The Sixteen Dollar Shooter (A Rockabye County Western Book 1)

by Edson, J. T.

  ‘A Government Model always throws its empties to the right and rear,’ the big blond answered, glancing at the Colt in his holster. ‘What riles me is that I didn’t think about it sooner. Those two cases could only have been by the wall if the killer was outside the door when he shot Patrolman Segovia.’

  ‘And you don’t reckon he was?’ the sheriff asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ Brad affirmed.

  ‘Why not?’ Jack prompted, when the big deputy did not offer to enlarge upon his statement.

  ‘They were experienced peace officers, sir,’ Brad explained. ‘Yet neither of them had his gun out. That means they hadn’t seen anything to make them suspicious. On top of that, if they’d seen him pulling a gun, I doubt if he’d’ve got both of them before at least one cleared leather.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Tom confirmed. ‘They were both pretty fast.’

  ‘What do you think happened, Brad?’ the sheriff wanted to know.

  ‘The killer was waiting at the front door, hoping that they’d go away without bothering him. When he saw that it wasn’t going to happen, he pulled it open and started shooting. As soon as he’d put Patrolman Segovia down, he went out so that he could throw lead into Patrolman Enright.’

  There was silence for a few seconds after Brad had finished speaking. The time seemed to drag by very slowly as he waited to hear what his partner and the sheriff thought about his theory. Probably they would blast it full of holes by virtue of their greater experience. If they did not, he would have to give them his other summations and he knew that, if correct, these would be anything but palatable to them.

  ‘I think you’ve got it,’ Tom stated at last.

  ‘So do I,’ the sheriff seconded. ‘He must have been using either a Colt 1911, or a Smith & Wesson 1917, they both use half-moon clips and take rimless .45 automatic ammunition. So he threw the empty cases down to have us looking for a man with an automatic’

  Neither Tom nor Brad needed an explanation of the ‘half-moon’ clips’ purpose. Because a rim on the base would prevent the round being fed out of the magazine and into the chamber, automatic pistols—with the exception of those of .22 caliber—used rimless cartridges. These had a groove into which the jaw of the ejector could hook. However, being rimless, they could only be used in a revolver if held by two half moon-shaped clips. Fitting into the groove and acting as a rim, the clips prevented the bullets from slipping straight through the chambers of the cylinder or being knocked out when struck by the firing pin of the hammer.

  ‘I’d best have R. and I. see if they can come up with any suspects who use heavy caliber revolvers,’ Tom remarked. ‘They’re too big for concealment and need training to handle as well as he must be able to.’

  ‘Is something bugging you, Brad?’ Jack asked, as the big blond moved restlessly on his chair following his partner’s comment.

  ‘I don’t think R. and I’ll have anything on this hombre,’ Brad replied, after a slight pause. ‘Or L.C.R. and the F.B.I.’

  ‘How come?’Jack inquired.

  ‘I’ve a feeling that this’s either his first caper, or he’s never been bust,’ Brad declared. ‘In fact, I’m betting he’s not even a regular criminal.’

  ‘Tom says he turned the place over like a real pro,’ the sheriff reminded him.

  ‘I’m not gainsaying that, sir. What I’m going on is the loot. He left all the money because it was either in new bills which we could trace, or foreign currency he couldn’t pass without attracting attention. It was the same with the coats. He took a simulated ocelot and left a genuine mink near on ten times as valuable. The watches had the Beagans’ names inscribed on their backs and the diamond bracelet was too distinctive like Mr. Beagan’s gold signet ring. A fence could handle stuff like that, but a regular pawnbroker would ask questions. Which means he doesn’t know any fences.’

  ‘And he would if he was a pro,’ Tom conceded, satisfied that his partner was making good sense. ‘Even if he’d only just hit town he’d have connections who’d wise him up.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ Jack guessed, having been studying the big blond’s face. ‘Isn’t there, Brad?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the young deputy admitted and knew that the die was cast. Unpleasant as doing so might be, he had to go on. ‘I think that the killer could be a policeman from Gusher City South.’

  Once again, silence dropped briefly over the sheriff’s office. Brad found himself under the scrutiny of the other two men’s cold eyes and there was an air of tension which had not been in evidence during the previous pause in the conversation. Not that he needed to wonder what had brought it about. No honest peace officer like Tom or Jack Tragg, ever cared to contemplate the suggestion that another of their kind might have gone bad.

  ‘Finish it!’Jack ordered.

  ‘Mr. Beagan had arranged with the Gusher City South’s House to have the prowl cars keep an eye on his place while he was on vacation, but hadn’t cancelled it when he was delayed in leaving,’ Brad obliged, speaking slowly as he picked out the right words for the occasion. ‘He said he’d told the crews of the cars, but asked them not to cancel as he wasn’t sure just how soon he could go. So officially there shouldn’t have been anybody there when the killer arrived. He rang the bell to make sure, but Mrs. Coyle told us he looked surprised when she opened up.’

  ‘That still doesn’t mean he was a badge,’ Tom objected. ‘There’re other ways he could have found out that they were supposed to be on vacation.’

  ‘If he isn’t a pro after all,’ Jack supplemented, ‘he might be from the neighborhood. There’re plenty of ways he could have found out.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Brad agreed. ‘But he went back inside and finished looting the place after he’d dropped the patrolmen. It’s not everybody who’d have done that. He was either stupid, damned reckless or knew he’d have enough time to do it and split before they were missed and another car sent to check them out.’

  ‘You still haven’t shown me anything to prove he’s an officer,’ Jack warned. ‘And when I start asking for information which will imply that I suspect one, I want to have damned good cause for doing it.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ Brad answered. ‘There’s the way Patrolman Segovia was killed. He’d already been seriously injured and was down. But the killer still shot him in the head after he’d downed Patrolman Enright. It couldn’t have been done because he was trying to draw a gun, he was too badly hurt for that. I think he did it so that Segovia couldn’t name him.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he kill Mrs. Coyle?’ Jack challenged. ‘She’d seen him well enough to give you a good description and could pick him out of a line-up.’

  ‘But she couldn’t put a name to him, sir,’ Brad pointed out, then hesitated before continuing. There was a chance that the other two might regard his next suggestion as being a desperately over-imaginative attempt to sell them on his theory. ‘Could be she was left alive so that she could describe him. I know that sounds way out, but the spectacles, red nose and buck-teeth could have been false. They were the kind of things which would catch a witness’s eye, provided he wasn’t seen from too close or for too long. And, once we’d been given the description, we’d put it out over the air in an A.P.B. that’d have everybody looking for the wrong set of features.’

  ‘Mano wouldn’t’ve been able to dispute it,’ Tom commented. ‘He must have been shot as soon as the door opened, or he’d have at least started to make his draw.’

  ‘Sure,’ Brad agreed. ‘But Mrs. Coyle said she’d heard a vehicle of some kind, even though she didn’t see it when she opened the door; or if she did, it didn’t register. He’d have to have some form of transportation to carry off all the things that he was stealing.’

  ‘That figures,’ Tom conceded, noticing with approval that his young partner was neither becoming confused nor annoyed by their continued questioning of what was clearly a carefully considered theory.

  ‘The vehicle would have had to be pretty cl
ose to the front door, so that he could load it without too much delay,’ Brad went on. ‘And it would have had license plates and a registration tag to show who owned it.’

  ‘He could have stolen it,’ Jack suggested, unconsciously duplicating Tom’s thoughts about his latest deputy.

  ‘If he was a peace officer, he wouldn’t risk it, sir,’ Brad objected, understanding and approving of the sheriff’s reluctance to act without a strong case. Unlike in some areas, the County and municipal law enforcement agencies co-operated in a mutually beneficial manner. Jack did not want to endanger the relationship by making an unfounded suggestion that an officer of the G.C.P.D. was a thief and double murderer, particularly in view of the victims’ status. ‘It might have been on the “hot car sheet”, [xxiv] Or if he’d picked it up just for the job the theft could have been reported and put out by Cen-Con. That’s why I reckon it was his own. So if Segovia had checked it out, he’d have known who it belonged to. What I think happened is he and his partner were going around the back to the kitchen. Mr. Beagan told us that his wife always made coffee for the officers who made the house checks. But, either Segovia was conscientious or he saw something was wrong with the car and went to look it over. It couldn’t have been anything too serious, or they’d both have gone. As it was, Enright was heading for the end of the building when his partner was shot.’

  ‘There’s one flaw in your reasoning, Brad.’ Jack remarked. ‘If the killer was an officer, he’d either have known, or could easily have found out the name of at least one fence.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Brad replied. ‘But he’d be too smart to chance using one, especially after the way things turned out. Even if the caper had gone smoothly, there’d be a danger of him being recognized or made as a cop and followed until they were sure. Then he’d be wide open for blackmail. There’s a fair amount of his thinking that would only occur to a cop. Like the way he left the empty cases to mislead us. I think he did that because he was using a gun we could trace back to him and wanted to stop us thinking about revolvers.’

  ‘That part’s easy to check out,’ Jack declared and switched on his desk’s intercom to address his secretary. ‘Get me a line to Inspector Parrish at Gusher City South. He’ll probably be at his office, but call him at home if he isn’t.’

  Knowing the man in question to be in command of the Gusher City South Division, Tom exchanged a glance with Brad. There was no official need for the sheriff to consult Inspector Parrish, but he was doing so as a matter of policy. On the connection being made, Jack conferred briefly with the inspector. It said much for the trust and goodwill which existed between the two agencies that Parrish raised no objections even without receiving a lengthy explanation. Promising to notify him of the result, Jack ended the call and contacted R. and I. with a request for the names of any Gusher City South personnel who owned a Colt .45 revolver.

  ‘Not just officers,’ Tom suggested, having caught the sheriff’s eye and interrupted. ‘Civilian employees too.’

  ‘Why them?’ Jack wanted to know, after having supplemented his own instructions with Tom’s request.

  ‘I don’t go all the way with Brad on the killer being an officer,’ the stocky deputy explained. ‘I’d say he’s somebody who’s been around them enough to have picked up enough hints to think partly, but not wholly, like one. He could get access to the list of houses that are empty and being checked, but not to information like the name of the fence.’

  ‘And if Mrs. Coyle’s description was correct,’ Jack went on. ‘He’d be more likely to be a civilian employee than a peace officer. Anyway, we’ll see what R. and I. come up with.’

  The reply came quickly, for the staff of R. and I. had guessed why it had been requested. Accepting the list which was delivered by a policewoman, the sheriff examined it.

  ‘There are eighteen officers and one civilian,’ Jack announced.

  ‘Who is he, sir?’ Tom inquired.

  ‘Name’s Arthur Stiffkey,’ the sheriff replied. ‘And his piece is a Colt Model 1911.’

  ‘Which was made to handle .45 automatic bullets,’ Brad said quietly. ‘So he’d most likely have a set of half-moon clips for it.’

  ‘It could be,’ Jack agreed. ‘Go and grab a meal, gentlemen, while I call Inspector Parrish and check everybody out who’re on the list.’

  ~*~

  Noreen Prentice entered the Badge Diner, which—being run by an ex-peace officer and offering good food at a reasonable price—received much custom from the personnel of the Department of Public Safety Building and visiting lawmen. Much to her satisfaction, she saw that Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter was sitting alone in a booth. She was also much relieved to notice that there was nobody else present whom she recognized and who might, identifying her, warn the big blond of her true status.

  Brunette, pretty and shapely, Noreen wore a stylish and not too daring blue dress. Over her left shoulder dangled what looked like a Pete Ludwig’s policewoman’s bag. Although she had the well-scrubbed, pleasant look of a middle-class career girl, she worked as a reporter on the very ‘liberal’ Gusher City Mirror. Her current assignment was to interview the deputies who were investigating the murders of the two patrolmen. Not in the interests of producing a factual account, but as a means of obtaining material which could be used in the type of vicious smear campaign, anti-firearms and anti-law enforcement article at which her particular kind of newspaper excelled.

  Having known the futility of trying to obtain the kind of material she wanted through official channels, Noreen had been waiting outside the Department of Public Safety Building in the hope of finding some means of doing so. She had seen Brad come out and recognized him as being one of the deputies she was hoping to contact. So leaving her car, she had followed him as he had walked to the Diner.

  Of the two, Noreen was pleased that she would be dealing with the big blond. His partner was a hard-headed, experienced and wily old hand who would be much more difficult to take in. Being new to the work and—she believed —holding his appointment by virtue of family influence rather than ability, Brad Counter was sure to be easy meat. What was more, in view of who and what he was, he would make a much more suitable target for the story she intended to turn in. There was a small tape recorder in her handbag, with its microphone fitted to a specially trimmed section of the bag’s flap. Led on in the correct manner, the deputy would make statements which could later be edited to alter their entire context and turn them into the type of material her newspaper would find acceptable.

  Dipping her hand into the bag, Noreen switched on the tape recorder. Then, closing the flap, she approached the booth in which the big blond was sitting.

  ‘Hey there,’ Noreen greeted, directing a dazzling smile at the deputy. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  After having been dismissed by the sheriff, Brad and Tom Cord had decided to take his advice. If the questions he would be asking the Inspector of the Gusher City South Division produced the required information, the deputies would have to act upon it. Doing so was likely to be a lengthy process and they might not have another opportunity to eat that evening. So Tom had suggested that Brad went on ahead and ordered their meals at the Badge Diner while he made a telephone call to warn his wife that he would not be home until late.

  Looking at the speaker, Brad next flickered a quick glance around the room. Although there were a couple of unoccupied tables and a few empty booths, he saw nothing out of the ordinary in the request It was not the first time that a woman he did not know had tried to make his acquaintance.

  ‘I can’t rightly say I would mind,’ the big blond answered, starting to rise. ‘I’d be pleased to have you.’

  ‘Don’t get up,’ the reporter requested and slid into the seat opposite him. She set down her bag on the table, with its concealed microphone turned in his direction. Then, eyeing him in what she hoped he would take for hero-worship, she went on, ‘Hey, you’re Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’d
have to come out and say “yes” to that, ma’am,’ Brad agreed as he sat down. Once again he subjected her to a quick scrutiny, paying special attention to her hands as she took them from the shoulder bag. ‘How’d you know me?’

  While following the deputy, Noreen had worked out her plan of campaign. She had joined him so that, using flattery, she might guide him into comments which would imply—or could be edited and twisted until they implied— that the killer of the two patrolmen was to be hunted down and slaughtered without mercy. After referring to the deaths of the Boyer brothers, she felt sure that she could play upon the well known hatred all peace officers felt towards a cop killer to bring about her desires.

  ‘I’ve seen you around the House,’ Noreen explained. ‘You’re famous after the way you took the Boyer brothers. Why everybody knows you.’

  ‘Trouble being,’ Brad drawled, ‘I don’t know you.’

  ‘My name’s Noreen Downes. The girls can’t stop talking about you since you got—’

  ‘Having girls talk about us runs in the family,’ Brad boasted. ‘They do say my Great-Grandpappy Mark got us started on having it happen, but I reckon his daddy before him had a hand in it.’

  ‘After the way you got the Boyers, all the girls are saying how pleased they are that you caught the Sand—’ Noreen began.

  ‘Are you with the Bureau of Women Officers?’ Brad interrupted.

  ‘Of course,’ the reporter lied, deciding that the deputy was more likely to produce the required results if he believed he was impressing a female peace officer.

  ‘Who’re you with?’ the big blond inquired.

  ‘I’m working out of Traffic at the moment,’ Noreen replied coldly, reaching for her bag. ‘Do you want to see the tin?’

  ‘Shucks no. I was just asking so I’ll know where to come a-calling.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think you’ll have any time to come calling until you’ve nailed the son-of-a-bitch who gunned down those two Gusher City South patrolmen.’