The Loner: Trail Of Blood (11 page)

Conrad’s jaw tightened. He would have honored the bargain he’d made with Futrelle, but after being arrested, he’d known that spilling the whole story was probably his best chance of getting out of there. He had found out everything in Boston he was going to find out.

The trail now led to Kansas City.

Unfortunately, as McLaughlin pointed out, he had no proof of anything. There were also dead men at Serrano’s to be accounted for, not to mention heavy damage from a fire.

Conrad had kept his mouth shut about the dead men, but clearly there was a possible connection between him and them since he’d been seen fighting with Eddie Murtagh, their employer. Nor had he given away Jack Mallory’s identity. The private detective had been able to slip away from the scene without the police nabbing him. Mallory and Arturo represented Conrad’s best hope of getting out of that jam.

“I’ve told you … I had reason to believe that Murtagh knew something about the whereabouts of my children. He got away from me at Serrano’s and I went after him. We argued on the streetcar—”

“Tried to kill each other is more like it, according to the testimony of the witnesses,” McLaughlin put in.

Conrad shrugged. “It was a heated argument.”

“Speaking of heated, you still claim you don’t know anything about the fire at that dive of Serrano’s?”

“Everything was fine there when I left to go
after Murtagh,” Conrad lied. “Does Serrano say otherwise?”

The beefy policeman scowled. “Serrano never says anything, good or bad. He never sees anything or hears anything, either. He’s all three monkeys rolled up into one.”

“Then you don’t have any proof that I did anything except get mixed up in an altercation on a streetcar. Charge me with disturbing the peace. I’ll pay the fine.”

“How about assault and attempted murder?”

It was Conrad’s turn to spread his hands. “Who did I try to kill? Has Murtagh or anyone else come forward to press charges against me?”

“Eddie Murtagh talk to the coppers of his own free will?” McLaughlin gave a snort of disgust. “That’s not likely to happen, and you know it.”

Conrad reached up and gingerly fingered the knot on his head where he’d been clouted with a billy club and knocked out. “When my attorney gets here, there’ll be more discussion about assault charges, but I’ll be the one bringing the complaint.”

McLaughlin slapped a palm down on the desk. “My men were trying to put a suspect in custody. A suspect who had a knife, mind you. Nobody assaulted you. I know you’re a rich man and used to throwing your weight around, Browning, but that don’t mean shit to me.”

“Suit yourself, Inspector.”

McLaughlin’s scowl darkened. “Get out of here,” he growled.

“You’re releasing me?”

“I said get out, didn’t I? What more do you need to hear?”

Conrad got to his feet. He thought about saying that an apology for the rough treatment would be nice, but he decided not to press his luck.

“You might look into some of the things that go on at Futrelle’s sanitarium,” he said.

“Nobody’s looking into the activities of a well-respected man like Dr. Futrelle,” McLaughlin snapped.

Conrad knew it was useless to pursue that angle. Anyway, he’d found out what he wanted to know from Futrelle. Trying to cause more trouble for the doctor wouldn’t serve any useful purpose.

He had just turned toward the door when it opened. A well-dressed man with graying hair and a neatly clipped Vandyke beard came in. Conrad smiled in recognition. “Hello, Charles.”

The newcomer gave him a curt nod. Charles Harcourt was one of Boston’s leading attorneys, the senior partner of an exclusive practice. He had been one of the many lawyers representing the Browning financial interests for years.

Harcourt fixed steely eyes on McLaughlin and demanded, “Inspector, you
are
aware that Mr. Browning is one of Boston’s leading citizens?”

“He hasn’t lived here for several years,” McLaughlin said. “Anyway, I just released him. There’ll be no charges brought against him.”

Harcourt glanced over at Conrad. “Is that true?”

“It is,” Conrad replied with a nod. “I was just about to leave.”

“Well, then … I suppose my presence here wasn’t needed after all.”

Conrad gripped the lawyer’s arm. “But I’m very glad to see you anyway, Charles. I need to fill you in on everything that’s been happening.”

“Your personal secretary gave me some of the details. I’d like to hear more.”

Good old Arturo, Conrad thought. Mallory must have gone back to the hotel with the news that Conrad had been arrested, and Arturo had sprung into action and summoned Harcourt.

As they turned toward the door, McLaughlin warned from behind the desk, “Tell your client to keep his nose clean the rest of the time he’s here in Boston, counselor.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Conrad said. “I’ll be leaving as soon as I can. I’ve had enough of this town to last me for a long time.”

Arturo and Mallory were waiting at the hotel when Conrad and Harcourt got there. Arturo paced anxiously back and forth on the expensive rug while Mallory sprawled in an armchair, apparently at ease but with a worried frown on his rugged face.

Mallory got to his feet and said without preamble, “I didn’t want to leave you there, but I didn’t see what good I could do you by getting arrested, too.”

Conrad nodded. “You did the right thing, Jack. When I came to my senses, one of the first things
I hoped was that you had come back here to tell Arturo what happened.”

“Did Murtagh tell you anything before he got away?”

“He did.”

Harcourt held up a hand to stop Conrad from going on. “Why don’t you tell the story from the beginning, so I don’t get any more confused than I already am?” he suggested.

Conrad complied. He, Harcourt, and Mallory sat down, and Arturo brought snifters of brandy for them before helping himself to one as well. Conrad ran through the entire affair, holding back nothing. He paused from time to time to sip the smooth liquor. Its bracing effect was welcome after the day he’d had.

When Conrad was finished, Charles said, “What a terrible thing to find out.”

“It’s been difficult,” Conrad acknowledged with a slight nod of his head.

“Are you certain it’s true? As you said, there’s no real evidence that it happened, other than the testimony of several people.”

“That’s enough for me. You can see how it all ties together.”

“Yes, it does,” Harcourt admitted. “Perhaps I can do something to help you. I might be able to bring some pressure to bear on Futrelle—”

Conrad stopped the attorney with a shake of his head. “There’s a good chance some of Futrelle’s patients are also clients of your firm, Charles. Stirring everything up could come back to hurt you. I don’t want that.”

“You know what a high opinion I had of your mother, Conrad. I don’t mind—”

“No. We’ll let it rest.” A solemn smile touched Conrad’s lips. “I wouldn’t mind knowing what names Pamela gave them … but let’s face it, she could have changed their names a dozen times before she hid them … wherever she hid them.”

Harcourt frowned. “I might be able to learn more about the maid Pamela had with her. I don’t know if that would be any help.”

“It can’t hurt,” Conrad said.

Harcourt sighed. “To think that at one time I represented the Tarleton family. I was shocked when I found out that Clark was little more than a common criminal.”

“There’s nothing common about the Tarletons,” Conrad said.

“Evidently not. From what you’ve told me about Pamela and her cousin Roger, the whole lot of them seem quite mad.”

“But there’s a method to their madness, and more important, a motivation. Revenge is what Pamela lived for.”

“And died for,” Harcourt said quietly.

Conrad nodded. “And died for.”

A grim silence hung over the luxurious sitting room for a moment. Mallory broke it by clearing his throat and saying, “I can try to find Murtagh if you want, Mr. Browning. He’s probably gone to ground somewhere in South Boston. It’s a cinch he won’t be going back to Serrano’s any time soon. That big-nosed Eyetie would put a slug in him on sight.”

“No, that’s all right, Jack. I’m confident Murtagh told me everything he knows. He seemed to have a little bit of a grudge against Pamela himself.”

Probably because she had promised to share her bed with him if he did what she wanted and then gone back on her word, Conrad mused. That struck him as something Pamela would do.

“You seem to be a competent investigator, Mr. Mallory,” Harcourt said. “My firm might be able to throw some work your way.”

Mallory nodded. “I’d like that. I’ll do a good job for you.”

The lawyer turned back to Conrad. “What do you plan to do now?”

“There’s a westbound train leaving for Chicago at ten o’clock in the morning,” Conrad said. “From there I can make a connection to Kansas City.”

“It’s become quite a populous city in recent years,” Harcourt pointed out. “How do you intend to pick up Pamela’s trail once you get there?”

Before Conrad could answer, Arturo said, “Knowing Mr. Browning, I suspect he’ll barge in, wave some guns around, and demand answers of everyone he meets.”

Harcourt frowned at what he undoubtedly considered a show of disrespect from a servant, but Conrad laughed.

“It seems to have worked so far, hasn’t it?”

Conrad and Arturo checked out of the hotel and headed for the train station early the next morning. Now that he was ready to take up the trail again, Conrad didn’t want to risk being delayed in any way.

Harcourt met them at the station. “I’ve engaged Mallory to see what he can find out about Pamela Tarleton’s maid or nanny or whatever you want to call her. How can I get in touch with you if I have any information, Conrad?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know where I’ll be, other than in Kansas City a couple of days from now.” Conrad shook his head. “I’ll wire you when we get there, Charles, and I’ll stay in touch by telegraph whenever it looks like we’re going to be in one place long enough to make that practical.”

“All right.” Harcourt held out his hand. “Good luck in your search. Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Conrad had engaged a Pullman compartment
for himself and Arturo, rather than taking his private car. He might need to make a connection in a hurry somewhere, and having the private car hooked up to a train always took quite a bit of time.

They boarded the train and settled in for the trip to Chicago and then Kansas City. Conrad knew it would be difficult to find out where Pamela had gone from Kansas City, but he carried considerable influence with the railroad. Any records that might still exist would be three years old, but he intended to have a look at all of them.

If Pamela had paid cash for her and the maid’s tickets, there would be no record of her name. On the other hand, Pamela’s beauty and her imperious attitude made her easy to remember. Conrad held on to the hope that someone connected to the railroad might recall her and even remember where she had been going.

He wore the shoulder harness for the two Colt Lightnings again and didn’t intend to be without them during the journey. The civilized East had proven to be just about as dangerous as the so-called uncivilized West.

Arturo brought him a light lunch from the dining car, but by the time evening rolled around, Conrad wanted an actual meal. He announced his intention to walk up to the dining car for supper. “Join me, Arturo.”

“That would hardly be appropriate, sir,” Arturo said with a frown and a shake of his head. “You’re my employer.”

“I know that, but I consider you a friend as well.”

“But I don’t consider
you
a friend,” Arturo said
stubbornly. “You’re my employer,” he repeated, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did for some people, but Conrad had spent too much time around Frank, Rebel, and other Westerners to worry about false distinctions like that. “Come on. I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

Arturo sighed. “Very well. Are you going to order me to enjoy myself as well?”

“I just might,” Conrad said with a grin.

“Well, in that case I shall do my best to comply.” Arturo pasted an artificial-looking smile on his face.

Two regular passenger cars were between the dining car and the Pullman where Conrad’s compartment was. He and Arturo walked through the passenger cars and were soon seated at a table in the dining car where a white-jacketed waiter brought them a bottle of wine and a couple of steaks with numerous trimmings.

The railroads weren’t noted for their cuisine, but Conrad thought the food was all right. It beat prairie hen roasted over an open fire … but not by much, he decided. Of course, on the trail he’d be washing down his meal with water from a creek or his canteen, not a decent bottle of Chateau Fargeaux.

The train was traveling through western New York on its way to Pennsylvania. Outside the windows all was dark except for occasional lights from a farmhouse or a small town. As always, the combination of food, wine, and the regular rhythm
of the rails began to make Conrad sleepy. It was early yet, but he’d had a busy few days in Boston.

He patted his lips with his napkin and said, “I think I’m going to turn in.”

“A splendid idea, sir,” Arturo said. He had relaxed some during the meal and seemed to enjoy it. “I’ll prepare your berth as soon as we get back to the compartment. In fact, if you’d care to wait here for a few minutes, I’ll go ahead and have it ready for you when you get there.”

Conrad picked up the bottle, which had a little wine left in it. “All right. That’s a good idea. I’ll just finish this off, and then stroll back to the Pullman.”

“Excellent.” Arturo got to his feet and hesitated. “Thank you, sir.”

“What for?” Conrad asked with a smile.

“For the fine meal. And for saying … you know …”

“That we’re friends?” Conrad chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Once you’ve spent more time west of the Mississippi, you’ll understand.”

“I suspect that I won’t, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway.”