“If my deputies don’t succeed in picking up the shooter’s trail, yeah, I’ll call on Emory and not only recommend he takes precautions but try to work out some protective arrangement to help make sure he does so. As for me, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do different. I’ll keep alert, keep extra sharp. I can’t very well stay home and hide. When a fella puts on one of these”—Bob tapped a thumb against the badge pinned to his shirt—“you go out every day facing the possibility of it making a nice shiny target for some skunk who might not see eye to eye with the law—just naturally comes with the territory.”
CHAPTER 26
The spacious parlor of the Emory home was well appointed without being overly extravagant. The furnishings had an equal mix of masculine and feminine touches, ranging from dark wood trim and an elk’s head with a truly magnificent rack mounted over the fireplace to colorful bits of bric-a-brac placed here and there, overstuffed silken pillows on a long chesterfield, and an elaborately carved china hutch against one wall.
Already present when Bob was ushered in by Graedon were Emory, his two daughters, and Saul Norton. Emory was seated in a high-backed leather chair near the fireplace, the ladies occupied the chesterfield, and Norton stood at the end nearest Victoria, his hand resting on the backrest just above her shoulder. The pose, Bob thought, seemed to convey—either intentionally or perhaps just by chance—a message of possession. This girl is spoken for, and she is mine.
“I am pleased, albeit a bit surprised, to have you stopping by so soon after our little adventure earlier this afternoon,” greeted Emory. He still wore the tie, white shirt, and trousers from before, but gone were the slouch hat and suit coat. In place of the latter he had on an unbuttoned knit sweater. “Could it be you are here to report some positive news on the identity and/or purpose of the cowardly dog who attempted the ambush on us?”
Bob shook his head. “Sorry. I wish that was the case. But I’m afraid it’s just the opposite—every early lead we’ve attempted to follow has come up empty.”
“That’s rather surprising,” said Norton. “The only lead you need to bother following at all is the one that leads directly to John Larkin. How difficult can that be?”
He was a tall, even-featured man—classically handsome, many would be inclined to call him—of about forty. Solidly built, with a good set of shoulders and big hands that looked to have done some hard work in their time though not any time recently, and dark, wide-set eyes bracketed by neatly trimmed sideburns showing faint streaks of gray. He wore tan work trousers, a brown corduroy jacket, and a pale blue shirt with a black string tie. In the hand that wasn’t resting on the back of the chesterfield, he was holding a chunky glass of amber liquid.
“Following the lead to Larkin wasn’t difficult at all,” Bob replied evenly. “But getting it to yield anything that provided any kind of answer to the shooting turned out to be another matter. Larkin had a rock-solid alibi for the time of the attempted ambush—for all day up to the time I spoke with him, as far as that goes.”
“Isn’t that just the way for a lowdown crook?” Norton sneered. “Always make sure they have their ass covered with a good alibi.” Right after the words were out, he clapped his mouth shut tight and a flush of color spread up over his face. Cutting his eyes to the sisters, he quickly said, “I beg your pardon for my coarse language, ladies. It’s just that the thought of your father coming so close to harm and the certainty down deep in my gut of who’s responsible has got me boiling almost uncontrollably inside. I want to go after the dirty coward with my bare hands!”
Victoria reached over her shoulder and placed her hand on Norton’s, the one on the backrest behind her. “Calm yourself, Saul. Take some deep breaths, take another drink if you need to. We all know Marshal Hatfield to be very competent at his job; we must trust his handling of this.”
She spoke with a soothing, well-modulated voice that seemed perfectly fitted to her graceful beauty. In her late twenties, slim and very poised in her bearing and movements, Victoria Emory was quite a stunning creature. She had glossy hair the color of rich cherry-wood, porcelain skin, ripe red lips, and blue-green eyes. The dress she wore was a simple, full-skirted affair with three-quarter-length sleeves and a snug bodice that revealed her figure to be trim yet possessing no shortage of womanly curves.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bob replied to her remarks. Then, shifting his gaze to Norton, he said, “And the last thing anybody needs is for you to lose your temper and try to confront Larkin. Trust me, it won’t help. There’s a good chance it’ll only make matters worse and you may run the risk of getting yourself in trouble.”
“You defend Larkin but warn me about getting in trouble?” said Norton, stiffening to his full height, pulling his hand out from under Victoria’s. “That takes a lot of gall, don’t you think?”
Before Bob could respond, Emory said softly but forcefully, “That’s enough, Saul.”
Once again Norton clamped his mouth tightly shut. It was obvious he was still simmering and had more he wanted to say, but he held his tongue.
Now it was the younger sister, Brenda, who spoke up, saying, “Enough indeed. Enough of treating Marshal Hatfield like he’s some sort of intruder, an unwelcome guest in our house. We haven’t even offered him a seat . . . or perhaps something to drink?”
Three or four years younger than Victoria, Brenda was also very attractive but in a different, more subdued kind of way. No doubt to her frustration, she was likely still referred to on occasion as being “cute” rather than lovely or beautiful. She had the same delicate facial features and full lips, but her nose was slightly pugged, with a dusting of stubborn freckles across the bridge. Her hair was also red, though more of a rust shade, and she had her father’s brown eyes. She gave the impression of having been a bit of a tomboy in her younger years, but there was nothing boyish about the way she filled out the otherwise demure dress she wore.
Replying to her, Bob said, “No thanks to a drink, miss, and I’m fine with standing. Also I understand that I am an intruder of sorts, coming here when all of you are still trying to digest something as troubling as your father being shot at. I wish I had better news to offer as far as being able to identify who was behind it and what their motive might have been.”
“What about the deputies you were going to send out to try and pick up the trail of the ambusher?” Emory wanted to know.
Bob shook his head. “No luck. They found the spot the shooter fired from, and they found a couple of spent .44-40 cartridges, a caliber common to fifty or sixty percent of the weapons to be found in these parts. But when it came to spotting a trail left by whoever fired those shots, the spring grass out that way is too thick for them to have been able to pick up anything.”
Brenda’s pretty face pulled into a thoughtful expression. “Why is everyone so certain those shots were meant for my father?” she asked. “Isn’t it equally possible—maybe even probable—that they could have been aimed at you, Marshal? In your line of work you deal with miscreants and outlaws all the time, don’t you? Haven’t you left behind some of that sort who harbor ill feelings toward you?”
“More than I care to think about,” Bob admitted. “Trouble is, there are none who seem logical for this particular time and place. But that don’t mean I’m not still giving that possibility some consideration. In the meantime, though, there’s something else that also deserves consideration. In fact, it’s the main reason I came here.”
“What are you getting at?” Norton said.
“What I’m getting at is the fact that whoever took those shots today missed,” said Bob.
“Thank God!” exclaimed Victoria.
Bob nodded curtly. “Yes. But if whoever it was had reason enough to try once, then we have to figure he still has reason to try again. And since God might be busy with something else next time, I’m suggesting you take it on yourself to exercise some precautions, Mr. Emory.”
“What kind of precautions?” Emory sa
id, scowling.
“Nothing overly elaborate. Since you don’t venture out of the house very much anyway, that would be the main thing right there. Make sure you keep inside, stay away from the windows, simple measures like that.”
The old man’s scowl deepened. “Make myself a prisoner in my own home, you mean? Incarcerated by a yellow scoundrel, by something that only might happen?”
“Father, you seldom go out as it is,” Victoria pointed out gently.
“And nobody’s talking forever,” Bob was quick to add. “Just short term, just until me and my deputies have a chance to get to the bottom of this.”
“But what about your own safety—in case it’s you the shooter was aiming at?” Brenda said.
“I can take care of myself. It comes with the job,” Bob told her.
“Protecting the citizens of this town also comes with your job,” said Norton, doing a pretty good job of scowling himself. “If you think Mr. Emory is in danger, isn’t it up to you and your deputies to keep him safe?”
“It is,” Bob allowed. “And we’ll do everything we can to keep a close eye on things around here. But there’s a limit to how much attention we can focus on one person. All I’m suggesting is that Mr. Emory—and all of you here—work with us.”
Emory bobbed his head in a single nod. “That’s not unreasonable.”
“Father employs armed guards out at the mine,” Brenda said. “Might it be a good idea to station one of them around here for the time being?”
“I don’t know that it’s necessary to turn your home into an armed camp,” said Bob. “But that’s up to you. If they’re competent men—”
“They are or they wouldn’t be in our employ,” Norton interjected.
“If they’re competent,” Bob continued without acknowledging him, “and you do make that decision, all I ask is that you be sure and let me know. Since my men will also be patrolling by here regularly, I’ll want them aware so they can act accordingly.”
“I don’t think we need to go to quite that extreme,” said Emory. “We naturally have some weapons of our own in the house. And there’s also Graedon. With his background, he’s more than a common manservant.”
“Yes, I noticed the gun he was ready to use out on the prairie this afternoon,” remarked Bob.
“He has a background both in the military and as a big-city police officer,” Emory explained. “If the need arises, he can function very effectively as a bodyguard.”
Norton looked surprised. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Well, now you are,” Emory replied rather stiffly.
“Something else occurs to me, Marshal,” spoke up Victoria. “Not to sound overly melodramatic, but if someone is out to harm Father, there could be other, more indirect ways to do that. Do you think my sister or I may be in any danger?”
Bob’s expression sobered nearly to the point of turning grim. “I’m not ready to discount anything. If the target is me instead of your father, then the same could be true for my family. But whichever of us he was after, my gut says whoever took those shots earlier was out to kill, not looking to harm indirectly.”
“It’s unthinkable to believe otherwise!” hissed Emory.
Bob shook his head. “Like I said, we still shouldn’t discount anything. Yet, at the same time, there’s realistically only so much we can do. It all comes down to keeping on guard and staying sharp at all times.”
“That I can manage,” stated Brenda. “But, speaking for myself, what I won’t agree to is putting my life on hold and being cooped up—hiding out from the mere possibility of danger.”
“There’s such a thing as being too headstrong,” her father warned her.
“I can’t help it, Father. That’s the way I feel.”
“You’re a woman grown. It’s your call,” Bob said. “Just try to have the sense to take some precautions like I suggested.”
CHAPTER 27
That night, the quiet evening Bob had planned to spend at home with his family once again got interrupted by violence in town. Supper was over, the dishes were done and put away, and Bob, Consuela, and Bucky were seated around the kitchen table playing cribbage when a heavy knock rattled the front door.
It was Stan Brewster, a clerk at Krepdorf’s General Store, bringing word that Bob was wanted as soon as possible at Doc Tibbs’s office. That’s where they were taking Saul Norton, Brewster explained, after he’d been found beaten to a bloody pulp in an alley beside Bullock’s Saloon. Because he happened to be present when the discovery was made, playing cards and having a few drinks inside, Brewster had been sent to fetch the marshal.
Taking time only to strap on his gunbelt and express his regrets to Consuela and Bucky, Bob was out the door in a matter of minutes.
When he got to the doctor’s office, he found a small knot of men gathered there. A few were standing outside, a few more were inside, in the waiting area that adjoined the examining room. The inside group consisted of deputies Peter and Vern Macy, Mike Bullock, and Earl Hines.
“What happened?” Bob asked.
“The doc’s got Saul Norton in there,” Peter said, tipping his head toward the closed door that led to the examining room. “Somebody jumped him outside of Bullock’s, dragged him into the alley, and pure stomped the living hell out of him. He’s busted up real bad.”
“Any idea who or why?”
Peter tipped his head again, this time toward Earl Hines. “Hines there is the one who found him. I’ll let him tell it.”
When Bob’s eyes cut to him, Hines straightened a little in his stance and cleared his throat. “I was inside the saloon, having a few drinks and chatting with Maudie. When she was ready to take a break, we stepped outside to catch some fresh air. We’d no sooner sat down on one of the boardwalk benches there in front than I heard a sound coming from the alley along the south side. It was a long groan, or moan maybe you’d call it. Anyway, I listened and when I heard it again I got up and went to check it out. I found a man, just barely conscious, laying about half a dozen yards in from the mouth of the alley. I lit a match to see better. It was Saul Norton and, like the deputy said, it was pretty clear he’d had the holy hell beat out of him.”
“Was he able to say anything? Give any clue why he was attacked—or by who?”
Hines glanced uneasily at the others in the room, then his eyes came back to Bob. “He claimed it was John.”
“Larkin?”
Hines nodded.
“Have you followed up on that?” Bob asked his deputies.
“Just like last time,” Vern answered, “once Larkin’s name came into it, we figured you’d want to hear about this right away. We helped carry Norton over here and put him in the doc’s hands. Nobody outside this room heard Larkin mentioned as being any part of it. Knowing you were on the way, we decided to wait and see how you wanted to play it. You want us to haul him to the jail for questioning, or do you want to be part of going after him?”
“That I do,” said Bob. He turned once more to Hines. “Any idea where we’ll find Larkin?”
“Far as I know, he’s back at my place. My apartment over the shop,” Hines said. “That’s where I left him about an hour and a half ago. When I told him I meant to go over to Bullock’s for a few drinks and some socializing, he said he wasn’t interested. Said he’d just stay in tonight.”
“Apparently he changed his mind,” muttered Peter. “Apparently he decided to go out and do a little socializing of his own.”
Mike Bullock spoke up. “Did Norton say he got a good enough look to be sure it was Larkin? As dark as it is in that narrow alley, tight between the buildings, how could he be positive?”
Hines frowned. “He was barely conscious and hurtin’ bad. He only muttered a couple words . . . ‘Larkin,’ he said. Then: ‘Getting even’ . . . That’s all.”
“He mumbled a couple more things when we were picking him up to bring him here,” said Peter. “But nothing anybody could understand.”
�
��So it stays with Larkin as being the best we got to go on,” Bob said. “We’ve got to go talk to him.”
“Can I go along?” asked Hines. “Maybe I can . . . Look, I don’t want John to react badly to still another accusation by the law, okay? If I’m there to help explain maybe it will also help . . . I just don’t want tempers to flare and things get out of hand, all right?”
“We’re not going there to accuse, we’re just going with some questions,” Peter said.
“And if Larkin’s done nothing wrong, then why the worry about his temper flaring?” added Vern.
“It’s probably none of my business,” said Bullock. “But I think it would be a good idea if Earl did go along.”
“You’re right, it’s none of your business,” Bob told him. “But I’ll agree to letting Hines come—as long as he keeps his place and follows my lead.”
“You got my word on that,” Hines responded.
* * *
Hines’s apartment over the blacksmith shop was accessible by means of an inside stairwell and also by an outside set of steps angling up the side of the building. Inasmuch as the shop was buttoned up for the night, Hines led them up the outer stairs. There was enough moon- and starlight pouring down from a clear sky to provide adequate illumination.
Bob and Peter followed Hines up the steps; Vern stayed below.
The apartment had two rooms: a large main space with a doorway on the back wall that led to a small bedroom. The bedroom door was closed. The main room was divided into a kitchen area at one end, complete with stove, table, chairs, and food cabinets; the other end was a parlor of sorts with a long, low couch and a couple easy chairs. The couch was made up as a bed with no sign of having been slept in recently. An open book lay facedown on the covers. On the kitchen table a coal oil lantern was burning low, but still providing a soft glow that filled the room.
There was no sign of John Larkin.
Right between the Eyes Page 15
