CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Red Ryan and Pip Ogden’s conversation over lunch centered on the murder of Major Morgan and the subsequent lynching of the innocent Apache. They were drinking coffee when Buttons Muldoon walked into Ma’s Kitchen with Rachel Tyler in tow. “I thought I might find you here,” Buttons said. “Miss Tyler has something to say to you, Mr. Ogden.”

Red and Ogden had both stood, and now Red directed the girl to a chair. “Please sit. Rachel.”

“No, thank you, I must be getting back to the ranch.” Rachel said. “I’d just like to thank you again for what you did for me this morning. Mr. Ogden, you must come out to the Rafter-T one day and meet my father.”

Ogden bowed and smiled. “It will be a great pleasure, Miss Tyler. And there’s no need to thank me. I was merely doing my duty as a concerned citizen.”

Red smiled and said, “It was nice seeing you again, Rachel. But next time I hope we meet in happier circumstances.”

“Me too, Red,” the girl said. “I think I’ve had enough excitement to last me a while.”

“Miss Tyler, just before you go, may I compliment you on the cameo you’re wearing,” Ogden said.

Rachel touched the brooch. “It was my deceased mother’s. She wore it on her wedding day.”

“I see,” Ogden said. “Then she had exquisite taste.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said. “Now I really must go, and do take me up on my invitation to the ranch, Mr. Ogden.”

“You can depend on it,” the little detective said.

After the girl left, Red said, “Damn it, Ogden, do you have to suspect everybody?”

“Yes, I had to ask,” Ogden said. “It’s a detective’s duty to ask questions. Ninety-nine percent of the answers lead nowhere, but there’s always that one percent that does. You’ll learn that as a detective, Ryan.”

“I’m not a detective,” Red said. “I’m a shotgun guard.”

“And speaking of that, I have news,” Muldoon said. He sat, called over a waiter, ordered the beef stew, bread rolls, and a wedge of apple pie and said, “Send the bill to Sheriff Lyons.”

“Buttons, I swear, you’re going to weigh five hundred pounds before we leave here,” Red said.

“Don’t worry, we’re leaving soon,” Muldoon said. He reached under his sailor’s coat and with a flourish produced a telegram that he slapped on the table in front of Red so hard that it made the cutlery lying on his empty plate rattle. “I picked this up at the depot. It’s from Patterson and Son,” he said. “A passenger to be picked up at Fort Concho.”

“Fort Concho again?” Red said. “Another army wife?”

“Wrong sex. Wrong army. Read the wire.”

Red picked up the telegram and read:

PASSENGER PICKUP FORT CONCHO
SOONEST. BRITISH ARMY DESERTER AND
COWARD. TRANSPORT THIS OFFICER TO
GALVESTON FOR ARREST BY ROYAL NAVY
FRIGATE HMS HEPHAESTUS.
ABE PATTERSON

Red passed the wire to Ogden without comment. The little detective scanned the paper, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead like hairy caterpillars. After a while he said, “Ryan, you’ve already made a commitment to me and to Sheriff Lyons.”

“Hardly a commitment,” Red said. “More like following an order.”

Ogden opened his mouth to speak, but Red headed him off when he said, “When do you want to leave, Buttons?”

“Tomorrow morning, I guess.”

Now Red turned to Ogden and said, “You heard the man.”

“Leave tomorrow and some guilty parties could escape justice,” the little detective said.

“I know that,” Red said. “Buttons, what do you think?”

“According to what I hear at the stage depot, no trains will leave El Paso for points north until a bridge is repaired,” Muldoon said. “They say it will be another couple of days.”

“Can we delay picking up the Limey officer that long?” Red said.

“He’s in Fort Concho, so he’s not going anywhere,” Buttons said. “But I don’t know how long the navy ship intends to stay in port at Galveston.”

“Until they get their prisoner, I guess,” Red said. “Remaining in Galveston with its saloons and brothels is no hardship for sailors.”

“They must want the coward real bad to send a warship after him,” Buttons said.

“Seems like,” Red said. “But maybe it’s a small warship.” Then to Ogden, “All right, I can give you two more days.”

“Two days is enough if we make the most of them,” Ogden said.

“Since time is short, lay it out for me, Ogden,” Red said. “You came all the way from San Antonio through some rough country that could still have hostile Apaches roaming around. You must have had good reason to believe that Stella Morgan and Lucian Carter really are murderers.”

Pip Ogden nodded. “Here’s the bottom line, Ryan . . . yes, I firmly believe Stella Morgan and Lucian Carter killed Martha Morgan for her money and jewelry. I talked with the lawyer who drew up Martha’s will, and he said she left all her considerable fortune to her soldier son, Major Morgan. I believe Stella knew she’d be a rich widow one day, but she decided to hasten the process and have her husband murdered. In my opinion, the killer was Lucian Carter. Are the murders of Isak and Raisa Rabinovich somehow connected to Carter? I don’t know.”

Buttons said, “Hell, Ogden, haul T. C. Lyons out of his office and go arrest Stella Morgan and Carter. Seems simple enough to me.”

“Everything I’ve said is suspicion and conjecture, and it won’t stand up in a court of law. What I need is proof,” Ogden said. “Examining the contents of Stella Morgan’s carpetbag would be a good start.”

“And that’s not going to be easy,” Red said. “Lucian Carter never allows the damned thing out of his sight.”

“Nothing in a murder investigation is ever easy,” Ogden said. “Ryan, recovering the bag is of the utmost importance, so we have it to do. We’re lucky we already have a plan, aren’t we?”