Clive Cussler - The Chase

“What about my customers?” Oxnard pressed on. “Who will tend to their transactions?”

“My agent and I are fully experienced in running the daily affairs of a bank. If the bandit steps up to a teller’s cage, we’ll be ready for him.”

“Do you know what he looks like?” asked Pardee.

“Except for the fact we know he’s missing the little finger on his left hand and he has red hair, we have no description.”

“That’s because he murders everyone who can identify him. You don’t have much to go on.”

“I still cannot bring myself to go along with this,” said Oxnard. “One of my customers could be in the wrong place at the wrong time and get shot.”

“We’ll take every precaution,” said Bell soberly. “There may be some risk, but this bandit must be stopped. He’s already killed over thirty people. There’s no telling how many more will die before we can apprehend him and stop the murders.”

“What can I do to help?” Pardee said, giving Oxnard a cold stare.

“Don’t patrol the bank with your deputies and scare off the bandit,” answered Bell. “Stand by—out of sight, if possible—but be ready to act in case he shows up. We’ll arrange a signal when he makes his play.”

Though Oxnard had his demons about the trap, Pardee was already imagining the notoriety he would receive if the bandit were caught in the act under his jurisdiction. As far as he was concerned, the debate was decisive and now it was over. He had only one more question.

“When is the supposed money shipment due?”

“Tomorrow,” Bell told him.

Oxnard looked at him inquiringly. “What about the shipment that’s already sitting in the safe for the real payroll?”

“Leave it in the safe. I guarantee, the bandit won’t get it.”

Pardee twisted the ends of his mustache. “Ever been in a mining town on payday, Mr. Bell?”

“I haven’t had the luxury, but I hear it can get pretty wild.”

“That’s true,” said Oxnard with a faint grin. “Every payday, all hell breaks loose from one end of town to the other.”

Pardee matched his grin. “Yes, the cribs will be busy until the miners have wasted their hard-earned money on whiskey and gambling.” He paused a moment and looked at Bell. “Where are you staying, in case I have to get in touch with you?”

“I’m staying at Mamie Tubbs Boardinghouse.”

“A good place to keep a low profile,” said Oxnard. “Mamie’s a fine old gal, and a good cook.”

“I can vouch for her stew,” Bell said with humor.

After breakfast, the meeting broke up. Bell and Oxnard thanked Mrs. Pardee for a fine breakfast. Then the three men stepped outside and walked toward town, Pardee leaving them when he got to his office and jail. Bell went with Oxnard to the bank to study its interior layout.

The floor plan was the same as a thousand other banks’. The bank manager’s office sat behind the teller’s cage, which was enclosed in glass except for the area in front of the cash drawers. This section of the counter was open through narrow bars. The vault was more like a large safe and stood in an alcove off to the side of the lobby. Bell learned that it was closed during business hours and opened only to withdraw currency or when all cash and coins were returned after closing.

“You don’t have a vault?” Bell said to Oxnard.

“Don’t need one. Payroll money usually goes up to the mines under heavy guard the second day after the shipment comes in.”

“Why the second day?”

“We need the time to make a count to verify the amount shipped from the bank in Denver.”

“So the bandit has a limited window of opportunity.”

Oxnard nodded. “If he’s going to make his play, it will have to be tomorrow.”

“Have you seen or had contact with any new depositors or people who simply walked into the bank and then walked out again?”

“A new superintendent for the Liberty Bell mine opened a checking account.” He paused to gaze up at the ceiling in thought. “Then there was a very attractive woman who opened an account. A very small account. Very sad.”

“Sad?”

“Her husband left her back in Iowa to strike it rich in Colorado. She never heard from him again, and the last thing she learned was from a friend, a conductor on the railroad. He told her that her husband left word he was going to Telluride to work in the mines. She came here in an attempt to find him. Poor soul. Chances are, he was one of the many men who died in the mines.”

“I’d like the name of the mine superintendent,” said Bell, “so I can check him out.”

“I’ll get it for you.” Oxnard went into his office and returned in less than a minute. “His name is Oscar Reynolds.”

“Thank you.”

Oxnard stared at Bell. “Aren’t you going to check out the woman?”

“The bandit has never worked with a woman—or any man, for that matter. He always commits his crimes alone.”

“Just as well,” Oxnard sighed. “Poor thing. She only opened an account for two dollars. In order to eat, she’ll probably have to work in a bordello, since jobs for women are scarce in Telluride. And those jobs that do exist are filled by the wives of the miners.”

“Just to play safe, I’d like her name, too.”

“Rachel Jordan.”

Bell laughed softly. “Her, you remembered.”

Oxnard smiled. “It’s easy to remember a name with a pretty face.”

“Did she say where she was staying?”

“No, but I can only assume it’s in a crib.” He gave Bell a sly look. “You going to look her up?”

“No,” said Bell thoughtfully. “I hardly think a woman is the Butcher Bandit.”

MARGARET WAS NOT ENDURING THE LIFE OF A PROSTITUTE in a crib on Pacific Avenue. She was living in style in the New Sheridan Hotel. After opening a small account at the town bank to examine the floor plan, number of employees and where they were located, and the type of safe, she made the rounds of the mining companies to make inquiries about a long-lost husband who never existed. The effort gave her story substance, and soon she became the source of gossip around town.

She went so far as to call on Sheriff Pardee with her bogus story, to see what kind of man he was face-to-face. Mrs. Alice Pardee came into the office when Margaret was asking the sheriff for his cooperation in finding her husband. Alice immediately felt sorry for the woman in the cheap, well-faded cotton dress who poured out her sad tale of the abandoned wife desperately seeking the man who had deserted her. Alice assumed that this Rachel Jordan was half starved and invited her up to their house for dinner. Margaret accepted and arrived in the same cheap dress, which she had bought in San Francisco at a used-clothing store for the poor.

That evening, Margaret made a display of helping Alice Pardee in the kitchen, but it was obvious to the sheriff’s wife that their guest was not at home over a hot stove. Alice served a homemade meal of mutton chops, boiled potatoes, and steamed vegetables, topped off by an apple pie for dessert. After dinner, tea was served and everyone settled in the parlor, where Alice played tunes on an old upright piano.

“Tell me, Mrs. Jordan,” Alice asked, pausing to change the sheet music, “where are you staying?”

“A nice lady, Miss Billy Maguire, hired me as a waitress at her ladies’ boardinghouse.”

Pardee and his wife exchanged pained glances. Alice sucked in her breath. “Big Billy is the madam of the Silver Belle bordello,” she said. “Didn’t you know that?”

Margaret made a display of looking sheepish. “I had no idea.”

Alice bought Margaret’s lie, Pardee did not. He knew there was no way any woman could fail to recognize the difference between a boardinghouse and a bordello. The germ of suspicion began to grow in his mind, but his wife was swept by compassion.