Robert Randisi: Bullets & Lies

White shrugged and said, “Maybe his name was just on the list.”

“Then you hear I’ve been called in, and you think I’m going to come up with the proof, make it easy to take the medal and maybe even prosecute him. A last-ditch effort to solve the mystery of the missing…what?”

“We didn’t know exactly who you were working for,” White said, “but then neither did you, right?”

“Westover was sick,” Roper said, “but not as sick as they let on. And then those other three…”

“Tal, you were trying to save their lives,” White said. “I never figured they’d turn on you.”

“Sure you did,” Roper said, “that’s why you sent Prince.”

“I didn’t know anything about Kilkenny’s involvement,” White said.

“You’re supposed to know things like that, Donny,” Roper said. “Maybe you messed up, too.”

“Maybe I did.”

“You know what?” Roper said. “I think I’ll have that drink now.”

White got up, went to a sideboard, opened it, and poured out two snifters of brandy.

“I thought you said a drink,” Roper said, accepting the glass.

“Here on Capital Hill we drink brandy,” White said, seating himself behind his desk again.

“All the more reason I should stay away from Washington,” Roper said, but he drank it.

“So they’re all dead?” White said.

“All of them,” Roper said. “There was a lot of lead flying around. Prince was lucky he just got winged.”

“Not a very satisfying ending, is it?” White asked.

“No,” Roper said. “I still don’t know why I had to end up killing three men who fought in the war on the same side I did.”

“You never get all the answers, Tal,” White said. “You should know that in your business.”

“I do know that,” Roper said. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Even the best can still learn something.”

Roper stood up.

“Want to have a steak tonight?” White asked.

“I’m leaving on the next train,” Roper said. “I’ve had enough of Washington to last me awhile.”

“Well, it was good to see you.”

“Hopefully, it’ll be a long time before we see each other again, Donny,” Roper said, then added, “No offense.”

White laughed. “None taken.”

At the door Roper stopped and asked, “How’s it look for the colonel to get that third bird?”

“Not good,” White said. “The old gent died last week.”

“Too bad,” Roper said, even though he and the colonel were never more than cordial with each other. “So he never had a part in any of this?”

“No, no,” White said, “we were just trying to keep him out of trouble. According to Captain Morressy, the old man heard you were in town and just wanted to act like he still had some authority. I heard you went easy on him.”

“I never liked him,” Roper said, “but I always respected him. And he wasn’t that aggressive. It was just kind of…sad.”

“Well,” White said, “hopefully we won’t end up like that when we get old.”

“Nothing worse than an old soldier without a war,” Roper said.

“Amen,” White said as Roper went out the door.

Outside Roper found Lieutenant Prince waiting for him, his left arm in a sling.

“How you feeling, son?” Roper asked.

“I’m fine, sir. I wanted to thank you for bringing me back here.”

“And we owe you thanks for dragging yourself back into that house. You pretty much saved all our asses.”

“It was sort of insulting to be ignored that way, sir.”

“Well, you made damn sure you weren’t ignored for very long,” Roper said. “Good luck with your next assignment, whatever it is.”

“Before you go, I thought this might interest you sir,” Prince said.

He handed Roper a rolled-up file.

“What is it?”

“It’s the file on an investigation that took place at the end of the war,” Prince said. “Might be some interesting reading on the train back to Denver. Just don’t tell anyone where you got it.”

Roper watched the young man walk away, wondering if in his hand he was holding his answers after all.

Epilogue

Two months later…

The Westover case still left a bad taste in Roper’s mouth. That was why he found his present job more palatable, a simple manhunt. No secrets here. He was tracking John Sender again, as he had been months before the Westover case. He’d returned Sender to the custody of the Colorado State Penitentiary, and had promptly forgotten about him until, a month after he’d returned from Washington, D.C., he was notified that Sender had once again escaped…

He was in his office at the time, trying to show another of Mrs. Batchelder’s girls how to file. This one’s name was Holly. She was a tall, willowy brunette who had the biggest doe eyes he’d ever seen, and the smallest waist.

The door opened and a man stepped into the office.

“Roper.”

Roper and Holly both turned from their filing and looked at him.

“What do you want, Evans? Why’d they let you out of the pen?”

“I’m the assistant warden, Roper,” Mike Evans said. “I can leave anytime I want.”

“I was hoping maybe they’d gotten smart and decided to keep you inside. Holly, this is Mike Evans. If he ever comes by again, tell him I’m not in.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“All right, Evans,” Roper said. “Let’s go into my office.”

He turned and went in, leaving Evans to follow him.

Roper didn’t like Evans. The man had come up through the ranks, having been a deputy sheriff and a deputy marshal, and now, in his early forties, he was next in line to be the warden at the penitentiary, when the current warden retired in a year or so. But as far as Roper was concerned, he’d never been a good lawman. Rather, Evans was a politician and knew the right palms to grease and asses to kiss. He even dressed like a politician, in an expensive charcoal gray suit that was cut perfectly to fit.

“I’m not going to offer you a drink,” Roper said. “I sense you won’t be here long. In fact, don’t even sit down.”

“You’re right,” Evans said. “I’m only here to tell you that Sender’s out.”

“You let him out?” Roper asked incredulously.

“No,” Evans said, “we didn’t let him out. He escaped.”

“Again?”

“Look,” Evans said, “he had help. He was assigned to the laundry—never mind. The details don’t matter. We need you to bring him back.”

“You’ve got marshals for that.”

“You know him better than anyone. You’ve already caught him twice.”

“I don’t work for free, Evans.”

“The state won’t pay you, Roper, you know that,” Evans said.

“Well then—”

“But I will.”

“You?”

“Just send me the bill when you get back.”

“Wait a minute,” Roper said. “You made a mess of this, didn’t you? He escaped on your watch.”

“I need you to bring him back, Roper,” Evans said. “What’s it gonna take?”

“Well,” Roper said, “for starters, double my usual fee…up front, of course…”

He’d been tracking Sender for a couple of weeks and was closing in once again. Third time is the charm, he thought. Maybe this time when he put him away, he’d stay put. Or maybe this time he’d have to kill him.

He’d already tracked the two men who had helped Sender escape. He’d had to kill one—Charlie Wills—and he’d turned the other one—Larry Billings—over to the law. By now, Billings was in the pen himself, waiting for his buddy Sender to come back. Roper was doing his best to make that happen.

Billings had spilled to Roper that Sender was heading for Saint Joe, Missouri. Roper had been in Saint Joe during the Westover thing, so when he arrived, he stopped in to see Sheriff Parnell.