The Last Legal Hanging

by Mae Berry

  The door to Fenton’s office opened and Assistant Deputy Brownlee sauntered out. He took one look at Finn and called back over his shoulder. Finn sat up as Brownlee turned back to him and said, “Boss wants to see you.” His smirk was all it took to convince Finn that Brownlee had a hand in whatever happened next. He entered Fenton’s office and stood in front of the massive desk.

  “Finnley, what’s your status on the missing boy?” Fenton’s face flushed and his eyes bugged out. Not a good sign for Finn.

  “Well, sir, there isn’t much. I have the local boys checking out a few leads while I—”

  Fenton waved a hand. “I need not remind you the mayor is very interested in this case?” Fenton sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  “No, sir, I—” Finn swallowed. What is this?

  “Well, I hear you aren’t even sure of the name of your suspect.”

  “Sir?” Finn blinked.

  “You have an old case that links to this one?” Fenton waved one hand in the air.

  “How did you—”

  “I hear tell you’ve been contacted by a Pinkerton agent familiar with the case.”

  Finn squinted. “Not exactly, I checked with them, they don’t have much so I’m—”

  “Here is what you’re to do, Finnley. You will make it clear up front that the marshal’s office has full jurisdiction. Full jurisdiction.” Fenton pounded a meaty fist on his desk. “We get full credit for the case. The Pink is just a consultant.” Fenton jutted out his chin.

  “Sir, I honestly don’t think we need the Pinkerton agent. I can get the information and—”

  “Nonsense.” Fenton slapped the table and Finn jumped. “You don’t have a clue what’s going on. This agent does. The mayor is all over this. You bring the agent on, just make clear the chain of command. And the credit.” Fenton pointed a finger at Finn. “Better yet, deputize the man. Then he works for us.”

  “Sir, he isn’t a man—” Finn raised his hands in a placating motion.

  “Get on with it Finnley.” Fenton’s eyes bugged. “Bring the agent on board and find that boy.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Dismissed. Close the door on your way out.”

  Finn stood frozen a moment then exited. As he crossed to his desk, he saw Brownlee glance at him. The smirk on his face and squint to his eyes confirmed Finn’s suspicion. Somehow Brownlee had found out about Lawton. Probably knew the agent was a woman. He’d gone to Fenton with just enough information and innuendo to create this mess. Finn clenched his jaw and sat at his desk, positioning his chair so he didn’t have to look at the man.

  Finn was still seething when Miss Lawton opened the door. She stuck her head in and glanced around the room. Her eyes locked on Finn. He attempted a pleasant face, but judging by the sour look on hers, he failed. Or was that just her natural look? Or maybe it was just him that got it? Finn rose and motioned to her.

  “Right on time I see. Thank you for coming Miss Lawton.” He gave up on his pleasant face when her frown continued. He motioned to the empty chair by his desk and she stalked toward it, reminding him again of something feline. Was it her eyes? They had a slight tilt to them. Exotic looking. Or was it the way she walked? She glided without a rustle or a shoe tap.

  Miss Lawton lowered herself to the chair without once breaking eye contact. Finn cleared his throat and sat. He shuffled the papers and tapped them on the edge of the desk to buy himself time. She snorted. Finn looked up and narrowed his eyes. The sour look was still in place.

  “Coffee Miss Lawton? I remember you have a fondness for it?” He attempted his smile again, but she narrowed her eyes further. Like a cat eying its prey. Another minute and she’d growl, he’d bet money on it.

  “Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley please.” Her low voice jolted him again. “Can we get to what you need? This is the second time in less than twenty-four hours I’ve had to sit and watch a man rearrange paperwork,” she tapped her fingers on the edge of his desk “and I have too much to do to waste time observing your much needed attempts at organization.”

  A snicker from Brownlee’s desk had Finn pressing his lips together, until Miss Lawton turned her glare in that direction. Brownlee cleared his throat then rose and left the room. Finn coughed to cover a laugh then sobered when Miss Lawton’s attention returned to him.

  “Yes, well, Miss Lawton you appear to be the only source of information I need about a man,” Finn pulled a sheet of paper closer, “an… Ira Gittin.” He tapped the page and looked up at her. If he downplayed the information, she might just tell him what she knew and he could get rid of her. Her forehead creased and her lips pursed. Her tapping fingers slowed.

  “Yes, you looked most… disturbed, deputy marshal, when I mentioned the name at the precinct. However, if that is the official report, you can see it says Mr. Gittin is deceased.”

  “Yes, well. The case file from the precinct was, shall we say, lacking?” Finn eyed her. She shifted in her seat. “You see, Miss Lawton, Gittin’s name came up in another case I’m working. I always check with the local law to see if they have any information on a suspect. Imagine my surprise when my questions led to a murder/suicide, a closed case, and you.”

  Miss Lawton tipped her head to the side and stared at her lap. “There are three.” She fidgeted with a button on her jacket.

  “I beg your pardon?” Finn frowned.

  “The Gittin case. There are three murders. Wife and two small children.” She looked up and pursed her lips together.

  “Yes. Well. Gittin.” Finn narrowed his eyes.

  “So, he is a suspect in a new case?” She scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned forward. He thought her gaze intense before, now it could burn the flesh off his bones.

  “Let’s say, I want to talk with him.” Finn measured his words.

  She shifted and glanced at her hands. “That will be difficult if the man is dead.” Her controlled tone held an underlying tension.

  “As you say,” Finn said, “IF he’s dead.” He studied her. She removed her hand from his desk and clenched the strap of her bag, her knuckles turned white. “I understand you had… concerns about closing the case?”

  “If the file was lacking, how did you come to that conclusion?” There was a note in the file. A very derogatory note but she obviously didn’t know that. She was hiding something. Her eyes snapped to his as her teeth clenched. He slapped the table, and she jumped.

  “Let’s say I’m verra good at my job.” He narrowed his eyes, but she refused to break contact.

  “I was unaware, Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley, that an agent’s speculation was part of the official record.”

  Ah, something he could work with. He drew back and sucked in a breath. “That is the problem, Miss Lawton. At the precinct you mentioned depositions and follow-up reports. None of which are in the file.” He lifted the meager folder and let it drop back to the desk with a slap. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. “It looks as if the official record is missing. And I’m wondering why you are evading my questions.”

  “Evading?” Her voice squeaked as her eyes widened. He’d startled her. Good. Maybe he could find out what she wasn’t saying. Miss Lawton cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair. “What, precisely, do you mean? Evading?” Her eyes flicked from the file to his.

  “The term, I think, should be understood. Especially to someone in law enforcement.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. He knew he was right. She didn’t know what she was doing.

  Miss Lawton straightened in her chair and fixed those feline eyes on his. “Assistant Deputy—”

  He snorted. “Call me Finn. We won’t get anywhere if you insist on throwing out the ‘Assistant Deputy Marshal’ title at every turn.” He sat back and pursed his lips, “Now… evading?”

  “Yes, well. Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley, what do you wish to know?” She readjusted the strap of her shoulder bag.

  “Why did you think Gi
ttin wasn’t dead?” Miss Lawton’s shoulders hunched forward as she sank back in her seat. She rubbed her forehead. Finn stared. This was not the reaction he’d expected.

  “It was just a hunch,” she whispered. She didn’t glance at him. She looked vulnerable. Defeated. Finn cleared his throat.

  “What facts made you think that? Made you reach a conclusion the senior agent didn’t agree with?” Miss Lawton straightened her spine and glared at him. There she was, the she-cat was back.

  “Point number one,” she growled, “the man purported to be Gittin and pulled from the river was in a state of advanced decay. Too advanced for the time frame.”

  “Purported? Seriously, do you really speak that way?” He waved his hand. “It was summer. Decay rates differ.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not, to that point. The corpse was barely recognizable as a man and it was only three days after the earliest time for the ‘suicide’ to have occurred.”

  Finn shrugged. She was on a roll. He could see her lean forward. This was much better. He was getting his information. The fact he was irritating her? Well, that was a bonus.

  “Point number two,” she ticked off on her fingers, “no one at the murder scene recognized the clothing the body was wearing.”

  “Come now, Miss Lawton, do you know the clothes in a person’s entire wardrobe?” Finn rolled his eyes. She was doing nothing to change his opinion of women playing at being detectives.

  “According to witnesses in the extremely small town of Stanley, the clothing the corpse wore was nothing they had ever seen on Mr. Gittin, nor was it a style he wore. This man was a poor butcher in a small town. A whole new ensemble wasn’t likely. Point number three,” She spoke over him as he tried to interrupt, “the note Gittin left behind at the scene stated he intended to go, and I quote, ‘kill a devil in Jefferson City that has been mainly the cause of all my trouble’. Tell me, why would a man go to the trouble of writing that bit of information and less than an hour later change his mind and jump in a river?” Miss Lawton slapped her hand on the desk and leaned forward, her eyes gleamed with triumph.

  Finn froze and stared at her. The victory drained from her face and the vulnerability returned. “Note?” He kept his tone light, but he felt his pulse quicken. He leaned forward as she pushed back from the desk, his eyes fixed on her. “I am surprised you remember word for word a note you read six years and nine months ago.”

  She swallowed. Her eyes shifted between his. She straightened again and tipped her head to the side and sniffed. “One does not forget such a horrific crime.” The tilt of her chin dared him to contradict her.

  “No. I suppose not,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her. She didn’t so much as breathe. “Still, I guess I am grateful you have such an outstanding memory since the original evidence is missing. Tell me who took charge of the note during the investigation?”

  “The local justice of the peace and the Pinkerton Agency handled the case.” She clenched her fists. “I’m not sure about the final disposition of everything.”

  “Oh? There was more?” He quirked an eyebrow. This was getting interesting.

  “Of course, I mentioned the depositions; several from neighbors, the magistrate. There were notes on the crime scene, the state of the corpses, the usual notations.”

  “The usual notations. Huh, I thought the case was open and shut. Murder/suicide.” Finn settled his back against his chair. He linked his fingers and set them on top of his head. “I’m surprised anyone went to the trouble.”

  She stiffened and leaned in to the desk. “Let’s say I am very good at my job.

  He smirked. He’d struck a nerve. “I see.” Finn sat up and tapped a pencil on the edge of the folder, he examined her across the desk from the top of her tilted head to her clenched fists. She refused to drop her eyes. He sighed and rubbed his temples. As much as he hated it, this woman had the only information on the man. Fenton aside, he needed her help to catch Richards/Gittin before something happened to the boy. Finn would do anything to make sure that little boy returned safe and sound. Even work with the likes of Miss Lawton.

  “Well then, you leave me little choice, Miss Lawton. I will need you to sign documents today. We’ll leave Monday for Jefferson City. I’ll pull together the papers.”

  “Excuse me? Documents? Leave? What do you mean?” Panic crossed her face as she stood.

  “Well Miss Lawton, since the physical evidence and reports from the old case concerning Gittin are missing, and,” he raised his voice to speak over her attempts to interrupt, “since you have an excellent memory, I have no choice but to deputize you. You will work for me until we either catch Gittin, figure out my current case does not involve him, or discover that he is, in fact, dead.” Finn smiled. “I think we should start in Jefferson City. If the ‘devil’ who was ‘mainly the cause’ of all his trouble lived there, then Gittin must have ties to the city. He may even be there or at least there may be clues to his whereabouts.” Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Finn grinned.

  Miss Lawton cleared her throat. “Do you suppose, if I am to be deputized, you could enlighten me? What does the current case involve?”

  His lips dropped into a small tight line as humor fled. “A man named Richards disappeared with his son. Richards may be an alias as I have reason to suspect his real name is Gittin. The local police are following up the few leads we have here, but I’m trying to figure out if something in his past may give a clue to where he might have gone. The boy’s mother is frantic and considering what I’ve learned, I fear for his safety.” He hesitated, despite Fenton’s insistence, Finn couldn’t force her to help. He studied her. “You know, you aren’t required by law to agree to this, Miss Lawton. You can walk away and return to your own work.”

  She closed her eyes, her lips thinning as she shook her head. “No, Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley, I can not.”

  Chapter 11

  April 20, 1891

  En-route to Jefferson City, Missouri

  Sam rubbed her temples, unsure if her head ached because of the repetitive clacking of the wheels on the passenger car of the MoPAC train or the aftermath of telling Hattie she was dropping the Arnold case and heading to Jefferson City. With a US marshal. Because of the Gittin case. It piqued Hattie. Sam grinned. Piqued. She loved words. Precise words. And Hattie’s reaction was decidedly piqued. Her grin faded as she considered this latest turn in her path, well, more a switchback. This could help with her plan to break away from Hattie. Deputation came with a stipend but, as the assistant deputy marshal so helpfully pointed out, since she was a woman it wasn’t much. Still, if she performed well, it could open her business to new clients and new pursuits.

  A sudden jerk of the rail car lurched her sideways and she stiffened to avoid brushing against the deputy marshal. He remained asleep, sprawled across the seat, arms folded across his chest, his cap covering his face, taking up more than his part of their shared space. His presence unnerved her. He was politely reserved, but seemed to resent her presence. Ludicrous, since he had insisted she take part. She ran her fingers across the nubby fabric of the seat, tracing a worn spot. The view outside showed field after field of sprouted corn tips. The spring green just peeking through the damp soil.

  Another jolt sent her reticule sliding to the floor. She bent to retrieve it. The smell of unwashed bodies and stale tobacco embedded in the worn carpet overpowered her nose. Her stomach lurched and an unpleasant tingling hit the back of her throat. She pulled a handkerchief from her bag, accidentally elbowing the assistant deputy marshal. His breathing changed but not his position. Sam narrowed her eyes. She was reasonably sure he was awake. Maybe she should elbow him again? Was he ignoring her? Did he delude himself that she wanted to be here? Did he think it enthralled her to be working with a deputy marshal? Make that assistant deputy marshal. Who did he think he was?

  Sam sighed. According to him, and the papers she signed, he was her boss. All six foot something of able-to-sleep-anywhere ap
parently assistant deputy marshal. Well, he’d learn she did not work well with others. She turned to study him. His stocky form had muscle tone, as if he did manual labor, not sit behind a desk. His suit was clean but showed wear as did the bill of his tweed cap. His hair curled slightly with reddish glints in the sun light. Sam snorted, that explained his temper.

  The marshal jerked, his hand going under his jacket to the butt of his pistol. He glanced around then turned his attention to Sam. He straightened and rubbed the bristle on his jaw. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled bag and held it out.

  “Want a red sour drop?” His rich baritone rolled over her like a velvet blanket as he shook the bag. “Best candy ever made.” He reached into the bag and popped two into his mouth.

  She stiffened. “No thank you. I prefer peppermint.” She brushed at her skirt.

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” He crunched his candy.

  “What? Why is that?” Sam stared at him.

  “It fits you.” He shrugged.

  “Please. Elucidate.”

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  Heat rose from Sam’s throat to her face. Her stomach gave another lurch with the train. She was in no mood for this man’s obtuseness.

  He sighed. “I only meant that with your… personality… peppermint is a good fit.” The marshal stuffed the bag back in his pocket.

  “Candy has a… fit?” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Aye, peppermint kinda explodes a bit, on yer tongue.” He shifted and eyed the seat back.

  “Yes,” Sam’s lips twitched upward, “and brings a bit of welcome refreshment into your day.”

  He stared at her a moment, then his lips moved into a reluctant smile. “And here I thought the whole elucidating of the conversation was the refreshing part.”

  Sam snorted. The marshal grinned. A surprising dimple appeared on his cheek. He stretched his arms above his head then settled back in the seat, long legs in the aisle crossed at the ankle. “Tell me, Miss Lawton, how did you come to work for Pinkerton?”