It was almost ten by the time I got to the Arlington to call Lizzie. The lobby was crowded – families checking out before heading home and diners scarfing their breakfasts. The smell of coffee and bacon made my stomach growl. A bellhop zipped in front of me with a cart overloaded with bags and cases, making for the exit.
I passed by the restaurant and saw William Tindall at the same raised table he’d occupied the day before. There was only one other person with him this time, a woman. At a guess, about the same age as him, decked out in pearls and a shimmering aquamarine dress, her fair hair intricately pinned. Tindall was reading the newspaper, while the woman picked at a plate of fruit. She said something and he laughed, his eyes dancing in genuine humour. He reached across to chuck her chin and went back to his reading.
I watched them for a few seconds, the throng around me keeping me inconspicuous. The waiters fawned over Tindall, taking his chair when he stood to shake hands with a fellow diner, and refreshing his drink every second sip. He seemed to enjoy the attention, sharing a joke with them as he sat back down and handing out tips as easy as handshakes. His presence unsettled me; the locals seemed to buy him as some kind of bigwig, but I only saw the killer reputed to have slain at least five men.
I walked across to the phone booths and placed a call home. When the call went through, Lizzie answered straightaway. It felt good to hear her voice – and it brought back a nagging doubt whether I was doing the right thing by staying.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m so glad you called, Charlie. It’s empty here without you.’
‘I miss you too.’ I took my hat off and dangled it from my finger. ‘Hold that thought till I can be back there.’
‘Are you coming home soon?’
‘I can’t. Not yet.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I found some things out. I just can’t make them fit together yet.’
‘Please don’t be obtuse with me, Charlie.’
I let out a breath, knew she was right to call me on it. ‘The more I dig, the more I think Robinson was murdered. I just can’t prove it yet.’
She was quiet for a moment as it sank in. Then came the questions. ‘Who would do that? Are you in danger?’
‘No, no. I’m not in any danger.’
‘How can you say that with certainty? If he was killed because of what he knew – what you know . . .’
‘Just wait a minute. I don’t think it was to do with Texarkana – not directly anyway. My best guess is Robinson went after another crooked sheriff, and he got in over his head.’
Her breathing was ragged down the line. ‘Isn’t that proof enough that you should get out of there, then? Please, Charlie. We didn’t come all this way just for . . .’ She let the thought wither and die, too hard to finish.
The silence hung for a moment, neither of us knowing how to persuade or reassure the other. Then I laid it out for her. ‘There were two women, Jeanette Runnels and Bess Prescott. They were both twenty-four years old. They were murdered.’ The words I didn’t need to say: same as your sister.
‘Then let the police do their work. I know why you don’t trust them but they’re not all like Bailey and Sherman.’
‘The police killed a man they said did it. They said he confessed but no one witnessed it. I don’t think Robinson believed he was guilty, and I need to know what made him think that way.’
‘Why, Charlie?’
‘Because if this man didn’t do it, then more women are going to die.’ My voice was urgent now, too forceful. Trying to convince myself as much as her. I closed my eyes and counted to five, trying to level off. ‘The police don’t care. These women mean nothing to them and it galls me. As far as they’re concerned, they got their man and they’ve closed the book on it.’
‘I meant why does it have to be you? This isn’t your hill to die on.’ She said it softly, cutting right through my anger.
I gripped the telephone cord. ‘Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to have any more blood on my conscience.’
It went quiet again. I listened to her breathing, could have sworn I felt it against my cheek. She said, ‘Is it always going to be this way?’
‘What way?’
‘I know your work here bores you, Charlie, and I know you’re only happy when you’re chasing a story—’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Okay. Perhaps I should have said happiest. But I worry that I’m always going to lose you to whatever’s next.’
‘That’s not how it’ll be.’ To my own ears it sounded like I was pleading. ‘I’ll be back as soon as this is done.’
‘And then what? What if Sal calls you from New York with a story for you? Or goodness knows who else?’
‘Then nothing. This is different. Robinson came here to make things right. It cost him his life and he entrusted me to finish what he started. You can see why I have to do this, can’t you?’
‘Not if it’s at the cost of your life too.’
I had no comeback. If Robinson was murdered, it stood to reason I was putting myself in the firing line by poking around in the same hornet’s nest – and she knew it. I saw it was no use trying to convince her and made up my mind to move matters along, focus her attention elsewhere. ‘Lizzie, I need you to do something for me.’
‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘No. This is related. It’s important.’
‘What is it?’
I glanced back towards the restaurant. ‘There’s a man here, his name’s William Tindall. He used to be a racketeer in New York, a big one, but he disappeared. Now he’s here acting like he’s royalty. I want to know how he came to be here and what his game is. Men like him don’t retire.’
‘I don’t understand, where does he fit into all this?’
‘I don’t know, and that’s what’s troubling me. But this place does crooked for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I don’t like the coincidence.’
‘Is this busywork? Are you trying to divert me?’ She sounded doubtful and eager at the same time.
‘No. I’ll see what I can turn up this end. I want you to cover off the background. Start with Sal. He’ll be able to give you the New York dope, and he’ll know who to speak to for the rest. Check the wire services too, and the cuttings files, see if you can turn up anything there. I’ll square it off with Acheson.’
‘Are you sure? I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘I know what you’re capable of, and so do you.’
‘All right, but only on the condition that you come home at the first sign of trouble. Do we have a deal?’
I lodged my hat back on my head. ‘I’ll call again soon.’
I broke the connection and checked my watch, thinking about another run at Ella Borland – not ready to give up on my best lead just yet. I pulled out my notebook and found her number, dropped a nickel into the slot. The same man as before answered, almost immediately this time.
‘This is Yates calling for Ella Borland.’
Again he said nothing, and again she came on the line a few seconds later.
‘Miss Borland, this is Charlie Yates – we spoke yesterday.’
‘I remember you, Mr Yates.’
‘I don’t mean to badger you but I had one more question I was hoping you could answer for me. It’s about Jimmy.’
‘I assumed that was the purpose of the call. What is it you want to know?’
‘Can you tell me when Jimmy first approached you?’
‘I don’t— Give me a moment.’ I waited, not sure if she was thinking about it or about hanging up. Then she came back on the line. ‘Sometime in August. Maybe towards the end of the month.’
Bingo. Confirmation that Robinson was coming to Hot Springs long before he moved to Duke’s to live. The timelines jibed as well; Barrett shot Glover in mid-August – if Robinson had read about it and that had drawn his attention, it would make sense of why he came on the scene around that time. It still didn’t explain why he suddenly came here to stay in early October. The obvious answer: he felt he was getting close to something. ‘Ma’am, did Jimmy ever talk about Sheriff Barrett to you?’
‘What’s the significance of this, Mr Yates?’
I tried to keep it breezy. ‘Just loose ends I want to tie up, is all.’
‘I rather doubt that. I thought some more about our conversation yesterday.’
I pressed the receiver tighter to my ear. ‘Yes?’
‘I told you, it’s still very hard for me to talk about Jeannie and what happened to her, so when you called before, it was a shock to bring it all to mind again.’
‘I understand, I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I’ve had time to think about it now, and if you still want to meet to talk about Jimmy, I’d be willing to consider it. What I’d like to know, however, is what your intentions are, as relates to his death.’
‘My intentions . . .’ I tried to bring order to my thoughts, suddenly thrown into a jumble by her about-turn. ‘Look, I’ll tell it straight. I want to know what he was doing and if it got him killed. And if it turns out there was foul play involved, then I’m here to see that the parties who did it get what’s coming to them.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I sensed that was it. So this is about revenge.’
‘Not revenge. Justice.’
‘You sound like you’re certain he was murdered.’
‘I’m not certain about anything. But I won’t go away until I am.’
‘You talk the same way Jimmy did. He was always talking about justice.’ Her voice was distant as she said it, and I thought I’d scared her off; that the idea of gouging open the same wounds as Robinson had done was too much for her to contemplate. But then she said, ‘I’ll agree to meet with you, but I’ll want to know what makes you think he was killed. Everything. If you hold something back, you won’t hear from me again.’
‘Fine.’ It sounded like she’d been burned before, and I wondered if it was by Robinson – and what he would have tried to hide from her. ‘Can you meet me today? Somewhere in town?’
‘Very well, but not in town. Let’s say five o’clock this evening at Jaycee Park. It’s still under construction, so we’ll have privacy enough. There’s a bench at the south-east corner, right where the railroad crosses the creek. I’ll be waiting.’
‘I’ll be there.’
I put the receiver back in its cradle and tapped the top of the unit, staring at nothing across the lobby. The amateur spook bullshit was a wrinkle I wasn’t expecting, made me wonder what I was walking into. It was as though she was afraid to be seen talking with me.