Clint left the police department, having learned nothing, but he’d made an enemy of the chief. The man wanted him out of town by tomorrow, but if Clint didn’t find Harlan Banks by then—or, at least, word of him—it would be time for him to leave anyway. His next stop would be Yuma, but first . . . the mayor.
* * *
He went to City Hall, presented himself to the mayor’s secretary.
“You don’t have an appointment,” the severe, middle-aged woman said.
“No, I don’t,” Clint said, “but I think he’ll see me. The chief of police sent me.”
“Chief Blake?”
“That’s right.”
“One moment, please.”
She stood up and went through a door behind her, presumably into the mayor’s office. When she came back, she said to Clint, “He’ll see you.”
Clint had gone this route many times before, been in the offices of many mayors in many towns. Certain rituals were repeated from town to town. There was no way around it. Leaving his horse at a livery, registering at a hotel, that first beer and first steak after the trail.
The mayors he had met in the past usually fell into two categories. All were politicians, but some were satisfied with their job, while others wished to use it as a stepping-stone to bigger things. Having already met the chief—and talked to the sheriff—he had a feeling he knew what kind of man Mayor Halliday was.
He entered the office. The mayor was a large man, broad in the shoulders, had not gone soft like many politicians did behind a desk.
The man didn’t look happy.
“I understand you just came from the chief of police.”
“I have.”
“Why would he send you here?”
“He didn’t send me,” Clint said. “I told him I was coming.”
“You told my secretary—”
“I lied,” Clint said. “It was a little white lie, though.”
“I don’t like jokes, Mr. Adams.”
“This is no joke, Mayor,” Clint said. “I’m here looking for a man named Harlan Banks. Everyone I’ve talked to—bartenders, storekeepers, the law—all claim to have never heard of him.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“I’m giving you a chance to be the only one to tell me the truth.”
“The truth being?”
“That Harlan Banks was here,” Clint said. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me where he went. Or what happened to him.”
“I could do that, except . . .”
“Except?”
“Except that I’ve never heard of Harlan Banks,” the mayor said.
“Which is what everybody else in town says.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s the truth,” the mayor said. “Maybe this Banks fellow is in Yuma.”
Clint stared at the mayor. Was he telling him that Banks was in Yuma?
“Why don’t you go there?”
“And get out of Prescott?” Clint asked. “Funny, that’s what the chief told me.”
“Then he’s doing his job.”
“So,” Clint said, “let me get this straight, Mr. Mayor. Nobody in this town has ever heard of Harlan Banks?”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “Well, then, I guess I’m done here.”
“So you’ll be leaving?”
Clint stood and nodded.
“In the morning, yes.”
“I hope you enjoyed your stay in Prescott, Mr. Adams,” the mayor said.
“Well, no, I didn’t,” Clint said.
The mayor did not respond to that.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mayor.”
Clint turned and headed for the door.
“Would you do me a favor?” the mayor asked.
“Sure, why not?”
“Send my secretary in on your way out.”
“Sure thing.”
He stopped at the woman’s desk and said, “He wants to see you now.”
“Right now?” she asked.
“Yes,” Clint answered, “that’s what he said, right now.”
She remained seated behind her desk, staring at him. He realized she wasn’t going to move until he was gone. He entertained the thought of just standing there and seeing if he could outlast her, but in the end he turned and left.