“And whoever tried hanging that Klansman managed to best three supposedly alert United States soldiers before letting the man drop and twitch?” Thomas Diggs, standing in his office, was dressed for business, wearing a top hat made famous by the assassinated president.
“It’s gotta be those same boys who killed the rest of them.” Lyle Kimbrell looked antsy and like he hadn’t slept a wink. “They ain’t gonna take too kindly to the notion that they screwed up twice.”
“What else did you see?”
“Army fellers and deputies swarming the place. The doctor standing on his porch just shaking his head. Oh, and that undertaker waiting to work on the body. I came right from there; I doubt much has changed.”
“What about those soldiers?”
“I think the doc waved something under their noses to wake them. I doubt they know what hit them because they sure as hell didn’t look like they had any idea where they were. Their heads are all busted up pretty bad. I saw the doc wrapping bandages around one of them.”
“Splendid reconnaissance work, Lyle. And you’re certain the sheriff is dead?”
“Dead as Honest Abe.” Lyle’s mood shifted from excitable gossipmonger to a war veteran being one of the last men standing on the battlefield. “To see him in the sunlight like that. His eyes and his mouth were open. His head nowhere near his body. His—”
Diggs held up his hand. “Enough. You paint a vivid picture.”
Lyle sat on Diggs’s parlor sofa, causing the Englishman to wince and almost say something, but thought better of it. Lyle, who gripped his black hat on both of its slightly curled sides, had seen enough to avoid being chastised.
He looked up at Diggs.
“It must’ve happened so fast. They must’ve taken out those soldiers without making a sound. And to break into the place, steal a body only to hang it—in that short amount of time? I mean, what is out there?”
“I wish I knew.” It was the first time Diggs spoke with any hint of concern.
“You still gonna move on Toby Jenkins with all this going on?”
“The hanging and the soldiers and the related matters might provide reasonable cover for us to do what we have to do, or the Army and the constables will spread themselves far and wide looking for anything unusual—such as our presence at that negro’s home, where things very likely will become complicated. I believe prudence dictates we wait a little longer. As it is, I have some matters that need attending to that I believe will help our cause. But even that might prove difficult given all the commotion surrounding the murder. However, one big piece has fallen away, and another dropped into place. That’s most important.”
Diggs looked at the pitiful specimen sitting on his sofa before continuing.
“Money talks, my boy. It’s rarely mute. You’re here for no other reason than I’m paying you and your cohorts to tend to my matters. But please don’t think you’re the only ones under my employ.”
“I tend not to think about you much at all, Mister Diggs, ’cept for your money, like you say. So I guess we’re square. Or will be.”
Lyle held out his hand and rose. Diggs walked to his desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out a stuffed envelope.
“All for you.” Diggs handed over the fat wad. “Aren’t you pleased you don’t have to give any of it to Brendan and that idiot?”
“I suppose.” Lyle accepted it and nodded in thanks. He looked at the envelope, which wasn’t sealed, revealing its contents of bills. He pocketed it without bothering to count the money. “What about that Culliver guy?”
“What about him? He’s none of my concern. It’s best he’s alive, actually. It will give this new sheriff something to focus on other than us. Now, here’s what I want you to do next, Lyle. Some more clandestine work. Go to Toby Jenkins’s property. You mentioned there were some trees on the outskirts.”
“Yeah, a forest.”
“Climb a tree and scout out the place,” Diggs said. “See if there are any odd comings and goings. I’m convinced the men who thwarted you the other night are involved with what happened at the doctor’s place.”
“Brendan did that kind of spy work on the North way back when. Nobody ever caught him.”
“Fine, task Brendan with it. The pay will be good. Start immediately. Have him report directly to me—beginning tonight. Tell him to bring plenty of water, and don’t do a thing to Toby or anyone else. Just watch and listen. Understand?”
“I’ll tell Brendan just that.”
Diggs clapped Lyle on the shoulder and immediately regretted doing so as a puff of dirt scattered on impact. He retreated to his desk to retrieve a handkerchief while Lyle left. Soon Diggs would follow him outside where his horse-drawn carriage awaited. Lionel—a former slave Diggs reluctantly hired to be his butler—waited in the driver’s perch to greet his boss.
“To the gunsmith,” Diggs said.
“Not even a ‘hello’?” Lionel had become comfortable enough over the years to needle his so-called master.
Diggs smirked. “Hello. To the gunsmith.”
“That’s more like it.” Lionel clicked the reins and Diggs’s day began just as he’d intended.