“Long time, suh. Since we come to this place.”
“What do you do for him?”
“Clean up, mostly, suh. I sweep, wipe tables.”
“Does he ever ask you about the army camp?”
“Suh?”
“Does he want to know what goes on here?”
“Sometimes, I guess.”
“Does he ask you about weapons here? Where they’re stored? Kinds? That sort of thing?” Harrison continued.
“I guess I tell ’im some things,” Peck answered. “I says, ‘Why ya want a know ’bout dat, Mr. Derry?’ And he say, ‘Soldiers are mi bus’ness.’ That’s it.”
“He knew you were here in the quartermaster’s tent and took care of the weapons, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, suh.”
“Private, you told me in our earlier conversation that you were at your post in the quartermaster’s tent the night Captain James was killed,” James said. “You stayed here until the major arrived and called for you. You stated that you never walked outside to Captain James’ tent. Why did you tell me that?”
“Don’t know, suh. I guess I didn’ want ya to think I had something to do with the cap’n’s dying, suh. That’s all. But I did step out by the capt’n’s tent ta see what the ruckus was.”
“Why would I think that you had something to do with his death?” James asked. “You thought he shot himself.
“Don’t know, suh,” Peck replied.
“Did you go inside his tent?”
“No, suh. Ever’thing were quiet agin,” Peck answered, looking down. “I think it was some Mex shootin’ off out on the road. So I goes back to the guns where I was ordered, suh.”
“Did you see anyone around the tent, private?” James asked quietly. “Hear anything unusual?” Peck seemed nervous, perhaps hiding something.
“No, suh?”
“You know something more, Peck. Something you’re not telling us,” Harrison pushed. “What is it? Tell us.”
“Only what I tole ya already, suh. Later, I he’rd the major yell fer me. Then I come to the tent and help ’im with the cap’n.”
“Is that all you know, Private?” the major asked.
“Yeah, suh. That’s all I knows.”
“Private, I think you know more,” Harrison said. “You were there in the tent, weren’t you? Were you talking with my brother that day…before he died?”
The private shifted his feet, looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact. “No suh, I was workin’ in town, suh, at the saloon ’til evenin’. Special work fer Mista Derry.”
“I spoke with your boss this evening.”
“Derry, suh? Mista Derry?”
“Yes. He told me that you came in early in the morning to clean up. And that you left early. That’s what he told me,” James said.
“Yeah, suh. Well, suh, that not true. No suh, not true at all. What time Mista Derry say I leave, suh?”
“About 1:00. Ah, 1300 hours, Private.” James watched closely for some reaction.
Peck frowned. Then he clenched his fists. “Mista Derry mistaken, suh. He surely be wrong ’bout dat.”
The white men were silent. Then James spoke. “You met with Captain James that afternoon when you returned from town. My brother accused you of stealing weapons from the Army, didn’t he?” Without allowing the private an opportunity to respond, he continued, louder, “So later that evening, with no one around, you returned to his tent and shot him dead. You knew where he kept his pistol. So when my brother was out—to eat, perhaps—you crept into his tent and took the weapon.”
“No suh, I surely didn’t. I didn’t do it, suh!”
“You’re lying, Peck,” James said roughly. “And you’ll hang.”
“Mr. James,” the major said. “Private, we checked the duty roster against when the guns came up missing.”
Peck was silent.
“Tell the truth, Private. Derry confessed this evening,” James lied. “He said you were stealing machine guns from the army. You carried them out the back way along that path behind K. Company. We have his statement.”
“Statement, suh?” Peck looked at the major.
Snow did not respond.
“That’s right,” Harrison said.
“Da lousy white bastard! I know’d it!” Peck exploded. He lunged for the tent flap, but Harrison blocked his way. Harrison got him in a bear hug. Then he took one arm, twisting it up behind his back and holding it tightly.
“You shot my brother in his tent.” Harrison whispered in Peck’s ear. “You put his own pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.”
“Da dirty plug!” Peck hissed angrily. “Derry say he give me five hundred dollars if I kill the cap’n. He say he know’d too much and gonna ’rest me soon as I come back. He tole me to kill ’im an’ make it look like a accident.” He began to struggle again. “But I couldn’t do it. The cap’n help me. I could never shoot ’im. Someone else done it, not me.”
“Private,” the major said. “Is that the truth?”
“I come back early, ’round ’bout 1300,” Peck said.
James loosened his grip on Peck’s arms.
“Then what?” Snow asked.
“The cap’n tol’ me he wants to talk. I gotta come to his tent. I know’d what he wants, ’cause he was actin’ strange and lookin’ at the armory records and rosters. ’Bout 1900, I goes to talk wid ‘im.”
“What happened?” Harrison pressed
“Suh, the cap’n say he know’d what I done. He say he won’t turn me in if I tells ’bout the others. I tell ’im what I know’d ’bout the Lieutenant and ’bout Derry. He say if I talk agin ’em, ever’thing be okay. I say okay.”
“So you returned to your duties in here?” Harrison asked.
“Yeah, suh.”
“What did you see when you heard the gunshot?” Harrison pressed. “You were lying before, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, suh, I surely was,” Peak said, his head hanging. “I seen Captain Blaine out in the desert where I run ta look. “I say, ‘capt’n, who was shootin’?’ He say, “Jus’ some Mex on the road.’”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier about seeing the Captain?” Snow asked.
“Suh, the capt’n say I should be here in ma tent. That I could be court-martialed for leavin’ ma post and goin’ way out thar,” Peck explained.
“Do you know what Captain Blaine was doing out there?” Harrison asked.
“No, suh,” Peck answered. “He say he hear’d the gun, too.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about seeing the captain?” Snow asked.
“The capt’n say I was disobeyin’ orders being outside like that,” Peck said. “He say if I git back thar he wouldn’t tell no body. I worried ’bout gittin’ inta bad trouble if the capt’n know’d it.”
“So you kept silent?” Snow said.
“No, suh. Nobody asks me ’bout it ’till Mista James come ta camp wid all his questions.”
“And I have one more question for you, Peck,” Harrison said. “Did you issue my brother his weapon a couple of days before he died?”
“No, suh.”
“Where you in this tent when he got his weapon?”
“No, suh,” Peck replied. “Officers git their pistols fer themselves. They don’t need no one here. They jus’ git ’em and sign.”
“They can enter the tent and get them whenever they want?”
“Yeah, suh.”
“Did you see Captain James with his pistol anytime during the several days before he was killed?” Harrison asked.
“No, suh. I surely didn’t.”
“Can I see the log where the officers must sign. I want to see it for the week before Bart was killed.
*
Harrison and Major Snow held Private Peck until the military police arrived.
Harrison watched silently while they took him away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
-NINE
Harrison and Major Snow returned to the administrative tent to locate the duty rosters for May 28th, June 18th, and January 27th, 1918, the dates Smith had given him. They quickly realized that the records for the first two dates were missing. No officer rosters at all. Of course, Harrison thought. I should have known the killer would have destroyed them. Probably after taking them from Bart’s desk.
For the latter date, the records were complete. In the dim lantern light, the two men poured over them, locating each officer on the roster, except one—Blaine.
“Then he wasn’t present for duty,” Harrison said to Snow. “We have him.”
‘Not enough,” Snow replied. “We need more evidence before I can act against him, James.”
“What else is there?” Harrison asked.
Snow considered. On June 17th or 18th we had a staff meeting called by the Colonel. Yes, I remember that clearly now,” Snow said. “The Colonel wanted all officers present for the meeting. It was to finalize plans for our movement to Houston. I’ll check those attendance records.” He got up, walked over to another filing cabinet, and slid it open. “Bring the lantern over here so I can see,” he ordered.
Harrison carried the light over and held it above Snow, while the officer quickly but thoroughly ran through the dozens of files.
“Here it is,” he said, pulling out the manila file. “June 18th.” He browsed through it. “Attending…. Just as I thought. Blaine is missing. He did not attend that meeting which probably means he was not in camp at that time.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Harrison said.
*
Harrison checked the .38 into his belt as he left the stable. He had returned from Camp Furlong an hour earlier. He had what he needed. He walked through the center of town and into the Hoover Hotel.
“Mr. James,” Captain Blaine said as they met in the middle of the mostly deserted lobby. “What is it you have to talk about this early in the morning? Major Snow said it was urgent.”
“I’m still looking into my brother’s murder,” Harrison said, never taking his eyes from the other man. “There are a couple of things you can clear up for me.”
“If I can.” Blaine smiled. “I’ve taken over a lot of your brother’s work here, continuing his investigation. So be quick. I’m very busy.”
“Which investigation is that, Captain?” James asked quietly. “The one involving gun smugglers, or the other one?”
“The other?” Blaine asked, seeming puzzled. “Which was that?”
“I think you know, sir. The one involving spying for America’s enemy—Germany.” Not getting any reaction, Harrison continued, “My brother had been hunting spies since the campaign against Pancho Villa.” He paused. “Is that when you began selling military information to Mexican generals—Carranza, Obregon, and even Villa?”
A town deputy, Major Snow and two military policemen entered the lobby through a rear door, standing unseen behind Captain Blaine. The two Negro MPs were armed with .45s. All four were listening.
“Go to hell, James,” Blaine shot back. “I’m a United States Army Officer!”
“I think you even sold information to Villa when you were chasing him. It didn’t matter, did it? As long as you got paid for it,” Harrison went on.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blaine replied.
“We have proof that you were traveling to El Paso to sell information to the Germans.”
“You’re insane,” he said. “You don’t have anything on me. I think you’re bluffing.”
Harrison reached into his coat pocket to retrieve documents. “Duty rosters when you were absent, eye witness statements, and this, Blaine.” He held up the file of the meeting Blaine had missed. “Missing meetings, Blaine, to spy for Germany?”
“What?” he stuttered, shocked. “Impossible. I destroyed….”
“You destroyed them?” Harrison repeated. “After you murdered my brother you destroyed all the records. Is that it?” He smiled.
Blaine was suddenly quiet. He realized what he had just said.
“We know what you did, Blaine,” Harrison said.
“Prove it, Mr. James,” Blaine hissed back at him.
“When you sold information to the German…. That’s when Bart picked up your trail, wasn’t it? He learned about you from his own spy inside Von Moltke’s household.” James felt his own anger rising. “Later, you found out Bart was on to you. Von Moltke may have told you, or maybe you realized he had you when you saw him going through the duty rosters. Either way, that’s when you killed him. You didn’t have much choice, did you, Blaine?” Harrison pressed. “You killed a brother officer and you betrayed your country. For money.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Blaine answered, seeming indignant. But Harrison detected the hint of fear in his voice.
“Bart had enough evidence to arrest you,” Harrison went on. “If we searched your quarters we might find something.”
“Ridiculous,” Blaine said. “I will not stand here and listen to your accusations.” He turned to leave.
“Not yet, Blaine,” Harrison said, grabbing his arm and holding it tightly. “Let me tell you the rest. You planned everything from earlier that day. You saw Bart looking at the duty rosters a day earlier. You waited for an opportunity. It was presented to you when Floyd and the other officers went to town. You knew they would be there late playing poker. That was your chance. After it was dark, you went to L Company. The area was empty. You entered Bart’s tent.”
“That’s preposterous. He killed himself with his own weapon,” Blaine retorted. “The army’s investigation proved that.”
“Your investigation,” Harrison answered. “And you were able to cover up your murder nicely. That is, except for running into Peck. He was ordered to duty inside the quartermaster’s tent. But Peck surprised you, didn’t he? Outside Bart’s tent?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You went to the quartermaster’s tent the day before my brother’s death. As an officer, you signed out a weapon on your own—but it was Bart’s weapon. You used his signature. The young soldier on duty was probably distracted. He obviously didn’t notice the switch.”
“Go to hell,” Blaine hissed angrily.
“That night, with no one in the area except Peck, who was supposed to be guarding the weapons inside the quartermaster’s tent, you entered Bart’s tent, shot him at point blank range, then took the rosters. You placed Bart’s pistol in his hand, trying to make murder look like suicide.”
“That’s quite a story, James,” Blaine shot back. “But it’s all lies.”
“Blaine, you should have taken care to learn my brother’s signature before attempting forgery.” Harrison pulled out a letter with Bart’s signature on the bottom. “Bart signed his name “Bartlett R. James,” not “Bart R. James.” See the difference?” Harrison held the letter, then the gun roster book in front of Blaine.
Blaine partially turned before Harrison, dropping the roster, grabbed his arm again. This time he held it tightly.
“Let go of me,” Blaine demanded. He reached up to pull James’ hand away. “I order you to remove your hand,” he said.
“Harrison realized that the captain was unarmed. “Gambling and whoring are expensive, aren’t they? Especially on a captain’s pay. You needed money to pay off your debts, and then you wanted more.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ask the other officers. They don’t see me gambling in town.”
“No, they don’t,” Harrison replied. “You do your gambling in Juarez. It wouldn’t be difficult to find witnesses who saw you there, often at the Sheldon Hotel in El Paso.”
“There is no law against going to El Paso, Mr. James.”
“I know of one witness who will testify to seeing you there, Captain, with a Mr. Felix Sommerfield.”
Blaine was silent.
“You met him on at least three separate occasions—May 28th, June 18th, and January 27th—a month ago. Days the roster shows you were off duty.” Harrison still held Blaine’s arm tightly. “The Bureau of Investigation will verify that this Sommerfield is a known German agent.” He leaned closer. “Even the two troopers you used to break into my room said they regularly saw you on the train. That’s how you met them—those train trips to El Paso.”
Blaine tugged against James’ arm, finally forcing himself free.
“You’re going to hang, Blaine. For treason and murder,” Harrison said finally.
Blaine turned to run. He found Major Snow blocking his path.
“Arrest Captain Blaine,” Snow ordered the two military policemen still standing beside him.
“I’ll want him, too, Major,” the deputy constable added. He was a younger, Hispanic man, thin as a rail, with piercing brown eyes. The revolver strapped to his side appeared over-size on his small hips. But, Harrison learned quickly, he spoke with authority and self-confidence.
The deputy turned to Harrison. “I’m going to give you a couple of days free on the streets, señor. See what you come up with about the killing of Constable Arnold.” He paused. “But only a couple of days. And stay close.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Harrison spent the early morning writing up his statement for the deputy. He was exhausted. But he knew he had one more task before he could return to Las Palomas and Maria—find Constable Arnold’s killer. He needed the help of Sergeant Parilla. Then I’ll send for Daniel, he decided, returning to his room in the Hoover.
Harrison poured water from the pitcher into the ceramic basin, splashed off his face, shaved, then he changed into his last clean shirt. It was white silk. Somehow that seemed appropriate. Coming back down the stairs, he heard someone call his name.
“Señor,” a Hispanic voice said in the lobby. “Coffee?”
“That would be good,” James responded, turning to see Miguel’s smiling face.
Miguel handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “A dangerous night?” he asked.
“It could have been,” James said.
“I worry where you go,” Miguel said. “But the deputy no longer look for you. I hear this.”
Chasing Pancho Villa Page 26
