CHAPTER 8
In the front parlor of The Campbell Arms, Billy told Robert Lagrange about the three women he had found butchered in the house at the edge of town.
When he finished telling him the entire story from the beginning, Lagrange looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Strange.” He sipped his coffee. “Yes, quite strange indeed.”
Billy waited for more, but Lagrange was still mulling over the situation in his mind.
He remembered he had not liked the Pinkerton man back when they had first met on Mr. Rice’s private car all of those months ago. Mr. Rice had assigned Lagrange to remain in Dover Station and keep an eye on James Grant’s influence over Silas Van Dorn and the Dover Station Company.
Robert Lagrange’s gray suit and shined shoes were city attire, and his matching bowler hat had no place in a Montana frontier town. His brown moustaches and chin whiskers were as perfectly groomed and waxed as his wavy hair was styled. Even after living among the people of Dover Station for so many months, Mr. Lagrange had remained quite the dandy who bore the confidence of a man better suited for a boardroom than horseback.
But Billy had seen how Lagrange could handle himself when the bullets flew and knew this city man was much tougher than he looked. Billy normally didn’t like city men, but he had grown to like Lagrange.
With Aaron chasing down Henry Hancock, the Pinkerton man was the only man in town he could trust to help him with the house of dead women. Because if there was anyone who distrusted James Grant as much as Aaron and Billy, it was Robert Lagrange.
The detective set his coffee cup back in the saucer. “Underhill’s reluctance to go public is as encouraging as Grant’s rush to involve the public is troubling. Do you think the chief is finally turning on the mayor?”
“I’m not sure he was ever really with him,” Billy admitted. “He would’ve been a fool not to take the chief’s job when Grant gave it to him. Maybe he’s looked the other way a couple of times, but he showed good sense in keeping these murders quiet.”
“At least until we’ve had a good look at the bodies.” He looked back at the clock at the other end of the parlor. “And I’d say we’ll want to get moving as soon as possible. Decay will settle in fast now that the warmer weather is upon us.”
“Decay won’t make much of a difference,” Billy said. “They were killed some time last night and found after sunrise this morning.”
Lagrange filed both of their coffee cups. “According to our fair mayor.”
Billy frowned. “Seems like everything we know so far is based on what that bastard tells us.”
“It’s like that with most things in Dover Station.” Lagrange tapped a finger against his coffee mug as he thought things through. “Grant has become far more dangerous now than he was when I first came to town. His growing alliance with the Hancock family proves that.” He tapped his saucer with a fingernail. “I wonder if the deaths of these women have anything to do with the Hancock clan moving into town.”
Billy had not thought of that before, but did not think there was much to it now. “The Hancocks have been known to run saloons and joy houses, but I’ve never known them to bother with the Celestials and the troubles they bring.”
“You mean gambling and opium,” Lagrange concluded. “Yes, I can see why. The Chinese are a stubborn lot when it comes to the administration of vices. Best to take a cut of their action and let them do as they will. They’ll wind up doing that anyway, so fighting it is pointless. But I find the presence of three Chinese women in that part of town to be a fascinating development. Why there? Why not in the heart of town? Why not in a saloon? Certainly, they could have carved out a niche for themselves in one of the other establishments.”
Billy fought down the bile that rose in his throat. “Don’t use that term.”
“Carve?” Lagrange repeated. “Why?”
“You’ll see for yourself when you come see the bodies,” was all Billy would say. “Best if you make your own conclusions.”
Lagrange smiled as he sipped his coffee. “Now I’m positively intrigued.”
The detective brightened when Mrs. Katherine Campbell approached the table. Billy noticed there wasn’t anything lustful in the way he looked at her. It was just the effect she tended to have on people.
“What’s all this talk about intrigue?” she asked. “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with my place. Intrigue is hard on the furniture.”
She bent and kissed Billy on the cheek. “Morning, Deputy.”
“Morning, Katie.”
Billy knew he was one of the last people in town to still call her that. Mrs. Katherine Campbell was not only the owner of The Campbell Arms, but Aaron Mackey’s lady friend. She had been born into a fine Boston family and had an accent to match, a nicer accent to Billy’s ear than Lagrange’s. He knew she was older than Aaron by a few years and might even be closer to forty, but it wasn’t easy to tell. She had developed fine lines around her eyes and mouth from smiling so much since she’d come to Dover Station to find Aaron, her true love.
Billy knew the two of them had been through a lot together, and he kept hoping Aaron would ask her to marry him one day. But Aaron Mackey was a stubborn man and wasn’t easily rushed. If he wanted to ask her, he’d ask her and in his own time. Not a second before.
She rearranged the silverware on the table to make it more orderly. “Have either of you heard any news from our traveling marshal?”
“Not yet,” Billy said, “but I expect him along today or tomorrow at the latest. Hancock’s not that far.”
“I’m not worried about the distance,” Katherine said. “I’m worried about what he’ll find once he’s there. Henry Hancock has crafted himself quite a dangerous reputation.”
“So has Aaron Mackey.” Lagrange laughed. “I’m sure the marshal can handle himself, Mrs. Campbell. I’ve seen him do it plenty of times, and I haven’t known him for that long.”
“Well I’ve known him longer than that,” she said, “and as the marshal himself is fond of saying, it only takes one bullet to change everything.” She looked at Billy. “You said he might be back today?”
Billy hated hearing the concern in her voice. He was sure Aaron was fine, but she was right. All it took was a single bullet to change everything forever. He had seen a lot of forevers changed that way. “It’s possible, but don’t hold me to it. But if he’s not back by tomorrow, I’ll send a wire to Hancock before I go riding up there. Can’t speak to the accuracy of the response as the town most likely hates him, but I’ll send it just the same.”
“I’d appreciate that.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know why he just didn’t let you go with him in the first place.”
“Said he wanted to handle it himself.” Billy shrugged. “He can be stubborn.”
“Don’t I know it. Can I get you gentlemen another pot of coffee?”
“No thanks,” Lagrange said. “Deputy Sunday and I have some work to attend to, don’t we?”
“Oh?” Katherine asked. “That intriguing kind of work you were taking about when I interrupted.”
Billy liked the fancy man, but often wondered if his elegant ways might get them all in trouble someday. He wasn’t worried about Katherine saying something, but about one of the guests roaming through The Campbell Arms overhearing something. “It might be nothing. Just something I’ve asked Robert here to help me with.”
“Does it involve Aaron and that damned Hancock clan?”
“Nothing at all,” Billy assured her.
Though, now that she had mentioned it, he wondered if it could.
* * *
If Lagrange was bothered by the prospect of gore when he followed Billy into the house, he did a good job of hiding it. The Pinkerton Detective Agency had a well-earned reputation of training its men in all of the most modern investigative techniques. It wasn’t just book learning, either. They saw real bodies in real life.
“That sickness I saw in the front yard,” Lagrange said. “Do we know where that came from?”
“Underhill.”
The detective smiled at the deputy marshal. “Really?” “Said the smell got to him. Didn’t get past the front door on account of it.”
“I never would’ve guessed that.” Lagrange pointed to Billy’s lantern. “Light that up and let us see what we can see.”
Billy had borrowed a lantern from The Campbell Arms and lit it as they moved deeper into the house. It was well on into the afternoon and some areas of the house were darker than others. He lit the lantern and handed it to Lagrange.
The detective raised the lantern high as he examined the first floor. “I see there’s a large amount of blood on the walls and on the floor by the front door,” he observed, “but very little on the steps themselves.”
Billy hadn’t noticed that the first time he had been in the house that morning. “What does that mean?”
“I won’t know until I see everything,” Lagrange explained. “I was taught that if I concoct a theory now, I’ll fit what I find to match it. That’s no good for anyone, especially the victims.”
Billy followed the Pinkerton man upstairs.
“More smears on the walls and floor up here,” Lagrange said when he reached the second floor.
He stopped when he saw the three dead women who had been placed between the bed and the wall. Billy thought the shadows cast by the lantern on the bodies made the macabre scene look even more horrible than it already was.
“They’re certainly Chinese and most certainly dead,” Lagrange observed as he moved closer to the corpses. “Now I can also see why Grant would want to make this public.”
Billy had not expected him to say that. “Why?”
Lagrange set the lantern on the table beside the bed. “Because this kind of butchery qualifies as a massacre, and any reporter worth his salt, even one working for a local rag like the Record, ever got hold of this, it would cause a great panic.”
Billy still didn’t understand his reason. “Why would a mayor want a panic in his own town?”
“Panics can be tricky,” Lagrange said, “but beneficial to a leader if handled properly. Given that Grant holds sway over the business and political interests in this town, he could arrange it so he benefited nicely from his people’s fear.”
Billy looked from the detective to the three dead women. “You think he planned this?”
“Not at this point,” Lagrange admitted, “but I wouldn’t put it past him to try to capitalize on the deaths of these poor women in a way that benefits him. The greater the crisis, the greater the glory to the man who captures the villain and brings him to justice. Imagine how heroic the police chief of London would look if he were able to capture the fiend behind those murders in Whitechapel.”
Billy still had not gotten down the knack of reading, but he had heard people talk about the murders in London and how the city was terrified. If something like that could happen in the biggest city in the world, Billy could only imagine what it would do to a place like Dover Station.
He was beginning to see Lagrange’s point. “And Grant could benefit from that kind of trouble.”
“Most certainly,” Lagrange said. “Create the panic so that he could stem it and look like the hero. With statehood right around the corner, what better way for him to look like a man who can get things done than to stomp out the villain he created? Probably pin it on some poor drunk. Although the town’s image would suffer in the short term, Grant could personally profit greatly in the long run.”
Billy knew Grant was capable of a lot, but he didn’t want to think the man was capable of killing three women for the sake of headlines. Lagrange’s theory explained why Grant had been so eager to involve Doc Ridley and the Record. “Think we prove it?”
“Probably not,” Lagrange said as he held the lantern aloft and examined the three corpses that had been positioned beside the bed. “You didn’t arrange the bodies in the seating position, did you?”
“I haven’t touched anything,” Billy said. “All I did was check under the bed to see if the knife was there. It wasn’t. Checked the rest of the house and the yard out back. Didn’t find anything there, either, so whoever did this must have taken the knife with them.”
“For good reason,” Lagrange said. “A blade that can cut so deep so easily is hard to come by.” He inched the bed aside with his leg as he moved in to get a closer look at the three corpses. He held the lantern close as he examined the neck wound of the young woman on the left before moving on to wounds of the other two beside her.
“The flimsy nightgowns, cheap rouge, and powder on their faces tell me they were whores. Am I right?”
“I’ve got Underhill looking into that,” Billy said, “but it looks that way. Decent layout for one. Three rooms upstairs and the front parlor downstairs for entertaining guests. I’d say the oldest one there at the end might’ve been the madam.”
“I’d say she was around thirty.” Lagrange ran the lantern over the bodies. “They were seated on the floor like a child’s dolls. They certainly didn’t fall this way. They were posed like this.”
That was another question Billy needed answered. “Why?”
“It’s all part of his ruse,” Lagrange declared as he continued to examine the corpses.
Billy didn’t understand. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The bloodstains show the women died where they fell,” the detective explained. “One downstairs who opened the door and two in this room. Probably made a last stand against the killer or something. He brought the unfortunate girl from downstairs and carried her up here with the others. We know that he carried her because of the lack of blood on the stair treads themselves. He placed all three of them in a seated position and went about desecrating the corpses afterward. We know they were already dead by the lack of blood from the head and other stab wounds.”
Lagrange stood up and looked at Billy. “Chief Underhill was right to bring you in first, Billy. Your experience on the frontier helped you see through the other horrors the killer left to distract us from what really happened here.”
Billy still wasn’t sure what Lagrange was talking about. “Which is?”
“A man with a sharp blade cut the throats of three whores,” Lagrange explained. “All the rest of it is just a distraction. The placement of them, the other horrors he committed. None of them matter. All that matters is the deaths.”
Lagrange thought of something as he moved the lantern to look over them again. “It shows whoever did this was cunning enough to lay a trap for us.”
Billy realized he must have seen the confused look on his face, for Lagrange explained, “I mean look at all the lengths he went to in order to make this seem worse than it already was. And then to leave the door open like that for Grant to find? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Billy finally understood what Lagrange was getting at. And he was able to make a conclusion of his own. One that changed everything. “It only makes sense when you realize who benefits from all of this. Grant.”
He looked at Lagrange. “Underhill told me how he found out about this. Grant came and got him.”
Lagrange pushed his bowler farther back on his head and began to scratch. “Given that it’s James Grant we’re talking about, I’d say there’s an excellent chance he’s involved in this somehow, and, as usual, we have no evidence whatsoever to arrest him, much less bring him before a judge.”
Lagrange pulled his hat properly on his head. “I’m getting tired of being outfoxed by this bastard, Billy.”
“You and me both.” But Billy wasn’t as discouraged as Lagrange. “You know why I asked you here, don’t you?”
“To give you a fresh set of eyes on what happened here?”
“That was part of it,” Billy allowed, “but the real reason is that I needed an official witness to what happened here. Someone who knew what they were talking about and could write it up real and proper without Grant or Underhill knowing about it. Someone who could make sure Mr. Rice knew what had happened before Grant put his own angle on it.”
“Then there isn’t a moment to lose.” Lagrange picked up the lantern and began leading them back downstairs. “I’ll get back to my room and start working on a report to Mr. Rice immediately while the details of the scene are still fresh in my mind. Would you like to read it over before I send it?”
Billy knew Lagrange wasn’t aware that he couldn’t read or write. There was no reason why he should find out, either. “We saw it together. I know what it’ll say. Just send it to him when you’re done.”
“Good, then I’d best be at it.” Lagrange opened the door and began to head back to The Campbell Arms. “Do you mind if I run ahead?”
“Go on,” Billy said. “In the meantime, I’ll talk to Underhill about who built these houses and owns these lots. I might have something for you to add to that report pretty soon.”
* * *
As Lagrange rushed back to The Campbell Arms, Billy shut the door to the death house and began walking toward the Municipal Building. He hoped Underhill had found the ownership records for the lots and the houses. He hoped he had found some answers that would help him pin these murders on Grant once and for all.
He had wanted to bring down Grant as much as Mackey, but he hated that it might take the deaths of three women to do it. But if that’s what it took to break his hold on the town, then that’s what they’d use.
As he walked along the boardwalk, he noticed a new signpost had been stuck in the ground. “Lower River Street” had been written in black paint on the wooden sign. He guessed that’s what they would call the place once the sawmill was finished. About a year before, this had been nothing but unused land that ran along the road out to the JT Ranch. Now it was about to have a new business and a new name on it. He only hoped that, with all that progress, no one forgot the three dead women in the house behind him. He hoped James Grant never did.
That’s when Billy heard a board creak behind him just before a thick arm wrapped around his throat and yanked him up off his feet.
Billy’s right hand blindly shot back and grabbed hold of his attacker’s right arm as the man tried to jam a knife into his side.
The attacker grunted as his left arm squeezed tighter around Billy’s neck and he tried to bring the knife closer. But Billy’s arm was locked in position, and the knife wasn’t going anywhere.
Billy tried to pry his attacker’s left arm from around his neck, but the arm was too thick and the man was too strong. Though his legs were off the ground, Billy kicked in the air, hoping to at least throw the man off balance.
It only caused him to squeeze tighter in an effort to keep Billy from gaining a foothold. Billy turned his head and sank his teeth deep into the man’s fist.
The attacker screamed as his grip on Billy’s neck finally loosened enough for his legs to hit the ground.
Billy dug his heels into the dirt and began pushing the man backward. His grip on the right arm didn’t falter as they stumbled back until they slammed into a porch post.
The building shuddered as Billy slammed the man’s arm into the post once, then twice, followed by a third time.
The man managed to keep hold of the knife, but lost his grip on Billy’s neck. The attacker let go, only to slam an elbow into the back of Billy’s head.
The blow broke Billy’s grip on the knife hand, and he managed to jump backward, narrowly avoiding the sweeping arc of the blade.
Billy lost his footing and fell backward but finally got a good look at his attacker. He was a massive bald man with a patch over his eye, and he wore a heavy black cloak with a fur collar. His hands were wrapped in rags and wielded a knife with a long, curved blade.
A buffalo knife; ideal for hunters who used it to skin the large beasts.
Billy went for the Colt on his hip, but the man leapt at him before he could pull it. The deputy only had time to bring his knees up to his chest and flip the larger man over his head and into the street.
Both men got back to their feet at the same time. The skinner charged, his knife ready to swing down in another deadly arc.
Billy drew his pistol and fired into the center of the man bearing down on him. He knew all three shots had struck the man, but it didn’t stop him from barreling into the deputy. The force of the impact knocked the Colt from Billy’s hand as the big man tackled him to the ground.
His pistol gone, Billy struggled to find the man’s right arm amidst the flurry of fabric. He needed to get control of that buffalo knife before he found it sticking out of his belly.
He could feel the man’s strength beginning to weaken from to the three shots Billy had pumped into him. But he was still a dense, powerful man with more than enough strength to cut him to ribbons.
Billy found the skinner’s right arm just as he tried to drive the knife into the left side of Billy’s stomach. The coarse heavy coat made Billy lose his grip on the man’s arm, only to catch it again at the wrist.
The more Billy fought, the more he could feel the man’s strength begin to ebb. He knew he didn’t have enough time to wait until the man bled out, and the man apparently didn’t have enough time to wait, either.
The skinner brought his left arm up and moved to a crouch to put all of his weight down on Billy’s neck. It had been a clumsy move that mostly caught Billy’s chin and slid down to his upper chest.
In a sudden burst of energy, Billy brought up his left knee between his attacker’s legs and caught him in the groin. The attacker yelped as Billy kicked a second time. He was about to hit him a third time when the man fell off him to the left.
Billy rolled on top of him as he pulled his own bowie knife from the back of his gun belt with his right hand. He kept the man’s knife hand pinned to the ground with his left.
The attacker flailed at him with his free hand, but Billy’s blade at the attacker’s throat made him stop.
Both men were breathing heavily from the struggle. “Let go,” Billy panted, “of the knife.”
The man’s grip weakened enough for Billy to grab hold of the skinner’s knife and throw it aside.
Now fully in control, Billy kept the man pinned to the ground. Although the life was beginning to slip from his good eye, Billy didn’t dare release his hold to check his wounds. The wheezing in his chest said it wouldn’t be long now.
“Who are you?” Billy put more pressure on the bowie knife he held at the man’s throat. “Why did you kill those women?”
The bald man sneered. “Whores ain’t women and women ain’t whores.” He coughed up a small amount of blood, which rolled down the sides of his mouth. “And that’s all you’ll get from me.”
Billy grabbed the man’s collar and shook him. “Why did you kill them?”
“Why?” Another cough brought more blood. “Why not?”
Billy snatched the man’s cloak and pulled his head off the ground. “There’s always a reason, damn you. Why? Who paid you?”
The man’s head lolled back as the vacancy of death appeared in his eyes. His entire body went limp. Billy shook him again, hoping he may have just gone into shock, but the attacker’s body moved like an old rag doll.
He placed his bowie knife under the man’s nose. The polished blade did not fog. His attacker was dead.
Billy stood up and looked around for anyone else who might be able to serve as a witness to what had happened. But as the new buildings in that part of town were still mostly vacant, he found himself alone.
He sheathed his bowie knife and found the pistol that had been knocked away. He couldn’t believe the big man had died so quickly and expected him to spring back to his feet any second. But the unknown man in the buffalo coat was dead on an unnamed street beneath the dying light of afternoon. The only color on the man was the blood from the three holes in his chest. One for each of the women he had killed.
Billy opened his pistol, removed the spent rounds, and replaced them with live rounds from his belt before sliding the Colt back into the holster on his hip. He figured his attacker had been alone, but he also hadn’t figured on being attacked in the first place, so it paid to keep his gun loaded.
He found the man’s knife under a half-built boardwalk. The blade was dirty, but clean of blood. He was grateful there was no blood on it, particularly his. He tucked the knife in his belt to show Underhill later.
Realizing there was no use in leaving the corpse in the middle of the street, he grabbed the skinner by his heavy coat and dragged him back toward the death house. His corpse lying with the women he had killed seemed as close to justice as they were likely to get. He’d keep there while he got the answers he needed to make sense of this mess.
Answers only Underhill could provide now.