“Whom.”
“What?”
“Never mind. No, I don’t know who hired them.”
“Reckon that’s another thing I’ll want to ask then.”
“Do you think that might be significant?”
Longarm shrugged. “Henry, I got no damn idea what’s gonna prove to be important or what won’t. ‘Bout all we can do at this point is commence stirring the water an’ see what comes up mud.”
“Good luck, my friend. And in case you had any doubts, your news has made this a much better day than I ever expected it could be.” Henry grinned and, walking with a much more lively and bouncy step than when he’d arrived, headed back toward the Federal Building.
There went one almighty happy man, Longarm thought with considerable pleasure of his own.
Chapter 28
E. P. Lewis and Co. was located on the outer fringes of town at the west end, a collection of ramshackle barns and corrals set in a grove of mature cottonwoods that grew beside a tiny creek. Most of the livestock appeared to be heavy workhorses, not fancy lightweights like those Longarm had seen hitched to the carriage that awful day outside the Federal Building.
That had been a matched set of grays. Four of them in showy, bright polished harness and purple plumes. Longarm looked in the corrals, but was sure none of the grays was on the premises now. He hoped they were not out on a job this morning. Not that he gave a damn about the horses particularly, but generally men and animals were matched in teams, so if the horses were gone there was a good chance the men might not be available either.
Still, he’d come this far. He did not intend to go back to the city without learning what he could here. He told the hack driver to wait for him—he did not want to have to walk back to the nearest point where he might reasonably expect to find another mode of transportation—and began poking through the various sheds and outbuildings in search of someone to talk to.
Most of the equipment in inventory consisted of heavy drays and freight wagons. Apparently the bulk of the company’s business was commercial by nature, not just fancy outfits offered to the gentry.
The E.P. Lewis and Co. office turned out to be lodged in one of the barns, in a room originally intended to hold grain or harness or whatever.
“Would you be Mr. Lewis?” Longarm asked the young man in sleeve garters and eye protector that he found bent over a desk there.
“I would. Edward Charles Lewis, proprietor.”
Longarm glanced down at the sheet of paper Henry had given him earlier. “I thought it was E.P. Lewis,” he observed.
“That is the company name, yes. Edward Prentice Lewis was my father. He turned the business over to me two years ago and retired. Said it was my turn to support him for a change. Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
Longarm introduced himself.
“Ah, yes. I was wondering how long it would be before someone came around to ask about the tragedy.”
“You haven’t talked to anybody else before me?” Longarm asked.
“No, Marshal, you are the first.”
That didn’t sound right. Surely anyone interested in getting to the truth would want to talk to those who were actually at the scene. And as soon as possible too, before memories began to fade or, worse, be replaced with speculation gone over so often that the line dividing truth from imagination would begin to blur. Longarm found it odd that none of the investigators on the case had been there before now. Odd to say the least.
He said nothing about that to young Ed Lewis, of course. “I hope I’ll be able to count on your cooperation,” was all he said aloud.
“Certainly,” Lewis assured him. “Mine and that of any of my people. Sit down, Marshal. Would you like some coffee? Or something stronger?”
“Nothing, thanks, but do you mind if I smoke in here?”
“In here no, but …”
“I won’t carry it out into the barn with me,” Longarm assured him, pulling out a pair of cheroots and offering one to Lewis, who declined the invitation.
Longarm took his time trimming and lighting the slender cigar, keeping his attention on the young entrepreneur without being obvious about it. Lewis seemed quite content to wait. He showed no nervousness or irritation whatsoever, but waited patiently for his guest to get on with the interview.
“I notice that the horses you used that day aren’t in the corrals now. I hope them and the gents who were driving them aren’t off working somewhere.”
“The grays are gone because I had to sell them,” Lewis told him. “The explosion ruined them. High-quality carriage horses have to be steady, you see. It is remarkable how exacting some customers can be, with the demands they sometimes place on horses and people alike. The grays were my best team, I have to tell you, but after the explosion they were not the same. Not dependable, you see. Why, we had to lip-twitch them or ear them down just to get harness onto them. They would not work together any longer, wouldn’t stand without becoming nervous and working up a sweat. I felt sorry for the poor things, but I could no longer use them. I had to sell them off. Not as a team either, unfortunately, which cut into whatever value they should have had.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Longarm said. “What about the men?” Again he consulted Henry’s slip of paper. “John Boatwright and Carl Beamon?”
“Boatwright was the driver of my carriage that day,” Lewis said. “He is due to come on duty at noon. That will be in, what, forty-five minutes or so? Boatwright has a short hire for this afternoon with a light team. You can talk to him when he shows up for work. He is quite dependable; you can count on him being here when he said he would. Or if you prefer, I can give you his address and you can try to catch him at home, although he may already have gone somewhere for his dinner. He is a bachelor and generally takes his meals out,” Lewis said.
“I’ll see him here if it’s all right with you.”
“Of course. As for Beamon, I am afraid he is no longer available. He was killed, you see.”
“Nobody told me he was hurt too,” Longarm said.
“Oh, he was not injured in the explosion. It was practically a miracle the way he escaped that without harm. No, Carl died two days ago in an accident.”
“Really.”
“Yes. He was crossing the street. At night, although not particularly late. I am told he was on his way home after supper. He may have been drinking. I wouldn’t know about that. In any event, a runaway wagon ran right over him when he stepped off the sidewalk. Broke his neck, I believe.”
“This happened two nights ago?”
“That’s right.”
“Here?”
“In Aurora. Carl lived in Aurora.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It was a shame, of course. He was a good enough employee. Not as dependable as some, but better than most of the help I see here. I am still looking for a replacement. Uh, if you know of anyone …”
“Sorry, but I couldn’t say that I do. Before I forget, Mr. Lewis, do you recall who it was that hired you to carry the commissioner and his party that day?”
“Yes, of course I do. The hire was arranged by the United States attorney, a Mr. Terrell. I, um, don’t suppose you know who I should contact about the bill for, uh, services rendered, do you? With Mr. Terrell among the casualties I haven’t been sure …”
Longarm wasn’t about to tell this fellow that Terrell had survived the incident. “The acting U.S. attorney now is a man name of J.B. Cotton. You could try billing him. Or the office. I don’t know if the hire was official government business or political. If it was s’posed to be political, then I expect you’d have to see some of the party officials. Whoever they might be.”
“Yes, well, I guess I can try the official route first, and go to the party if that doesn’t work.” He frowned. “I shouldn’t want to bill the estate. Someone needs to pay, although my insurance carrier will take care of at least partial replacement cost for the carriage. It was completely destroyed.”