NINETEEN
When Preacher awoke, he got out of bed, walked over to the window of his hotel room, and looked out over the city of Philadelphia. Arriving by stagecoach after dark last night, he had gone to a hotel, deciding to start his search today.
There was a knock on his door and for a moment, he was startled by it. Who would be calling on him? Who even knew he was here?
“Breakfast,” a muffled voice announced from the other side of the door, and Preacher relaxed. He remembered now that when he’d arrived last night, he’d been asked if he would like breakfast delivered to his room this morning.
Crossing the room quickly, Preacher opened the door to see a young black boy, no more than twelve years old, holding a tray. From somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that a tip was required, so handed the boy a coin.
“Thank you, sir,” the boy said with a wide grin.
Preacher took the tray into his room, put it on a table, pulled up a chair, and began having his breakfast. He chuckled as he compared this breakfast, in a plush hotel room in a large Eastern city, with the breakfasts he had eaten in the wilderness over the last several years.
“I’d better watch myself,” he said aloud as he reached for a jar of marmalade. “I could learn to like this awfully easily.”
Even as he spoke the words, he knew that he couldn’t really live like this. Already he was feeling restricted, and he missed the mountains that had become his home.
He also realized that he had better watch himself as far as speaking to himself was concerned. It was a habit he had developed in the wilderness, but that wasn’t needed here. In a city the size of Philadelphia, he had plenty of opportunity to hear other voices and to speak to other people. There was no justification for speaking to himself, and if anyone heard him, they might think him crazy.
A newspaper had been delivered with his meal, and as Preacher put marmalade on his biscuit, he glanced through the paper. He had just raised the biscuit to take a bite when he read the headline over one of the articles.
FOURTH VICTIM FOUND WITH THROAT CUT
Preacher read the story carefully, and by the time he finished both his breakfast and the newspaper, he was totally convinced that Ben Caviness was in Philadelphia. He was convinced of that fact because he was certain that Caviness was the Philadelphia murderer.
Preacher stood in front of a rather substantial-looking brick building looking up at the sign over the front door. The sign read PHILADELPHIA POLICE AGENCY.
Unlike St. Louis, which had a constable and a deputy, Philadelphia had a well-organized police agency, consisting of constables, wardens, and watchmen. The watchmen patrolled the city from “watch boxes,” which were scattered throughout the town.
Preacher went inside, where he was met by a man who was wearing a domed hat with a badge.
“Yes, sir, can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge,” Preacher said.
“That would be Chief Constable Dolan,” the man said. “May I tell him what this is about?”
“Yes,” Preacher said. “I think I know who is doing all the killings here.”
“Do you now?” To Preacher’s surprise, the man began filling his pipe.
“What is your name?” Preacher asked.
“I’m Constable Coleman,” the man said as he tamped down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe.
“Well, Constable Coleman, are you going to tell the chief constable that I would like to see him?” Preacher asked.
“And just who do you think is doing the killing?” Coleman asked.
“I’d rather give that information to the chief constable,” Preacher replied.
Coleman lit his pipe, then drew several puffs, encircling his head with wreaths of smoke, before he responded.
“Well, now, here’s the thing,” Coleman said. “You are the tenth person to come in here with an idea as to who is doing the killing.”
“I am?” Preacher replied, surprised by Coleman’s comment. “Have that many people heard of Ben Caviness?”
Coleman had just started to take another puff of his pipe, but he pulled it away from his lips. Now the expression on his face changed to one of interest.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Do you really know who this is?”
“Well, I know Ben Caviness, I know that he has killed like this before, and I know he is in Philadelphia, because I followed him here.”
“You followed him here?”
“From St. Louis,” Preacher said.
Coleman studied Preacher for a moment longer. Then he said, “Wait here. I’ll tell the chief constable that you would like to speak to him.”
“Thank you.”
A moment later, Coleman returned and escorted Preacher to a room in the back of the building.
“I’m Chief Constable Dolan,” a tall, bewhiskered man said, extending his hand. “And you are?”
“Folks call me Preacher,” Preacher said.
“Well, Preacher, Constable Coleman here tells me that you know who our murderer is.”
“Yes, I do,” Preacher said. “Or at least, I think I know.”
“Well, which is it? You do know, or you think you know?” Coleman asked.
Preacher told them the story of his quest, beginning with the fact that he was a mountain man and fur trapper who had come back to St. Louis when he learned that a female friend of his had had her throat cut by a man named Ben Caviness.
“She was killed in the same way as the four people in this city were killed,” Preacher said. “That is, if the details in the newspaper article are correct.” He thumped the newspaper with his thumb.
“And from that you have concluded that this Ben Caviness is the person we are looking for?” the chief constable asked.
“Yes.”
“Other than the fact that the woman in St. Louis was killed by having her throat cut, and the victims here were killed by having their throats cut, what possible connection can you make?” Dolan asked. “One event took place in St. Louis, which is at least a thousand miles from here, and the other events took place here in Philadelphia.”
“There was also a similar event in Alexandria, Ohio,” Preacher said.
“Where is Alexandria, Ohio?” Coleman asked.
“That is a town on the Ohio River, between here and St. Louis. There, two people, a husband and his wife, had their throats cut.”
“And you think the person who killed the two people in Ohio is the same person you are looking for?”
“Yes, I know it is,” Preacher replied.
“How do you know it is the same person?”
“Because there were witnesses to that murder. The two people who were killed were Mr. and Mrs. Potter. And their son and daughter saw the killer.”
“Oh,” the chief constable said. “Oh, my. Do you mean to tell me that those two children saw their own parents killed?”
“Yes. Well, they weren’t children exactly. The boy was seventeen years old, and made a very credible witness. There is no doubt that the person he described as the killer is Ben Caviness.”
The chief constable clucked, and shook his head. “What a shame they should have to witness such a thing,” he said. “But how can you be certain that the man they described is the one you are looking for? I mean, just in a general description.”
“This was more than a general description,” Preacher explained. “Turns out that when Caviness attacked the woman in New York, her dog chewed off his ear.”
“I’ll be damned,” the chief said. “So what you are telling me is that you have come to Philadelphia to look for a man with one ear, who also happens to be cutting down our citizens like a scythe through wheat.”
“Yes,” Preacher replied.
“All right, suppose I believe everything you are saying. And, God help me, I think I do believe you. What makes you think that this Caviness person you are looking for is even in Philadelphia?”
“Because I think he has come here to extort money from Theodore Epson. He used to be a banker at the River Bank of St. Louis. But now he is with some bank here.” Preacher went on to explain how Epson had stolen money from Jennie.
“And when Jennie started making trouble for him, I believe he hired Ben Caviness to kill her,” he said, finishing the explanation.
“That is about the wildest story I’ve ever heard,” Constable Coleman said. He looked at the chief constable. “Chief, I apologize for bringing him in here to see you. I thought he might have something, but he is really clutching at straws to put all that together and say that that we are looking for the same man.”
“I’m not so sure, Coleman,” the chief constable said. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “As crazy as it sounds, I think it might be exactly the way he says.”
“So, what are we going to do? Start looking for a man with only one ear?” Coleman asked.
“Why not? At least it gives us something and someone to look for. That’s better than chasing after a ghost.”
“Yeah,” Coleman said. “Yeah, I guess you do have a point there.”
“I intend to search for him as well,” Preacher said. He showed Dolan the letter that had been given to him by Constable Billings back in St. Louis.
Dolan looked at the letter for a moment. “Well, I’m afraid this letter won’t have much authority with any of our judges here.”
“I see,” Preacher said. He didn’t react negatively to it because he had already made up his mind. With or without local permission, he was going to hunt Ben Caviness down, and he was going to make certain that justice was done.
“But,” the chief constable continued, pulling out a piece of paper, “I can take care of that.” He wrote something on the paper, then signed his name. “I’ll make you my special deputy. This will give you authority to act in Philadelphia.”
“Thank you,” Preacher replied.
Epson had never seen or even heard of Preacher. But when he saw Preacher come into the Trust Bank of Philadelphia, he had a feeling about him. The man wearing buckskins was tall and muscular, like someone who lived and worked in the wilderness. He had seen several such men when he was in St. Louis. And if this man was from St. Louis, that couldn’t be good.
He watched as the man spoke to someone, then, with a sinking feeling, watched the man approach his desk.
“Your name is Theodore Epson?” the man asked when he reached Epson.
“I am,” Epson replied. “And you are?”
“Preacher.”
“Preacher?”
“That’s all you need to know. Epson, Jennie was a friend of mine. In fact, she was a very special friend, if you get my meaning.”
“Jennie?”
“Yes, Jennie. You will remember her, I’m sure. She is the young lady you stole nine hundred fifty dollars from.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Sure you did,” Preacher said easily. “Both Mr. Ashley and Jenny gave you the money to pay off her mortgage and you kept it.”
“There are no signed papers anywhere that supports that claim,” Epson said. “You would never be able to prove that in a court of justice.”
Preacher chuckled ominously. “You don’t understand, do you, Epson. I don’t need to prove it. I only need to believe it. I’m the only justice you will ever see.”
“What . . . what are you going to do?” Epson asked, his voice quivering in fear.
“Oh, I don’t intend to do anything yet. You are my bait.”
“Your bait?”
“I’m a fur trapper, Epson. I know that you don’t catch your quarry without using bait. Right now, my quarry is the man who killed Jennie. Things didn’t work out quite the way he thought they would, so it’s my bet that he’ll be looking you up. Since he’s already in Philadelphia, all I have to do is keep an eye on you. Like I said, Epson, you are my bait.”
“Ben Caviness is in Philadelphia?”
Preacher laughed dryly. “I didn’t say anything about Ben Caviness.”
At first, Epson thought he had been caught. Then he smiled as he remembered that Miller said Caviness was the murder suspect in Jennie’s case.
“No, you didn’t say anything about him, but Mr. Miller did. Mr. Miller just returned from St. Louis, and he told me about the tragic events surrounding Miss Jennie. And he said that Ben Caviness was the prime suspect, so naturally, when you said the murderer was in Philadelphia, I made the connection.”
“Did you now?” Preacher asked.
“Yes. How else would I have known that you were talking about Ben Caviness?”
“I wonder,” Preacher replied. “How else?”
“What makes you think Caviness is in Philadelphia?”
“As he passed through Ohio, on his way to Philadelphia, he killed a man and his wife by slitting their throats. There have been four killed here by having their throats slit. I believe the killer is Ben Caviness.”
Involuntarily, Epson put his hand to his own throat. “What I don’t understand is why you think he would want to look me up.”
“Like I said, things didn’t go well for him back in St. Louis. I think he’s coming to see you in order to ask for more money.”
“I’m . . . sure that I don’t know what you talking about,” Epson said, though his protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
Caviness was sitting at a table with three others in the Bucket of Blood Tavern. He no longer resembled the man who had arrived in Philadelphia nearly six weeks ago. His hair had grown long enough to cover the missing ear. And with the money he took from the men he had killed, he’d bought clothes that were more in the style of the average Philadelphia citizen. Because he was now blending in with the others, he no longer drew curious stares from the casual observer. He was still rough-looking, but no more rough looking than the men who were sitting at the table with him.
To the degree that a person like Caviness could make friends, he had befriended these three. Several times over the last few days, he had encountered them here in the Bucket of Blood Tavern. Like Caviness, none of the three men seemed to have any visible source of income.
Caviness bought a round of beer for them. “I need to find me somebody,” he said as he lifted the mug to his lips. “I don’t reckon none of you know a feller by the name of Epson, do you?”
“I know a man named Epson,” one of the men said. This was Jim Gray. “But he prob’ly ain’t the one you’re lookin’ for.”
“How do you know he’s not?”
“’Cause he’s one of them bigwigs that works in a bank.”
“Yes!” Caviness said excitedly. This was his first real lead. “The fella I’m looking for works in a bank. It’s got to be the same man. Where is the bank?”
Gray laughed. “Well, they’s a lot more’n one bank in Philadelphia,” he said. “But the one Epson works in is the Trust Bank. What you need to see him for?”
“He owes me money,” Caviness said.
Gray stroked his chin as he stared across the table at Caviness. “Does he now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s in it for me if I take you to him?”
“I’ll give you a dollar,” Caviness replied. He could afford to be generous. He planned to get a lot more than a dollar from Epson.
“Make it two dollars, and you got yourself a deal,” Gray insisted.
“All right, two dollars. But for that, I want you to take me to him.”
Gray finished his beer, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“You got yourself a deal,” Gray said. “Let’s go.” He stood up.
Epson stepped out to the privy behind the bank. When he returned, he saw two men standing by his desk, but as there was nothing unusual about their looks or demeanor, he approached them without any sense of concern.
“Yes, gentlemen, may I help you?” Epson asked, greeting them with his practiced mile.
“Hello, Epson,” Caviness said.
“Caviness!” Epson said. “What are you doing here?”
“I took care of that little job you had for me back in St. Louis,” Caviness said.
“Shh,” Epson said, looking around the bank to see if anyone was close enough to overhear them. “Who is this?” Epson asked, indicating Gray.
“This here is Jim Gray,” Caviness said. “He’s a pal of mine. Now, about that business in St. Louis.”
Epson put his finger across his lips in a signal to be quiet. “Let’s step outside to discuss this,” he said. “I don’t want everyone listening in to our business.”
“All right,” Caviness agreed.
“Mr. Sinclair, I’m going to step out front for a moment,” Epson said to the chief teller.
“Very well, Mr. Epson,” Sinclair replied.
The three men walked outside, then stood in front of the bank.
“What are you doing in Philadelphia?” Epson asked.
“I need more money,” Caviness replied.
“I paid you a fair price,” Epson said.
“Yeah, well, things didn’t go the way I thought they would.”
“Yes, I know, the dog chewed off your ear, but that’s your problem, not mine.”
Gray laughed. “That’s what happened to you ear?” he said. “A dog chewed it off?”
“It ain’t funny,” Caviness said. He looked at Epson. “How did you know about my ear?”
“Preacher told me.”
“Preacher?” Caviness’s eyes grew wide. “Where did you see Preacher?”
“I saw him here in my office yesterday,” Epson said.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
“He’s after you, Caviness.”
Caviness looked around, his face clearly reflecting his fear at the mention of Preacher’s name.
“How did the son of a bitch know I was here?”
“He followed you here from St. Louis.”
Gray laughed again. “What’s got you so spooked?” he asked Caviness. “You that scared of a preacher?”
“He ain’t a preacher,” Caviness said. Then to Espon. “What did you tell him?”
“How could I tell him anything? I didn’t even know you were in Philadelphia.”
“This is bad. This is real bad.”
Suddenly Epson got an idea. “Maybe not,” he said. “Not if we’re smart.”
“You got an idea?”
“Yes,” Epson said. “You want some more money?”
“Hell, yes, I do. I told you, that’s why I’m here.”
“All right. I’ll pay you some more money.” He looked at Gray. “And I’ll pay you as well. All you have to do is take care of Preacher.”
“What do you mean, ‘take care of Preacher’?” Gray asked.
“What do you think I mean?”
“I think it means you want us to kill him,” Gray said.
This was Epson’s moment of truth. He had danced around being a thief, and he had danced around the responsibility for Jennie’s death. But things had gone too far now. It was time to fish or cut bait, and the way he saw it, Preacher had left him no choice.
“Yes,” Epson said. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars apiece to kill him.”
“One hundred dollars? Yeah, I’ll do it. How hard can it be to kill a preacher?” Gray replied.
“I told you, he’s not a preacher,” Caviness said. “And he is going to be a hard man to kill. I’ve run into him before.” Caviness looked at Epson. “A hundred dollars ain’t enough. You give me one hundred dollars to take care of your problem in St. Louis. Taking care of your problem here is going to be even harder.”
Epson smiled. “He’s not just my problem,” he said. “He’s after you too. Think about it, Caviness. You are going to have to face him one way or the other. This way, at least, you are getting paid for it.”
“A hundred dollars sounds good to me,” Gray said.
“Make it one hundred and twenty dollars,” Caviness said.
“Why one hundred and twenty?” Epson asked.
Caviness looked at Gray. “You think Scott and Kelly would throw in with us for ten dollars apiece?”
Gray laughed. “Yeah, if we don’t tell ’em how much we’re getting. But you really think we are going to need them?”
“I told you. This Preacher is one tough son of a bitch,” Caviness said. “Yeah, we’re going to need them.” He looked back at Epson. “What about it, Epson? One hundred and twenty dollars apiece?”
“All right,” he said. He held up his finger. “But not until the job is done.”
“We’ve got to have some of the money now,” Caviness said.
“I’ll give you ten dollars apiece now, plus ten dollars for your two friends. Come back to me when the job is done, and I’ll give you the rest.”
“All right,” Caviness agreed. “But try and hold out on me when I come back, and I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear.”
Epson shuddered. How had he ever let his life get so out of hand that he was in league with men like this?
“I won’t cheat you,” he promised.