CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Moments before wakefulness, when the mind races through years of past, future and present, complexities become simple and inhibitions remain faded behind a clinging cloud of sleep. Time was endless. In those few seconds he searched the vast storage of his unconscious memory for a solution to the problem. He sat up wide awake,

“Minnie!” he yelled, “Minnie Butler!” He jumped up reaching for his clothes.

Lorraine sat drowsily on the bed recuperating from the sudden awakening. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Minnie Butler,” Morgan said joyfully, “She’s the one person in Twin Forks who might help me. The one person who might know if Dorothy Gardner was having an affair with Jas Porter.”

Lorraine fell back to her pillow. “All right. . . so who’s Minnie Butler?”

“It’s perfect. I should have talked to her a long, long time ago. Minnie is the telephone operator.. . she lives over in the hotel and operates the switchboard from there. It’s so obvious that I missed it. The perfect witness.” He pulled on his coat and jerked his wide-brim hat over his forehead, but Lorraine was still confused,

“Do you mean that to solve a mass murder case, you just go over and talk to the telephone operator?”

Morgan laughed, “If you’re in a town as small as Twin Forks, you better do just that. Too bad it has taken me so long to learn that for myself. You see, Minnie is not only an old snoop, but she probably listens to every call that goes through her switchboard. What the hell, she’s got nothing else to do.”

“Do you think she’ll have some information?”

Morgan was halfway out the door, “I don’t know, but if she doesn’t, she isn’t the snoop I think she is.”

A man on horseback rode out of town. The ground was frozen, but he rode hard, foolishly.

Morgan had reached the east side of the bluffs. He had not pushed the mare that pulled his bug for he was not in a hurry. It was a Sunday morning. Most of the townspeople would be in church. He knew Minnie Butler would be at her station by the switchboard in her room in the hotel. There was no reason for him to hurry.

The mare began the long pull up the side of the bluff, picking her way expertly over the hard ruts. Morgan let her take her own course. He loosened the reins and relaxed on the bug seat, thinking of what he might learn from Minnie Butler. He knew that the possibility of her having any kind of helpful information was a long shot. Perhaps, he thought, she would be able to add to the rumors that had already begun about Dorothy Gardner and Jas Porter. That would be damaging to Frank Gardner. No, he reversed the thought — even if Minnie testified to overhearing a conversation between Dorothy an Jas, even if they had spoken openly over the telephone about their affair and Minnie testified to that — even then, Minnie Butler’s testimony would not be solid. It would not be believed fully. Always in the back of each jurors mind there would linger a doubt. Is it more rumors that we are hearing now, they would ask themselves, or is it true?

Why worry about it now, Morgan thought, shaking his head. The first thing to do was for him to ask Minnie what she knew. She should know something. Next to barbers in a small town, telephone switchboard operators were the closest to being professional snoops. Every call was monitored. She listened mostly for the lack of nothing else to do, and because there was not that many phone calls anyway. People lucky enough to own a telephone still looked upon it as part of an emergency aid kit, not as an outlet for hours of socializing or small talk. So, in addition to the other reasons, almost every call was for some kind of emergency, and well worth the listening.

If Dorothy Gardner was having an affair with Jas Porter or anyone else, Minnie would know, Morgan decided. How else would they have lined up their secret meetings without arousing suspicions? At least once they must have used the telephone. If they did, Minnie would have heard them. Four years later it would give their secret away.

Knowing that Minnie’s testimony would not be extremely valuable, Morgan still was anxious to talk to her. No matter what Minnie says or doesn’t say, in court he would hear her and he would be able to decide for himself the truth of her statements.

The mare broke the crest of the bluff. When the buggy rounded the top, Morgan saw the lone horseman on the narrow road below. He reined the mare to a stop so not to meet the rider halfway down the steep bluff. Damn fool, he thought as he watched the horse and rider speed across the dangerous road. Morgan looked away and waited.

The rich Mo-Ri valley spread before him. Soon it would turn green and lush, but now it was white across the open lands. Streaks of dark ran through it, indicating the roads that came and went through Twin Forks, and he could see the river and the stream from which the settlement first got its name. To remain here — to accept Sam Durham’s offer to help give him a start in politics — be with Lorraine —- no, he would think about those things later. But not now. If he beat Senator Frank Gardner, let it be simply because Frank Gardner is a murderer and John Morgan is a detective; no other reason. But would those other reasons be there always? Yes, he supposed they would be. Then could they affect him? He wondered.

Hooves on the road sounded clearly now. He eyed the horseman with annoyance — then recognized Russ Porter with concern.

“What the hell are you doing?” Morgan yelled when Russ Porter brought the horse up next to the bug “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“If you’re not on the noon train for Kansas City, I will kill myself” Porter yelled back as he dismounted.

“You heard from Al?”

“Yes” Russ said, then tied his horse to the back of the bug Morgan waited until Russ sat beside him then headed the mare down the west side of the bluffs toward Twin Forks.

“What did he say? Has he found Mansell?”

“The telegram was short: he’s found Mansell — wants you to meet him in Kansas City tonight. He’s staying at the Feilman.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I know of it. It’s a dirty little shack down by the slaughter houses.”

Morgan whipped the mare to a light trot, “So I was right — Mansell stayed with the slaughterhouse.”

“Looks like it. Now all you have to do is go down there and pick him up.”

Morgan nodded, “That’s the easy part. Then we have to make him confess. A man could hold out a long time with eight murders over his head — or twelve, if you include his own family in Blue Is land.”

“I’m glad I’m not going to be there. I don’t think I could be near the man that did that to my brother and his family. Mansell must be a monster — inside — a monster.”

Morgan gave Russ an encouraging slap on the back, “We’ll have him pretty soon right where we want him. He’ll lead us to Gardner. The end of the road.”

“When will you bring him to the County Seat?”

“Let’s say Mansell confesses tomorrow — then I’ll have him back here by Tuesday evening or Wednesday. Amos is going to have to run things here while I’m gone. I want you to meet me at the head quarters after you get me a train ticket. Tonight, take a message to Amos for me — I’ve got a new witness.”

“A witness — who’s that?”

“Nelson over at the garage. He remembers McLean checking out his car the night of the murders. McLean kept it out all night.”

“That’s a witness?”

“It is when you consider that the night of the murders is the only night McLean ever kept his car out all night. Was it just coincidence? — something for the jury to ponder, I’d say.”

“Okay, I’ll get your tickets. What are you going to be doing?” Russ asked.

“I’m going to talk to the switchboard operator. I’ll be honest with you Russ. I’m hoping she can prove that Dorothy and Jas were having an affair.”

“She won’t,” Russ said. “That was all rumor.”

They had entered Twin Forks. Morgan stopped the bug in front of Jas Porter’s vacant home. It seemed even more lonely in the bleak of winter and this emphasized the haunting reminder it had always held for John Morgan.

“We’re closing in,” he said to the house.

“What did you say?” Russ asked.

“I said get your horse. We’ve only got an hour.”

Sunday church bells echoed throughout the Square calling stragglers to service.

As he climbed the stairs to the third floor, he saw the door to Lona Gardner’s hotel room. He stopped in front of it and found himself wondering how hurt she would be if Minnie Butler did testify to prove the past rumor.

At the end of the hail was Minnie Butler’s door. He blocked Lona from his mind. A few moments later he tapped on the door at the end of the hail.

A cute little lady not more than four and a half feet tall opened the door.

“Detective Morgan! Imagine, you comin’ to see me. Ain’t you a church goer?”

He tipped his hat with a smile, as a man would to any little old lady in a polka dot dress with a braided bun wrapped around her tiny head,

“Mrs. Butler, I’ve been meaning to talk with you a long time,” he said as he followed her into her room.

“Me? I can’t imagine why. Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Morgan?” she asked in a pleasant, crackling voice. Before he could answer, a loud buzz came from an adjoining room. Mrs. Butler scooted for the door, “Excuse me, I have to take a call.” He followed her into what should have been a bedroom, but unlike any other bedroom, in addition to the small single bed pushed over to one corner was a soft-padded rocker chair positioned in front of one of the first switchboards “the Bell” ever produced. “The Park’s place? Yes, Mrs. Good,” she said in the same crackling voice, “Say Mrs. Good, ain’t you goin’ to church this mornin’? Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a wire from a small hole and moved it to another. That’s three longs and a short and a short,” she said. Morgan watched with satisfaction while Minnie Butler stayed on the line long after the connection has been made. “Oh!” she blushed when she noticed Morgan, “was just a. . .“ her voice trailed off.

Nosey old gal, he thought, then he smiled, “Please Mrs. Butler, don’t explain. I’m glad to see you have curiosity. It’s a sign of intelligence.”

“Oh? You think so?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course I do. What kind of person could sit here all day with calls going through and not wonder what was going on?”

Minnie breathed easier, “It is lonely sometimes. You’d be surprised of some of the things I find out about first now and then. Why, do you know what I learned just yesterday? Sarah Luther’s little girl; she’s pregnant.. . fifteen years old, unmarried and pregnant.”

Morgan pulled a chair near to her and sat down, “I wondered if you would have some information about the Porters or Gardners that I could use. Anything you might have heard lately, or back around the time of the murders that might throw some light on the reasons for this thing?”

“I don’t know anything,” Minnie Butler said, shaking her head, “I mean, no calls about late meetings or anything like that.”

“How about calls to Gardner, perhaps from Chicago or Denver?”

“No. Only from Des Moines, but he’s always getting calls from Des Moines.”

Well, she wasn’t going to volunteer the information he wanted. All he could do was ask: “Mrs. Butler, did you ever learn anything strange about Dorothy Gardner, the daughter-in-law of Senator Gardner?”

Minnie rubbed her hands nervously. She walked to the other room where she put a pot on a hot plate to boil water for tea, then she sat at a simple wooden table in a bentwood chair and put her face in her hands, “Yes. You see, I always liked Dorothy. That’s why I listened to her calls. . . I worried for her.”

“What kind of calls?”

“Well,” she paused, “gentlemen callers. She was never happy with Albert, you know. It was one of those marriages arranged by the parents and such.”

“Did Jas Porter call Dorothy?”

“Yes. She was in love with Jas Porter, I’m afraid. He’d call her now and then, but mostly she’d call him and ask him to meet her.”

“And did he meet her?”

“Sometimes he’d meet her, but usually he would refuse. He had a wife and family and a business reputation to think of. But that was the worst time for Dorothy. Because then. . . “ Minnie Butler’s eyes moistened — she fumbled for the pot of hot water.

“Then what, Mrs. Butler?” he had to ask.

She sniffed and pushed on her braids, “Well, she’d be feeling pretty low in those times when Jas wouldn’t see her and defiant, I guess you would call it. . . hated the world, you might say. At those times, she would call a local bum and tell him to meet her and they’d go out in the country for a few hours. I know what they did there, but she was a nice girl, believe that. It was only that marriage that changed her. Anyway, she would return home late at night and get into another fight with Albert.”

“You said that Dorothy would call a bum. Who would that be, Mrs. Butler? Is he still in town now?” Morgan watched Minnie pour the tea and then accepted a cup from her, “You won’t believe me when I tell you,” she said, “but along with just a couple of times with another man, she would usually call Carl Gast.”

Morgan almost spilled his tea as his reflexes pulled him out of his chair, “Are you sure. . . Carl Gast?”

The tiny head nodded sadly, “Positive. The same Carl Gast who is living with Lona Gardner right now.”

Morgan could see that this little lady had given up much to talk to him. A secret she had kept to herself for years had just been divulged and her statement was final. “Will you swear to that on the stand if you are ever called to testify?”

“Yes, I won’t lie over a Bible. It was Jas Porter. . . and Carl Gast.”