Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale)

by James D. Best

  Sharp was returned to his cell, and the three of us went over to Castle’s office for lunch. Sandwiches, nuts, beer, and a root beer had been brought over from the Palace. Before long, we were all eating.

  “Do the Schmidts have any inkling of what’s to come this afternoon?” Castle asked.

  “Maggie?” McAllen gave the question to his daughter.

  “Pa gave me a stethoscope to listen to their conversations through the wall. I can hear everything they say. Unless they know I’m listening, they still believe you will present Blanchet as the murderer. They sound cocksure.”

  “You gave her a doctor’s stethoscope?” Castle asked incredulously.

  “She has the room next door, and she’s a reliable observer.”

  “But you turned your daughter into a spy.”

  “She’s a darn good detective, not a spy.”

  “The difference?”

  “A detective finds criminals. Spies pry into the business of people they don’t like.”

  “What do we do if Carl or Mary leave the courtroom?” I asked.

  “A constable will take care of that. If they try to leave the building, they will be detained in the judge’s quarters.” McAllen took a large swig of beer. “Relax, Steve. The trial’s the easy part. If you want to worry, worry about what comes after.”

  Chapter 47

  “As my first witness, I call Captain Joseph McAllen, of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.”

  McAllen sat in the witness chair. His stoic expression and relaxed posture said he was at ease being in court.

  “Mr. McAllen, you testified about finding the body of Elisha Campbell. Was that the end of your investigation?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Explain to the court what you discovered in your further investigations.”

  “The lack of blood indicated that Campbell had not been shot at the location where the body was found. I searched the grounds along the trail back toward town and found a bloody horse harness that had been used to drag the body from another location.”

  Castle entered the harness into evidence and allowed the jury to examine it.

  “Did you find the actual location of the murder?”

  “I did. The abandoned barn outside of town. It’s about halfway between town and where the body was found. There was a bullet embedded in the back wall of the barn that matched the caliber of Mr. Sharp’s Winchester.”

  “Drawing on your investigative experience, can you recreate the scene for us?”

  “It appears that when Campbell entered the barn, someone was behind the door. When Campbell moved into the barn, that person shot him in the back of the head. This would keep the blood spray and pooling in the dirt, where it could be covered up.”

  “What does that indicate to you?”

  “That the murderer understood investigative procedures.”

  “If Mr. Sharp murdered Mr. Campbell, can you think of any reason why he would want to move the dead body?”

  “No.”

  “How many shots had been fired from the rifle?”

  “Two. The evidence indicates that one shot killed Campbell at the barn, and the other shot drew Constable Earp and me to the site, where we found the body.”

  “Why might the murderer fire that second shot?”

  “So the body would be found immediately. The murderer probably knew that Constable Earp lived a short distance away.”

  “If Mr. Sharp murdered Mr. Campbell, can you think of any reason why the defendant, Mr. Sharp, would want the body found that night?”

  “No.”

  “To your knowledge, did Mr. Sharp know where Constable Earp lived?”

  “No. He had just arrived in town that afternoon.”

  “Can you think of a reason why someone else might want the body found that night?”

  “Yes. If someone framed the defendant, then they would want the body discovered right away to connect the fistfight to the murder.”

  “Objection!” Blanchet had leaped out of his seat. “That’s unsub­stantiated speculation.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Carter ruled.

  “Why are you in Prescott?”

  McAllen told the court about his team’s being hired to investigate the series of swindles perpetuated by Campbell. He then described the methods used by Carl and Mary Schmidt.

  “Did both of the Schmidts remain in Prescott all the time?”

  “No. Carl Schmidt made frequent trips to Wickenburg.”

  I sensed rather than saw movement behind me. Then I heard Mary Schmidt’s harsh whisper.

  Castle asked, “For what purpose?”

  “Originally, to interview Henry Wickenburg, who had been defrauded as well. Later, he went to Wickenburg for recreational purposes.”

  “Could you tell the court about the four men who tried to kill you in the shooting across the street?”

  “Two of them were the Cody brothers. The other two were their friends. They came from Wickenburg, where they were known as the Cody bunch.”

  “Had you ever seen or heard of them before?”

  “No. To my knowledge, they had no reason to threaten us. They were apparently hired to kill us.”

  “Did you investigate Carl Schmidt’s activities in Wickenburg?”

  “I did, through an associate. Carl Schmidt did his best to throw our investigation off course.”

  For ten minutes, McAllen explained the entire sequence of events surrounding Carl Schmidt and Wickenburg. During his testimony, I twice heard Carl try to get up to leave, but Mary kept him in place with a stern whisper. Since I didn’t want to turn around, I watched the jury. Both times, the sudden motion drew their attention.

  Castle resumed his questioning.

  “Captain, what do you make of all that?”

  “You mean you want my opinion?”

  “Yes. As an experienced investigator, what might Carl Schmidt’s actions mean?”

  “First and foremost, Mr. Schmidt is hiding something. He went to elaborate extremes to mislead my associate. In my opinion, Mr. Schmidt was trying to hide the fact that he hired the Cody bunch to gun us down.”

  Although the conclusion was obvious, there was an audible gasp in the courtroom.

  “What motive could he have to take such heinous action?”

  “To cover up that he had killed Elisha Campbell and set up Jeffery Sharp to hang for the crime.”

  “What reason could he have for killing Campbell?”

  “He had a reason, but I am not directly privy to that information.”

  “Who is?”

  “Constable Earp.”

  “Very well. Previously, you said that Carl Schmidt went to Wickenburg for recreational purposes. Can you elaborate?”

  McAllen made a show of scanning the audience. “My meaning should be obvious. Must I elaborate? There are women and children present.”

  Castle looked over at the jury with a contemplative expression. “No. I believe the jury understands your meaning. I may call you again if the need arises.” He made a bow toward Blanchet. “Your witness.”

  “Mr. McAllen, do you have any physical evidence that supports this story of yours?”

  “No, sir. But I have a witness who can corroborate that Carl Schmidt obstructed my investigation.”

  “Would that be your associate, Mr. Dancy?”

  “He can confirm it as well, but I was referring to Malcolm Henry, Wickenburg’s town marshal.”

  “No further questions.” Blanchet scrambled back to his table.

  “In that case, I call Constable Virgil Earp.”

  After Earp took a seat in the witness chair, Castle asked, “Did you know Mr. Campbell?”

  “I did. I had a number of complaints about his business dealings, but although his actions were unethical, I found no laws were broken.”

  “Are you familiar with the barn that Captain McAllen believes was the murder site?”

  “I am. I pass it every day on my way into town. I also wen
t over the site with the captain, and I agree that it was the murder site.”

  “Why would the murderer haul the body out to Thumb Butte?”

  “Only one reason that I can think of … the barn must link Campbell and the murderer, so the murderer would want to conceal that fact.”

  “How could it connect them?”

  “Probably as a rendezvous point for the two.”

  “I see. On your daily trips to town, did you have occasion to stop at the barn on official business?”

  Earp laughed. “I’m not sure it’s within my official duties, but I frequently stopped to chase away youngsters. That barn is a notorious spot for young couples.”

  “Did you ever happen on adults?”

  “Once. I heard some activity, so I stopped and knocked. Finally, I had to bang pretty hard to get a response. Mr. Campbell came out. He asked me not to embarrass his partner. He said if I would ride on down the road, they would leave.”

  “Did you?”

  “I did, but not before checking behind the barn. I found two tethered horses. I recognized one as belonging to Mrs. Mary Schmidt.”

  Until the prior afternoon, we had assumed that we would have to use Maggie to confirm an illicit relationship between Mary Schmidt and Elisha Campbell, but when McAllen explained the defense strategy to Earp, the constable informed us that he could give testimony that would reveal that something untoward was going on between them.

  I wished I had taken a seat behind the Schmidts instead of in front. I heard no more whispers and sensed no sudden movements.

  Castle called several witnesses to testify that Sharp was in a playful mood that night and not angry at all. By the time he left the saloon, he was falling-down drunk and unlikely to haul himself, much less a dead body, out to Thumb Butte.

  I testified next. I said that the door to his room had been unlocked, and that Jeffery Sharp was a man of sterling character. He might punch someone he hated, but he would never back-shoot even his worst enemy. I also testified that his rifle was an extension of his arm, and he would never leave it behind, even if he were drunk.

  Blanchet’s closing remarks remained consistent with his opening argument. It was as if Castle had presented no revelations that he needed to explain away. The jury must have noticed that he spoke with little enthusiasm.

  Castle opened with an accurate description of the short fight and reminded the jury that Jeff had given five dollars and an apology to the innocent party he had hit. Castle described Sharp as a solid businessman newly arrived in town to invest in the community. He asked the jury if they believed a man incontestably drunk could have the wits to lure a victim to a barn he had never seen, or possess the control needed to shoot straight or the unwavering strength to haul a body half a mile.

  He reminded the jury that infidelity was one of the oldest and most common motives for murder. Then he asked if it were more believable that Carl Schmidt, in an angry rage, used Sharp’s threat to kill Campbell as a cover to revenge being cuckolded. He reviewed Carl Schmidt’s shenanigans in Wickenburg and ended with a graphic description of the gunplay across the street from the courthouse. Carl Schmidt had motive, had obstructed the investigation, and had apparently hired killers to stop an independent investigation.

  I thought it was a skillful summation. The jury must have thought so as well, because they came back after deliberating only twenty minutes.

  When called upon, the jury foreman read the verdict—not guilty.

  Chapter 48

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I was bent over a bureau drawer when Mary Schmidt entered her room and yelled at me. I had congratulated Sharp on his acquittal and then raced over to Prescott House. I wanted to search the room before they returned. I obviously had not been quick enough.

  I straightened and slowly turned to face her. “Looking for the original letters.”

  “What letters?”

  “The original letters from the Boston Winslows. The ones written to you, not George Blanchet. The letters you used to forge the ones you showed to McAllen.”

  She reached her hand into the folds of her dress. I knew what that meant, so I took a step closer.

  “I don’t believe Carl killed Campbell because of your infidelity,” I said. “McAllen may think you’re a happy couple shocked at each other’s indiscretions, but I believe you’re just a couple of hard-hearted killers for hire.”

  She started to pull her hand out of her dress, and I took another step toward her, but she was quicker than I expected. I pulled up short in the face of a .41 caliber derringer.

  She looked smug. “Did you find any letters?”

  “Not yet.”

  She laughed. “You think you’re going to have additional opportunity? I can assure you, you’re done rummaging through my things.”

  “What are you going to do, shoot me?”

  “If you turn toward the bureau again, I will. I’ll shoot you in the back, and say I was startled by an intruder and shot before realizing it was you.” She smiled. “Don’t be disappointed. There are no letters.”

  “Because you destroyed them?”

  “Does Captain McAllen know you’re snooping around my room?”

  “No. He and Earp are discussing Carl’s arrest.” I took another step toward her. “I may not have found the letters, but I found something else that proves the captain is wrong about Carl doing this on his own.”

  She remained smug. “What did you find?”

  I pulled a lady’s handkerchief from my left pocket and then dramatically drew a soiled one from my right pocket. “I believe these are both yours.”

  She looked perplexed. “So what?”

  I held up the neatly folded handkerchief in my left hand. “I found this one in your drawer.” I held up the soiled handkerchief in my right hand, stepping forward as if to hand it to her. “This one I found off the trail to Thumb Butte. Morris Goldwater says he has only sold this particular handkerchief to you.”

  “I rode that trail every day.”

  “Yes, you did … with Maggie. She says you not only never threw anything from your horse but scolded her harshly when she threw away a wadded-up piece of wax paper she had used for her peppermint stick.” I again held up the soiled hankie and again moved closer to her. “This proves you were there when Campbell was murdered and helped Carl drag the body away from the barn. It’ll change McAllen’s mind.”

  “Those hankies only prove that you’re a pest … a dangerous pest.”

  I could read her thoughts on her face, and I didn’t like what I was reading.

  “You’re right and wrong,” she said. “There were letters, but they’re ashes now. But I didn’t kill Elisha for money. That was just an additional benefit to something already good. After Carl whimpered for forgiveness, I couldn’t allow Elisha to walk around blabbering away about me. It was too unseemly.”

  She raised the gun slightly but kept it aimed at me. “These derringers are terrible for any distance over a couple feet. Thank you for moving closer.”

  I knew she was squeezing the trigger, and I was just a bit too far away to lunge at her. I heard a terrific pounding on the wall as I jumped to the side.

  “Mary, we heard everything!” It was McAllen yelling from Maggie’s room.

  I thought nothing could be louder, but then I heard two earsplitting reports from the tiny derringer. When I threw myself, I hit the bed and bounced back up. Mary had fired two blind shots through the wall into the next room. She dropped the derringer and reached inside her blouse for her pocket pistol. Her second gun was proving harder to retrieve. She never made it. I hit her with a closed-fist punch, using every bit of strength I could muster. She banged against the wall and slid into a sitting position. Her head flopped to the side, and I knew she was knocked out. I reached inside her blouse and found her small-caliber revolver cleverly holstered in the middle of her chest so her bosom helped to hide it. As I stood, I unloaded it and flipped the small pistol o
nto the bed. I grabbed her chin and straightened her head, but when I let go, it just flopped to the side again. I could see that her jaw would never work smoothly again.

  I raced into the hall only to find McAllen and Earp racing to Mary’s room.

  “Anyone hit?” I asked.

  “No,” Earp said. “The captain suggested we listen low to the floor. I guess he knew she was a hothead.”

  “What’d you do to her?” McAllen asked.

  “Laid a Jeff Sharp roundhouse into her jaw. She’s out, but where’s Carl?”

  “You bastard! You had no right!” Carl sounded frantic.

  I whirled around as a hand on my shoulder shoved me down. I immediately went to one knee and drew my Remington from my shoulder holster. Carl fired first—and second. Then a barrage of bullets from three guns drove him backward down the hall until he hit the window casing and broke the window with the back of his head. As I watched him bend backwards, my vision was obscured by so much gun smoke that I slid forward and lay down to see better and get a breath.

  The smoke was taking a long time to clear the narrow hallway, so I kept my aim where I thought Carl should be. Soon I felt someone step over me, and then I heard the door to Maggie’s room open. It was McAllen—and he had dripped blood on me.

  “That should help clear the smoke,” McAllen said.

  It did. And what it revealed was grotesque. Carl hung partially out the window. His head was bent so far back that he looked headless, his torso was riddled with holes, and blood pooled around his feet.

  I scrambled to my feet and glanced at Earp to see if he had been shot. He looked whole, so I went to McAllen, who was wincing as he held his arm.

  “Where did he hit you?”

  “Just the arm, but it hurts like hell. Damned easterner was never very good with a handgun. Hell, we were only eight feet away.”

  “I can’t believe you’re complaining about his marksmanship.”

  “Gotta sit.”

  He went into Maggie’s room and sat on a chair. I stood there perplexed, but Earp knew what to do. He ripped apart one of the stethoscopes on the floor and used the rubber tubing as a tourniquet. When he got McAllen a glass of water, I finally figured out what I ought to be doing and went to the next room to check on Mary. She was still knocked out cold. I picked her up, dragged her by the armpits into Maggie’s room, and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bare floor.