The Last Renegade

by Jo Goodman

  Raine looked from him to the gun and back again. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  “Are you going to provoke me?”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “And I won’t shoot you…intentionally.”

  Raine’s mouth flattened and she regarded him with disapproval. It proved to be an ineffective method of upbraiding him because he simply gave her back the wry edge of his smile.

  “I came because I thought you had something important to tell me,” she said, starting to rise. “But if your message was for your own amusement, I believe I’ll see myself out.”

  “Sit down.”

  To demonstrate that she was not his subject to command, Raine waited two full seconds before she put herself back on the bed. She held out her hand. “Your note.”

  Kellen took it, folded it, and slipped it into his vest pocket. “I have something I want you to see. You will find it disturbing.” Because she looked as if she wanted to argue the point, he added, “I find it disturbing.” He riffled through the stack of writing paper on the table. From somewhere in the middle, he produced a photograph. He held it in such a way that she could not see the image. “Do you know what this is?”

  “I think so,” she said on a thread of sound. Whispering did not disguise the dread in her voice. “Jem told me Mr. Petit took photographs of Emily after he and Mr. Reasoner found her.”

  “That’s right. I was asking Dan Sugar if he’d made any progress toward finding Mr. Weyman when Mr. Petit came by and delivered two photographs. He claimed they were all he had. The deputy believed him. I didn’t. I took this from his room. I don’t know if he’ll miss it, but I’m fairly confident he won’t mention it. He has a dozen similar ones, different angles and exposures, but essentially the same.”

  “Why would he keep them? Do you think he means to sell them?”

  Kellen shrugged. When he saw Raine’s mulish look, he said, “I really can’t tell you what he intends to do with them. Perhaps there is a market for them, or he is a man with peculiar tastes.”

  Raine frowned. It was a common practice to take photographs of the dead in their final, restful pose, but only criminals were photographed with all the indignities of their violent death exposed. Had Mr. Petit subjected Emily to the same ignominy? Raine had begun to prepare herself to see Emily lying at the foot of a pine under a canopy of boughs; she envisioned a glen with a trickling stream and tall grasses and Emily settled peacefully, her eyes closed and her hands crossed and resting comfortably at her breast.

  Raine had cared for Emily’s battered body, cleansed and closed the worst of the wounds, washed beads of blood from the young woman’s throat, and bathed her face as gently as she would a baby’s. She knew the worst of what had happened to her sister’s friend, and she had been tender in her ministrations. She did it for Emily and Emily’s family. She did it for herself.

  What had Mr. Petit’s camera seen when it stared at Emily Ransom from its cold, indifferent lens?

  Raine took a deep breath and released it slowly. She held out one hand. “Show me.”

  Kellen gave it to her facedown and watched as she turned it over. Whatever preparation she had made wasn’t enough. She still sucked in a sharp breath. Her stricken expression stopped his heart.

  Emily’s body was sprawled on the rocky bank of Elk Creek. She lay on her back, her slender frame contorted by the bed of rocks. Her eyes were open but void of lively light and sparkle. Her head was tilted slightly to one side so that she seemed to be staring directly at the camera. Her coat was open; her scarf was attached to one wrist. It looked as if she’d been bound at one time and struggled free. The sudden vision she had of Emily fighting off her assailant had the power to squeeze Raine’s heart.

  Emily’s dress had been the color of dark, ripe plums. In the photograph it appeared to be black. Raine could not make out the tears in the fabric where Emily’s murderer had plunged his knife, nor could she see the spread of blood that she knew was there.

  The skirt of Emily’s dress was bunched around her thighs. The ruffled hem of her petticoat lay skewed across her legs just above the knees. Her drawers were torn, split at the thigh. Here the blood was evident. The cut had been shallow but long. Blood stained the rocks between her legs.

  Raine averted her eyes. Her skin prickled as blood ran cold in her veins. She squeezed her damp palms into fists and took measured breaths. Bile rose in her throat, but when she felt Kellen begin to pull the photograph away, she shook her head. Emily had borne this, was all she could think. She could bear it, too. For Emily’s sake, she could bear it.

  Raine’s attention was drawn back to Emily’s sightless eyes and the angle of her head. “It’s as if she’s looking directly into Mr. Petit’s camera.”

  Kellen nodded. “I thought so, too.”

  Raine sensed a slight hesitation. “What is it?”

  “I told you Mr. Petit has a dozen or so similar photographs.”

  “Yes?”

  “Those photographs are similar to this one, but the two he gave Deputy Sugar are different.”

  She frowned. “You mean he moved the camera around.”

  “No, I don’t mean that.”

  “Then what—” Raine stopped. “He moved Emily?”

  “Yes. In the photographs that Petit gave Sugar, Emily is lying on her side. She’s facing the creek so the camera’s view is largely of her back. Petit would have needed to set his tripod in the water to get another perspective, and for whatever reason, he didn’t do it. Also, even though Emily’s gown is much as it is in this picture, she is less exposed. Her legs, her arms, are drawn closer to her body, and it’s not possible to see whether her scarf is tied to her wrists as it is in this photograph.”

  Raine could not look at the photograph any longer. She turned it over but held on to it. “Which set of photographs represents how Mr. Petit and Mr. Reasoner found Emily?”

  “I don’t know. If there is some way to determine that, I don’t know what it is. I saw the photographs Sugar was given, but I didn’t ask if I could study them. There could be a slight difference in the slant of shadows, but Petit took the photographs in a relatively short period of time, and you can see in this picture that the pine boughs scatter sunlight.”

  “And Deputy Sugar knows nothing about this photograph or the others like it?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Petit found Emily in this fashion but couldn’t bring himself to deny her the dignity of a less provocative pose.”

  Kellen arched an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, he was slow coming to that conclusion. And if he found her lying on her side, why take the other photographs at all?”

  “What about Mr. Reasoner?” Raine asked. “He was there when Emily’s body was found.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “What do you suppose his role was in this?”

  “That’s not clear.”

  Raine shook the photograph in her hand. “Do you think one of them murdered Emily?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His admission made her hesitate. “But the common belief is that Mr. Weyman is responsible.”

  “Among some people. For now.”

  “You don’t believe it.”

  “Neither do you. He never boarded at any station between Rawlins and Cheyenne. I don’t think he ever left the territory. His body just hasn’t been found. Sugar thinks he’s holed up somewhere north of here, but there’s no trail to follow. I suspect the deputy is going to change his mind about Mr. Weyman very soon.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He spoke without inflection, his expression revealing nothing. “It means I’m going to need an alibi.”

  Raine could only stare at him.

  Kellen pointed to the photograph she still held. “Turn it over and look at the rocks at Emily’s feet.”

  She turned it over slowly, reluctantly, and studied the photograph.

  The object lay in a shallow crevice between two rocks. It was round,
about the size of her thumbnail, and visible only because it was brighter than its rocky cradle. The rocks absorbed the dappling sunlight. This object reflected it.

  “What is it?” she asked, looking up. “A charm? A locket? I don’t recognize it as something of Emily’s.”

  Kellen did not answer her. Instead, he got to his feet and went to the wardrobe. He opened one of the drawers, searched briefly, and palmed the item he wanted. When he returned to Raine’s side, he took the photograph and dropped what he was carrying in his fist into her open hand. He did not sit. He hitched a hip on the table, folded his arms in front of him, and waited.

  “It’s a cuff link.”

  “It is.”

  She turned it over so the link lay against her fingers and the beautifully engraved disks lay flat in her hand. The elaborate flourishes of the initials wound like ivy around the circumference of each gold plate face. The letters should have disappeared in the ornate scrolling, but to Raine they were so immediately clear that she ran a fingertip across the surface to convince herself they were not raised.

  KMC

  “What’s your middle name?” The absurdity of the question did not strike her until after she’d asked it. Color rushed into her cheeks, and she quickly shook her head to communicate that she did not expect him to answer.

  “Maxwell.”

  “Oh.”

  His faint smile was wry. “I’d assumed you would have something else to say.”

  “I’m sure I will. Eventually.”

  “Yes, well, it’s an unexpected turn.” He held out his hand for the cuff link and pocketed it when she gave it to him. “I am confident you realize that I used to have two. One of the pair is missing. That’s what you saw in the photograph. Do you want to ask me if I lost it when I murdered Emily?”

  “No. I don’t want to ask you anything like that. I want to know if it’s visible in the photographs that Dan Sugar has.”

  “I have to assume it is. I didn’t notice it, but I told you that I didn’t ask to study those photographs. I thought showing too much interest would raise suspicion.”

  “If it’s in the other photographs, what do you think Deputy Sugar will do?”

  “He won’t be able to identify what it is from the pictures alone, but if he’s curious about it, and in his place I would be, then he should visit the site where her body was found. He’s been there once, the morning after Petit and Reasoner came across Emily. He took a couple of men with him, and they used that location as a starting point to look for Mr. Weyman. None of them saw the cuff link or I would have already been questioned about it. It could have fallen between the rocks when Petit and Reasoner were tramping around. They did wrap Emily in a blanket and lift her onto the saddle. The horse also could have trampled it.”

  “Are you going to try to get it back before it’s found?”

  “I wish I could, but the chance that I’d cross paths with Sugar is almost a certainty. He’s already watching me.”

  “He is?” She glanced toward the window. “Now?”

  “Probably not at this moment, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. He has the Davis boys helping him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I saw him talking to Jem at the Ransom house, and Jem couldn’t stop himself from looking my way. He and his brothers have been looking my way ever since Emily was laid to rest. They don’t know how to be subtle.”

  Raine agreed. The Davis boys did not have a cunning bone in their bodies. “Do you think Emily took the cuff link from your room?”

  “I’ve thought of that. It’s very tempting to make the case that she took it. That explanation presents fewer problems for me because it follows that I wasn’t necessarily with her at the time she was murdered, but I can’t accuse her of theft to save myself.”

  “I’ve never had a complaint from a guest about Emily. She was a good girl.”

  “Which is why I don’t believe she stole it.”

  Raine was relieved that he thought so, and it showed in a softening of her expression. “And yet someone did take it, and apparently left it by Emily’s body to throw suspicion on you. Is there one person you suspect more than another?”

  “No. Not yet, but I doubt it was Mr. Weyman. His disappearance is not coincidental. He’s being offered up as a scapegoat as well.”

  “Why would the murderer point fingers in two different directions?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t. Weyman is only a suspect in Emily’s murder until his body is found. I believe that will happen soon enough. My cuff link at the site makes me a suspect in both murders.”

  She nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

  “I haven’t worked that out yet.”

  “I think you have,” she said. “I think you don’t want to ask me.”

  His narrow smile confirmed it. “Something like that.”

  “I do have an idea.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Nodding, Raine began to lay it out before him.

  Uriah Burdick tossed a log on the fire, gave it a nudge with an iron poker, and once he was satisfied that it hadn’t smothered the flames, he turned around to face Eli and Clay. He saw he already had their attention, but out of habit, he tapped the tip of the poker against the fireplace’s stone apron. His boys took their height from him, which was why he preferred to address them when they were sitting. They would show him deference regardless, but he believed in looking over them when he could.

  “You’ll have to talk to him,” he said without preamble. He rolled his broad shoulders, easing the tension across his back. “Tell him he doesn’t want to see me. Right now, I’d shoot him dead as soon as look at him. You can tell him I said that, too.”

  Uriah’s flat blue stare shifted from one son to the other. They shared a glance between them and then nodded. There was never any question in his mind that they would do exactly what he told them, but they always did it a little better when there was a sense of competition between them. That was what the silent exchange had been about. It had been that way since they were boys, and while Uriah fostered the contest they made of everything, he had come to understand that what he did, he did out of necessity. Looking at his boys, there was no denying they were his sons, but in their ability to think and act decisively on their own they were as different from him as salt was from sugar.

  Uriah put the poker away and picked up his tumbler of whiskey from the mantel. His hands were large, and when he closed his fingers around the glass, it disappeared. “Remind him of what he was hired to do. If he steps sideways again, I’m finished with him. More to the point, he’s finished.”

  Eli plowed his fingers through his dark hair. “He might say we got it wrong, Pa. He might say he didn’t do it.”

  “Are you likely to believe that?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Because if he says something like that, he’s a goddamn liar.” Uriah squeezed his glass as though he meant to crush it. His knuckles whitened. It felt right, and he held the glass that way for a long moment. It was only after he relaxed his grip that he took a drink. “Still, if he swears he’s innocent, tell him he needs to show us who’s guilty.”

  Clay drummed his fingers against the flat, wooden arm of his chair. “Don’t forget, there’s suspicion that it was the man she ran off with that did it. The whiskey salesman. Weymouth. Weymar.”

  “Weyman,” said Eli.

  “Weyman,” Clay repeated. “He’s going to tell us it was Weyman.”

  “And what will you say to him in return?” asked Uriah.

  Clay stopped drumming. “I reckon I’ll tell him that suspicion isn’t proof.”

  Uriah nodded. “Good.” He looked at Eli. “Does that sound about right to you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Uriah finished his drink and returned the tumbler to the mantel. “You boys need to be mindful of how you approach him. He likes it in close so keep a respectful distance.” They nodded in unison. “Flank him. Best if you s
tay public but not so anyone can overhear your conversation. Don’t let him see you’re afraid.”

  Eli and Clay exchanged glances again. Eli spoke for both of them. “We’re not afraid.”

  It was what Uriah expected to hear. “You damn well should be. You know what he is. I didn’t hire him because he’s not dangerous. I hired him because he is. Now he might be smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds him, but it’s hard to know in the face of the poor judgment he showed with Emily Ransom. Don’t trust him. Don’t let yourself be at ease with him. Remind him he’s paid up through Nat Church.” He paused. “You did put the money in his account, didn’t you?” When they nodded, he went on. “So we’re square. He can take it and go, or he can go on. He knows the list. Emily Ransom sure as hell wasn’t on it.”

  Clay shook his head. “She sure as hell wasn’t. Even a sassy little bit of up-to-no-good like her deserved better.”

  “I suppose you think that you’re the better she deserved,” said Eli. “Emily would cross the street before she would bring you a drink. She was always trying to stay out of your way.”

  “That’s on account of all the lies Ellen Wilson told her. And I never saw the Widder Berry give you a smile that wouldn’t freeze the balls off a man who had a pair.”

  Uriah thrust out a hand when Eli started to get to his feet. “Enough. That discussion’s for outside. Always has been.” He waited for Eli to settle. “Good. Now as to the other matter we’ve talked about. I’ve decided I would like to speak to the reporter. From what I’m seeing already, I’m not sure this winter’s going to be any better than last, and Washington needs to pay attention to its territories. We’re providing beef to a nation. I think there’s something to be gained by having our story told in the New York World.”

  “You want us to invite him here?” asked Eli.

  “Better if he sees the spread for himself, don’t you think?”

  Eli nodded. “That’s what he wants.”

  “Well, then, I’m feeling downright generous. Let’s give the man what he wants. What’s his name again?”

  “Kellen Coltrane,” Clay said before Eli could. “I have to tell you, Pa, he’s not much for cards or drinking.”