by Robert Knott
“Before you go accusing the sheriff’s department, Allie,” Virgil said as he pulled on his second boot, “why not let us sort this out and do our job.”
“Yes, Virgil,” she said politely. “I am not insensitive, I know you will protect us.”
Allie turned to Daphne.
“He will,” she said. “Everett, too. That’s what they do.”
Daphne smiled a weak smile and nodded a little.
“Regardless, it’s awful,” Allie said with a twist of her brow as if she had the need to snuff out her previous admonishments. “And now the whole town is unsafe.”
“Before, you were sure as all hell Boston Bill Black was innocent,” Virgil said as he got to his feet.
“That was before,” Allie said.
Virgil picked up his gun belt.
“Now you’re condemning the law enforcement as being just awful and leaving citizens unsafe.”
Virgil strapped on his gun belt.
“Well, that was before he was proven guilty, Virgil,” she said. “Now all I can think about is that there are murderers on the loose.”
“Well,” Virgil said as he pulled his Colt from his belt, checked the rounds, then snapped closed the loading gate. “Try not to think about it, Allie.”
Daphne lowered her head, stifling tears.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Allie said, pushing Daphne’s hair from her eyes. “I know how you feel.”
Allie sat her down on the sofa and held her hand, then looked up to Virgil.
“I feel just like Ms. Daphne here, Virgil,” Allie said, then looked back to Virgil. “And . . . thank you, Virgil.”
“For what?”
“Well . . . I think at times the unrest of my constitution adds up and sorts its way out as being ungrateful, but you need to know that is simply just not the case. This is just unnerving.”
“I know, Allie,” Virgil said as he put on his hat.
Allie looked to Daphne and smiled as she rubbed her hand between hers.
“It is going to be okay, Virgil and Everett know how to handle this.”
“Thank you,” Daphne said.
“We will do what we can,” Virgil said.
He kissed Allie on the cheek and walked out the door. I turned to follow . . .
“Everett?” Daphne said as she got to her feet and came close to me by the door. “I would feel just mortified if something were to happen to you.”
“Don’t think I would feel good about that proposition, either,” I said.
She reached up and pulled my head down to meet hers and kissed me.
“Oh, my,” Allie said softly, and almost to herself.
64.
The early morning was quiet and the sun was slanting in through the openings of the buildings on 3rd Street as we walked to the sheriff’s office. The shafts of yellow light reflected off the storefront glass enough to make us keep our brims down. It was still early, not much was open, and the streets were sparse of folks moving about.
“Maybe it’s justice,” I said.
“Maybe not,” Virgil said.
We walked by in front of the hotel where the Coloradoans were staying. At the moment all was quiet and there was no one going in or coming out.
“Don’t imagine the Denver contingent will be too happy,” I said as we passed the hotel.
“No,” Virgil said glancing at the hotel’s front door. “I don’t, either.”
When we passed, Virgil looked back a little.
“Saw them earlier,” Virgil said with a shake of his head.
“Like they’re waiting around for rut or harvest,” I said.
“’Fraid the yield’s not so good,” Virgil said.
“Currently,” I said.
“I had a brief visit with the chief,” Virgil said.
“And?”
“He’s an unfriendly hombre,” Virgil said. “Remembered him, too.”
“Did?”
“Yep.”
“Where?”
“Long time ago. He was a young Otero County sheriff. I remembered him for certain. He was with a group of others up on the Purgatoire River, up by Bent’s last place,” Virgil said. “Forever ago now. I was passing through when brouhaha happened there. Him and the others found a young black kid they’d been chasing.”
When we came to the end of the street we saw one of Chastain’s deputies. Luce, a stout-looking fellow with a thick mustache that draped down to the bottom of his chin. He was standing back off the street, holding his rifle across his beer gut and smoking a cigarette. He dropped it and crushed it under his foot when he saw us crossing the street.
“Seen anything, Luce?” I said.
“No, sir,” he said. “Nothing. I been right here so I can see both directions leading off.”
“Okay,” I said. “Just stay alert and alive.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
We walked on a ways and Virgil continued.
“They strung up the black kid, they claimed he had stolen a horse. He was just a boy. Messenger was . . . hell, real young then, that’s why I didn’t recognize him, really. Don’t think he recognized me, either, but I remember the name, ’cause the kid was begging not to die, pleading, Mr. Messenger, please, I didn’t do it . . . That I remember.”
“Well, hell,” I said. “Guess he’s got a soft spot in his heart for hanging.”
Virgil didn’t say anything.
When we got to the sheriff’s office, Chastain and Book led us into the cell room to have a look at Black’s escape wreckage as they informed us on what was taking place.
“We got everybody out looking,” Chastain said.
“When I got here and found out they were gone,” Book said. “I got everybody moving right away.”
“Like you told Book, we got someone on lookout at every road trail leading out of town,” Chastain said.
“What time was that?” Virgil said.
“’Bout five or so,” Book said.
“If the sumbitches ain’t already gone from Appaloosa, they won’t get gone,” Chastain said. “Not this time.”
“We even sent four men down to the ford,” Book said. “In case they had that on their mind again.”
Chastain walked into Black’s cell.
“Can’t believe this shit?” Chastain said, shaking his head and looking at Black’s cell window that was missing its bars. “That’s what we goddamn get for having strong damn bedrails.”
He picked up one of the bars that had been removed from the window.
“Look at this shit,” Chastain said. “He’s a big strong sumbitch, I will give him that. He managed to work those bed railings free that were bolted to the goddamn floor. Then he used them to pry the bars inside the window.”
“That opening was tight for him, too,” Book said. “Hard to see how he got his big frame through there.”
“Well, he damn sure did. Then he got goddamn Truitt out,” Chastain said, pointing to the window in Truitt’s cell. “He got out and then he pried those damn bars there from the outside.”
“I found these outside on the ground under Truitt’s window,” Book said, pointing to the rails leaning against the wall. “Been a lot of big, tough, strong men locked in these cells and, well, this is certainly a first.”
“When did somebody last have eyes on them?” Virgil said.
“Neil and Matt were on night duty,” Book said. “Neil said he shut the door here a little past ten o’clock.”
Book looked over and picked up a Bible and set it on the small table in Black’s cell.
“Neil said Black asked for this Bible,” Book said as he fanned the pages. “Neil said he gave it to him and then shut the door. That was the last anyone saw of them.”
Virgil looked at me.
“Black got st
arted right away on getting this frame out of the floor,” Virgil said.
“Took a while, too, I suspect,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“Don’t figure they been out all that long,” Virgil said.
Melvin and Luis, two of Chastain’s young deputies, came quickly into the office. Melvin was a big strapping kid covered with a constellation of freckles and Luis was a small Mexican fella with deep-set eyes and a scruffy goatee.
They were both out of breath as they poked their heads in the door.
“We got something,” Luis said, leaning over and breathing hard.
“What?” Chastain said.
“Found two horses and two saddles that were stolen early this morning,” Melvin said.
“Where?” Virgil said as he moved toward Melvin and Luis.
The two deputies backed into the front office with Virgil. Chastain, Book, and I followed.
“They were taken from the corral behind Mankin’s Mining outfit at the end of Fourth,” Melvin said with a point in that direction.
“Anybody see Black or Truitt?” Chastain said.
“No, sir,” Luis said. “Mr. Mankin said he found one of his three horses standing outside of his bedroom window this morning.”
Melvin quickly nodded in agreement.
“Said it woke him up,” Melvin said. “‘Chewing on the damn sill of the window. Said he didn’t think too much about it, thought the other two horses were just out, wandering around grazing someplace, then he saw the shed door was open, too, looked inside and found that two of his saddles were missing.”
“What time was this?” Virgil said.
Luis looked to Melvin.
“About four this morning,” Melvin said.
“You boys get back out there and check with the others,” Virgil said to Melvin and Luis, “see if anybody’s seen anything.”
Virgil followed them out onto the boardwalk and we followed Virgil.
“Everybody,” Virgil said to Melvin and Luis as they mounted up, “needs to keep their eyes open.”
Melvin and Luis swung up in a hurry and rode off.
Chastain looked at his watch.
“Almost seven now,” he said.
“They most likely got out and got those horses pretty close to when Mankin found them gone,” I said.
“Still kind of early,” Book said. “Not too many folks up and moving about just yet.”
“What now?” Chastain said.
Virgil thought for a moment, then said, “Where’s the painter?”
65.
LaCroix?” Chastain said.
“Yep,” Virgil said.
Chastain shook his head and looked at me.
“Not seen him,” I said.
“Me, either,” Chastain said.
“Been over a week since Black put him in the hospital,” I said.
“Last time I laid eyes on him,” Chastain said, “was when he was carried out of the courtroom, flat on his back on a stretcher.”
“Could be long gone,” I said.
“I did talk with Doc Burris about him,” Chastain said. “Saw him at the café. He said LaCroix was pissing blood. But that was not long after he was there in the hospital. Even then the Doc said he thought he was going to be all right, would be moving on, just needed to recover, heal up and such, thought the pissing blood business would go away . . . why?”
“There is a chance he could still be here licking his wounds,” I said.
Chastain looked to me, then to Virgil.
“You think Black would go after LaCroix?” Chastain said.
“Might,” Virgil said.
Chastain nodded.
“Be dumb of him, though, don’t you think?” Chastain said. “To get out of jail and bother with him?”
“Maybe not,” Virgil said.
“He damn sure tried to kill him in the courtroom that day. Damn near beat that poor sumbitch within an inch of his life before we could pull him off.”
Virgil nodded.
“In court,” he said. “He did.”
Virgil looked at me.
Chastain looked back and forth between us and nodded a little.
“But now you don’t think so?” Chastain said.
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “Black was damn sure mad enough to kill, no doubt about that. But now could be a different story.”
“Get to the crux,” I said.
“It’s his only chance,” Virgil said.
Chastain looked back and forth between Virgil and me again and shook his head.
“That guy, LaCroix. He seemed pretty straightforward convincing to me, Virgil,” Chastain said.
“He was calm,” I said.
“Until he was trying to crawdad backward to save his life,” Chastain said.
Virgil stood looking off down the street but didn’t say anything.
“LaCroix seemed solid to me,” Chastain said, “and though the judge was . . . I don’t know, kind of off goddamn kilter somewhat, I believe the jury and judge made the right decision.”
“There is that,” Virgil said.
“Let’s say he did lie about Black,” Chastain said. “Why? Why would he do that?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said.
Chastain looked at the ground and nodded some.
“Something personal,” he said.
“Or somebody put him up to it,” I said. “One of the two.”
“Or not,” Virgil said.
“But that is your hunch?” Chastain said.
“Could be something to it,” Virgil said.
“Who?” Chastain said. “Why?”
“Cops, maybe,” I said.
“Why, though?” Chastain said. “Roger is dead and gone. Damn sure too late to clear him.”
I shook my head.
“Or someone just wanted to see Black fucking hang,” Chastain said.
“Maybe,” I said. “Though Black thought he was the only one that was having his way with Ruth Ann, there has been plenty of reason not to buy into that theory.”
Virgil nodded some.
“Let’s say it is the cops, I mean, it could be, I reckon,” Chastain said, “but why do you think it’d be so goddamn important to hang Black, just to clear the Messenger name.”
We thought about that for a moment, and then Chastain said, “You’re thinking Black could be innocent? Aren’t you?”
“Well, for the purposes of what I’m hunching here, it has to do with what he thinks,” Virgil said.
“Could make sense I guess that he’d go after LaCroix to prove he lied about what he saw,” Chastain said.
“Like you say, though, not sure he would go to that kind of trouble,” I said.
“But he could,” Chastain said with a shrug.
“An escapee always has a chance to move on, go elsewhere,” Virgil said, “but in the back of his mind there is always the constant threat he’s going to get caught or shot.”
“Hospital?” Chastain said.
Virgil nodded.
“Proof will be in the pudding,” Virgil said.
66.
We left Book to hold down the office and walked over to the hospital. When we walked in we found Doc Burris right away. He was bent over and in the process of trying to find the right key to unlock his office door. He glanced up at us.
“Am I under arrest?” he said.
“Morning, Doc,” Virgil said.
“I suppose it is,” he said, thumbing through the keys in his hand. “I can never find the right damn key, though . . . oh, hold on, there it is.”
He unlocked and opened the office door, then looked over the top of his spectacles at us.
“You look like you want something.”
“Looking for
the Englishman,” Virgil said. “Lawrence LaCroix.”
“He’s not here,” Doc said. “He was, of course, but he is no longer here. Why?”
“Any idea where he is?”
Doc shook his head
“He might have left,” he said. “Here. Appaloosa. He wanted to leave the moment he got here. He could not get out soon enough. He was, however, in a lot of pain and it hurt for him to move, so he might still be here, I don’t know. He wanted to get out and I had no reason for him not to get out. Free country . . . He might be at his hotel. I don’t know.”
“Know what hotel?” Virgil said.
Doc shook his head
“No,” he said, “sorry, I have no idea . . . He walked out of here on a pair of crutches and I’ve not seen him since.”
“When was that?” I said.
Doc thought for a moment.
“Two days ago.”
“Anyone been here looking for him?” Virgil said.
“Nobody but you,” he said. “Might I ask, who or whom are you looking for?”
“Bill Black,” Virgil said frankly.
Doc stood up tall and looked at us over the top of his spectacles.
“Bill Black?” Doc said.
“Yep,” Virgil said. “He got out.”
“He escaped?”
Virgil nodded.
“And you believe he would come here?”
“Maybe?”
“To complete what he started?”
“Could be . . .” Virgil said. “Who’s been working here this morning? Anyone but you?”
Doc shook his head.
“We don’t have anyone staying here at the moment in need of night care, so no.”
“So nobody else?” Virgil said.
Doc shook his head.
“We have my two nurses that are here when they are needed, and they work doing this and that when not needed, but they are not here. There is Buck, though. You know Buck, he keeps the place clean . . . opens up in the morning, closes, that sort of thing, but I’ve not seen him yet this morning . . . He’s here somewhere, though . . .”
Virgil nodded and looked to me.
“Let me see if I can find him,” Doc said. “Might be hauling trash, let me see . . .”
Doc turned and walked to the back of the lobby toward the rear of the building and called out the open door leading to the back section of the hospital.
