Fatal as a Fallen Woman (29 page)

Unsure what the point of the story had been, Ben sipped his beer and studied Crymble's amiable face. He was not reassured. True, this Zolanso probably had killed Casey. But the presumption of guilt based on his disappearance and the fact that he'd quarreled with Casey earlier were disconcertingly similar to the police reasoning that had declared Elmira Torrence guilty of her former husband's murder.

"Evan Spaulding was gunned to death in plain sight of other gamblers, Crymble. No one came up with a name for the killer."

The sheriff shrugged. "We get drifters through our towns and cities every day, Dr. Northcote. A lot of them with shady pasts. Folks don't ask too many questions of strangers. Not healthy."

"Funny thing about unanswered questions, Sheriff. They tend to fester and smell after a while."

"Lake County's out of my jurisdiction. I don't go sticking my nose into another sheriff's business without a good reason."

When Ben bought another round, the sheriff gave him the names of sheriff and coroner and city marshall of Leadville. He already knew what
Crofutt's Guide
, published in the same year as Evan's murder, had said about the place: "No city in America is better governed; none where life and property are more secure."

"You should visit Leadville before you throw stones, Northcote," Crymble said. "No problem finding lodging. At last count there were over a dozen hotels."

"And how many gambling dens?"

Crymble considered him seriously. "Twenty or more. Maybe thirty houses of prostitution. At least eighty saloons." A glint came into his eyes. "One of Leadville's parlor houses is famous all over Colorado—the Red Light Hall on State Street. Run by a fella name of Charles Cole. It's strictly a temperance house, but he claims his girls are the roundest, rosiest, and most beautiful in town."

"Ever hear of a Leadville prostitute named Pearl Adams?"

The sheriff shook his head. "But these girls change their names all the time. Last I heard, Leadville had Mollies, Minnies, Carries, even a Frankie. Oh, and there was a Sallie Purple." He chuckled.

"Dressed all in purple?" Ben thought of Miranda Torrence, but quickly dismissed the idea that she might once have had another identity. Matt Hastings had known her as Miranda Chambers and had been planning to marry her, or so the Denver gossips said.

"Dyed her hair that color," Crymble explained, further eliminating Miranda. "All her hair, if you know what I mean. Don't remember a Pearl, though."

Now that Ben thought about it, he wasn't even sure Pearl had worked in a parlor house in Leadville. She'd said she went there to spy on Evan. Would she have been more likely to encounter him if she was performing in one of the dance halls or working as a dealer? He knew some females dealt faro, especially in the more exclusive gambling halls.

Cursing himself for not thinking to ask more questions when he'd been with Pearl, Ben tried to get more specific information out of the sheriff, but either Crymble didn't know or he wasn't saying. By the time Ben paid for a their last round of drinks, the sheriff was more interested in talking about his wife and children than he was in discussing crime.

He'd also, Ben realized, wormed a remarkable amount of information out of Ben about himself, Diana, and Elmira Torrence.

"She's wanted for murder, you know," Crymble said. "Your Mrs. Spaulding should have reported her reappearance to the police in Denver."

"And say what? That she was gone again? Diana has no idea where her mother is hiding out."

Crymble started to speak, then closed his mouth with a snap as the door of the saloon opened to admit a newcomer. Instantly on alert, Ben turned to look.

Unlike saloons in other parts of the west, Colorado's did not have swinging doors. It was too cold. The winds in Torrence, in particular, argued against using any door that did not close properly.

Alan Kent let this one slam behind him as he stormed into the saloon and marched towards their table. "Sheriff, arrest this man." Kent's eyes were bright with anger.

"On what charge, Mr. Kent?"

"He's a mac."

"A what?" Ben asked, genuinely confused.

"A pimp. He's got a half dozen whores from Denver over at the hotel and plans to set up shop here."

"The young ladies have conducted no business since arriving in Torrence, Mr. Kent." They'd been behaving with remarkable circumspection, simply getting settled and furnishing their new quarters and making plans. That the plans had originally included operating a parlor house in the old Alhambra dance hall wasn't something Ben felt he needed to share.

"If that's the case," the sheriff said, "he'll have some . . . licenses to purchase. But I don't see where the crime is, Mr. Kent. Or why you should be worrying about it."

"I represent Mrs. Torrence."

"Which Mrs. Torrence?" Crymble asked.

Ben might have thought it an innocent question had he not caught the sheriff's eye. Crymble didn't care for Alan Kent, and he was amused by this bumbling effort to make trouble for Elmira's girls.

"I want them out of town."

"It's a free country, Mr. Kent. And so far the only crime committed has been against the young ladies. Someone took pot shots at a couple of them yesterday afternoon and injured one. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Kent paled, then glared. "I am a respectable citizen, sheriff. And a voter. You'd best remember that when the next election rolls around."

"I'm quaking in my boots," the sheriff assured him, "but it's time for me to be on my way. This isn't the only town in my county, you know. Good day to you, gentlemen."

"I believe I have other matters to attend to, as well," Ben said, standing. "Unless Mr. Kent has something else he'd like to say to me?"

The younger man glowered, but stepped away. He was shorter and less well-muscled than Ben and sure to lose at fisticuffs. But as Ben left the saloon in the sheriff's company, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with the force of Kent's glare.

"I'd watch your back if I were you," Crymble said.

"Does Kent have a history of violence?"

"Far as I know, he's as mild-mannered as they come, but he was Torrence's clerk. He knows everybody Torrence did."

Ben took a wild stab. "Someone like a gunslinger Torrence might have hired, say, back in '85?"

"Don't think Kent was here then. Seems to me I remember hearing he's only been around a bit more than a year. But you never know." The sheriff shrugged and headed for the livery stable where he'd left his horse.

Ben started to return to the hotel, then changed his mind. He caught up with Crymble in front of the feed store. "If I went to Leadville, who should I talk to, the sheriff or the city marshall? Which of them do you trust?"

Crymble stopped dead a few feet away from the livery stable, drawing stares from a pair of calico-clad women on the opposite side of the street. "You go and get yourself into trouble, Dr. Northcote, I won't be happy."

He seemed to have forgotten he was the one who'd suggested Ben visit Leadville. "Then help me out," Ben said.

Crymble contemplated the saloon they'd just left. Kent had emerged to glower at them. "Tell you what, Dr. Northcote. Next time I go to Lake County, I'll check on a few things. But don't get your hopes up. Old Timberline Torrence was a sneaky bastard. He was real good at covering his tracks."

* * * *

"You don't need to come with me," Ben said for the hundredth time. "I'll be back around ten tomorrow morning."

Since they were already at the Torrence depot, waiting for the 6 P.M. arrival of the express from Denver, a train that continued on to Leadville, the point was moot. Her gripsack sat next to his on the platform. "My former landlady may not talk to you unless I'm there."

"I'll bribe her."

Diana kept her smile in place, but not without effort. She wasn't letting him go alone and that was that. Much as she wished she never had to set foot in Leadville again, if Ben intended to visit the place, she would be his shadow.

"You won't recognize the folks I knew when I lived there." Diana wasn't sure she would, either, if any of them were even around after all this time. She hadn't met all that many people, only a few faro dealers and a actress or two. She'd sewn costumes to earn enough to buy bread and milk and eggs.

"This is probably a waste of time," he said. "No sense both of us going."

Diana agreed with the first part. If anyone had possessed information about Evan's death, information they'd been willing to share, they'd have done so at the time. "Shall I stay here and be a target, then?" she asked.

The pulse in his neck throbbed. "You'll be in no danger if you avoid confrontations."

"I'm not about to hide under a bed while you're gone."

He gave her a hard look. "Does that mean you think everything that happened to Nellie was due to sheer bad luck?"

"No, but no one's tried to hurt
me
."

"What about Alan Kent?"

"He's all bluster."

"He had a gun."

"So do most people around here."

      "Did you, when you lived here?"

"I didn't have a gun of my own, but I was taught how to shoot. I can hit what I aim at with both a pistol and a rifle." Granted, the idea had been to shoot four-legged predators and occasionally bag something they could put in the cookpot, but the same principles applied to shooting a man.

"Somehow, that fails to reassure me," Ben muttered as a distant whistle heralded the arrival of the train. "All right. We'll go together. We should reach Leadville around eight. We'll go to your old lodgings first. Maybe you can stay there while I visit the Texas House. A gambling hell is no fit place for a lady."

"I won't be the only woman there," she reminded him. "There are always a few female faro dealers. I grant you it's not the most reputable place I've ever been in, but it isn't a den of iniquity, either. As long as it's clear I'm with you there will be no problems." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt because she wasn't about to let Ben go wandering into that place on his own.

"Perhaps I
should
reconsider," Ben said. "After all, not many people who were there when Evan was shot will still be around."

"Folks don't stay put long as a rule," she agreed, "and they tell me Leadville's grown almost as fast as Denver. But the owner of the Texas House is likely the same." And he'd say what he'd said before, that the killer was an unknown card player. After all this time, it seemed even less likely anyone would be able to provide a name or description. Diana didn't count on the city marshall to be of any use to them, either.

As the train steamed and screeched to a stop at the depot, Diana suddenly remembered Col. Arkins. The newspaper publisher might be wrong about her mother, but he had a nose for a story. Had he suspected a connection between Evan Spaulding and William Torrence, other than Diana herself? He'd raised the subject of the murder when she'd visited him. But if he'd had any proof, any name, any lead to the unknown gunman, surely he'd already have published the story. That meant, she surmised, that there was nothing to be found in Leadville.

"This trip
is
a waste of time," she said aloud.

But Ben wasn't listening. He was staring at a clean-shaven, stoop-shouldered man who'd just gotten off the train. "Damnation," he muttered.

When Diana saw who it was, she silently echoed the curse.

* * * *

Ben watched Matt Hastings approach, fighting an urge to knock him flat. He'd like to teach the rounder a lesson he'd never forget for what he'd tried to do to Diana. Her hand on his arm was all that kept him in check.

When she stepped in front of him, determined to fight her own battles, Ben balled his hands into fists. He was prepared to let her take the first shot. She had earned the right. But if she needed him, he'd be there beside her in a heartbeat.

"Trouble folks?"

Ben turned slowly to see Sheriff Crymble descending from train to platform.

"Delay departure for a minute or two, will you Pat?" Crymble said to the conductor.

"We'll be late getting to Leadville, Sheriff," the conductor argued.

"Then you'll just have to make shorter stops in Granite, Twin Lakes, and Malta, won't you?" When Crymble had gotten a reluctant nod of agreement, he turned his full attention to the three people on the platform. "You planning to go to Leadville, Dr. Northcote? Ma'am?"

"We've changed our minds," Diana said hastily. Responding to the badge prominently displayed on Crymble's chest, she introduced herself.

"Timberline Torrence's girl," the sheriff said, looking her over. "All growed up. You won't remember me, I don't suppose. But I met you once when you were just a little bit of a thing. Your daddy and I had mining in common."

"This isn't the time for reminiscences, Crymble," Hastings interrupted. "I've just arrived and you're obviously on your way somewhere."

"Boarded the train at the last stop, Buena Vista. That's where I live, Mrs. Spaulding. My wife wasn't pleased about my having to be gone overnight, but I explained I had a little business in Leadville." Crymble gave Ben a pointed look. "Looking into a matter a fella told me about earlier today. Case of murder."

Hastings didn't seem concerned by this revelation, or even curious. "You're Northcote, I presume," he said to Ben. "Are you taking this train, too."

"Not a chance." Ben picked up his gripsack and Diana's tweed bag.

"I don't want to hear about any brawls when I get back," Crymble warned. "You talk this out like gentlemen, you hear me?"

"I hear you, sheriff." Whether Ben would heed the advice was another matter entirely. "And I'm sure Mr. Hastings does, too. Oh, and Sheriff? If for any reason Mrs. Spaulding and I aren't here when you get back, I'd advise questioning Mr. Hastings very closely about our whereabouts."

"You've made your point, Northcote," Hastings said. He straightened his collar and picked up his carpetbag.

Crymble reboarded the train. As it left the depot, Hastings turned to Diana and noisily cleared his throat. "I thought you might come here," he said. "Have you talked to Miranda yet?" His Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he waited for her response.