Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale)

by James D. Best

  I finally spoke. “Jeff and I came to Prescott to get a stock certificate from Elisha Campbell.” With that opening, I told the whole story. At first, McAllen looked intrigued and then increasingly angry.

  “Damn it, Steve, you’ve done this to me before. You don’t share your plans.” The voice was quiet, scary quiet.

  “This isn’t a plan. I don’t see a connection to Campbell’s murder. Listen, I didn’t want to start a gold rush. If word got out, people would tear this town apart looking for that piece of paper.”

  “No connection? You tell me this “piece of paper” could be extremely valuable, but you see no connection. You aren’t that dumb, Steve.” He waved his arm. “Now, you listen, these people don’t believe electricity can be harnessed. Hell, I’m not sure I do. Puttin’ lightnin’ down a mineshaft? Bullshit. Now, what’s the real reason you didn’t tell me?”

  “Because I wanted to find the certificate first. The papers at Castle’s office say that certificate has no value, but people unaware of all the facts may think it’s worth a lot of money. All I need to do is destroy it to avoid court challenges. I’ve been planning this for months. It’s business. I don’t believe it has anything to do with Campbell’s murder. On our first day, Jeff slugged and threatened Campbell, and then he was framed that very same night. Somebody already pissed as hell took advantage of an opportunity.”

  McAllen stared at me for a long moment before saying, “Did it ever occur to you that the murderer got hold of that certificate and used Sharp as a way to get rid of Campbell? The killer didn’t know you knew about the damn thing. The Schmidts are experts at turning an incident like Sharp’s threat to their advantage. Even if it was a coincidence, it connects the stock certificate and the murder.”

  “Did it occur to you that those men were dumb as timber? We both have reputations of being good with a gun, yet they came at us like we were a couple of dry goods clerks. They approached when we were with Maggie and then warned us by telling her to step aside.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Not to jump onto the Schmidts too fast. They’re smarter than that.”

  “They’re out of their element. They do things with finesse, not brutality.”

  “You make my point,” I replied.

  McAllen snapped his coffee mug down with more force than necessary. “After you talk to Castle, find us at the newspaper office,” McAllen said. “I want to know what you learn. All of it.”

  “I presume you don’t want me to tell you in front of the editor.”

  “Steve, I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm.”

  “Yes, sir.” Before he could respond, I scurried out of the café.

  Something didn’t feel right. If the Schmidts had the real stock certificate, how much could they gain by my being dead? They would still need to sue to challenge ownership of the shares. I didn’t see how my being alive or dead would affect their chances of prevailing in court. More important, what could they possibly gain by killing McAllen? Neither of us had the slightest evidence that pointed to the Schmidts, and at the moment, Sharp would likely be convicted for the murder. The only clue we had that the Schmidts might be involved was Carl’s volunteering to travel to Wickenburg. Weak. As I entered the building where Castle kept his office, I reminded myself that there was one other indicator of the Schmidts’ guilt—McAllen’s instincts. Betting against McAllen was never a good idea.

  When Castle answered my knock, he didn’t look any more pleased to see me than he had on my previous visits. He immediately returned to one of his leather chairs and tossed aside some handwritten documents. I sat opposite him.

  “You confirmed your tendency for violence this morning.”

  “Four bad men tried to kill me and a Pinkerton officer. We defended ourselves.”

  “Very skillfully, I hear. I understand none of the four got off a single shot.”

  “My preferred outcome in a gunfight.”

  Castle lit a cigar while striving to appear disinterested. “Why are you here?”

  “You do remember that I’m a friend of your client.”

  “I’ve suggested to him that he needs better friends.”

  “It must have disappointed you when he declined.”

  For the next long moment, we sat in our opposing leather chairs, daring each other to blink. I won.

  Castle said, “I repeat, why are you here?”

  Without preamble, I took Castle through all of our investigations since I had last seen him, omitting mention of the Schmidts. By the time I finished, his cigar was half smoked, and his posture had become more relaxed. He seemed genuinely interested. At the end, I asked if he could add any insights to what we had found out.

  “Nothing initially comes to mind. That old barn has been abandoned for about two years. To my knowledge, only kids go there, especially at night. I think you’re on the wrong track, pursuing this horse idea. It’s not far enough to warrant saddling a horse. By the way, did you see Campbell standing up on his own two feet?”

  “Uh, yes. Before Sharp hit him. Why?”

  “Well, I can assure you, it would not be difficult for Mr. Sharp to send him down with a single punch. The man was skinny as a rail and probably only about five foot five or six. A strong man could have used that halter to manually pull the body away from the barn.”

  “That doesn’t bode well for Jeff.”

  “No, he’s a large man. So is Lew Davis. The rest of your suspects are of normal stature. Except for yourself, of course. You’re not thick like Mr. Sharp, but you’re tall and appear strong.”

  “Still on your list, am I?”

  He laughed. “Not really. At least, not at the moment. You received a strong character reference from my client.”

  “Then whom do you suspect?”

  “Lew Davis is capable of this type of action, but he’s a gambler, and he’s lost more in a bad night at the tables than Campbell ever took from him. I don’t see him holding a grudge for several months. Like all gamblers, he would just move on. Jonathon Winslow would think it, want to do it, but in the end probably doesn’t have the nerve. He’d also be afraid to hire someone because of blackmail. Herb—”

  “What about Winslow’s parents in Boston? The wealthy have long arms. They could have hired someone to do the deed.”

  “Who would have been their agent to hire someone? Murderers don’t advertise in the newspaper. I don’t believe they would ask their son.”

  I immediately realized that the Schmidts were the only possibility. Could they have accepted a clandestine fee to take care of the problem? Damn. The possibility that they could be doing side work for Winslow’s parents meant that they might be involved independent of the stock certificate. This new suspicion made more sense, especially if they feared that McAllen was going to discover their unauthorized activities.

  “You met with the Schmidts,” I said. “Was that today?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What did they want?”

  “Do you want me to tell others about our conversations?”

  “The Schmidts are agents of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

  The information was not a surprise, so I continued.

  “Their supervisor is Captain Joseph McAllen, the man in the gunfight with me this morning. They were in Prescott to investigate Campbell. You’ll be able to read all about it in tomorrow’s newspaper, but you already know the highlights from Mr. Goldwater.”

  “My conversations are confidential, whether with a visitor to this office or a lodge brother.”

  “Fine. All I want to know is if you told the Schmidts about Campbell holding a stock certificate for the Edison Electric Light Company. The real company.”

  “I just told you, I don’t discuss my conversations with others.”

  “I’m sorry. I need a yes or no.”

  “No.”

  He was on the verge of throwing me out of his office, so I said, “I’m sorry to have interrupted you before. What were
you going to say about Herb Locklear?”

  “I was going to say that Herb is too much of a gentleman to do such a grotesque deed or deal with the type of element that would.”

  “Morris Goldwater shares your high opinion.”

  “We’re all lodge brothers.”

  “Are Masons incapable of wrongdoing?”

  “I meant that both Morris and I know Locklear. He’s not the vengeful type.”

  “I asked who you suspected. So far you’ve told me who you don’t suspect.”

  “You’re too impatient. Lawyers have a tendency to go after a thing sideways. May I continue?”

  “Yes. Please tell me who else you don’t suspect.”

  “Young man, sarcasm is not an admirable trait.”

  “I apologize. Proceed.”

  He puffed his cigar a moment to show he was in control. “Since you told me about the body being moved, I have mentally eliminated the women, but they were never high on my list anyway.”

  “That leaves only George Blanchet.”

  Castle took one more puff and then stubbed out the cigar. “Let me ask you a question. When a man of bad character is murdered, is it usually his victim or his partner that does the deed?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never encountered a murder of this sort before.”

  “Unfortunately, I have. For the most part, victims remain victims. Scoundrels that escape the law for any period of time usually find themselves dead at the hands of one of their own. Perhaps it’s God’s way of keeping bad men from overrunning us all.”

  I considered what he had said and then asked the obvious question. “What did you find that tied Blanchet and Campbell together as partners?”

  “Before Campbell’s arrival, George Blanchet had a very large unpaid account at Goldwater’s. He has not only paid it in full but has also bought a new wardrobe.”

  “Can you tie the newfound cash to the timing of the swindles?”

  “Practically to the day.”

  Chapter 36

  Instead of going directly to the newspaper office, I decided to walk around the courthouse square to think. Castle was unconcerned that he had no hard evidence against Blanchet. He needed only to establish reasonable doubt. He wouldn’t tell me exactly how he would use this information, but had said that he wouldn’t make a motion to have Blanchet disqualified as prosecutor. I could guess the rest. He would let the trial go through the prosecution phase, then lay the series of swindles in front of the jury. Next, he’d show that the prosecutor was Campbell’s partner in these swindles. I could imagine the gasp from the courtroom when Castle called the prosecutor as a witness for the defense. Castle was only concerned with getting an acquittal for his client, and he had enough to achieve this goal. My friend would be free, but was that enough? Not for me. After all this turmoil, I wanted the real murderer brought to trial.

  But who really murdered Campbell? Blanchet or the Schmidts? They were all my prime suspects. So which? I still thought the barn was the key. Could Blanchet or the Schmidts be tied to the abandoned livery?

  I was so lost in my thoughts that before I knew it, I had twice made the circuit around the square. Suddenly, I had an idea and charged into the courthouse. I asked directions from the watchman in the foyer and easily found County Records in another part of the basement. It cost me fifty cents and ten minutes to get the answer to my question. In another couple of minutes, I was at the newspaper office.

  The McAllens were having a very cheerful conversation with the editor of the Arizona Daily Miner. It didn’t take but a minute to see that Maggie had thoroughly charmed the heavily bearded man behind the desk. After the captain introduced me, I leaned against the back wall.

  “Well, young lady, are you going to marry a Pinkerton agent one day?”

  “Never. It would be unfair, because I would always be measuring him against my father, a standard no man could reach.” Maggie smiled engagingly. “Perhaps I’ll marry a Wells Fargo agent.”

  That got a good laugh from the editor. I realized I was laughing as well. It seemed that Maggie had learned a lot from Mrs. Schmidt. It made me hope that Blanchet was the guilty party. The thought reminded me that I wanted to talk to McAllen privately.

  After clearing my throat, I said, “Captain, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

  McAllen nodded and then tried unsuccessfully to smile. “Do you have any further questions?”

  The editor stood up behind his desk and extended his hand. “No, I think I have enough. If a question comes up, I’ll find you. Right now, I’d better get busy writing this article, or I’ll miss the morning edition.”

  After everyone, including Maggie, shook again, we left the office. Once outside, McAllen pulled up on the boardwalk and looked in both directions for eavesdroppers before saying, “You have an answer to my question?”

  “Not one you’ll like.” I paused to take a full breath. “I can see no reason that the Schmidts would want me dead. On the other hand, I discovered two bits of information that raise Blanchet to the top of my list.” When McAllen merely continued to stare at me, I added, “Mac Castle has indications that Campbell and Blanchet were partners in all of the swindles. Also … George Blanchet was the legal owner of that old barn and the property around it. A month ago, he sold the property to Elisha Campbell. That means they’re both connected to that old livery.”

  “Why would Campbell buy property in Prescott?” McAllen asked.

  “I believe it was meant to put a legitimate shroud around the money that Campbell gave to Blanchet. Castle says it’s the money transfers that tie Blanchet and Campbell together. Blanchet’s a lawyer. It’s his kind of solution to disguise the source of his newfound wealth.”

  “That’s interesting, Steve, but it doesn’t help with my two questions. Why would Campbell’s murderer want you dead, and why is Carl scared of what I might find in Wickenburg?”

  “I have a better question for you. Why would the Schmidts want their supervisor dead?” I paused a beat. “Do you have evidence implicating the Schmidts that I’m unaware of?”

  McAllen looked ready to explode but said only, “Maggie?” in a quiet voice.

  “Two weeks before Campbell’s murder, I walked with Mrs. Schmidt to the telegraph office. She made me stand outside on the boardwalk while she collected two messages. Later, when we were changing to go riding with Pa, the telegrams fell out of her dress pocket. I picked them up, and she snatched them out of my hands like they were hot coals. She yelled at me to never snoop into her affairs.” Maggie lifted her chin. “I wasn’t snooping. I was just picking up some dropped papers. There was no reason for her to show temper with me.”

  I looked at McAllen, knowing what was coming next.

  “After Maggie told me this, I made a visit to Western Union. With a little persuasion, I was told one of the telegrams came from Denver and the other from Boston. The first, of course, was from our own office. The second message was a single word: Proceed.”

  “Did you ask about any other telegrams?”

  “No prior telegrams from Boston, but they might have used the mail. It’s more secure and you can write long letters.”

  “Joseph, they were under contract to the Winslows. Proceed could mean any number of things. Besides, it doesn’t answer why they would want you killed.”

  “Because after I left, Mary bribed the Western Union man to find out what I was doing in the office. She discovered that I had been asking questions about her.” McAllen sounded very frustrated with my stubbornness. “To please you, let me rephrase the question: Why did someone want us both killed?”

  “I don’t—”

  Maybe I did have an idea. What were we doing? McAllen and I were working to get our friend out of jail. If Sharp ended up convicted, the matter would fade away, but if we turned up enough evidence to set him free, the whole affair would be investigated anew.

  “They don’t want us to exonerate their scapegoat.”

  McAllen’s expressi
on looked like that of a schoolmaster who had finally gotten a dunderheaded student to correctly answer a question. “We’re a thorn in their side. I told you there were no prior telegraphs, but there was a telegraph from Boston afterwards. It said, Ten additional if convicted. I took it to mean the Winslows would pay Blanchet ten thousand dollars if Sharp was convicted. Ten thousand dollars makes us a very big thorn.”

  I took my time responding. Finally, I said, “Earlier, I was trying to figure out if it was Blanchet or the Schmidts. I think I know the answer. It’s got to be Blanchet and Carl Schmidt. They must be working together.”

  “What makes you think so?” McAllen asked.

  I could tell by his tone of voice that he thought so as well, but wanted to hear my reasoning. “I know how rich people think, and Jonathon’s parents would have done everything they could to protect their son. So my guess is that they sought out political and legal protection, as well as Pinkerton detective services. With his connections with the governor, Blanchet would be a natural for political protection. In fact, Blanchet could have been the one who had extensive communication with the Winslows back in Boston. After gaining some confidence, the Winslows could have subtly suggested a more permanent solution. At some point, Blanchet discovered that the Schmidts were Pinkertons—probably from Jonathon because he can’t keep a secret. Blanchet isn’t dumb. He knew he’d have a hard time getting away with the murder with two Pinkerton agents close by. He could have approached the Schmidts, got their measure, and eventually broached a deal with them.”

  “I heard from Omaha. Blanchet’s an escaped prisoner,” McAllen said. “He was convicted of extortion, bribery, and attempted murder in Omaha. Different name, of course, but it’s him. That kind of information wouldn’t be missed by an operator like Campbell, and I suspect he was threatening Blanchet with it. That means Blanchet might have a motive beyond being hired by the Winslows.”