Black Sky (A Mystery-Thriller) Page 8

  I sat on the far end a the bar and drank. I had three gins and then a fourth and then a beer. Shippin’ booze out here ta Cosgrove was hard and Gunner brewed everythin’ himself. The gin was particularly potent and we joked that it could burn the entire saloon down if someone were ta spill it and light a match.

  I was drunk. Not ta the point a fallin’ over, but I had drank too much. I pushed the beer away and walked over ta the man at the end a the bar. I sat down next ta him and ordered a water. He didn’t look over ta me.

  “Name’s Jesse,” I said.

  “Don’t remember askin’.”

  “Just bein’ polite.”

  He looked at me. His eyes was dark brown, like iron, and one, the one on the side a his face with the scar, was clouded over some. “Be polite to someone else.”

  I placed my badge down on the bar. He glanced ta it and then took another sip a his whiskey.

  “I ain’t broke no laws.”

  “No, you haven’t. And I ain’t arrestin’ you. I told you, I was just bein’ polite.”

  He gulped down the remainder a his whiskey and leaned his elbow on the bar. “Well since you bein’ polite, what should we talk about?”

  “How bout why you in Cosgrove?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me.”

  “Just passin’ through.”

  “Really? You just gonna have a drink and just ride on through town?”

  “I thought I’d stay the night. Get a couple whores and a bottle a whiskey. Ain’t had neither in some time.”

  “And why is that?”

  He ordered another drink. “Been out ridin’ for a bit.”

  “How long you been in town?”

  “You saw me ride in.”

  “Suppose I did.” I drank some water and looked out over the saloon. Someone had sat down at the piano and was beltin’ out a tune and there were four separate poker games goin’ on. “Well, it was a pleasure Mr…”

  “Robert Doolin.”

  I finished my water. “Pleasure talkin’ ta ya Mr. Doolin.”

  Stumblin’ outta the bar, I saw Betty with a worried look on her face. I smiled at her and she smiled back as I put my arm round her and she helped me back ta the house.

  “I miss her too,” I said.

  “I know.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Commotion don’t even begin ta describe the noise that was occurrin’ the next mornin’. I woke up with my head poundin’ and tried ta put the pillow over my ears but that didn’t do nothin’. Then I rolled over and stared at the ceilin’ some but a man can only do that so long fore goin’ crazy so I forced myself up. I went out back ta the outhouse and took care a my mornin’ constitutional and then dressed and washed up. I went downstairs and there weren’t no breakfast cooked. I saw Betty outside sippin’ coffee in one a the rockers.

  “What’s goin’ on?” I said, glancin’ up the street. A crowd had gathered and was hollerin’ somethin’ fierce.

  “They found him.”

  “Found who?”

  “The man that killed Missy.”

  I ran upstairs and grabbed my Colt and tweaked my shoulder in such a way that I had ta sit down cause my knees almost buckled. I wanted ta take off my shirt and examine the wound, which hadn’t bled in many days, but instead I ran downstairs and out inta the street.

  Betty didn’t ask where I was goin’.

  I got up there and began pushin’ through the crowd. Gettin’ up close, I saw two men on horses with nother man in tween em on foot. The man tween em was black and had a rope round him from both horses. The mayor was right there up front in the crowd and I sauntered up ta him.

  “What the hell is this, Tom?”

  “They caught the bastard,” he said excited.

  I couldn’t help but smile. It felt like a weight had been lifted off a me. I saw Henry over just a bit and I looked at him. He had a steely look in his eyes and weren’t smilin’ at all.

  “Where’d they catch him?”

  “Right in the act. He was tryin’ ta rape Suzie Musgrove over behind the livery. These bounty hunters, that you didn’t want here, saw him and got ahold of him. He already signed a confession.”

  “A confession?”

  He nodded.

  I made my way through the crowd which was now throwin’ stones and dirt clods at the black man. He was beat up somethin’ good and his right eye had swollen shut. His lips was cut and bleedin’ and he was missin’ some teeth. He was hunched over with the ropes round him and was just starin’ at the ground, not blinkin’. I went up ta the bounty hunters and shook their hands and the crowd began ta clap. Then I realized somethin’: these boys would want their seven hundred dollars.

  I walked back over ta the mayor. “You’re gonna have ta pay these men,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “Seven hundred dollars.”

  “I know.”

  “And where we gonna get that from?”

  “We have a city fund for this type of thing.”

  “You mean the street fund?”

  “Why not? It’s meant to clean up shit off the streets and who’s a bigger piece a shit than this man?”

  “Tom, you can’t do that. You know how many horses and mules come through here a day?”

  “We’ll get it back up, don’t you worry your little head at all.”

  I knew I wouldn’t be gettin’ to him today. I turned away and headed home. I saw Andy at the back a the crowd and he grinned at me and I walked up and put my hand on his shoulder. “Make sure this crowd don’t kill him. Everyone gets their day in court, even him.”

  He nodded and I walked back ta the house, not lookin’ behind me as the crowd started chanting, “Hang him.”

  Within five or ten minutes the crowd had calmed down and the excitement was fadin’ away. They began ta disperse and Andy took the man inta the office and I’m guessin’ locked him up or roughed him up. But either way, it was over.

  As I sat in the rocker and drank a small glass a whiskey, Dr. Haywood came up behind me. She sat down in the rocker next ta me.

  “Well, sorry ta waste your time,” I said.

  “Not at all. I enjoyed coming out here. I’ve never actually been out west other than San Francisco but that’s modernized.”

  “You’re welcome ta stay as long as you please.”

  She looked like a confused raccoon and I could tell she wanted ta say somethin’. But she sat there a minute like she didn’t know how ta put it.

  “Sheriff, I saw that man that they say is the killer.”

  “He is a sight. But you ain’t got ta worry, we a town a laws. He’ll get his attorney and a jury trial.”

  “I don’t think it’s him.”

  I had the glass ta my lips and I lowered it. “What d’ya mean?”

  She leaned in close, as if she wanted ta make sure I heard her. “Sheriff, this type of man is an unambiguous individual. He suffers from a mental disorder. A malfunction of the mind. This leads him to do things in a specific way. He has no remorse and the only real enjoyment he gets is in the suffering of others. But it’s a very precise pathology, a specific lunacy. He must do things a certain way. He has no choice in the matter.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “Well, they typically kill in the same way. One may prefer strangulation and will stick to that, another may prefer stabbing. I’ve never seen one quite as brutal as what you have here, but even that chaos has order. That brutality is his ritual, what he must do in order to get the satisfaction he’s looking for. Even though men like this differ in some degree from each other, they have many traits in common.” She hesitated. “One of them, and this is well documented by a colleague of mine in Braunsberg, is that they typically only kill within their own race. Both women were white.”

  I shook my head and took a sip a the drink. “He confessed. Case closed.”

  “He was clearly beaten to within an inch of his life. He would have probably confessed to being Preside
nt Garfield if you asked him.”

  “I ain’t never seen a man confess that weren’t guilty.”

  “That’s because you’re a rare type of law enforcement officer, Sheriff. One that won’t break the law in order to see to its enforcement.”

  I exhaled and took another drink. “He was caught in the middle a tryin’ ta rape somebody and he confessed.”

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t him. It very well could be. The study of moral insanity is a new one and we’re just barely beginning to see a glimpse of what makes these men work. There very well could be exceptions to any rules we believe and this man could have started killing outside of his race. But there’s only one way to be sure.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I need to interview him.”

  I finished my drink and set the glass down. “Well, let’s at least eat first.”

  CHAPTER 21

  We had a lunch a ham and bread with cheese, beer and salad made from Betty’s vegetable garden. We ate outside in back under the umbrella shade and afterward I sat there and listened ta Betty and Dr. Haywood talk. They were women in opposite worlds far as I could tell. Betty wanted nothin’ more than ta stay home with children but couldn’t have anymore and Dr. Haywood wanted ta do anythin’ but. She traveled the world, gave her lectures, and wrote books. Sometimes, she said, if a case really interested her, she would come out ta study the man in person.

  After lunch we headed down ta the office. Sittin’ on the porch a the mercantile was the man I had seen last night, Doolin. He was eatin’ an apple and would slice off a piece with a knife and place it gingerly in his mouth. He looked ta me and nodded and I nodded back.

  We got ta the office and Andy was there with his feet up on the desk.

  “Andy, why don’t you give us a minute, okay?”

  “Fer what?”

  “The Doc needs ta speak with this man.”

  He seemed put out some but walked out the door. I sat down at my desk while Dr. Haywood took a stool and pulled it up close ta the bars a the cell.

  “What is your name?”

  The man was starin’ at the floor, blood crusted over his face though I could see that Andy tried ta clean him up. “Dean, ma’am. Dean Johnson.”

  “Dean Johnson. I like that name. How did you end up here in Cosgrove, Dean? I can tell by your accent that you’re originally from Boston, am I correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And how did you end up here?”

  “Just here lookin’ for work, like everyone else. I was on my way to California when I stopped here for a rest.”

  “Dean, do you understand why you’ve been arrested?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They say I killed some girls.”

  “They say or you say?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Those two men who captured you said that you confessed. They say they have your signature on a document that says you were the one that killed Missy Henderson and Rebecca Wools. Did you know that?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you kill those girls, Dean?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why did you confess?”

  “They beat me, ma’am, and the one put his boot on my face and his gun to my head. He said if I didn’t confess they was gonna kill me and just say that I did.”

  “Why didn’t they kill you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I said, “Bounty’s more if he’s alive.”

  She glanced ta me and then back ta Dean.

  “They say when they came up to you, you were attempting to rape a young woman by the name of Suzie Musgrove. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes ma’am, but that wasn’t no rape.”

  “What was it then? They said you were on top of her on the ground.”

  “I paid her.”

  “Paid her?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I seen other men take their turn up at her house and I wanted one and she acted like my money wasn’t green. She said that she wouldn’t let no nigger be seen comin’ into her house but that we could do it behind her house where no one could see.”

  Dr. Haywood looked back ta me. I shook my head: Suzie Musgrove was not a whore.

  The Doctor got some things out her bag and sat down on the floor like a child.

  “Dean, I’m going to show you some drawings and ask you to identify what they are. They will be drawings of men and women and I want you to tell me what emotion they’re feeling. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She laid the first card down. “He angry,” Dean said. The next card. “Sad.” The next one. “Scared.” The next. “Happy.” The next. “Frightened of something.” The next. “Happy again.”

  This went on for some time. Finally Dr. Haywood stopped and said, “Dean come close, I want to show you something very special.” Dean leaned in close, curious, and then Dr. Haywood screamed like a banshee right in his ear. The poor bastard jumped like he’d sat on nails.

  “I’m sorry I had to do that, Dean. Our interview is over. Did you need anything?”

  He sat starin’ at her a while, and then shook his head. The Doctor motioned for me ta step outside and we did and Andy was there smokin’.

  “It isn’t him,” she said.

  “What?” I said. “You read some tarot cards and now it ain’t him?”

  “Those were not tarot cards. They were emotion cards. Men suffering from moral insanity can’t identify the emotion of fright or fear in other people. A true sufferer looks at those cards in confusion and can’t tell me the emotion, or they guess. I run through a cycle of a hundred cards and twenty percent of them are related to the emotion of fear. Dean got every one of them correct. That cannot happen with a true sufferer of this disease.”

  “Sufferer a this disease?” Andy said. “Now he’s sick? He’s just an evil bastard that’s all. World’s full a em.”

  “Andy’s right. I seen things in the War you wouldn’t believe. Men killin’ women and children just cause someone in a uniform asked em too. World’s near chokin’ with evil, we don’t need ta explain it with disease. And besides, his story don’t add up. I’ve known Suzie Musgrove since she was eleven years old. She ain’t a whore.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes I’m sure,” I said, somewhat insulted. “And I think we got our man and that’s all there is ta it.”

  She thought for a moment. “Sheriff, the disease is very purposeful about achieving its ends. It wants satisfaction of itself and it will do anything to get it. These men lead chaotic lives but in that chaos is a type of routine. A type of order. We can see that order from the outside but they can’t.

  “These men do not surprise. In the middle of a battlefield with canon fire exploding around them, they can be very calm. Were I to scream unexpectedly in the face of someone truly suffering from moral insanity, they would not jump. At most, they would be somewhat amused. You saw what Dean did.”

  “Tarot cards and screamin’. Nothin’ more scientific than that,” I said, turnin’ away.

  “Let’s go talk to Suzie.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s go talk to Suzie. Confront her. If she admits to being a lady of the night, would you at least consider that Dean is telling the truth?”

  “Doctor, I ain’t bout ta go round town accusin’ good folks a bein’ immoral when this man already confessed. Sorry, but that ain’t gonna happen.”

  I could see anger and disappointment in her eyes. “Then an innocent man’s blood is on your hands,” she said, before stormin’ off and disappearin’.

  CHAPTER 22

  It was late by the time I left the office and went down ta Gunner’s. The moon was full and it lit the town up so bright you could see almost ever’ nook and cranny. Gunner’s was nearly empty. There were exactly four people there and one of em was Gunner himself, cleanin’ some mugs behind the bar. Two were drunks that I knew only somewhat and the fourth was Doolin, sittin’ at the end a the bar c
almly sippin’ a beer. I didn’t feel like talkin’ ta him so I sat on the opposite end and ordered a beer.

  “All the bounty hunters gone?” I asked Gunner.

  “Fraid so.”

  “You disappointed?”

  “You know how much money I made? Hell yes I’m disappointed.”

  “Well, maybe nother killer will murder innocent people,” I said annoyed. He looked at me bashfully, embarrassed, and I said, “Hell Gunner, I’m sorry. Don’t pay me no mind. I haven’t been sleepin’ right.”

  “It’s all right, Sheriff. We all entitled to let the piss out every now and again. Let me know when you need nother one.”

  I exhaled and took a long drink a the beer, lettin’ it sting my throat and warm my guts. The foam was on my lip and I licked it off. I finished the beer in just two more gulps and fore I could order nother Gunner had dropped one off and said, “From the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

  I raised the mug ta Doolin and he did the same with his shot a whiskey and we drank.

  “Reckon you’ll be leavin’,” I said loudly.

  “Not yet.”

  I got up, curious now, and sat down closer ta him. “Bounty’s been paid. The man’s trial is gonna be in a week or so and he’ll hang after that. What else you want here?”

  “That ain’t him.”

  “Ain’t who?”

  He pointed ta his glass and Gunner poured him another shot. “That man sittin’ in your jail isn’t the one that killed those girls.”

  “Lord All Mighty I’m just surrounded by fortune tellers today, ain’t I? You talk ta the doctor?”

  “What doctor?”

  “Nevermind. And why, Mr. Doolin, do you believe that the man sittin’ in my cell is not the killer? He confessed and was found in the process a violatin’ a young woman.”

  “What’s this about the doctor?”

  I took another drink. “An alienist. A type a specialist a the criminal mind. She don’t believe it’s him neither.”