The Reluctant Pinkerton Page 21

  “Just the man we’re looking for,” Carradine said.

  “What can I do for you, Detectives?”

  “We got some bad news for you,” Cole said.

  “What’s that?”

  “One of your suspects has turned up dead,” Carradine said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Nancy Ransom.”

  “Jesus,” Roper said, “how?”

  “She was shot, and dumped where somebody thought she wouldn’t be found.”

  “But somebody did,” Cole said. “A drunk stumbled over them.”

  “Them?”

  “Yeah,” Carradine said, “there was another gal with her. This one was strangled.”

  “Who was that?”

  “We don’t know,” Cole said. “Ain’t identified her yet.”

  “What’s she look like?”

  Carradine shrugged. “Saloon girl, kinda small. Why?”

  “Take me to her,” Roper said. “I might know her.”

  “Okay,” Cole said, “come on.”

  * * *

  When they removed the sheet, Roper found himself looking down at Dol Bennett. Lying on a slab, she seemed even smaller and younger, looking like a broken doll.

  “Know her?” Carradine asked.

  “Yeah, I know her,” Roper said. “Dorothea Bennett. She was a Pinkerton.”

  “This little girl?” Cole asked. “Jeez, who sent her in there?”

  “I didn’t send her in,” Roper said, “but I sent her back in.”

  “What’s that mean?” Carradine asked.

  Roper explained who Dol was, how she’d followed him to Fort Worth, how he’d thought she’d gone home, but instead, she’d gone undercover in the Bullshead.

  “I dragged her out of there last night, but then I sent her back.”

  “What for?” Carradine asked.

  “To deliver a message to Nancy,” Roper said, flicking a thumb at the other body.

  “Come on,” Carradine said, “let’s get out of here and talk someplace else.”

  * * *

  On the street, Carradine led the way to a small café, where they all ordered coffee, even though Roper would have preferred a strong whiskey.

  “Tell us,” Carradine said.

  “I shook Nancy up last night,” Roper said. “I thought I had her ready to talk, but Aaron Bonner walked in on us.”

  “More scum,” Cole said.

  “What did he catch you doing?” Carradine asked.

  “Nothing,” Roper said, “I made it seem like I was warning Nancy to stay away from me, to keep Eddie Parker away from me.”

  “You think Bonner was running her game of rolling customers?” Carradine asked.

  “No,” Roper said. “He knew about it, but I think he wanted her to stop.”

  “Or maybe he wanted a piece,” Cole said.

  “No,” Roper said, “Bonner’s working on something bigger.”

  “The stockyards thing?” Carradine asked.

  “I think so. He’s got a fella named Jessup working for him.”

  “Hoke Jessup,” Carradine said. “For a while he was suspected of every murder that took place in Fort Worth, but then he sorta faded from sight.”

  “He’s working for Bonner.”

  “That’s probably why,” Cole said. “We’ve suspected for a while that Bonner’s up to something, we just haven’t been able to pinpoint what.”

  “Bonner and Jessup,” Carradine said. “We’ve never connected them.”

  “But Bonner still isn’t the boss,” Roper said. “Somebody else is pulling the strings, and I thought Nancy was going to tell me.”

  “And maybe Bonner thought so, too,” Carradine said. “That’s why he killed her, or had Jessup do it.”

  “And your girl walked in on them,” Cole said.

  “Probably,” Roper said.

  “Not your fault, Roper,” Carradine said. “If she was a Pinkerton, she knew the risks.”

  “She was a kid,” Roper said. “She should’ve gone home.”

  “Well,” Carradine said, “we’re going to go and have a talk with Bonner, and probably Jessup.”

  The two detectives stood up.

  “You want to come along?” Cole asked.

  “No,” Roper said, “I’m going to finish my coffee.”

  They stared down at him, then shrugged and left. He obviously wanted to be alone.

  62

  Roper wasn’t sure about his next move.

  He couldn’t believe Dol Bennett was dead. He could still see her in his room, with her little fists on her hips, glaring at him. He never should have sent her back in there.

  The police were going to talk to Bonner and Jessup, and Roper had already talked with Eddie Parker, Louise Orton, and Nancy. With the murders of Nancy and Dol, he felt things had to be coming to a head. In fact, he himself might be next on the list.

  He decided that a visit back to the Cattleman’s Club was in order. He just wasn’t sure who he was going to talk to when he got there, Kalish or Brewster.

  He stood up, realized he had to pay for all the coffees as the two detectives had left no money behind. He shook his head, dropped some money onto the table, and left.

  * * *

  As he stepped down from his cab, he saw Cullen Brewster getting into a cab in front of him. He made a spur-of-the-moment decision.

  “Never mind,” he told the driver, “I’m not getting out. Follow that cab.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They followed the cab through the streets of Fort Worth, which, at this time of the day, were fairly busy. At one point they got stuck behind a delivery cart.

  “Don’t lose him!” Roper shouted.

  “Relax!” the driver called back. “I ain’t gonna lose ’im.”

  And he didn’t. Eventually, Brewster’s cab pulled up in front of a brick house on a fairly affluent street.

  “Stop back here,” Roper said.

  His cab pulled to a stop and they watched as Brewster paid his driver and went into the house, using a key.

  “What do we do, Chief?” the cab driver asked.

  “Let’s just sit here awhile.”

  “As long as you’re paying.”

  Roper handed the driver some money and asked, “Will that hold you?”

  “For a while,” the man said, putting the money in his pocket.

  They sat for about ten minutes, watching the front of the house.

  “Hey,” the driver said.

  “What?”

  “What if whoever he’s meeting was already inside?”

  “If that’s the case,” Roper said, “I’m not sure he would’ve used the key.”

  Five more minutes.

  “Are you followin’ him to see if he’s seein’ your wife?”

  “No,” Roper said, “not my wife.”

  “Oh, somebody else’s.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you go up and peek in a window?” the man asked.

  “This fella knows me,” Roper said. “I wouldn’t want him to see me.”

  “I could have a look,” the driver said. “I know this row of houses. There’s a cobblestone alley in the back, lotsa windows.”

  Roper hesitated, then said, “That might be a good idea, but hurry back, in case he comes out.”

  “If he comes out,” the driver said, stepping down, “go ahead and take the cab. I’ll just meet you back here. My name’s James.”

  “Okay, James,” Roper said. “Thanks. If I have to take your cab, I’ll double your fee.”

  “That works for me,” James said.

  James hurried down the street toward the building, then cut down an alley between buildings that Roper had not even spotted. After fifteen minutes no one had come out. But James the driver was coming back.

  “He’s in there alone, drinking.”

  “Drinking what?”

  “Whiskey.”

  James climbed up into his seat.

  “We still w
aitin’?”

  “We’re still waiting.”

  That’s what Roper’s business was about.

  * * *

  It took forty minutes from when they first arrived, but another cab pulled up in front of the house, and a woman got out. Roper leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

  “That her?” James asked. “That your friend’s wife?”

  “That’s her.”

  They watched as she knocked, and then went inside.

  Roper got out of the cab.

  “Show me,” he said.

  “Show you what?”

  “Show me the window you looked through.”

  James hopped down and said, “Come on.”

  63

  Brewster took the woman’s wrap, tossed it on a chair, then took her by the shoulders, turned her, and kissed her. She gave him one kiss, but when he leaned in for another, she turned and walked away.

  “I’d like a cigarette,” Louise Orton said.

  He took one out, lit it, and handed it to her. He watched her breathe the smoke in and out. She was an incredibly sexy woman. What she was doing with Pete Orton, he never understood.

  “When is this going to be over?” she asked.

  “Soon,” he said. “The investors are coming in. When they hear about the fire, that’ll be it. They’ll pull out.”

  “And then?”

  “And then my people come in.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then you leave your husband and you come with me,” Brewster said. “We’ll have more money than everyone at the Cattleman’s Club combined.”

  “You keep saying that,” she said. “What about Roper?”

  “What about him?” Brewster asked. “I’ll have Jessup take care of him.”

  She shivered when she heard Jessup’s name.

  “And Nancy?”

  “Nancy’s been taken care of.”

  “By Jessup?”

  “What difference does it make?” Brewster said. “She’s gone.”

  “And Pete?”

  “He’ll be out of a job,” Brewster said.

  She drew on her cigarette again, her arms folded.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “I’ll tell you what bothers me,” she said. “That detective.”

  “Now that we know who he is, he’ll be taken care of,” Brewster said. “Just like the other one.”

  “This one’s not like that other one.”

  “I know,” Brewster said. “I knew there was something about him from the moment I met him.”

  “Then you should have taken care of him right away.”

  “Not until I was sure,” Brewster said. “You see, darling, that’s the secret of my success. I don’t move until I’m sure.”

  “I wish I could be sure,” she said.

  * * *

  Roper looked in the window, watched as Brewster took Louise Orton’s wrap and kissed her, then watched as she turned away. She wasn’t happy. But Roper was.

  “Okay,” he said, “you go back to your cab and wait for me.”

  “Where are you goin’, boss?”

  “I’m going to join the party,” Roper said.

  They went back down the alley to the street.

  * * *

  When the knock came at the door, Louise’s eyes went wide.

  “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know,” Brewster said. “Nobody knows we’re here.”

  “Don’t answer it.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, touching the gun beneath his arm. “Just wait here.”

  He walked to the front door and opened it.

  “Hey,” Roper said, “invite me in.”

  Brewster took only a moment to decide, then said, “Come in, Mr. Roper.”

  * * *

  Roper followed Brewster into the room where Louise Orton was waiting.

  “What’s he doing here?” she demanded.

  “Relax,” Brewster told her. “Mr. Roper just wants to talk, isn’t that right, Roper?”

  “That’s right, Brewster,” Roper said. “Just a talk.”

  “And that’s really all you can do, isn’t it?” Brewster asked. “Because you can’t prove a thing. Not legally.”

  “You’re right,” Roper said. “I can’t prove that you’ve been behind all the sabotage, the fire, the murder of Walt Henderson—who, by the way, was a stock detective. But I’m here to tell you that doesn’t matter.”

  “Is that a fact?” Brewster said. “And why is that?”

  “Because I don’t have to prove it to the law,” Roper said. “That wasn’t my job.”

  Now Brewster frowned, a bit confused.

  “What was you job, then?”

  “Just to find out who was behind it all,” Roper said, “and I have. You.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” Louise asked.

  “I’m going to leave,” Roper said. “I just wanted you to know that I knew.”

  “That’s it?” Louise asked. “Who are you going to tell?”

  “Do you mean am I going to tell your husband about you and Brewster?”

  “She doesn’t care about that,” Brewster said. “She’s done with that loser anyway. No, she wants to know who you intend to tell about me.”

  “Just the people who hired me.”

  “And who was that?” Louise asked.

  “The Pinkertons,” Roper said. “What they do with the information is their business.”

  “Cullen,” Louise gasped, dropping her cigarette, “kill him! You can’t let him leave!”

  Roper looked at Brewster, knew he had a gun beneath his arm.

  “Go ahead, Brewster,” Roper said, “pull that hogleg. Let’s do it like the Old West.”

  There was a tense moment, and then Brewster slowly raised his hands and said, “Uh-uh. I’m not going to let you kill me.”

  “Kill him!” Louise yelled.

  “Shut up, Louise!” Brewster shouted. “He can’t prove a thing.”

  Roper backed toward the door so that Brewster was not tempted to shoot him in the back. As he went down the steps outside, a smile played about his mouth, because he knew all he had to do was tell the Pinkertons what he knew. They had their own bully boys for the rest of the job. Taking care of Brewster didn’t have to be legal. It just had to be done.

  64

  Roper lied.

  He didn’t just tell the Pinkertons.

  He told Harold Kalish at the Cattleman’s Club.

  “Sonofabitch,” Kalish said.

  It was early the next morning and Lester the doorman had shown Roper right in to see Kalish. He had already sent a telegram to William Pinkerton.

  “Can we prove it?” Kalish asked.

  “Not legally,” Roper said, “and he knows that. Oh, I could probably work on it a lot longer, but I’m already on to something else.”

  “What’s more important?” Kalish asked.

  “Murder.”

  Kalish frowned. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “The Pinkertons will take care of Brewster,” he said. “Or you could do it yourself.”

  “How?”

  “Take away all his power,” Roper said. “Get together with the others, and kick him out.”

  “That would…that would kill him,” Kalish said.

  “Yes, I know,” Roper said. “With men like that, it’s always about power. Not having power, that’s the worst thing for them.”

  “By God,” Kalish said, “we’ll do it.” He extended his hand to Roper. “Thank you, sir.”

  Roper shook his hand and said, “Believe me, it was my pleasure.”

  “So I suppose you’ll be leaving town?”

  “In a couple of days,” Roper said. “I still have a loose end or two to tie up.”

  * * *

  His next stop was the law office of William Catlin.

  “It’s good to see you,” Catlin said as Roper sat. The office was modest, to say the least, but that was okay. “You’
re looking prosperous, Andy.”

  “Not Andy,” Roper said. “My name is Talbot Roper, and I’m about to do something that may lead me to need a lawyer. If I get caught.”

  “Then you came to the right place,” Catlin said. “Tell me about it.”

  * * *

  And he also told one other person.

  Detective Cole joined Roper at the table in the small café where they’d last had coffee together.

  “We’ve got nothing on Bonner for the murder of Nancy and the other girl,” Cole said.

  “What about Jessup?” Roper asked.

  “Even less.”

  “Can’t touch them, huh?”

  “Nope. What about you. How’s your case going?”

  “I solved it.”

  “You did? Who’s the guy?”

  “Cullen Brewster.”

  Cole sat back in his chair and said, “The Cattleman’s Club guy?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sabotage, arson…”

  “…and murder.”

  “Just tell me what proof you got and I’ll arrest him,” Cole said.

  “No legal proof,” Roper said. “I just know he did it.”

  “Not by himself.”

  “No, I’m sure he used Bonner, and probably Jessup.”

  “But you’ve got nothing legal.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then I can’t act.”

  “That’s okay,” Roper said. “Like I told Brewster, it wasn’t my job to get him arrested, just to find out who was behind it all. And I did.”

  “And told the others at the Club?”

  “I did.”

  “And the Pinkertons?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…they’ll kill him,” Cole said. “The Pinkertons, I mean. They’re not above…murder.”

  “No, they’re not,” Roper said, “but nobody can prove that.”

  “No, they can’t,” Cole said. “I guess nobody can prove anything.”

  “No.”

  “But somehow,” Cole said, “I think it’ll all get taken care of.”

  “Yes,” Roper said. “It will.”

  * * *

  Aaron Bonner closed the safe in his office and spun the dial. It had been a long day. The saloon was empty and everyone had gone home. As soon as he got his payoff from Brewster—and he, in turn, paid off Jessup—he’d have the money to open his new place, and it would put the White Elephant to shame.

  He stood up, turned, and stopped short when he saw Roper.