J.A. Johnstone - The Loner - Crossfire

“Fine. I’ve still got business to take care of in San Francisco.”

Chapter 32

Conrad took Claudius Turnbuckle with him when he went to Lannigan’s house the next morning. Frank was back at the hotel, being looked after by Arturo, who seemed glad to have something to do again.

As they stepped down from Turnbuckle’s buggy, the lawyer said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get Patrick Dugan and some of the other detectives who work for me? Lannigan may have left guards with orders to keep you from getting to his wife.”

“If he did, I’ll handle them,” Conrad said. “I’m not sure they’ll want to risk it when they find out Lannigan’s dead.”

“Mrs. Lannigan may call the police.”

“If she does, I’ll be gone before they get here.” Conrad took a deep breath. “I have to know , Claudius.”

Turnbuckle gripped Conrad’s shoulder for a second. “Of course you do, lad. Of course you do.”

“Wait here.”

Conrad went up the walk, through the lush grounds, to the house. When he reached the porch, he was surprised to see the door stood open a few inches. He hadn’t changed clothes since the battle at Lannigan’s hunting lodge the night before, and his Colt was still in its holster. His hand went to his gun as a bad feeling came to life inside him.

He pushed on the door. It made a little noise as it opened all the way. The inside of the house appeared to be dark and quiet. He stepped into a richly-appointed foyer.

A voice came from the dim, shadowy parlor to his left. “Is that you, Mr. Browning?”

Winifred Lannigan, he thought. At least she was still alive.

Conrad drew his Colt as he moved into the sumptuously furnished room. Heavy drapes were drawn over all the windows, making it almost as dark as night. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he made out the figure sitting in a chair next to a fireplace. A large portrait hung over the mantel. Conrad’s gaze flicked to it and saw four people, two adults and two children. A family portrait, he thought bitterly.

“Mrs. Lannigan ...”

“You won’t need that gun,” Winifred said. “Dex left men here, but I sent them all away. They didn’t want to go, but I insisted. I knew either he or you would come, and I have nothing to fear from either of you.”

“Your husband’s dead.” He knew it was brutal to say it like that, so hard and cold, but one way or another, the woman had been a part of Pamela’s scheme.

“I know. I knew as soon as you came in. I ... had a feeling that’s the way things would turn out. When I saw you at the Kimball mansion, I could tell you were the sort of man who wouldn’t allow himself to be turned aside from what he wants.” She laughed hollowly. “I’m sorry to say you can’t have what you want, Mr. Browning. It doesn’t exist.”

Conrad tried to ignore the pulse hammering in his head and the sick feeling in his gut. “Then it’s true. What your husband told me about the children.”

“David and Rachel. My children. Yes, it’s true. I knew Dex would tell you if he could. He planned to gloat about it before he killed you.” She sighed. “He was an evil man. That’s why he was so ... well matched with Miss Tarleton. They should have been together. They were meant for each other.”

“You sound like you didn’t love him.”

“You don’t have to love someone to be married to them, Mr. Browning. Sometimes it’s enough just to be ... taken care of.”

Conrad kept a tight rein on his emotions. “You could be lying to me right now,” he snapped. “Just like your husband lied to me.”

“I could be, but ... you’ve never seen them, have you?” Winifred raised her voice. “David, Rachel, come down here, please!”

Conrad’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the sudden clatter of small footsteps on the broad staircase leading down from the second floor into the foyer. He turned. He had left the front door open, so there was enough light for him to see the boy and the girl who came down the stairs and stopped in the entrance to the parlor.

They were beautiful. Thick, dark, curly hair. Clean, innocent features. Strong, sturdy bodies. Keen, inquisitive, intelligent eyes. The sort of children any man would be proud to call his own.

But they weren’t his. That knowledge burned into his soul like a brand. No matter how hard he searched their faces, he couldn’t find a trace of resemblance to either him or Pamela. When he looked back at Winifred Lannigan, he saw her in them. There was no doubt about that.

“Yes, Mama?” the little boy said.

The little girl looked up at Conrad. “Who’re you?”

“Children, this is Mr. Browning,” Winifred said. “He’s come a long way to see you.”

“To see us?” the little boy said. “Why?”

Conrad swallowed hard and struggled to find his voice. Finally, he said, “I came to tell you ... what fine children you and your sister are ... David. I’ve heard ... so much about you ... and now I see that it’s true.”

Both children looked at him like he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

He managed to go on. “Why don’t you go back upstairs and play ... while I talk to your mother some more?”

They looked at each other and shrugged in the way children have of saying all grown-ups are crazy anyway, then turned and ran back up the stairs. Conrad swung around to face Winifred Lannigan across the parlor again.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s going to be hard enough for them over the coming weeks and months.” She lifted something from a small table beside her chair and held it out. “Here. This is for you.”

It was a thick envelope. Conrad crossed the room and took it from her. “What’s this?”

“Give it to Claudius Turnbuckle,” Winifred said. “I’ve written down everything, going all the way back to Boston before any of this started. I’ve explained everything Miss Tarleton did, as well as Dex’s part in it ... and mine. It should be enough to clear your name with the authorities.”

Conrad frowned. “Why would you do such a thing? Feeling guilty?”

“Of course,” she answered without hesitation. “Wouldn’t you if you’d helped torture someone the way Miss Tarleton and Dex and I tortured you? But I won’t lie to you ... If Dex had come through that door this morning instead of you, I wouldn’t have said anything about this. I’d have burned what I wrote as soon as I got the chance, and I wouldn’t look back. It would’ve been too late for that. I would have already been damned. Maybe this way ...”

Her voice trailed off. Conrad could understand clinging to a hope of redemption. Sometimes that was all people had left.

Slowly, he nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Not after what I helped them do to you. This is a start, just a start.”

A strained silence fell between them. There was nothing left to say. After a moment, Conrad cleared his throat. “I’ll be going now.”

She nodded but didn’t reply.

He turned and went to the door, but paused there and looked back at her. “You have a fine pair of children.”

A smile touched Winifred’s lips. “I know. Sometimes we’re blessed in ways we don’t really deserve.”

Conrad nodded. That was true.

And sometimes we’re damned in ways we don’t deserve, either, he thought as he left the house and walked toward Claudius Turnbuckle’s buggy with the confession in his hand.

“Where are you going to go?” Frank Morgan asked.

“Don’t know,” said the man in the buckskin shirt. He smiled. “Thought maybe I’d just drift.”

“But, sir—” Arturo began.

The man slapped him on the shoulder. “Not sir. Pard, maybe. That’ll do.”