Or somebody you sent?”
“No,” Morressy said, “I didn’t have anyone shoot at you.”
White frowned.
“Anybody hurt?”
“No,” White said pensively. “There was one shot, and it missed.”
“Did they shoot at you or him?” Morressy asked.
“I don’t know,” White said. “I just assumed you had taken the initiative, thinking it would lock him in.”
“I’d never think that.”
“Neither would I,” White said. “That’s why I wasn’t happy, but—”
“If it was meant for him,” Morressy said, “who knew he was in Washington?”
“I don’t know,” White said. “The Westover lawyer certainly. What’s his name?”
“Harwick.”
“Yes, him,” White said. “And the Westovers themselves.”
“You think they would try to kill him?”
“Why hire him, then try to kill him?” White asked. “No, something else is going on.”
“And you feel Roper can unravel this?”
“I know he can.”
“How will he react to the shooting?”
“I think he’ll be careful,” White said, “and assume he was the target. It’s the way he’d play it.”
“Well,” Morressy said, “I just hope you’re right about him.”
“You and I will stay in touch, Captain,” White said.
“Yes, sir,” Morressy said, and left.
As the captain left, White sat back in his chair. Of course he was right. After all, it was Talbot Roper. Once he got his teeth into a case, he never let go. That was a trait Donald White thought he could count on, no matter how long it had been since they’d seen each other.
The shot last night, though, that still annoyed him. It seemed clear to him that it had either been meant to kill Roper, or at the very least influence him.
White was used to sending men out to handle danger on their own. They signed up for it when they joined the Secret Service. He was sure Roper could handle any situation that came along, but if the detective ended up dead, White would feel much more guilt than he would if one of his men were killed.
But he’d have to live with it. This was probably the last chance he—and the government—would have to solve a mystery that had existed since the end of the Civil War. And Talbot Roper was going to have to be the man to do it.
18
When Roper returned to Hurricane late the next afternoon, he reclaimed his room. He also asked the clerk to send someone who could deliver a message for him.
“Right away, sir,” the clerk said, “and may I say, welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
He went to his room and freshened up. He was drying his hands when there was a knock at the door. He opened it and let the young bellboy in.
“Take this to Mr. Edward Harwick, either at his home or office. I’ve written both addresses down.” He handed him an envelope with two addresses written on the face. The back was sealed.
He handed the young man a dollar.
“Yes, sir!”
“Let me know as soon as you return and it’s done. And tell the dining room I’ll be down in ten minutes and would like a table.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy left. Roper dressed in fresh, clean clothes, buttoned his jacket over his shoulder holster, and left the room. At that moment all he wanted was a meal.
His table was waiting for him in the dining room.
“Just one, Mr. Roper?”
“Two, I hope,” Roper said, “but one for now.”
He was shown to a table, where he ordered a steak dinner and a pot of coffee. When his meal came, he ate slowly and went over the plan he’d formed while riding on the train. He had also given the shooting some more thought. White had said he was shot at on occasion. But what if he wasn’t the man they were shooting at? What if it
was, indeed, Roper? That brought up the question of who and why? Who knew he’d been in Washington, and why would they want to kill him? He knew of only two people who were aware of the trip to Washington—Edward Harwick and Victoria Westover. Unless the two women who worked in the Westover house—Miriam and Polly—listened at keyholes.
He was halfway through his leisurely meal when Edward Harwick entered the dining room. Roper waved, and the man came over and joined him.
“Have you eaten?” Roper asked.
“I was about to when I got your message.” A waiter came over, and Harwick ordered the same meal Roper was working on. While Harwick waited for his steak, he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Did you find out anything interesting in Washington?” he asked.
“I found out quite a bit,” Roper said, “but before I tell you, I want to know who you told I was going to Washington.”
“What?” Harwick looked startled. “I didn’t tell anyone. Why?”
“Because somebody took a shot at me while I was there.” He didn’t bother to add that he was in the company of the head of the Secret Service.
“What? Were you hurt?”
“No, they missed.”
“Well…could it have been someone from another case? From your past perhaps? After all, you do have a reputation.”
“And they just happened to be in Washington at the same time?” Roper asked. “I seriously doubt it. You told someone I was going.”
“No…” Harwick started, but then he stopped and said, “The only other person who knew was Victoria.”
“Mrs. Westover,” Roper said. “Who might she have told?”
“No one.”
“You keep saying that, but it can’t be true. Somebody knew I was going there—it’s that, or one of you had someone shoot at me.”
“That’s preposterous. Why would we hire you and then try to kill you?”
“That’s what I’m wondering. Come on, give it some thought, Harwick.”
They paused while the waiter set Harwick’s breakfast down in front of him, giving the lawyer some time to think.
“Well,” he said when the waiter had left, “there’s Howard, but he couldn’t tell anyone.”
“What about his nurse? Polly?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t tell her, but I suppose she could have heard Victoria talking to Howard.”
“All right,” Roper said, “if she knew, who would she tell?”
“I don’t know,” Hardwick said. “She lives there at the house, looks after Howard, and never leaves.”
“Never?”
“Well…hardly at all.”
“Hardly,” Roper said. “No one else?”
“No one goes to the house, Roper…ever.”
“What about Miriam?”
“Miriam?” Harwick said. “She’s worked for them for years.”
“Does she live in?”
“Well, no—”
“So she comes and goes.”
“Yes.”
“Is she married?”
“Widowed.”
“Does she live with anybody?”
“No. She lives alone. She doesn’t have much of a life beyond her work for the Westovers.”
“She must go to town, do some shopping? Talk to people?”
“I suppose.”
“So someone could have talked with her, maybe gotten the information from her.”
“If she knew.”
“Believe me,” Roper said, “housekeepers, cooks, they know everything that goes on in the houses where they work.”
“Well, I’ll be going out there again tomorrow,” Roper said. “I have things to discuss with the lady of the house. I can also talk to Miriam and Polly.”
“Like what you found in Washington?”
“Yes.”
Hardwick waited, and when Roper didn’t speak further, he said, “Well, what did you find?”
“Like I said,” Roper responded, “I’ll talk with her tomorrow. After that, if she wants to tell you, or wants me to tell you, that’s her business.”
“But…you work for me.”
“Mrs. Westover is the client, Edward,” Roper said. “Isn’t that right?”
19
Roper agreed to ride to the Westover house with Hardwick the next morning, even though he continued to refuse to report his findings to him. The lawyer may have fetched him from Denver and gotten him this job, but Roper was being paid by Victoria Westover. His report would be made to her, unless she decreed otherwise.
Hardwick pulled up in front of the hotel with his buggy.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Roper told him, mounting his horse. He had brought his saddle with him on the train, and had left it behind when he went to Washington, but his own horse remained in Denver. This Appaloosa had been rented locally, chosen by him but paid for with Westover funds.
He touched his rifle and then the extra Peacemaker in his saddle holster. So far the razor in his boot had been of little use, but it was always comforting to feel its presence there.
“Careful?” Hardwick asked.
“I was shot at in Washington,” Roper said. “It could happen here as well.”
“Shouldn’t we have some protection?” Hardwick asked, looking around them. “The law maybe?”
“Don’t worry, Edward,” Roper said. “I’ll protect you.”
He kicked the Appaloosa in his painted hindquarters and sprinted ahead. Harwick flicked the reins at his horse and kept up as well as he could.
Before they reached the house, Roper slowed to allow the lawyer to catch up.
“When we get there, I’d like you to let me do all the talking to Victoria,” he said.
“Why not?” Harwick asked. “You haven’t told me anything anyway.”
“Perhaps you’ll hear it when she hears it, if she gives me permission to speak in front of you,” Roper said. “I also have some questions to ask her that only she may be able to answer.”
“I guess we’ll find that out when you ask them,” Harwick said.
Something occurred to Roper then. “Did you send word ahead that we were coming?”
“No,” the lawyer said, “but she’ll welcome us. She’s been expecting us since the last time we were here.”
They stopped in front of the house, secured their horses, and went to the front door.
“Do you have a key?” Roper asked.
“No,” Harwick said. “I’ve not been given that responsibility. We’ll knock.”
The door was opened by Victoria herself. Roper assumed that the nurse, Polly, the only other person living in the house, never left Howard Westover’s side, certainly not to answer the door. The cook, Miriam, wasn’t a live-in, but perhaps opening the door was not part of her job.
“Victoria,” Harwick said.
“Edward,” she said, then looked at Roper. “Mr. Roper, I’m happy to see you back from Washington. I hope you have news for me.”
“News,” he said, “and questions.”
“Come in,” she said. “We’ll have coffee and pie.”
“Sounds good,” Roper said, even though he’d just had breakfast. Pie was pie, after all, and not to be turned down.
They went into the dining room and she left them there momentarily to go into the kitchen and then returned empty-handed.
“Miriam is your cook?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”
“Does she live in?”
“No, she goes home in the evenings, after supper.”
“I see.”
“Is that one of the questions you were talking about?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Did you tell Miriam or Polly that I was going to Washington?”
“I did not.”
“Could they have found out another way?”
She didn’t answer.
“Victoria?”
“I suppose they could have heard us talking,” she said. “What is th
is all about?”
“Somebody tried to kill me in Washington.” He didn’t tell her there was a fifty-fifty chance the bullet had been meant for someone else.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She didn’t look very concerned, though. “Does it have to do with our business?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “That’s what I’d like to find out.”
“I did tell Howard you were going to Washington. He could have told Miriam or Polly.”
“I thought he couldn’t speak.”
“It’s a day-to-day thing, depending on his condition,” she said.
“And who might they have told?”
“Polly lives in. She’s with him every minute. Miriam goes home, she could have told her brother.”
Roper looked at Harwick, who hadn’t mentioned a brother. The lawyer shrugged.
“Does he live with her?”
“No, but I assume she sees him.”
“And who might he tell?”
“I don’t see any reason for him to talk to anyone about it.”
“Maybe somebody asked him.”
The kitchen door opened and Miriam entered carrying a tray with coffee and pie.
“Perhaps she can answer your questions herself,” Victoria said.
“Mum?” Miriam said.
“Mr. Roper has some questions for you, Miriam,” Victoria explained. “I’d like you to answer him quite honestly.”
Miriam folded her red, thick hands in front of her and asked, “And why would I answer any other way?”
“You’re Irish,” Roper said, not necessarily in response to her question.
“O’Brien through and through,” she said, apparently taking no offense. “Is that one of the questions?”
“Yes.”
She stood obediently and waited for the next.
“Did you know I was going to Washington on behalf of your employers?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know?”
“I heard you all talking.”
“And then did you tell anyone else?”
“No.”
“Not your brother?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I do not discuss my employer’s business with anyone,” she said, “not even my brother.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need my job,” she replied. “I have no desire to get fired.”
Bullets & Lies (Talbot Roper 01) Page 7
