The Chase Part 6

"Were you aware of the money Mr. Cardoza was holding for my bank?" asked Ruskin flatly.

Ramsdell nodded. "Yes, he called me on the telephone and reported that you had come in and placed your bank's currency in the vault."

"Since Mr. Cardoza, G.o.d rest his soul, wrote me out a receipt, my directors will a.s.sume your bank will make good on the loss."

"Tell your directors not to worry."

"How much cash did the robber take?" Ruskin asked.

"Two hundred forty-five thousand dollars."

"Plus my half million," he said, as if agitated.

Ramsdell looked at him queerly. "For some inexplicable reason, the robber didn't take your money."

Ruskin simulated a stunned expression. "What are you telling me?"

"The bills in a large, brown leather suitcase," said Captain Casale. "Are those yours?"

"The gold certificates? Yes, they are from the bank I represent in New York."

Ramsdell and Casale exchanged odd looks. Then Ramsdell said, "The case you and Mr. Cardoza placed in the vault still contains your currency."

"I don't understand."

"It hasn't been touched. I opened and checked it myself. Your gold certificates are safe and sound."

Ruskin made a show of acting perplexed. "It doesn't make sense. Why take your money and leave mine?"

Casale scratched one ear. "My guess is, he was in a hurry and simply ignored the suitcase, not realizing it was filled with a king's fortune in cash."

"That's a relief," said Ruskin, taking off his silk top hat and wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. "a.s.suming the robber won't return, I'll leave it in your vault until such time as we require it to open our new branch banks in Phoenix and Reno."

"We are most grateful. Especially now that our currency on hand has been wiped out."

Ruskin looked around at the spread of dried blood on the floor. "I should leave you to your investigation." He nodded at Casale. "I trust you will catch the killer so he can be hung."

"I swear we'll track him down," Casale said confidently. "Every road out of Salt Lake and all the train depots are covered by a network of police officers. He can't travel beyond the city limits without being caught."

"Good luck to you," said Ruskin. "I pray you will apprehend the fiend." He turned to Ramsdell. "I will be at the Peery Hotel until tomorrow afternoon, should you require my services. At four o'clock, I will board a train, to oversee the establishment of our new bank in Phoenix."

"You are most generous, sir," said Ramsdell. "I will be in touch as soon as we resume operations."

"Not at all." Ruskin turned to leave. "Good luck to you, Captain," Ruskin said to Casale as he made for the front entrance of the bank.

Casale stared out the window as Ruskin walked across the street toward a taxi. "Most strange," he said slowly. "If I know my train schedules, the next train for Phoenix doesn't leave for another three days."

Ramsdell shrugged. "He was probably misinformed."

"Still, there is something about him that bothers me."

"What is that?"

"He didn't look overjoyed that his bank's money was not taken by the robber. It was almost as if he knew it was safe before he walked in the door."

"Does it matter?" asked Ramsdell. "Mr. Ruskin should be glad his half a million dollars was overlooked by the robber."

The detective looked thoughtful. "How do you know it's a half a million dollars? Did you count it?"

"Mr. Cardoza must have counted it."

"Are you certain?"

Ramsdell began walking from the office toward the vault. "Now is as good a time as any to make a quick tally."

He opened the case and started to lay the first layer of stacked bills on a nearby shelf. The top layer consisted of twenty thousand dollars in gold certificate bills. Underneath, the rest of the case was filled with neatly cut and banded newspaper.

"Good G.o.d!" Ramsdell gasped. Then, as if struck by a revelation, he rushed back to the bank manager's office and opened a book that lay on the surface of the desk. The book contained bank drafts-but the final draft was missing and unrecorded. His face went ashen. "The murdering sc.u.m must have forced Cardoza to write a bank draft for the half million. Whatever bank he deposits it in will a.s.sume we authorized it and demand payment from Salt Lake Bank and Trust. Under federal law, we are bound to honor it. If not, the lawsuits, the prosecution from United States Treasury agents-we'd be forced to close."

"Ruskin was not only a fraud," Casale said firmly, "he was the one who robbed your bank and murdered your employees and customer."

"I can't believe it," muttered Ramsdell incredulously. Then he demanded, "You've got to stop him. Catch him before he checks out of his hotel."

"I'll send a squad to the Peery," said Casale. "But this guy is no buffoon. He probably went on the run as soon as he walked out the door."

"You can't let him get away with this foul deed."

"If he's the notorious Butcher Bandit, he's a shrewd devil who vanishes like a ghost."

Ezra Ramsdell's eyes took on an astute glint. "He has to deposit the draft at a bank somewhere. I'll telegraph the managers of every bank in the nation to be on the lookout for him and contact the police before they honor a draft made out to Eliah Ruskin for half a million dollars. He won't get away with it."

"I'm not so sure," John Casale said softly under his breath. "I'm not so sure at all."

10.

THE BUTCHER BANDIT WAS A COUNTRY MILE AHEAD of him, Bell thought as the train he was riding slowed and stopped at the station in Rhyolite. He had received a lengthy telegram from Van Dorn telling of the Salt Lake ma.s.sacre, as it had become known. A bank in a major city like Salt Lake was the last place he or anyone else expected the Butcher to strike. That was his next stop after Rhyolite.

He stepped from the train with a leather bag that held the bare essentials he carried while traveling. The heat of the desert struck him like a blast furnace, but because of the absence of humidity in the desert it did not soak his shirt with sweat.

After getting directions from the stationmaster, he walked to the sheriff's office and jail. Sheriff Marvin Huey was a medium-sized man with a head of tousled gray hair. He looked up from a stack of wanted posters and stared at Bell with soft olive brown eyes as the Van Dorn agent entered the office.

"Sheriff Huey, I'm Isaac Bell from the Van Dorn Detective Agency."

Huey did not rise from his desk nor offer his hand; instead, he spit a wad of chewing tobacco juice into a cuspidor. "Yes, Mr. Bell, I was told you'd be on the ten o'clock train. How do you like our warm weather?"

Bell took a chair across from Huey without it being offered and sat down. "I prefer the high-alt.i.tude cool air of Denver."

The sheriff grinned slightly at seeing Bell's discomfort. "If you lived here long enough, you might get to like it."

"I wired you concerning my investigation," Bell said without preamble. "I want to obtain any information I can that would be helpful in tracking down the Butcher Bandit."

"I hope you have better luck than I did. After the murders, all we found was a dilapidated, abandoned freight wagon and team of horses that he had driven into town."

"Did anyone get a good look at him?"

Huey shook his head. "No one gave him the slightest notice. Three people gave different descriptions. None matched. All I know is, my posse found no tracks from wagon, horse, or automobile leading out of town."

"What about the railroad?"

Huey shook his head. "No train left town for eight hours. I posted men at the depot who searched the pa.s.senger cars before it left, but they found no one that looked suspicious."

"How about freight trains?"

"My deputies ran a search of the only freight train that left town that day. Neither they nor the train engineer, fireman, or brakemen saw anyone hiding on or around the boxcars."

"What is your theory on the bandit?" asked Bell. "How do you think he made a clean getaway?"

Huey paused to shoot another wad of tobacco saliva into the bra.s.s cuspidor. "I gave up. It pains me to say so, but I have no idea how he managed to elude me and my deputies. Frankly, I'm put out by it. In thirty years as a lawman, I've never lost my man."

"You can take consolation in knowing you're not the only sheriff or marshal who lost him after he robbed their town banks."

"It still isn't anything I can be proud of," muttered Huey.

"With your permission, I would like to question the three witnesses."

"You'll be wasting your time."

"May I have their names?" Bell persisted. "I have to do my job."

Huey shrugged and wrote out three names on the back of a wanted poster, and where they could be found, handing it to Bell. "I know all these people. They're good, honest citizens who believe what they saw even if it don't match up."

"Thank you, Sheriff, but it is my job to investigate every lead, no matter how insignificant."

"Let me know if I can be of further help," said Huey, warming up.

"If need be," said Bell, "I will."

BELL SPENT most of the next morning locating and questioning the people on the list given him by Sheriff Huey. Bell was considered an expert at drawing on witnesses' descriptions, but this time around he drew a blank. None of the people, two men and one woman, gave correlating accounts. Sheriff Huey was right. He accepted defeat and headed back to his hotel and prepared to leave for the next town on his schedule that had suffered a similar tragedy: Bozeman, Montana.

He was sitting in the hotel restaurant, eating an early dinner of lamb stew, when the sheriff walked in and sat down at his table.

"Can I order you anything?" Bell asked graciously.

"No thanks. I came looking for you because I thought of Jackie Ruggles."

"And who might that be?"

"He's a young boy of about ten. His father works in the mine and his mother takes in laundry. He said he saw a funny-looking man the day of the robbery, but I dismissed his description. He's not the brightest kid in town. I figured he wanted to impress the other boys by claiming he'd seen the bandit."

"I'd like to question him."

"Go up Third Street to Menlo. Then turn right. He lives in the second house on the left, a ramshackle affair that looks like it may fall down any minute, like most of the houses in that area of town."

"I'm obliged."

"You won't get any more out of Jackie than you did from the others, probably less."

"I have to look on the bright side," said Bell. "As I said, we have to check out every lead, no matter how trivial. The Van Dorn Detective Agency wants the killer as much as you."

"You might stop by the general store and pick up some gumdrops," Sheriff Huey said. "Jackie has a sweet tooth for gumdrops."

"Thanks for the tip."

BELL FOUND the Ruggles house just as Huey described. The entire wooden structure was leaning to one side. Another two inches, Bell thought, and it would crash into the street. He started up the rickety stairs just as a young boy dashed out of the front door and ran toward the street.

"Are you Jackie Ruggles?" Bell asked, grabbing the boy by the arm before he dashed off.

The boy wasn't the least bit intimidated. "Who wants to know?" he demanded.

"My name is Bell. I'm with the Van Dorn Detective Agency. I'd like to ask you about what you saw the day of the bank robbery."

"Van Dorn," Jackie said in awe. "Gosh, you guys are famous. A detective from Van Dorn wants to talk to me?"

"That's right," said Bell, swooping in for the kill. "Would you like some gumdrops?" He held out a small sack that he had just purchased at the general store.

"Gee, thanks, mister." Jackie Ruggles wasted no time in s.n.a.t.c.hing the sack and savoring a green gumdrop. He was dressed in a cotton shirt, pants that were cut off above the knee, and worn-leather shoes that Bell guessed were handed down by an older brother. The clothes were quite clean, as befitting a mother who was a laundress. He was thin as a broomstick, with boyish facial features that were covered with freckles, and topped by a thicket of uncombed curly light brown hair.

"I was told by Sheriff Huey that you saw the bank robber."

The boy answered while chewing on the gumdrop. "Sure did. The only trouble is, n.o.body believes me."

"I do," Bell a.s.sured him. "Tell me what you saw."

Jackie was about to reach in the sack for another gumdrop, but Bell stopped him. "You can have them after you've told me what you know."

The boy looked peeved but shrugged. "I was playing baseball in the street with my friends when this old guy-"

"How old?"

Jackie studied Bell. "About your age."

Bell never considered thirty as old, but to a young boy of ten he must have appeared ancient. "Go on."