Second Chance (The Deadman Series Book 5)

by Linell Jeppsen

  They waited while Chen Li pulled the metal cover back over the opening and darkness descended upon the tunnel. It was in the darkness that Matthew’s eyesight returned. The sunlight had proven too much for his sore and dazzled eyes but now Matthew could make out vague shapes and deep shadows.

  “Sirs…we better get a move on. I don’t think we were spotted but, since this looks to be a working steam tunnel, there’s a chance those guys know about this underground too!” The urgency in Chen Li’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Okay,” Chance said, “Lead on…”

  Chance took his father’s hand again and the four made their way down a narrow catwalk. Chance said, “It doesn’t look like you’re too injured, Pa, but it’s pretty dark in here. How are you doing?”

  Matthew took stock and said, “I’m okay, I think. There might be a few burns on the back of my head and shoulders, but my eyes are clearing up and I can hear better now.”

  “That’s good, sir. You had me scared there, for a minute,” Chance replied.

  “That makes two of us,” Matthew quipped. Turning to Tommy he said, “Now, how in Sam-Hell did you two just happen to show up here? I thought I told you to stay home!”

  He saw both of the boys flinch, then Tommy filled Matthew in on how he and Chen Li came to be in Seattle. “We were doing all right back home, boss, and keeping our noses clean, when Mr. Fulbright came down sick. The newspaper office is closed down, as you know, or we would have gone back there to stay. But, when Marty’s sister came to take care of him, we decided to make ourselves scarce.”

  “There weren’t no room in Mr. Fulbright’s little flat, see, so we sent a wire and asked Miss Annie if it would be okay to come here. It’s funny, in a way, Boss. We’d just left the train station and were about to call the number Miss Thurston gave us when we spotted you in back of that wagon.”

  Matthew had used his handkerchief to wipe most of the blood and dust from his eyes and face, and he could see the look of excitement in Tommy’s expression—as though to him this whole thing was a big, fun adventure. His eyes rolled as he contemplated how much more difficult it would be to keep the two youngsters safe, along with Chance, in this latest confrontation.

  He wondered why Annie hadn’t filled him in on the boys’ imminent arrival and then, with shame, realized that he had spent most of the last two nights either patrolling the grounds with the security detail or holed up with the menfolk in Thurston’s den. He couldn’t remember seeking her out at all since Judge McKinley was murdered.

  Feeling like a heel, Matthew knew he’d been alone for far too long. He had not forgotten that Annie was there, but he was so intent on keeping her and the others safe she had, for the last couple of days, become an assignment in his mind rather than a friend—and possible lover!

  Also, he thought, why should she go out of her way to inform him that she had extended an invitation to Tommy and Chen Li? It was her house, after all! Sighing in exasperation with himself, Matthew tuned in on what Tommy was saying.

  “…We were trying to follow you when we saw a bunch of men watching your movements. They seemed like a rough bunch and we didn’t like how they were all pulling iron, so we followed them first…”

  Chen Li interrupted, “Sorry, Mr. Matthew, we didn’t get to you sooner. Tommy and I never thought those men would fire into a big crowd in the light of day like that…much less use explosives on you!” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of injured people back there, Sir!”

  “There is no need to apologize, you two…you saved our lives, I think.” Matthew murmured.

  Chance said, “Yes you did, and I want to thank you too. By the by, in case you didn’t know, I’m Matthew’s son, Chance. Pleased to make your acquaintance…”

  Tommy grinned. “Well, we figured that, sir. You’re the spit o’ your Pap!”

  The boys stopped long enough to shake Chance’s hand and then Chen Li said, “Let’s keep going, okay? It’s not far, if I remember right.”

  “Have you traveled these tunnels before, Chen Li?” Matthew asked.

  The youngster nodded. “Yes, sir. I was born here and lived most of my life around here… but that was before my parents and little sister were killed in a riot. Still, this tunnel is unfamiliar to me, although I believe it comes out close to the trolley station. If we can get there, I think we can ride the trolley to wherever we need to go.”

  “How much further is it?” Matthew asked.

  “About two blocks from here, I think.” Chen Li answered.

  Matthew heard Chance sigh and remembered his son was still recovering from a broken ankle. They had already traveled close to four or five blocks, he figured. This protracted walk was probably crippling Chance with pain. Turning to ask, the young man forestalled his question.

  Holding up his right hand, Chance grunted, “I’m all right, Pa. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

  Looking up at a sudden shaft of sunlight, Matthew noticed that, in some places, a person could stare up (or down) through large, square holes in the second floors of buildings that were open and in business. There was sunlight streaming through shop windows and, in some of the shops overhead, actual stairs that led down and into the rushing water close to where they trod. Here and there, citizens could be glimpsed emptying slop buckets into the water or stoking stoves and steam-powered furnaces just above the tunnel walls.

  Shop owners and customers were visiting and transacting business, their voices echoing down into the tunnel and off the slow-moving water. At one point, Chen Li turned around and placed his raised finger over his lips. They moved swiftly past a small bar (the odor of beer, whiskey, and unwashed bodies was a dead giveaway). They moved past the drinking establishment and Chen Li stopped, turning to face his companions.

  He whispered, “I don’t think it happens much here anymore, but this used to be known as a Shanghai tunnel. Sometimes, if a sailor got too drunk to watch his own back, the barkeep would throw his body into the water below their bar. Kidnappers would pay the bar owner a percentage for these men and when that happened, the sailor would find himself onboard some ship—far out to sea and under indentured service…free man or not…and by then it was too late!”

  Matthew shuddered and said, “Let’s get out of here!”

  “Yes, sir!” Chen Li replied and scurried ahead.

  They traveled another block or two and then Matthew saw the youngster pause and look up. Coming to stand by Chen Li’s side the four companions stared up at the metal covering. Just then, they heard the distinct clang of the trolley bell. Tommy grinned and said, “Let me go up first. I’m bigger than Chen and can help pull you up better if need be.”

  Matthew nodded. “You be careful now and look sharp…” but Tommy had already lifted the metal grate up and to the side. The kid stuck his head up and Matthew saw the terror in his eyes just as he heard a gunshot.

  Tommy’s head jerked sideways, accompanied by a red shower of blood that painted the dirt and brick tunnel walls red and splattered their clothing. Chen Li groaned as Tommy’s body fell back down the ladder in a lifeless heap and then gasped as Matthew shoved him down and out of the line of fire.

  Then Matthew and Chance both started shooting. Side by side, the man and his son stood on the underground catwalk and shot up into the sky. They heard a sharp cry of pain through the gunfire and saw the shadows of people running back and forth in panic overhead.

  Telling Chance to stay below, Matthew climbed the rungs leading topside with his pistol held high. He saw a man lying on the cobblestones next to the tunnel entrance. The gunman struggled to get up, despite a large patch of blood on his upper chest that was slowly staining his shirt crimson.

  The wounded man saw Matthew looming over him and lifted his six-shooter with an evil glint in his eye, but Matthew shrugged and shot him in the arm. The gunman screamed as his pistol fell to the ground and stared up at Matthew with hatred even as he groaned against the pain of his shattered arm.

  The dete
ctive knelt on one knee and put the barrel of his gun on the shooter’s left cheek. “Who sent you?” he snarled.

  The man winced and jerked his face away as the hot gun kissed his cheek. “I ain’t sayin’ nothing, lest you get me to a doctor!”

  Matthew said, “If you don’t talk right now, you’ll never see the inside of a doctor’s office. Now, who do you work for?”

  “I’m dying, you son of a whore! If I tell you, will you fetch me a doc?”

  Matthew wanted to drill the man right here and right now, but he took a deep breath and said, “Yes. Tell me who sent you boys, and I’ll make sure you get medical attention…was it Branson? Tell me!”

  The man’s eyes got big and tears of pain began to streak his face. “Branson? Hell no! I’m one of Castle’s men! He sent us to kill you for what you done to his friend Timothy Farnsworth!” Letting out a small moan, he added, “Won’t you call the doctor now?”

  Matthew was shocked to his toes by the news but he nodded and looked up. Calling a doc would not be necessary, he realized. Police whistles filled the air and a horse-driven ambulance was cutting a wide swath around the corner of the block, heading their way.

  “Chance,” he called out. “Better come on up now…and be sure to drop your pistol. It looks like we’re about to be arrested.”

  A number of citizens had come to see what was going on. They were whispering in excited horror but grew quiet when they saw the older man with burns and blisters covering his suit-coat, neck and head step back from the wounded man and place his pistol on the ground by his feet.

  They watched him put his hands in the air as a small army of city police ran up with their guns drawn. Then they saw a weeping Oriental boy emerge from the underground tunnel, followed by a handsome young man who was carrying a dead boy in his arms.

  Seeing the look of grief on the young man’s handsome face and spilling from the Oriental’s eyes, more than one of the watching citizens, people who had no truck with policemen or the outlaws they pursued, vowed to tell the truth if asked…and swear it was the fallen gunman who had shot into the tunnel first.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Matthew and the Law

  Matthew sighed and stood up from his chair to stretch his legs. He and Chance had indeed been arrested on the spot, and they had been detained at the King County sheriff’s office for more than four hours. He was getting fed up with the Seattle lawmen who were breathing down his neck.

  Staring through the glass at an adjoining office across the hallway, he met his son’s eyes and shrugged in frustration. Chance nodded slightly and immediately turned his attention back to the two deputies sitting on the opposite side of a long, scarred table.

  This back and forth interrogation had been going on for hours and Matthew was ready to kick the wall in frustration. He had told his son to tell the truth and, knowing Chance, that was exactly what he was doing.

  So was he, for that matter. By now, Matthew’s reluctance to share his case with the King County sheriffs was a moot point. Blood had been spilled in the city streets and the police were involved…whether he liked it or not. The sheriffs, however, seemed disinclined to believe either of them, which was one of the reasons for Matthew’s initial decision to keep the police out of the investigation entirely.

  Matthew had learned over his many years as a lawman that municipal entities like the sheriffs, hospitals, fire departments, even banks depended, in large part, on charity and ample donations. Police departments could not operate without money—and most of that operating cash came not from taxpayers but from those who possessed it…in other words, the wealthy.

  He had made an educated guess when he and Chance came to Seattle and surmised that Edward Branson was probably one of the King County police department’s biggest benefactors. And, it appeared that he was right. His honesty was being questioned, as was his son’s, simply because the sheriffs refused to believe their biggest cash cow was as dirty as they came and twice as evil.

  He had learned that Castle’s man, Mike Lowry, was likely to survive his wounds, which let Matthew off the hook for murder. Unfortunately, now that Lowry was stitched up from his arm and shoulder wounds, he was refusing to talk to the sheriffs until he met with his law firm—the prestigious Castle and Castle, Attorneys At Law.

  This is the problem with the super-rich, Matthew thought. They can get away with murder by hiding behind their mountains of cash! No one wants to challenge them…for if they do, their own fortunes may dry up in the process!

  Which was another thing that made Matthew burn up in anger. His young friend Tommy had just been murdered in cold blood, right in front of his eyes! But the way things were looking right now, Tommy’s death would not be avenged legally, because the sheriffs were too afraid of incurring the wrath of his murderer.

  Thurston knew this, and so had Judge McKinley, which was why they had tried so hard to bypass the authorities while trying to bring Branson down. Edward Branson, who had more money than God, had hidden behind his wealth so long and so skillfully, there was simply no proof he had done anything worse than sneeze in public.

  What Matthew and his allies needed, instead of a police presence, was a jury of Branson’s peers to judge him and find him wanting; men and women who could fight fire with fire or, in this case, meet and match the man’s funds with equal wealth and power. Stephen Castle had all but promised this would happen, but now, despite the newspaper’s accurate accounting of Farnsworth’s demise, he had turned coat and was doing Branson’s dirty work again!

  Looking up as a shadow darkened the door glass, Matthew glanced over at the office where Chance was being questioned and saw the room was empty, except for his son. Chance raised his eyebrows with a slight shrug and then the door opened. The sheriff and two deputies walked in, accompanied by Clyde Thurston.

  “My boy,” Thurston exclaimed. “I’m so sorry for the delay! Sheriff Walker wanted to speak with me, privately, about what has been happening in his fair city and time just got away from us!”

  Thurston’s small eyes searched Matthew’s face as he added, “I have truthfully told the sheriff everything I know, Matthew. Once I found out that little Tommy was killed, I thought it was high time to enlist in some help.”

  Matthew had already told this sheriff—the same sheriff he’d met in Fanny Castle’s tea room after Farnsworth’s suicide—everything he knew, but he knew that Thurston was seeking absolution, which he was happy to give. The waters were murkier now, for sure, than they had been just this morning, but now that Stephen Castle was moving against them again, they needed all the help they could get.

  “I’m glad you did, Mr. Thurston,” he said. “I had originally thought that this whole affair could be settled without having to involve the sheriff’s department but it seems that Mr. Branson is setting us up.”

  Sheriff Walker sat down in a chair with a grunt of fatigue. He removed his hat and wiped his face with a large red kerchief before telling Thurston and the two deputies to sit down, as well. Finally, he turned to Matthew and said, “Every damn time you come to my city things go to shit, Mr. Wilcox!”

  Matthew blushed. He had dealt with a different sheriff the last time he’d come to the Seattle area, but apparently, this man knew all about him. Still, he had done nothing wrong then, and was doing nothing wrong now! As far as he knew, it was not illegal to decline help from the law on a private matter…

  Clearing his throat, Matthew said, “Excuse me, Sir, but have we met before? This is the second time you have cast aspersions on my character.”

  Walker grinned. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t remember me, Mr. Wilcox. I was just a lowly deputy the last time you blew into town and put my department through the wringer…during that skin-trade operation you helped bring down. It just makes a body reluctant to lend a hand now, you see,”

  “Now sheriff, surely you don’t mean to…” Thurston blurted.

  Clyde was interrupted when the sheriff stared hard at Matthew, adding, “Still,
I got no love for the super-rich in this city. If nothing else, your little shake-down of my department taught me that money only talks so loud. Bribes are not tolerated now, Mr. Private Detective, or graft or any other type of corruption… not as long as I’m in charge!”

  Matthew felt the sting of the sheriff’s words but, looking into the man’s wise old eyes, he also knew that he was dealing with an honest sheriff…a rare and welcome breed these days, especially now that an army of killers had apparently been loosed on him, his family and his friends.

  “So,” Walker continued, turning to face Clyde Thurston, “tell me again what your plans are. If my men and I can help out, and if it’s all on the up and up, we would be happy to take a bad man out…”

  Sitting back in his chair, he smiled. “I personally don’t care if he’s as poor as dirt or as rich as Midas… if he’s a crook and a murderer, we got room for him in our jail!”

  Just as Clyde and Matthew got into Clyde’s car to drive home from the sheriff’s department, Ian Revell hung up the phone in his auntie’s parlor. He was shaking like a leaf and wondering whether he had done the right thing…or if he had just made a colossal mistake.

  He had spent most of his adult life following in his beloved uncle’s footsteps. He had studied hard and become a fine lawyer. He had also studied the Freemason’s rules of order…from cover to cover.

  He knew that the step he had just taken was something that could not be taken back. He also knew that he had done it without prior approval from the rest of the ranking Masons in his lodge.

  But this decision would not—could not—go to a vote.

  Although Ian was not a drinking man, he made his way to a beautiful maple credenza and poured himself a stiff shot of whiskey. Gulping it down in one large swallow, Ian stared out at the falling dusk of early evening.

  Secrecy and surprise were the only tools he had left with which to take Branson down. He would give Mr. Wilcox a chance to bring the Trinity down his way but if that failed, well… Revell and his secret allies would do the deed.