The Deputy - Edge Series 2 (6 page)

‘Rex Whitman’s the name, stranger. And since you rode in of your own free will alongside the sheriff, payment when you pick up your animal will be okay with me.’

‘Much obliged.’ Edge looked along Main Street and then Mossman Road that cut off in front of the jailhouse section of the building. Nobody was in sight and far fewer lamps burned in this part of town. ‘You know a place I can rent a room, feller? Where I’ll be as comfortable as my horse for a reasonable price?’

‘The Hyams Guest House down at the start of River Road,’ Whitman supplied. ‘I live there myself and – ‘

‘Quit the sales pitch, Rex,’ one of the other men growled. ‘Or move someplace else to make your spiel.’

Whitman looked ready to start an argument, but confined himself to a scowl. Then he spit forcefully at the ground, gestured for Edge to follow him and started across the intersection.

On the other side of the start of Mossman Road he directed another scowl back at the half dozen men still gathered outside the law office and complained:

‘Bunch of no account, strait-laced . . . ‘ He couldn’t come up with a suitable epithet and shrugged. ‘They hate it because I got my feet well and truly under Doris Hyams’ table. Jealous as they can be about that.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Edge cast a backward glance of his own at the opposite corner of the intersection. Then he did a double take at one of two barred windows that looked out on to Mossman Road after he caught a fleeting glimpse of a man’s face between a pair of fists wrapped around flanking bars.

It seemed to him like the prisoner in the cell – probably Jose Martinez – was showing gleaming white teeth in a broad grin. Then the bearded Whitman recaptured his attention.

‘You’re sure to like it at the guest house. Doris will take real good care of you. Runs a clean establishment and cooks fine.’

Edge said: ‘The place sounds to be just what I’m looking for.’

‘Hell of a thing, what’s happened out at the Bellamy place - if Billy Injuns to be believed.’ The liveryman looked over his shoulder and seemed on the point of coming to a halt, like he was reluctant to leave the centre of town.’

35

Edge, who continued to move at the same easy pace after the subject had been abruptly changed, asked evenly: ‘How’s that, feller?’

Whitman quickly moved up alongside him again, the less than fulsome interest shown by Edge’s terse response sufficient for the suddenly garrulous local man to launch into a rapid fire explanation of why the people of this quiet town were so troubled tonight. And based upon his scant knowledge of the recent rape and murder of a young girl and the frustrated intention to put a rich man’s son on trial for the crimes tomorrow, Edge could work out a reasonably well informed impression of tonight’s events. Learned that the man doing so much talking to Sheriff George North in the law office was a half breed named Billy Injun. A not too reliable local handyman who had stumbled on the scene of a mass murder at the Bellamy family’s farm a couple of miles out along River Road.

Billy had been promised some work at the place that afternoon but had forgotten about the offer until the evening. And in dire need of the few cents he would be paid for some fence fixing chores, he went to the small spread to assure the farmer he would come by first thing the next morning.

But what he saw when he looked through the open doorway into the lamp-lit kitchen had brought him racing hell for leather for Bishopsburg to report the massacre. Ward Bellamy, his wife and two young sons had been gunned down around the supper table. Along with Hiram Miller, the circuit judge who was staying the night with the family before coming to town to preside over the trial of Jose Martinez.

‘Pretty damn hysterical, Billy was. Woke the whole town, near enough. Everyone figured at first he was drunk out of his skull. He’s a part Navajo and likes the taste of rye but can’t handle it so good.

‘Deputy Ted Straker managed to calm him down enough to figure out something of what he was saying. Then Ted asked a bunch of us citizens to stay up and alert. Told us to watch that no Martinez guns came to town to check for sure on what happened at the Bellamy place.’

Edge did not ask the question a pause invited and Whitman went on: ‘That was maybe thirty minutes before the sheriff and you were first spotted riding in from the north. Without the Gomez woman George was supposed to be bringing in for the trial?’

There was an implied inquiry in the man’s tone and expression which he emphasised with a hand gesture across the street: toward a dry goods store that bore the family name of the kidnapped woman.

Edge said: ‘With the circuit judge dead, the trial will have to be postponed.’

36

‘It sure will,’ Whitman agreed. ‘And it figures the Gomez woman won’t be needed to give evidence until after a new judge makes it to Bishopsburg in one piece.’

‘I guess so,’ Edge answered in the same easy manner as his previous sparse contributions to the exchange. He ignored the scowl that flitted across the black bearded, wire framed bespectacled face as Whitman was denied the information he sought. The liveryman’s attitude was still disgruntled as he halted out front of a three story clapboard house with a steeply stepped stoop. A discreet, expertly painted sign to one side of the firmly closed door advertised it was the
HYAMS GUEST HOUSE
and offered
REASONABLE DAILY AND LONG TERM RENTAL RATES.

‘Well, this is it, mister. I expect Doris will be tucked up in bed by now but I can show you up to one of the vacant rooms, and maybe the kitchen, if you want to fix yourself something to eat? It’ll have to be cold, though. Doris don’t ever allow us roomers to mess with her cooking pots and pans. Not even me, and I’m one of – ‘

The door at the top of the steps began to swing open and a woman said in a sternly censorious tone: ‘Nor do I allow any of my guests to rent out my rooms before I’ve seen for myself that the new folks are clean and decent. And I know they have the wherewithal to pay for what’s provided under my roof.’

The door was now fully open and Doris Hyams stepped on to the threshold. A short, overweight woman with grey hair and small dark eyes, she was beyond fifty and maybe into her well preserved sixties. She was bare foot but the rest of her from ankles to throat was encased in a thick, dark coloured robe belted at her expansive waist. Her frown of displeasure at Whitman for usurping her prerogative gradually altered to an expression of qualified satisfaction as her tiny glittering eyes ran an unblinking gaze up and down the tall, broad frame of Edge and the gear he toted on a shoulder.

‘He rode in with George North, Doris,’ Whitman assured defensively. The woman cleared her throat. ‘It wouldn’t make no difference if he rode in with Jesus Christ Himself at His second coming. If I didn’t take to him he wouldn’t get to put his feet under my table or lay his head on one of my pillows.’

Then she gave an emphatic nod and delivered her verdict. ‘But it so happens you look like an all right man to me, mister. A dollar a night, including three squares a day. No reduction if you don’t eat any of your meals here. If you stay the whole week I offer terms of six dollars for the seven nights.’

Edge had tipped his hat when he first met the woman’s searching gaze and now he repeated the gesture, adding an easy smile this time. ‘That sounds good to me, lady. I’ll pay by the day. Since I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying in Bishopsburg.’

37

‘Whatever you want, mister. Rex will show you a room just like he said he could. But my kitchen ain’t at the disposal of any guest to help himself, for hot or cold grub. And I’m sure not about to go in there myself at this time of night.’

‘I ain’t too hungry, Mrs Hyams.’

‘Breakfast every morning is always at seven thirty on the dot and Rex can tell you I don’t stint on my portions at any mealtimes. So you have yourself some sweet dreams and build up your appetite. Welcome and goodnight to you, mister.’

‘Name’s Edge.’

She nodded. ‘Reckon you know mine from Rex. And if you got the time and patience, he’ll tell you everything else there is to know about this town and all the folks in it.’

She showed a brief smile to emphasise the criticism was good natured then turned and waddled down the unlit hallway. Was heard climbing the stairs just before the peace of the town was invaded by galloping hooves some way off to the west, getting closer by the moment.

‘That’ll be Ted coming back in from the Bellamy placed, I reckon,’ Whitman predicted and remained firmly at the foot of the stoop steps.

This blocked Edge’s entrance to the house while the liveryman peered along River Road that intersected with Main Street across from the Hyams property, ran straight for a short distance then veered to the left.

Moments later the rider raced his horse into sight from around the curve and slowed the animal as he neared Main Street.

‘Did Billy Injun tell it like it was, Ted?’ Whitman yelled above the less obtrusive sounds made by the slowing animal as the rider jerked on the reins to command a left turn.

‘It’s a stomach turning sight, Ted,’ Straker called back without slowing further as he did a fast double take at Edge, clearly having spotted him as a stranger to Bishopsburg. Edge got the impression of a thirty years old, slimly built man carrying maybe a hundred and forty pounds on a five feet ten inch tall frame. With a round, good looking face. The kind of open countenance that might be inclined to bring out the maternal instinct in women, even those of the deputy’s own age. He looked fit and maybe he was tough behind the shock that had fixed his expression after he witnessed the gruesome scene at the farm where three adults and two children were recently murdered. Edge said to Whitman: ‘You going to show me where I can bed down, feller? Then you can get back to the law office if you want.’

38

Whitman snapped his head around and peered absently at Edge for several moments, then dredged up from within his pre-occupied mind the inquiry that had been addressed to him. He showed a wan smile, turned to start up the steps and replied as Edge followed him:

‘The hell with that, mister. I reckon I know as much as anybody’s gonna find out tonight. Can’t see no point in going without shuteye for no good reason.’

Offered a choice of rooms on either the second or third floor of the boarding house, Edge elected for the one on the third at the front.

He could not be entirely sure and it was of no consequence to him, but he guessed from a cryptic comment made by Whitman as they parted that it was not only Doris Hyams’

table the liveryman put his feet under when the urge was upon the widow for male company.

Maybe subtle signals had been exchanged at the doorway earlier which meant Whitman would not be spending the entire night in his own room? But there were no tell tale sounds of what was taking place on the floor below and within a few minutes of Edge making himself comfortable on the soft bed between clean linen in the small but adequate room no more noise filtered in through the cracked open window from the town beyond. The furore caused by the discovery of the mass murder had subsided for the night and he drifted effortlessly to sleep: remained unaware of the passing hours and whatever filled them until he was awakened by the distant barking of dogs and crowing of roosters. He knew from the brightness of the light entering the room through the single uncurtained window that it was more than a few minutes after sun up the next morning which, he recalled, was a Wednesday.

He also recollected he was in the south east Texas town of Bishopsburg, owed the owner of the house where he was staying one dollar and the liveryman fifteen cents: in turn was owed five bucks by the sheriff.

It did not require any deep thinking about the mathematical problem to provide the answer of a few dollars and some cents: the amount of his cash worth when he had collected what was due, added it to what he had and paid what he owed. Eleven dollars and seventeen cents to be precise.

So he was hardly rich, but neither was he as poor as he had been on occasion when he awakened in some other rented rooms in other towns with no immediate prospect of gainful employment.

39

Thus he was more at ease with himself than many men would have been in similar circumstances as he washed up and shaved with water from a pitcher on the bureau, using the straight razor from out of the neck pouch to remove his bristles. Then he opened the window wide and took a few deep breaths, enjoying the warm air of a fine morning that had progressed to something after seven. And from this vantage point he got a better impression of Bishopsburg than had been possible in the dark of last night. Saw it was a good looking community of mostly well preserved buildings of brick, stone, timber and adobe, sited at the centre of a broad, well watered valley that cut a gentle curve from the north to the south west.

On a few of several distant farms visible from the window work had already commenced in the crop fields. While within the town, smoke rose from most chimneys to signal a large proportion of Bishopsburg citizens were up and about after their disturbed night.

None of the stores that he was able to see along Main Street and River Road was yet open for business and there were no potential customers on the streets or sidewalks within his range of vision.

Then the smell of cooking from within the guest house drew him out of the room and down the two flights of stairs. Where Whitman introduced him to the two other roomers already seated at the circular table in a well furnished dining room filled with warm sunlight and the aroma of rosewater scent.