Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

“What do you want to know?” he said.

“You provided Sheriff Stringer with information that there were eight of you who escaped,” Tillary said.

“That’s right. The sheriff said he would see to it that my cooperation would be recognized by the good judge, and I told the sheriff all I knew.”

“Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie,” he said defensively.

“Why did you fail to include Donnie Lonnigan?”

“Donnie Lonnigan? I didn’t include Lonnigan because Lonnigan was not with us, that’s why.”

“Then where is he?”

Dobbin shook his head.

“Hell. I ain’t got no idea.”

“Why would you protect Lonnigan?”

Dobbin looked completely confused and his eyes darted among Tillary, Virgil, and me.

“I ain’t protecting nobody,” he said.

“Give us an account of the escape,” Virgil said.

“Well, I told Sheriff Stringer all of what happened,” he said.

“Just go again,” Virgil said.

“All I know is I was sound asleep. I was in the same cell with the blackie, Dekalb, and Old Man Wythe, and Dekalb nudged me and told me to get up — that we were leaving. It was dark and we filed out in single file. Eight of us, all from compound C. We went to the stable. Them others got saddle horses and Dekalb, Wythe, Skillman, and me ended up in the buckboard. I figured there was no use in arguing with the likes of Degraw and Ravenscroft ’bout who gets a saddle horse and who don’t. So we took off. Them with the horses went one way and we went the other and there was no sign of Donnie Lonnigan.”

Tillary mounted up on a tall gray mare and Virgil and I followed him out the prison gates and rode slowly up the winding road to the warden’s house. When we approached the home, which was situated behind a low rock wall surrounding the property, Tillary stopped and turned back to us.

“Maybe give me a minute, let me go in and let him know you are here,” he said.

Virgil glanced to me, then nodded to Tillary.

“Sure,” he said.

We rode on up to the house and stopped at a hitching post next to a well and dismounted. We tied off and Tillary walked up toward the house. The home was a well-built large adobe with a wide porch. There was a nice-sized barn on the west side behind the house and a few other outbuildings to the east.

Tillary knocked on the door, and when he did we heard a gunshot from inside the house. Tillary dropped quickly to one knee, then moved at a low crawl away from the door.

Virgil and I pulled our Colts and dropped for cover behind the rock wall. I could see Tillary clearly from where we were crouched. He pulled the Smith & Wesson service revolver he had on his hip and stood with his back to the wall between the front door and the window.

We waited for a long moment, then Tillary called out, “Scholes!”

He waited for a reply, but there was nothing.

“Scholes,” he called again.

Then.

“Mrs. Flushing?” Tillary said. “Can you hear me?”

Tillary looked to us and shook his head a little.

“Scholes,” he called again. “Mrs. Flushing!”

Again nothing, only silence, and Tillary looked to us and raised his palms upward.

“We have help here, from territorial marshals, they’re here with me now,” Tillary said.

We waited for a long while, but there was no sound or sign from anyone.

“Not feeling real good about this here, gentlemen,” Tillary said as he moved out a bit and looked to the front door. He stood there just looking at the door, then turned to us and shook his head. He looked back to the door again, then eased off the porch and moved slowly back toward the well.

Virgil and I stood up slowly from out crouched positions when Tillary got close. He glanced back to us and shook his head as he put his revolver back in its holster.

“I’m thinking the worst here,” he said.

“When were you last up here?” Virgil said.

“Been a while,” he said as he remained looking at the front door.

“You been up here since the breakout?” Virgil said.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No reason, really.”

We all remained looking at the house.

Tillary was shaking as he removed his hat and wiped his sweat-covered forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve.

“The poor crazy fucker,” Tillary said, then looked to us. “I’m kicking myself very hard in the ass right now. If we get in there and see he’s done something bad, killed her and himself, I will be forever regretful, I can tell you that.”

“Don’t have another choice,” I said, “but to get in there and see what is what.”

“We don’t,” Virgil said.

We took cautious time getting into the house. I entered in the back and Virgil and Tillary came in from the front, and I was the first to see the blood.

“Back here,” I said.

Virgil and Tillary came walking into the dining area just off the kitchen where I stood looking at the young man sitting at the end of the long, thick wood table. His pistol was still clutched in his hand. He’d shot himself in the temple and blood was splattered across the wall and a painting of Jesus behind him. In front of him on the table was a pair of binoculars, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, a letter, and a pen. Next to the letter there was a silver-framed wedding tintype of the young warden with his new bride in wedding clothes, and it, too, was splattered with blood.

When Tillary saw him sitting at the head of the table, he took a step back.

“Oh... dear God. I should have prevented this,” he said. “You see her?”

I shook my head.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Please. Help me, let’s look.”

Virgil looked to me and nodded a little.

Then as Tillary and Virgil started to move I looked to the note left on the table and said, “Don’t bother.”

“She’s not here,” I said.

Tillary turned and looked at me.

“What?” he said. “Where? Where is she?”

“‘She left me,’” I said, then looked to Virgil and Tillary. “Those are the first words here on this letter.”

I glanced at the body of the letter, which included some writing on the back.

“Lot here,” I said. “It’s for you, Mr. Tillary. It’s addressed to you.”

“She left him?” Tillary said in disbelief.

“That’s what it says,” I said.

Tillary shook his head a little. He walked slowly over to me and I handed the letter to him.

“I understand it’s addressed to you personally,” Virgil said, “but it’d be a good idea we know what’s written there.”

Tillary nodded.

“Of course,” he said.

His hands were shaking as he held the letter at arm’s length and started to read, “‘Dear Mr. Tillary. She left me. She is not coming back. It was my fault.’”

Tillary looked up to Virgil and me and shook his head a little.

“Dear God,” he said, then continued to read the letter. “‘First off, please know, I have appreciated your patience with me. In some ways you were more of a father figure to me than my own father ever was. I have the utmost respect for you. I learned a great deal from you and would have liked nothing more than to make you proud of me. Regardless, I should have seen this coming with Eleanor and done something about it, but I had no earthly idea something of this magnitude, this drastic, could have happened. Nonetheless, it is now too late. I knew it would be only a matter of time before authorities would be here and I knew any day, you or someone would be coming to the house and paying me a visit. The fact of the matter is, I can’t face the truth of this, sir. It is unbearable and humiliating beyond compare.’”