Standing on the tidy porch of 153 Oppenheimer, Granville tightened all the muscles in his neck and shoulders, then released them. He checked the fit of his gun in the holster strapped to his thigh.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Scott, Detective Moore and several heavily armed New Westminster police—Vancouver’s Chief of Police had declined to be involved in this little exercise. Moore had argued strongly for he and his men to be standing right beside Granville and Scott, but in the end they’d conceded.
He just hoped his reading of the situation had been right.
Mad Al Pearson himself answered the door to Granville’s knock.
He didn’t seem surprised; gave them a nod of recognition. Though the fellow didn’t appear to be armed, Granville let his hand rest on his own revolver.
It earned him a hard stare but Pearson stepped back to allow him entry.
“My name is John Granville and I’ve come…”
“I know why you’re here.”
“Then you’ll know I didn’t come alone.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you still here?”
“My brother is dead. I’ve avenged him.”
“You could have fled.”
“My niece needed me.”
“Your niece is about to become a very wealthy woman.”
“So I understand.”
Granville gave him a hard stare. “How did you know we meant to give the map to her? That is why you didn’t pursue us in Denver, isn’t it?”
Mad Al nodded.
“How did you find out?”
“You had the map, but you didn’t register the mine. At first I thought you’d sell it to the highest bidder, but then I learned you were asking questions about my brother and looking for me.”
“So?”
“If you’d killed my brother for the map, or partnered with that old villain, it wouldn’t have served you to look for Jim.” The depth of pain in the man’s eyes as he uttered his dead brother’s name made Granville’s gut clench. “And then there was the child.”
“Child?”
Mad Al smiled, and Granville suddenly saw exactly what Emily had meant when she said she rather liked the man. “Scott’s niece. Men who sought so hard to find a lost child, against such odds, would not knowingly do my niece wrong. Even an ambush didn’t deter you.”
“I’d give much to know how you came by your information.”
The deep-set eyes regarded him. “I’m well known there,” was the only answer Mad Al gave.
Granville nodded. “You did kill my client, did you not? Cole?”
“He killed my brother. He deserved to die.”
“He would have hung. Now you will.”
Mad Al shrugged. There was a look in his eyes that made Granville uneasy.
“Did you kill Cole?”
“Yes.”
“And the photographer?”
“Fool thought he’d try a spot of blackmail.”
It wasn’t the answer Granville had found himself hoping for. “What about Jim’s daughter? What about Mary? She’ll need someone to look after her.”
Mad Al tilted his head slightly and contemplated Granville. “And here I thought you’d promised your late client to make sure she got the mine. Way I figure it, means you’ll have to protect her, too.”
“Where d’you hear that?”
“Your young assistant talks too much. Like I said, I know people.”
Trent. The boy was lucky to be alive, and probably didn’t even know it. “So why didn’t you just light out? Head north?”
Mad Al shrugged. “I figured this was justice.”
“And Mr. Pearson just let himself be handcuffed?” Emily asked. They sat in her mother’s overheated parlor, armchairs pulled close together, heavy drapes drawn against the weather.
Emily expected to be interrupted at any moment, so she spoke quickly. “But why? Does he expect to be acquitted?”
“I think he really doesn’t want to live without his brother,” Granville said.
“Oh. You liked him, didn’t you?”
“Yes. He wasn’t mean spirited, and he has a clear sense of justice, even if it’s a little old testament for my taste. He wasn’t what I’d expected.”
She thought about it for a moment. “Then why did he kill Mr. Morgan?”
“Morgan and his aunt were blackmailing former clients. And Morgan tried to blackmail Mary with the thefts at the Raynors.”
Emily’s eyes searched his face. “Blackmail her how?”
She didn’t miss a thing. He’d hoped to avoid telling her this part, but it didn’t surprise him if she’d guessed. “He was pressuring her for her favors.”
She nodded. “It had to be something like that to make her uncle commit another murder.”
“I think he’d already decided to die for avenging his brother; to him this was the surest way of taking care of his brother’s daughter too.”
“And Mary?”
“Still in Seattle. Scott’s gone to get her back.”
“It’s so sad.” She was looking down, tracing little patterns on her skirts. “All those deaths, for gold.”
“Yes.”
She looked up, met his eyes. Her own were steady and serious. “Would you kill? I mean, is there anything that would make you kill someone?”
“Not for gold.”
“For what?”
“For the people I care about. If I had to save you, for instance.” He tried to turn it into a joke, but couldn’t quite pull it off.
Her cheeks flamed, but her eyes were steady. “Even when our engagement is over?”
“Even then. If it is over. I like you, Emily.”
Her lips quirked. “That’s good,” she said, “because we may be engaged for a time yet. I’m proving to be a dreadful typewriter.”
Her eyes were telling him something quite different.