by A. T. Butler
Jacob nodded. He knew men just like that, men who would take advantage of another’s desperation or naivety. Men like his own brother.
Nevertheless, men like that didn’t deserve to be killed.
Jacob looked around the room, hoping some clue, some detail would jump out at him. His eyes fell on the washstand in the corner. In the internal battle over disturbing the scene of the crime, and contaminating everything with blood, Jacob’s responsible self won out. He stepped gingerly around the corpse and toward the wash stand.
But in the few feet in between, another clue caught his eye. The first thing Jacob noticed was a small, dark, likely blood spot soaking into the wooden floor board. The quilt from the twin bed was hanging off, onto the floor, covering most of the blood stain. Mindful of the blood already on his hands, Jacob nudged aside the quilt with the toe of his boot.
There, mostly hidden under the victim’s bed, was a long, narrow knife. The entire blade and halfway up the pearl handle was covered in blood that could only belong to Bob Timson.
From behind him, Randall let out a low whistle. “Would you look at that?”
Jacob let the quilt fall back where it was and continued his task of washing the blood off his hands. This situation was only becoming more complicated and he needed to begin with nothing else distracting him.
As Jacob dried his wet hands on the front of his shirt, he looked around the room again. He didn’t want to disturb anything in case the deputies needed it for an investigation, but at the same time, there wasn’t a moment to lose.
“Did you send someone to the Sheriff’s office?” he asked Randall.
“Oh. Not yet. You’re right. I’ll go do that.”
Randall left Jacob alone in the room to go over the dead man’s personal effects. Starting back at the door to the room and slowly turning clockwise, Jacob gave the entire space a once-over.
This room was larger than most hotel rooms he had been in. This was likely due to it being used for more long-term stays, or even for one of Holly’s girls to live in. Jacob didn’t know what exactly was the business—or personal—relationship between Randall and Holly, but however they had arranged things was working out for them so far. And allowed this room to be available for Bob Timson to live in while he stayed in Tucson.
Jacob didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he had to start somewhere.
The washstand held a single, shallow drawer. Opening it, Jacob found three bobby pins, a comb, a clean handkerchief and a dime. Nothing that pointed to a motive or any reason the man on the floor would have been attacked at all, let alone killed. There was a short stack of papers on the bedside table, mostly receipts for travel from the last several months. Jacob scanned quickly, but nothing stood out to him in the information. Nothing that seemed significant.
Other than stripping the sheets from the bed, the last place Jacob had to search was the pile of trunks in the corner. Without opening every single one of them, it was impossible to tell which was the man’s personal items, and which was for sale. But that didn’t matter. Jacob was a thorough investigator. He opened the topmost trunk and got to work.
It was a slow process. Many of the objects were wrapped in other objects, nested inside each other. Primarily household wares, luxuries that women might miss from keeping house back east and be able to talk their husbands into replacing for whatever exorbitant cost Timson could charge. Impractically fancy tea sets and handheld mirrors with gold filigree handles.
He pulled out the last item from the last trunk and turned it over in his hand. Not a single thing in this collection had given him any insight as to why Bob Timson would have been killed. No threatening note, no stolen precious object. Nothing.
“Well?” Randall asked as he entered. “I’ve got a boy running to find a deputy now. Find anything?”
“Hmmm…” Jacob searched again, this time more slowly and methodically. He set aside each item he came across into a neat pile on the bed, making sure he went through every drawer, bag and chest thoroughly.
“Are you looking for something specific?”
Jacob didn’t respond. He had reached the end of his search of the room. The only thing left to search was the corpse. Though he had had plenty of dealings with dead bodies, even just in the war alone, he still never liked to disturb a man’s final rest.
The bounty hunter said a silent prayer asking forgiveness for what he was about to do, then checked the pockets on the dead man. His coat was easy to search, especially as he had moved the body on to its back. But when Jacob had to check the man’s pants pockets, he grimaced at having to turn the body over again.
And still nothing.
Though he had only met the man less than an hour earlier, Jacob knew what he should be looking for.
“So,” Randall began, shifting his weight. “What do you think?”
Jacob got to his feet again. He had again bloodied his hands in his search of the man’s clothing, but that was the least of his concerns. He wiped his fingers on the legs of his pants as he turned back to Randall.
“You say Timson has been here a week? And in that time, did you happen to notice his billfold? Maybe when he paid for a drink or tipped one of the girls?”
Randall nodded, looking past Jacob around the room he had just searched. “I did. The one with the rose on it, right? And full of more greenbacks than I have ever seen in one place in my life.”
“Right. Well. It’s missing.”
Chapter Three
“What’s missing?” Deputy Lowry stood in the doorway, just behind Randall. His face wore an expression of pure fury and he didn’t even seem to notice that he was physically pushing the saloon proprietor out of his way.
“This man had a billfold full of cash not thirty minutes ago, and I can’t seem to locate it at all now.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to look again.”
“I searched the whole room, Deputy. Twice in fact. It’s not here.”
“We’ll see.” He took several steps into the room, stepping over the corpse without a glance and moving to the unpacked trunks in the corner.
“Wait, Deputy.” Jacob put both hands on the man’s chest, which served to stop him in his tracks and force him to listen to the bounty hunter. “We’re talking about a murdered man, here. He deserves our respect.”
“I have an investigation to conduct.”
“But won’t it be easier to search the room once he has been moved? Let’s call the coroner, and while the body is being taken care of I can fill you in on what I found.”
“Hm. Maybe …”
“Here. Look.” Jacob lifted up the edge of the quilt to show where the knife had heretofore been hidden. “That’s probably the weapon. Let’s start with that.”
Deputy Lowry begrudgingly acquiesced. “You might be right, Payne. Let’s start with what we already know. Come on.”
He led them over the body and out the door. As they headed down the hallway, Jacob stopped Randall for one last question.
“Where’s Holly?”
“I had one of her girls put her to bed. She’s had quite the shock and won’t be good for anything until she has a good rest.”
“We’ll want to question her. Send word as soon as she recovers, will you?”
Randall nodded. “Sure will. I have some questions of my own for her.”
“And keep anyone out of this room except the coroner. I’ll send him to you as soon as I can.”
“Of course, Deputy,” Randall said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Down the stairs, past the curious glances of the drinking regulars crowding the saloon on a Saturday night. The bounty hunter and the deputy both studiously ignored the interest and calls for information that were hurled at them. Out the door to the boardwalk lining the main street, and the pair turned in silent agreement to walk up the road toward a more private location.
“Are we going to the sheriff’s office?” Jacob asked.
Lowry shook his head. “No
. We’ve got two men locked up in the jail right now. I don’t need them overhearing. Let’s go to the cafe. I bet Bonnie will find us a quiet corner.”
In just a few short moments they had walked to the San Xavier Cafe and, while it was also crowded on a Saturday night, after a whispered conversation with the bartender, Bonnie led the two into the cramped, hot kitchen behind the bar. Jacob stood in the doorway and looked around, while the deputy scooted behind the one narrow table.
“Is everything alright?” Bonnie stood behind Jacob, peeking over his shoulder anxiously. “Jacob.” She lowered her voice. “Where did that blood come from?”
He heard the unmistakable panic in her voice, but hesitated to answer immediately. Jacob exchanged a glance with Deputy Lowry. How much of this needed to remain a secret? How much would be revealed as they interviewed witnesses or suspects? The deputy nodded, giving him the go ahead.
“Don’t worry,” Jacob said to the waitress hovering. “It’s not my blood. I’m fine.”
She nodded and let out a slow breath.
“But, there’s been a death,” Jacob continued.
“No!”
“I’m not sure … You might have met him. Mr. Bob Timson? The traveling salesman that has been in Tucson for the last week?”
“Mr. Timson?” Bonnie dropped the empty tin mug she had been holding. The clatter as it hit the wooden floorboards shook her out of her shock. “Why— yes! He came in here almost every day. He was awfully kind to me, even though I got the sense he didn’t like many other people. He’s dead? What happened?” Her gaze drifted down over the bloodstains on Jacob’s pants again.
“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Deputy Lowry said. “You say you know Timson? Why don’t you sit down and tell us what you know about him?”
“I—” Bonnie glanced over her shoulder to the dining room of the cafe. Mickey, the bartender, caught her eye and gestured her to go ahead. Jacob stepped to the side of the doorway and put a gentle hand on her elbow to guide her to the table.
“Just, anything you can remember, Bonnie. Even if you don’t think it’s important.”
She nodded and swallowed as she lowered herself into the only other chair.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked Jacob.
“I’m sure. Go ahead, Bonnie. Is there anything you can tell us about that man’s time in town? Did he make any enemies that you know of? You said he didn’t seem to like other people? Did you pick up anything out of the ordinary in your conversations with him?”
“Every time he came in he was so kind to me. Mickey always told me Mr. Timson was flirting with me, but I didn’t see it.”
Jacob noticed that with that deflection, Bonnie blushed and didn’t meet his eyes. He certainly couldn’t blame the other man for giving this woman special attention when he ate here.
“He seemed to have very little patience for anyone else,” she went on. “I could always tell when he had lost money at the poker table because he seemed to lash out at everyone. Lucky in particular.”
“What do you mean by lash out?”
She darted her eyes between the two men, as though worried she had said something wrong. “Well, just … I mean …”
“Did he yell at Lucky?” Jacob prompted. “Threaten him at all?”
Bonnie nodded. “He did. Both of those things. In fact, the last time they were both in here at the same time, they got into a shoving match by the door. I wasn’t close enough to hear what was said. I only know that I turned my back for one moment and then I heard someone crashing into a table and falling to the floor. Somehow Timson, who must me almost a foot shorter, had managed to knock Lucky over, he was that mad.”
“But you don’t know what they were arguing about?”
“Not that time. But before …” She looked away from the men as she tried to remember. “I think the day or two before that was when Mr. Timson accused Lucky of stealing from him. And another day earlier that week was when he shouted at both Abe and Lucky about cheating. That one actually happened in the street in front of the cafe, though.”
“Outside? Do you think other people witnessed it?”
“Oh, yes. There was already a crowd gathered by the time Mickey and I got out there.”
“How did that one end?”
“Mr. Hall happened to be walking by and he and Mickey managed to calm them down.”
“Hall? Randall was there?”
She nodded. “He seemed to know Mr. Timson pretty well. At least well enough to know what to say to him to soothe his temper.”
“And what did Lucky and Abe do?”
A cloud flitted across her expression, her eyes widened. “They kept shouting. Or, Abe did. Lucky just looked …” She trailed off.
Jacob and Deputy Lowry exchanged a glance. “It’s alright, Miss Loft,” the deputy said. “You can tell us. You’re safe.”
“Lucky looked fearsome,” she said almost in a whisper. “I have never seen such a look on his face. I don’t know what he would have done if Mr. Hall hadn’t been walking Mr. Timson back to the saloon.”
After a pause, Jacob pressed further. “Is there anything else you can tell us, Bonnie? Can you think of anyone else who might have been angry at Mr. Timson?”
She shook her head, furrowing her brow as she thought. “No one that I can remember at the moment. I’m sorry, Deputy. I try not to get involved in all the men’s conflicts.”
“Of course, Miss Loft.” He took her hand in his across the table. “I completely understand—”
“Oh, but,” she began. “There was one other. Just a couple days ago a stranger bumped into Mr. Timson near the doorway. I didn’t hear what they said to one another, but there was definitely anger and some accusations thrown.”
“What did this stranger look like?” Jacob asked.
“Let me think … Tall and skinny with dirty dark hair.”
“That sounds familiar,” Jacob said to the deputy. “I think I know who that was.”
“Good.” Lowry nodded. “Sounds like we have plenty of people to follow up with. Miss Loft, you’ve been most helpful. If there’s anything else you remember about Mr. Timson’s time here in Tucson, you’ll let me know?”
She nodded. “I will. Of course, sir. Do you think it’s alright if I get back to my tables? I hate to let the other girl handle all of it.”
“Go ahead. Thank you again. We may be in touch.”
Bonnie smiled shyly at Jacob and Lowry as she rose from the table. She grabbed her empty serving tray and exited the kitchen, intent on her job.
While Jacob watched her leave, Deputy Lowry let out a long, slow breath. “It sounds like we’re dealing with a man who didn’t care much what other people thought of him. Which makes for a conspicuous target, I guess.”
Jacob shook his head as though in disbelief. “It never fails to amaze me how men from back east will come out here and not realize how far they are from the law they are used to.”
“Those are the type of men who think their money will fix anything.”
“In Boston, I’m sure Timson was used to a streetlight on every corner, men who respected the law and his position. Here, though?”
“Well,” the deputy said with a sigh. “He learned a hard lesson, but he didn’t deserve what he got. Tell me about what you found in that room.”
In a few pointed sentences, Jacob summarized for the deputy what he had found, what he had not found, the condition of the body when it was discovered, both Holly and Randall’s behavior and the two men he had witnessed watching the fight.
“Well. That seems like plenty to get started with. Appreciate your help, Payne. You mind coming to speak to the coroner with me?”
“Happy to. Anything I can do to help.”
As the two men exited the tiny kitchen, past the bar again, Mickey called to them.
“Aye. You boys talking about Timson, are ya? I can tell you some things.”
Chapter Four
Jacob leaned far
over the bar at San Xavier Cafe, getting as close to the bartender as he could and whispered, “You know something about Bob Timson? Bonnie just told us about the fights he has gotten into here.”
Mickey nodded. “More than just fights, lads. More than words. I saw him waving a weapon about.”
“You best not be lying, Mick,” Deputy Lowry warned. “This is a murder investigation and I can’t have anyone obstructing justice.”
“And what good would it be for me to lie now, eh?” He glanced over his shoulder at the new arrivals at the other end of the bar. “Pull up a stool here, boys. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ve not known Mickey to make up stories,” Jacob said quietly once the older man was out of earshot. “But, what kind of man would wave a weapon around a quiet cafe like this one?”
“The kind of man that is going to get himself murdered,” Deputy Lowry answered. “I’m interested to hear what Mickey has to say at least.”
Two shot glasses of whiskey appeared on the bar, the one in front of Jacob sloshing over the side and spilling down the side of the glass. He looked up to see Mickey had joined them again.
“Can’t leave my post, boys. You understand. So you sit here and drink like any other customer and we’ll talk.”
Lowry tossed back his whiskey as Jacob leaned forward to whisper. “Tell us what you saw, Mickey. Was Timson really going around threatening people with a gun?”
“He was that, lads.” Mickey glanced down the bar at the next closest drinker before continuing. “’Twas a knife, though. Not a gun.”
“What?” Deputy Lowry cleared his throat. “Did you say a knife?”
Jacob tossed back his own shot of whiskey. This whole situation was getting somber.
Mickey nodded. “I didn’t get a real good look at it, but it didn’t seem to be like any knife I’ve ever seen. Not out here at least. Seemed like the kind of namby pamby fancy knife a man might buy in Boston just for show.”
