Redemption, page 12
part #3 of Ladies of Larkspur Series
"Well, I think at this point, that's a foregone conclusion. The remaining question is whether or not you're going to be clothed at the time."
"What do you mean? Nothing I've done is a killin' offense." Carl was starting to sound and look panicked, which was essentially what Art wanted.
"I could be wrong, but I'm thinkin' you're gonna hang for the murder of William Drake."
"But I didn't kill him!" Carl yelled, grabbing onto the bars of his cell and trying to shake them.
"Wellll…" Art drew the word out and let it hang between them. Then, he said, "If, as you say, you didn't kill Mr. Drake, then it might go a long way with the San Francisco police if you can tell me who did."
"I'm a dead man if I tell you anything!"
"If you don't tell me anything, you're going to hang for a murder you didn't commit, and you'll do it in nothing more than you're wearing right now – I'll see to that. Tell me something I can use to find the real killer, though," Art leaned forward in his seat, "and there's a chance you'll get released. Even if you have to change your name and disappear into some unknown mining town in Canada, at least you'll be alive." Sitting back and putting his feet up on his desk, Art said, "The way I see it, you have two choices. Certain death and possible escape. Which is it going to be?"
Carl began talking, and Art took notes. He also jotted down a missive which he handed to Samuel right as the man was leaving. Samuel read it and nodded to Art before handing it back to him and exiting the sheriff's office.
Chapter Eighteen
Realizing how dangerous the situation was, Art didn't sleep much during the night. Instead, he kept a close eye on both prisoners. He'd not heard anything back in response to the telegram he'd asked Samuel to send for him, so Mitch was staying locked up for now.
Morning came, and Samuel brought in a breakfast tray from the hotel dining room. Art, pretty close to being asleep on his feet, was glad for the friendly face.
"How'd the night go?" Samuel asked, as he set the tray down and carried the first plate over to Mitch.
"Uneventful," answered Art.
"You look as if you've seen better days," the hotel owner said as he next handed a plate to Carl.
"That I have," replied Art. "That I have."
Samuel handed a plate to him, and Art greedily inhaled the aroma of bacon before digging into the food on his plate. Within minutes the plate was empty of all food, and Art was sitting back in his chair again. "That was delightful. Thank you for bringing it by."
"Learn anything new from your guests here?"
Art shook his head and asked, "Did you see to the item I asked you to take care of for me?" When Samuel nodded, he asked, "Has there been any response?"
"I don't think so, but I'll double-check. I told him to come find you straightaway if there was."
A frown creasing his brow, Art said, "I thought I'd have heard by now."
Once Samuel collected the empty plates from the prisoners, he placed them on the tray and made a move toward the front door. Art rose to walk him out. Stopping outside the entrance to the sheriff's office, he said quietly to Samuel, "I've asked Carl more than once if he has a partner, and he refuses to answer. I haven't seen anybody else around town, so I'm not sure if he's refusing to answer because he's protecting the other person or because there is no other person, and he wants to play games and make us think there is. Either way, can you keep an eye out and alert me if you see anything suspicious going on?"
"Certainly." Samuel began to walk away and then stopped, twisting around and giving Art a hard stare. "Is it possible he's aligned himself with a local — that he's paid someone from around here to help him do his dirty work?"
Shaking his head, Art said, "I can't see who would be willing to help him, even for cash, but I'll give it some thought and see if anyone comes to mind."
"If it would help, I can stop in at the saloon later today and ask a few questions. Maybe the barkeep there has seen our man with someone."
"I'd appreciate it if you've a mind to. I think they prefer you more than me over there," Art said.
"It's the vest," Samuel said. "Makes them think of me as a gambler. Helps me fit in. You should try it sometime. I've got a nice bright yellow-green one I'd be happy to loan you."
"Not in this lifetime, friend. I'll keep my nice drab leather, if you don't mind."
When Art stepped back into the sheriff's office, Mitch asked, "Who is that man, anyway?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but he runs the local hotel and supplies meals to prisoners from his dining room," Art answered. "Oh, and he might be retired from the Secret Service."
Mitch's eyebrows climbed closer to his hairline while his lips formed a silent whistle.
"He sure dresses fancy," Carl spat.
"Everybody has their own style," replied Art. "Wouldn't you agree?" he asked his prisoners.
Mitch gave him a puzzled look and then sat down on his cot. Carl, on the other hand, began pacing, an animal caged against his will. At least he no longer stank like one. The smell had permeated the entire office until no one who stepped in could leave without carrying his stench on their clothes. Using an ice cold shower outside in close to freezing temperatures was a grand idea, if he did say so himself. It got Carl to talk and cost less than bullets.
Deciding on a different tack, Art leaned casually against his desk and asked, "Either of you fellas ever been in an opium den?" Neither man responded. "I hear them places are illegal out in California. They still have them, though, don't they?"
Mitch's voice was begrudging. "Public smoking of opium was made illegal in '76. That means the dens are illegal, too."
"But they're still out there. Something can be illegal, but that don't mean people stop doing it. Isn't that so, Carl?" The man in question glared at him. "So, tell me, then. Have either of you been in an opium den?" Mitch gave a small nod, but Carl still refused to answer. "I'm wondering, Carl, if the person who hired you to kill Minnie was someone you met in a den. Simply tryin' to fit all the pieces together."
The outer door opened again, but this time it was Deputy Jasper entering the office. He nodded to Art and said, "The mayor stopped me on my way past. I'm to spell you so you can dine with him for the midday meal."
"Did he give you a time?"
"He said one, but to send word to him if you need to change the time."
"One should be fine. Will you be able to babysit our guests while I'm gone?"
"Sure thing, Boss. What do you want me to do in the meantime?"
"Do rounds in town. Make sure everything's in order. I know people have to be a little spooked that we've got a couple of out of town prisoners. Go out there and be seen so they'll know everything's okay."
****
Art knocked on the front door to the mayor's house, and Minnie let him in. "It's good to see you," she said with a smile.
Tipping his hat, he said, "The feeling is mutual."
Minnie snagged the hat from his hand before he could settle it back onto his head and hung it up, saying, "None of that today. You're going to be you, and that's all there is to it."
"You know I feel naked without my hat on."
Minnie's face immediately heated, and she said, "I'm quite certain that's not a proper thing to say, Arty." Then she winked at him and circled around to exit the room. His chuckle followed her as she led the way to the dining room.
Once everyone was seated and the blessing had been said, the mayor asked, "So tell me, Art, what have you learned so far?"
Between bites, he answered, "One of them is possibly a police officer from San Francisco, but I've not yet received any confirmation of that. The other was hired to retrieve some information from Minnie."
"And once he'd gotten the information?" the mayor wanted to know.
Waving his fork in the air, Art answered, "That's neither here nor there. I have the name of the person who hired him and an idea what it's all about." Turning to Minnie, he asked, "Have you ever been to any of the opium dens in San Francisco?"
Shocked by the question, Minnie answered, "Never!"
Smiling, Art said, "I wasn't accusing. I think it's tied in, is all. I'm wondering if there's a person in the photograph who's somehow tied in to the dens."
Frowning, Minnie offered, "I can take another look if you want."
"I would, but I don't have it at the office today. Could you come by tomorrow to give it a look and let me know if anything jumps out at you?"
Nodding, Minnie said, "That shouldn't be a problem."
****
Evening came, and there was still no telegram from San Francisco. It had now been almost twenty-four hours since the message with Mitch's answer to the sister question had been sent. Art was bone tired. He'd spent the last two nights at the jail and hadn't gotten much sleep, unable to trust the men he had locked up. His deputy had offered to spell him tonight so he could go home and get some shut-eye in a real bed. Looking forward to the rest, he had a weary bounce in his step as he headed out the door.
****
The next morning arrived, and Art woke up feeling refreshed and ready to take the bit between his teeth. He figured he'd about worked out the puzzle of what was going on. There were still one or two pieces missing, but he was certain that, once he had those pieces, the entire picture would make sense, and then he'd be able to act. After he shaved and dressed, Art headed out the door, planning to eat his breakfast with the prisoners.
His arrival at the office was met with little fanfare. "Mornin', Jasper. How'd the night go?"
"Boring as all get out, but we survived," was the answer. "They slept, and I cleaned my fingernails. It was a productive night."
"Better a boring night than an eventful one, I say," Art replied. "Go home and get yourself some sleep. Come check back in with me whenever you wake up."
"Will do, Boss. Hope your day is as boring as my night was."
As soon as his deputy left, Art double-checked both cell doors to make sure they were locked. "What, don't trust your deputy?" Carl asked with a sneer.
"Doin' my job is all," replied Art.
Mitch caught his eye and gave him a look Art couldn't quite interpret. Assuming it was a question, Art said, "No word about you two from San Francisco yet, but I figure I'll hear soon."
****
Shortly before the noon hour, a stranger walked into the sheriff's office. Art was seated at his desk with his eyes on his prisoners when the door opened. He saw the men's varied reactions before he got a look at the new visitor. Average in height, with short-cut hair that was more grey than brown, the new arrival didn't seem like much to look at. The man held out his hand. Art stood and extended his own for a shake, "Good to meet you, Detective Wilcox."
The man hesitated at the name and asked, "How did you know it's me?"
"Let's say I have a sixth sense about these things. You'll have to show me your credentials to make it official, of course."
The detective complied. Once he'd handed the papers back to the detective, Art gave him a wink then nodded his head in the direction of the cells and said, "I understand you're here to execute them both, is that correct?" The detective grunted in agreement, and Art asked, "Which do you want first? The dark haired one or the blond guy?"
Giving Art a disgusted look, he said, "Give me the dark haired one first."
Art ambled over to Mitch's cell, unlocked it, and pulled the man out, handing him into Detective Wilcox's custody. "You'll have more privacy out back," he said, pointing to the door leading into the back alley.
Without a word, Detective Wilcox shoved Mitch through the door, followed behind him, and slammed it. A minute later, the office vibrated with the sound of three gunshots being fired in the back alley.
Carl started panicking and screaming, "You're not going to give me to him, are you? You can't let him take me. You told me I could escape, that I'd have a chance to stay alive."
Art shrugged noncommittally and said, "If you can tell me who your accomplice is, who's been helping you here in town, I might be able to talk him out of it. If you don't, I won't even bother trying."
"If I tell you, he'll kill me!"
"If you don't tell me, the good detective there will kill you."
Detective Wilcox, who had come in a second ago, stood there. "I have my orders. Hand him over." The detective's voice was harsh and unforgiving.
"All right," he said to the detective. Shrugging, he told Carl, "I gave you a chance." Art unlocked the cell and pulled Carl out. Thrusting him toward Detective Wilcox, he told the prisoner, "You might want to start praying."
Carl began to struggle in earnest as the detective pulled him toward the back door. Detective Wilcox, a lot stronger than he looked, kept a good tight hold on the flailing man. As they got to the door itself, Carl grabbed onto the frame with his fingers, holding on with all his might. Tears ran down his face as he screamed, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"
Art held up his hand to halt their exit and said to Carl, "I'm giving you one last chance. Tell me who your accomplice is."
Sobbing so hard that he could barely get the words out, Carl said, "Jasper. It's Deputy Jasper!"
Chapter Nineteen
After a stunned silence, Art and Detective Wilcox manhandled Carl back into his cell, and Art locked the door.
When Carl saw Mitch walk in from the back alley, he began screaming at them again, calling down every pox known to man upon their heads.
Ignoring him, the three men conversed.
"So where's this Jasper fellow?" Detective Wilcox asked.
"I sent him home to get some sleep. We should have a little while to come up with a plan," Art replied.
"Why do we need a plan? Just go arrest the cur," Mitch said.
"I want to understand what's going on," said Art.
Detective Wilcox stepped back, crossed his arms, and said, "Tell me everything you know."
Art pulled the picture out of his vest pocket and set it on his desk. "This is what it's all about. This is the photo that got William Drake killed and brought Carl here. He was instructed by his employer to secure the photo then kill Mrs. Drake."
Wilcox picked up the photo to get a closer look. He showed it to Mitch, who let out a low whistle.
Eyes wide, Mitch asked, "Do you have any idea who these people are?"
Art shook his head. "Not a clue. All I know is that someone named Mr. Lynus hired Carl to retrieve this photo from Mrs. Drake. He tried in San Francisco but couldn't get to her because she was under so much police supervision."
"Mr. Lynus is an attorney in the pocket of James Metcalf," Wilcox said. "Metcalf was an integral part of Governor Stoneman's campaign." Tapping the photograph on Art's desk, he said, "This photo here shows James Metcalf meeting with Lee Wong."
"Who's Lee Wong?" asked Art.
"The biggest den operator in San Francisco." Detective Wilcox's words hung in the air.
"Den operator?"
Detective Wilcox sighed, and Mitch answered, "Opium dens are illegal, you're right, but they still exist. The authorities have been trying to shut Wong down for years, but he's slippery, and we've never been able to get enough proof to tie him to the underground dens. We know he runs most of them, but we haven't been able to prove it. And as far as the law is concerned, he's innocent until proven otherwise."
"So this photo…?" Art let the question hang.
"This photo proves one of the Governor's key men is involved with the man who runs most of San Francisco's opium dens," he said, his voice full of rancor. "This photo might answer the questions about how Wong has been able to stay ahead of the police for so many years."
Looking back and forth between the two men, Art asked, "Is Stoneman dirty?"
They both shook their head, but the older man is the one who spoke. "Before he started working with Stoneman, Metcalf was on the City Council. Prior to that, he worked for the District Attorney. His ties to the city go back over a decade. Wong's been operating for about the same length of time. Metcalf attaching himself to Stoneman's coattails was probably the next step in taking Wong's empire statewide."
Picking up the photo and squinting at it, Art said, "This Wong fellow looks as if his name could be Smith. Are you sure it's him?"
Wilcox nodded and said, "That's why he's been able to hide so well. We spent the first five years chasing a ghost while he was hiding in plain sight. His father was as Anglo as you and me, but his mother came over on a boat from China. Wong's not his legal name, but it's the name he's used to run his illegal enterprises."
"Is this photo going to give you enough evidence?" Art asked. "Will Minnie need to come to California to testify?"
Detective Wilcox shook his head. "I'm pretty sure we can make our case without her. We need to keep the lines of communication open in case it becomes necessary, but I think we'll be able to keep her out of the courtroom and, hopefully, out of the papers." Looking around, he added, "Speaking of, I'd like to see her if you don't mind. I owe her an apology or two."
Art said, "Let's get Jasper into custody, and then I'll take you to her."
****
Samuel chose that moment to bring in lunch for Art and the prisoners. Raising an eyebrow and pointing his chin toward Mitch, he asked, "Is that one supposed to be out of his cell?"
"He's in the clear." Then, ignoring the plate Samuel offered him, Art said, "Carl there claims Jasper is his accomplice."
With no more than a slight flicker of the eye, Samuel asked, "You believe him?"
"I don't want to, but he had no reason to lie. Can you keep an eye on him while we go collect my wayward deputy?"
"Let one of these boys watch him," Samuel said, indicating Detective Wilcox and Mitch. "I'm coming with you."
Art examined Samuel, not sure what to make of the whine in his friend's voice.
