“Duncan didn’t mean nuthin’ by it, Marshal. You know how he gets all confused when his dander’s up. Some women got all riled up over at the depot waitin’ for their train to pull out. That’s all. You turn this snake over to us. He kilt Gregorio. We take care of enforcin’ the law on STC property.”
“You got that wrong. That’s my jurisdiction,” Granger said. “Most minor crimes committed on STC property are yours to ferret out and punish, but not murder. The good folks of San Antonio insist that I earn my pay by investigating.”
A grating voice interrupted the marshal telling where his jurisdiction lay.
“He killed another man, Marshal, not just Gregorio. He’s on a regular killing spree. I found that body under a train along a siding.” Kinchloe rushed up, herding another of Granger’s deputies ahead of him. He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and squared off with the lawman. He presented a more imposing challenge than Smitty, but Granger refused to back down. “You’re not doing much of a job if you let him kill two men.”
“Was he an employee of the railroad, too? This is the first I’ve heard of somebody else getting killed.”
“I don’t know who he was, Granger.” Kinchloe shoved the marshal out of the way and stood a foot from Ike. The cyclorama on the floor formed a line in the sand between them. Ike waited for the railroad detective to cross it.
“A case can be made how Gregorio might be considered your business since he worked for the South Texas Central, but if you aren’t sure who this new gent is, then he definitely falls under my jurisdiction. You’re making my argument for keeping this one in custody, Kinchloe. My custody.”
“The boss won’t like that.” The detective looked over his shoulder at the marshal. His hand drifted around to the iron hanging at his hip. Ike caught his breath. If ever he had seen a man ready to throw down and start flinging lead, it was Kinchloe. The marshal didn’t look perturbed in the least.
That meant he knew who Kinchloe’s first victim would be—and it was not anyone wearing a badge. A spot over Ike’s heart began to throb, as if a bullet had already blasted into his chest.
“Don’t matter to me what your boss likes or doesn’t like,” Granger said. “I’ll lock up my prisoner, but first let me take a gander at this new dead man you found.”
“Smitty. Siding A3.” Kinchloe dropped his hand from his side and stalked off.
“Where’s he going, Marshal?” A deputy behind Smitty and his partner stood on tiptoe watching Kinchloe’s back.
“I’m likely to find out ’fore the day’s done,” Granger said with a sigh. He pointed at Ike. “You. Come with me.”
Ike did as he was told, aware that the deputy walking behind watched him like a hawk. He was glad he had kept his hide intact so far. If the San Antonio lawmen hadn’t shown up when they did, Smitty would have cut him down like summer alfalfa. Rather than heading right away in the direction of the rail rider Kinchloe—or one of his men—had killed, Ike let the bulls lead the way. Showing too much knowledge only hammered home that he knew more than he cared to admit.
“Under there, Marshal,” Smitty said, kicking at a freight car wheel. Flies buzzed around in the late-afternoon sun, disturbed from their dining on the dead man.
Granger knelt and poked about and finally stood, saying, “Yup, he’s dead. Got a couple bullets in his back. Maybe three, but it’s hard to tell, there’s so much blood. One through his heart probably done him in instantly.”
Ike almost blurted out that death hadn’t been immediate. He caught himself in time, though the deputy closest to him noticed the momentary lapse.
“You boys drag his body out from under the car. Take it and Gregorio’s over to Doc Svenson. Don’t let anybody give you any guff about it. These are my orders.”
“A sawbones ain’t gonna do nuthin’ for either of them. They’re dead,” Smitty said.
“While he’s a God-fearing man and a fine sawbones, I don’t expect the doc to resurrect them, if that’s what you’re saying, Mr. Smith. I want him to tell me what he can about the bullets that done these gents in.” Granger rested his hand on the gun thrust into his waistband, the one he had taken from Ike. Satisfied that the pistol was still in his possession and likely to be evidence, he motioned. The deputy behind Ike pushed him hard.
Ike was more than glad to get away from the rail yard. Nothing but trouble had crashed down on him since he had rolled into San Antonio.
Granger walked a pace to Ike’s side, not seeming to have a care in the world.
“This here’s a peaceable enough town. I’ve worked closer to the border and seen my share of killing, but after I took up the law-keeping reins in San Antonio, it’s been peaceable. Right peaceable. Until you showed up. Two killings in a single day’s hardly a record, but it’s unusual now. I don’t want this to put a big ole stain on my escutcheon. You like that word? I came across it in a dime novel. Escutcheon.” He let the word roll off his tongue like a fine, aged drop of whiskey.
“I didn’t have anything to do with either of the deaths, Marshal.” Ike’s mouth was drier than the Chihuahuan Desert, but he got the words out so they didn’t sound like too big a lie. At least, he hoped they didn’t.
“Kinchloe and his band of ruffians are certainly capable of such chicanery,” the marshal said. “You like that word, too? I read it in another of them penny dreadfuls. My sister sends me copies from Philadelphia. That’s back East.”
“I know,” Ike said. From the marshal’s reaction, he should have kept his mouth shut. There were men who rambled on and on about insignificant things to give them time to mull over more important matters. Like who killed two victims at the rail yard. Breaking into the marshal’s parade of “what abouts” only drew unwanted attention to himself. Ike clamped his mouth shut and stared ahead.
“As I was saying, I run a quiet town. The citizens like it. I like it. The fewer prisoners I lock up, the more money’s left in the general fund for special things at the end of the month.” Granger spat and wiped his lips without breaking stride. “Now, the mayor doesn’t much like it that I keep that money. Well, I don’t keep it for myself. I divvy it up betwixt my deputies. They like it a lot. When they like it, they make sure our good citizens see how content they are, and what the mayor says doesn’t matter so much.”
Granger put his hand on Ike’s shoulder and steered him down a side street. At the end of the cul de sac rose a two-story brick building. Ike trembled at the sight. There wasn’t any sign he saw proclaiming this to be the San Antonio City Jail, but he knew it was. He had heard tell of the Alamo and how the Texans turned the church into a fortress back in 1836. The brick building wasn’t converted from anything else. It had been built as a jailhouse and looked able to hold a small army of prisoners.
“A beauty, ain’t she?” Granger said. “I took over from the prior marshal. He kept it full to the rafters with drunks and other lowlifes. My policy’s a bit different.”
“Whack ’em on the head and run ’em out of town,” his deputy piped up. “No reason to give them room and board at taxpayers’ expense. They only cause trouble the next chance they get. That’s usually within a day or two of being released ’cuz they like the free food and board too much.”
“My boy’s learned the lesson,” Granger said proudly.
Ike wondered if that was only a turn of phrase or if the deputy was Granger’s son. The sides of a political—and legal—battle in San Antonio were becoming clear. Granger wasn’t the type to let the mayor dictate to him. Having a politically powerful company like the South Texas Central railroad in the mix vying for control made winning the political struggle all the more lucrative. To fight all that opposition, Granger had an army of his own, or maybe a family all wearing lawmen’s badges.