“Do that. He doesn’t want a federal grand jury poking around.”
Chet turned and motioned to Jesus to follow. Outside, he headed for the next building, where the prosecuting attorney’s office was located.
Jesus kicked at a rock in the dirt. “That isn’t Able’s story, is it?”
“No. We need to check some more.”
“That sheriff going to stop you?” his partner asked as they waited for a wagon to pass to cross the street traffic.
“He better not try. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
They learned that the prosecuting attorney was one Robert Hardin. His secretary, a little mouse of a man called Elder, went in to announce that he was there with his deputy. Hardin agreed to see him and they were shown into a plain, undecorated office.
Hardin rose and stood at his desk to shake their hands. “Have a seat. I’ve heard about your work in law enforcement. What can I do for you?”
“We’re here to investigate the case of Ratchet Thornton.”
Hardin leaned back in his creaking chair. “Oh, that.” He waved dismissively. “Open-and-shut case. That boy got friendly with the wife of the man he was working for. The deceased came home, caught them making love. They fought, and Thornton shot him twice.”
“You have testimony to prove that?”
“Certainly.”
“May I read it?”
Hardin stopped. “You think I don’t know my business?”
“A young man faces murder charges, Hardin. I’m here to investigate the case.”
“Who hired you?”
“No one hired me. As I said, I’m here to investigate the case, and if you don’t show me those papers, I can get a judge to get them for me.”
Hardin leveled a hard look at Chet. “Listen, Byrnes, you need to go back to Preskitt and mind your own business.”
“If you’re refusing me access to those charges and evidence, I’ll get a court order.”
“You aren’t threatening me.” Hardin jumped to his feet, red faced.
“I’m not threatening anyone. Either I see those charges and your report, or I’m going to get a judge to tell you to deliver them to me.”
“Well just you try.”
“Jesus, this man isn’t going to help us. Maybe he’ll talk to a judge nicer than to us.”
“Go ahead and try.”
Chet looked him in the eye. “Hardin, we’ll see about this and you may regret it.”
The attorney spat. “Get out of here and don’t come back.”
“Oh, we will be back.”
Out in the hot desert’s blazing sunshine, Jesus shook his head. “What now?”
“We find the judge, explain our concern, and get the order.”
Judge Walter Buckus was in his office at the makeshift courthouse. His secretary introduced them to him.
“Well at last I meet the man who’s taming Arizona.” The gray-headed man look congenial enough.
“I spend lots of my time at that,” Chet agreed with a chuckle. “But I have a small problem. Prosecutor Hardin refuses to show me his evidence or any part of the Ratchet Thornton murder case he has.”
“You need to investigate it?” He gestured them to the chairs before his desk. “Please, sit down.”
“Ratchet’s father drove clear up to my ranch at Preskitt to get my help. I came down here to look at the circumstances.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“I need an order from you for them to cooperate with me.”
He spoke to Jesus. “Get my man in here. We can handle that right now.”
“Garman,” he said when his secretary appeared. “Prepare an order from the court for the prosecutor and sheriff to cooperate fully with Marshal Byrnes on the Plane murder case and let me sign it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That should handle it.” The judge leaned back in his chair. “I understand you have several ranches. I need to buy a few Scottish bulls. Can you recommend a breeder?”
“My foreman, Tom Flowers, knows all about them, sir. I’ll have him write you the names of good breeders he knows.”
“That would be fine. I wish you luck straightening this matter out. I can’t see why either office acted so upset toward you.”
“It sure smells to me, too. It’s a simple enough arrest if he’s the murderer, but he claims he quit the job and left the man alive. There’s an issue, the deputy said, that he made a pass at the dead man’s wife and was discovered.”
The judge shook his head. “I hadn’t heard that. I understood when Beacher didn’t return to the house, a neighbor rode out and found him dead.”
“Now it’s an altercation over his wife according to the prosecutor and the deputy at the jail.”
“I see your concern.”
“Who would the coroner be?” Chet asked.
“Justice of the peace Aaron Stutters handled it, I think.”
“Would he be a witness about the death?”
“Probably.”
“No medical person involved?”
“I don’t know that, but you have a point.”
“I want to find him.”
“He lives on a farm south of here.”
“I’ll find him.”
“Garman will have that order shortly. You get any more resistance, I will fine them.”
Chet shook his hand. Garman brought the order in to be signed. The judge used his ink well and signed it with a straight pen. He blew it dry before he handed it over.
“You have a great reputation at bringing law and order to this territory. I know you get small repayment for your efforts. Thank you.”
“We just try to do it right.”
Chet and Jesus went to find the JP after lunch. He was busy putting up sweet-smelling alfalfa hay in a field near his house and cattle pens when they located him. The JP stopped pitching the hay on the wagon and let his Mexican help continue on.
He pushed a straw hat back on his head. “Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”
Chet introduced himself and Jesus. The JP nodded, said he appreciated their law work and knew about the force and its efforts.
“What did you find out about the death of Mr. Beacher Plane?”
“I held a hearing, as requested. Mr. Clements from the Green Fields Funeral Home gave me the information that Plane had been shot twice. Once in the shoulder, then in the back, and he had two .45 caliber bullets from the body he brought with him. The one that struck him in the shoulder was from the front, and then he thought the man had turned and ran when he was struck in the back that went straight through to his heart and he died.”
“You know they were .45 caliber bullets?”
“He showed me those lead bullets he swore were from the body wounds. They were .45 bullets.”
“At that time was Ratchet Thornton mentioned as a possible killer?” Chet asked.
“No sir. My report says by party or parties unknown.”
“Did you think both bullets came from the same gun?”
“I’m not a bullet expert. I thought the second one might have been shot from a newer gun than the first bullet in the shoulder wound. It had more marks from the barrel’s grooves.”
“Is that in your report?”
“No sir. I am neither a doctor nor an ammo expert. I merely took the evidence I had and passed it on to the sheriff.”
“Who swore out the warrant for the boy’s arrest?”
“I’m not sure. Usually a grand jury does that.”
“Mr. Stutter, there are some people concerned that the boy is being falsely accused.”
“Not in my justice of the peace court, sir,” the JP said solemnly. “Someone swore out a warrant for his arrest. I had no part of that.”
“Did the prosecutor order it?”
“I have no idea, but it wasn’t from me.”
“I’m sorry, but you sound to me like you’re avoiding my question.”
“Chet Byrnes, you must not fear the devil himself, bu
t I, sir, have to live here. I have a good wife and children I love, and I don’t want any part of this business. I avoided it in my court and I won’t talk about it with you or anyone else. I have hay to stack. Good day, sir.”
They watched the man walk off.
“There is something going on here,” Jesus said quietly.
“There damn well is,” Chet agreed. “And I think he spelled it out and wants nothing to do with it.”
“Is the judge’s order any good?”
“We’ll know in the morning. Cole should be here by then, too. We’ll start with interviewing Ratchet at the jail. Then we’ll meet the sheriff and find out who swore out the warrant for his arrest. There’s something not right here, and we’ve got to figure out what it is. I’d say we’ve taken a big bite of it already. Stutters doesn’t look like a man easy shaken, but this business has him shook.”
Jesus agreed. They unhitched their horses and mounted up. Chet viewed the man and crew helping pitch off the hay on a stack. This whole case against the boy looked more serious than he’d ever imagined—Able had had good reason to drive up there to get his assistance. At the moment he felt unsure about what to do next, though.
He sighed. “We better find supper and get some sleep.”
Jesus looked back hard. “This business may be harder to settle than that big lost herd business in Texas.”
Chet couldn’t help but agree. “Mi amigo, we are going to be seriously challenged before this is all over.”
They set their rented horses to a trot. Near sundown they found a restaurant and ate supper, after which they retired to the rooms in the hotel. Chet used a night lamp to write Liz about their findings and tell her how he missed her. How he hoped she was getting lots done on the wedding and that he would try to be home shortly.
Then he lay on the bed in the hot room and wished for sleep to find him.
CHAPTER 4
Morning came in a pink seam on the far-off Superstitions and the Four Peaks Mountain. Chet could not see them, but could see the eastern sky had lightened with the coming dawn.
Jesus woke and threw his legs off the bed. “Still hot here, huh?”
“Like Mexico?”
“Oh, I don’t live there anymore. My home is at Preskitt.” He laughed while pulling on his shirt. “Your wife was smart to stay home.”
“Amen. Let’s meet the stage and take Cole to breakfast.”
“Fine.” He buckled on his gun belt and put on his hat to follow Chet out of the room.
The stage stop was a block away, and they saw the coach arrive in a cloud of dust. Cole was beating the road dust off his clothes with his felt hat and looked up with a smile as they approached.
“Valerie alright?” Chet asked.
“Fine. Those women start work today. Your wife got them set up at the house and helped them a lot. She’s a real leader. House, food, dishes, and a stove to cook on—she has it all done. They’re in the house and have all they need. Both of them were crying over how good she’s been to them.”
“Jesus and I haven’t gotten much done here. Maybe you can help us do more. Jesus suggested we go back to the hotel and try and cool off yesterday.”
They put Cole’s saddle and war bag with the stage agent so they could go to breakfast. In the Mexican café, Chet told him all about what they’d found the day before over breakfast and some real good coffee.
“No answers so far?”
“Right. You catch some sleep. We’re going to interrogate the boy if they let us in the jailhouse today.”
“Forget sleep. You have the judge’s order, right?”
“Yes, I do. Let’s go do it.”
Jesus smiled about Cole’s not wanting to miss a thing and looked at Chet. “I knew exactly how he’d take this—do it.”
Chet agreed, smiling. “He’s our backup.” He paid their bill and they went the two blocks to the county jail. Phoenix was waking up around them. In the streets there were trains of burros loaded with sticks for firewood and water, and goats for milk stripped into pails provided by the woman buying it.
They arrived at the jail to find a man in his forties wearing a suit standing beside the desk officer. He appeared to be waiting for them. “Marshal Byrnes?”
“Yes. You must be the sheriff.” Nothing cordial in the man’s manner or his voice.
“I am the legal officer in charge of this facility and I ask you to vacate these premises.”
Chet snorted. “No, sir. My badge gives me the authority to be here on any business concerning the law and law enforcement in this territory. I also have a judge’s order for you to show me the information on the circumstances surrounding the arrest of the young man, Ratchet Thornton.”
“I won’t give you a damn thing.”
“I can and will arrest you for not obeying a federal judge’s orders.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” the man snarled.
“Sheriff, I’ve arrested border bandits and thugs all over the West and Mexico. I won’t hesitate to arrest you.”
“Can he do that?” the pale-faced deputy asked his boss, facing the three of them spread out with their hands on their gun butts.
“Shut up.”
“Deputy, I can and will put both of you in a cell if you refuse to obey this order.”
The sheriff sighed and bit his lip. “Get that prisoner up here and in my office,” he told the deputy.
“Cole, go with him,” Chet ordered. “I don’t want that boy hurt in any way. And Sheriff Limon, don’t even think about going for that gun in any way. Remove it with two fingers and put it in that desk drawer.”
“I don’t know what you intend to prove. That boy will hang for killing Beacher Plane in cold blood.”
“You want to tell me your case on this matter?”
“Hell no. I’m the law here.”
“Jesus, watch this desk. Limon, step in your office and get me that report.”
“I don’t—”
He raised his voice slightly. “You will be locked in a cell if you don’t, and I’ll find the report myself.”
“It’s over there in a file.”
“Stand right there. I’m going to open that file. You better not have a gun in there.”
“There’s no gun in there.”
Chet opened it and parted the paper folder. He saw no gun. “Go ahead.”
Limon took a large folder out and put it on the desktop. “There.”
Chet did not move. “Is that all of it?”
“That’s the case.”
“Who swore out the warrant for his arrest?”
“Read it yourself,” Limon said imperiously. “We have the killer. It’s the boy your man just went to get. Shut and closed.”
“Go sit in a chair. I want to read this after I talk to the boy.”
“You won’t change one damn thing.”
Chet backed up to the desk. “Then what the hell do you have to hide?”
“You may be the big hero lawman, but I live and work here and keep the peace. It isn’t an exactly headline-grabbing job, and I have got to be elected.”
“But you can’t break the law, enforcing your ideas on it.”
“I ain’t breaking no laws,” Limon shot back.
“That’s not for me to define, but maybe a grand jury’ll decide if you are or aren’t. Right now I’d tell them you were operating illegally in this office.”
“Chet,” Jesus said at the doorway with the prisoner. “The deputy says there’s a key in his desk for this ball and chain on his leg.”
“This your work, Limon?” Chet asked, going for a key.
“He’s being held for murder. I’m doing what I have to, to hold him for trial.”
The haggard-looking young man cracked a smile. “Mister, I don’t know who you are but God answered my prayers just now. I owe you my life, sir.”
“It isn’t over yet, Ratchet. But you’ll get clean clothes, a shave, a haircut, and a bath.”
“Why waste taxpayers’ m
oney?” The sheriff sneered. “He’s going to hang anyway.”
Chet had had enough. “Take Limon back and put him in his cell,” he growled at Cole. “Maybe he doesn’t understand that a man is innocent under the law until a jury says he’s guilty.”
“You can’t—”
“The hell I can’t. Sheriff, I’ve found enough violations to have you removed from office. Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do. I feel for your own safety you need to be detained. Now, Cole, put him in that cell. Deputy, go back out front and act like nothing is wrong. The sheriff will be back in a few hours. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jesus, get this young man some water and some real coffee.”
The youth was seated in a chair, rubbing his leg where the clamp had been locked on it.
“Your man Jesus said you were Chet Byrnes, the big rancher and U.S. Marshal.”
“That’s me.” Chet nodded. “Now tell me about that day you had the quarrel with Plane.”
“It was no quarrel. He hired me to collect three cows he’d sold to some Mexicans for jerky. I knew those old culls, but when I tried twice to drive them in they’d break back. So I got a handful of cows, got them in that group, and started the drive for his place. He rode out there and started raising holy hell why I had so many cows when he only wanted three.
“I’d worked my ass off to get those cows up there and I was so damn mad, I told him to stick them in his ass and quit. I rode off to him hollering and cussing me.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“There’s an old wrecked wagon in the dry wash where I aimed to cross, half buried in the sand. I rode due west from there and hit the Stone Road to our place.”
“Next day you shot a coyote and hung him on a fence post to scare off his kin folks?”
“I did, sir.”
“What caliber is that handgun?”
“An old .44 Navy.”
“Do they have your gun here?”
“I suppose so. Why, sir?”
Chet put his finger to his lip. “Cole, start looking in these drawers for it.”
“Why?”
“The JP report said he was shot twice with a .45.”
“There are four bullets in my gun. I never have one under the hammer.”
“Most folks do that. Wait, here it is in this drawer. Tag says Ratchet Thornton’s revolver.”
Pray for the Dead Page 4
