Angie showed Clint into a room with a steaming bathtub in the center of the floor. There was a chair in the corner, and she dropped his towels and cloths onto it.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, and moved the chair closer to the tub. “I’ll need to hang my gunbelt on that, within easy reach.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realize … do you have it close to you at all times?”
“Yes,” he said, “at all times.”
“Even asleep?”
“Hanging on the bedpost,” he said.
“That must be a difficult way to live.”
He shrugged. “I’m used to it now. It’s become part of me.”
“I suppose so,” she said. “Here’s your soap.” She handed him a brand new bar.
“Thank you.”
“Take your time,” she said, “this tub is designed to hold the heat in for a long time.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Just let me know when you’re finished,” she said.
“I will,” he said. “Thank you.”
She didn’t move.
“If you leave,” he said, “I’ll get undressed.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, “sorry.” She backed out of the room and closed the door.
Clint got undressed, put his clothes on the chair, hung his gunbelt on the back, and eased himself into the hot water. He sighed as the heart began to seep into his muscles. Rather than wash immediately he just soaked for a while, letting the heat do its work.
Detective Dan Kingman got back to the police station and immediately went to the Chief’s office.
“Chief?” he said, knocking on the open door.
The man looked up and waved him in.
“Sit,” the said. “What have you got?”
“I went to the Walnut Inn, checked on the bona fides of the man who said he was Clint Adams.”
“And?”
“It appears he was telling the truth,” Kingman said. “He has letters in that name.”
“Is that all?”
“No,” Kingman said. “I checked at the livery across from the hotel. If he’s not Adams, he’s riding Adams’ horse.”
“How do you know?”
“The Gunsmith rides a big Darley Arabian,” Kingman said. “Everybody knows that. It’s not a horse you see everywhere.”
“All right,” the Chief said, “so the Gunsmith is in town. What does that tell us?”
“He also agrees with my thinking,” Kingman said. “About the vandalism.”
“That it’s an inside job?”
“Yes,” the detective said. “He indicated that he might have a name for me tomorrow.”
“And when is he leaving town?”
“Very soon,” Kingman said. “He originally said he was only staying a couple of days. I assume he’s leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“Well,” the Chief said, “let’s hope he gets you that name before he leaves, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Chief sat back in his chair.
“You know there’s a short-list of who could be the inside man, don’t you?”
“Yessir,” Kingman said. “Glanville, the manager; David Rabe, the clerk; and Brad Wyatt, head of security.”
“Wyatt wore a badge in Springfield for a while,” the Chief said.
“Until you took it away from him.”
“I came in and swept out all the corruption,” the older man said. “He was knee deep in it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If there’s an inside man,” the Chief said, “he’s my best bet.”
“I agree.”
“Have you spent any time on him?”
“Followed him for a day or two, but he only went to work, and back home again, with a stop for someplace to eat and have a drink.”
“And who’d he talk to?”
“Nobody,” Kingman said. “From what I can see, he’s got no friends.”
“Everybody has somebody they talk to, Dan,” the Chief said. “Women?”
“Just whores.”
“All right,” the Chief said, “let’s see if Mr. Adams actually comes through with a name for you.”
Kingman nodded and rose to leave.
“Remind me again why you think something other than vandalism happened?” the Chief said.
“Because,” Kingman said, “it’s kind of hard to have vandalism without any damage, Chief.”
“Ah, yes,” the Chief said, nodding, “you did make that point before.”