I suppose all of that has contributed to make Jerry Burke the man he is today, but it has seemingly had an inverse effect.
Outwardly, he appears the least adventurous and imaginative of men. The inward spark that has driven him to do the things that other men wishfully dream of doing doesn’t show in his face, speech, or actions. In appearance, he looks like a moderately successful broker or merchant. His stubby hair is turning gray, and his body gets a little bulkier each year.
But I followed him around on the MUM case,[1] and I saw that glint in his eyes while we sat in the Juarez cafe waiting for the killers to show themselves at the end of a heartbreaking manhunt, so I know what’s inside of him that makes him tick.
Knowing him as I do, I shouldn’t have hung back and watched his face as he stepped forward by Chief Jelcoe’s side and looked down at the body. Perhaps I shouldn’t have wondered what his reaction would be to the red lips and queer symbol.
I might as well have saved myself the trouble. If Jerry Burke ever allowed himself to have a reaction he wouldn’t let it show outwardly. His heavy face was as impassive as though he had just shoved out a stack of blues on a busted straight.
Jelcoe’s long nose was quivering but he didn’t say anything. In Burke’s presence he had a way of respectfully effacing himself that was just the opposite of respectful. He’s the only man I ever met who could sneer with becoming modesty.
Uniformed men and the police surgeon were approaching. Burke stepped back to my side to make room, saying pleasantly to Jelcoe:
“Better start your blood-hounds circling while it’s still light.”
While Jelcoe issued crisp orders to his detectives, the police surgeon bent briskly over Young. He was a stout little man who whistled cheerfully as he went methodically about his task.
I couldn’t stand Burke’s silence as we stood there. “What do you make of it?” I burst out. “What do those marks on his cheek mean?”
Burke shook his head with maddening deliberation. The taciturnity of his cowpunching days still clings to him. “Guesses are for fools. But...” He paused, a puzzled look on his face, “I’ve seen such a two-barred cross somewhere.”
“Does Young’s wife use lots of lipstick?” I broke in impatiently.
“Damned if I know,” Jerry murmured. “We’ll ask her presently.”
Jelcoe had his men circling around looking for footprints or other tangible clues. He came sidling back to stand beside us as the surgeon straightened up and spoke.
“A small-calibre bullet into the brain from some distance .22 or .25, I imagine. Bullet’s lodged inside.” He stepped away, closing his medical case.
“How long...?” Jelcoe began eagerly, but the surgeon stopped him with a plump palm held up.
“I know. The one all-important question which no doctor can answer. I can narrow it down to comparatively brief limits this time. Death was instantaneous... not less than half an hour and not more than two hours ago. I may be able to do better after I get him in where I can go over him.”
“When did you find him, Asa?” Burke asked me.
Jelcoe’s eyelids twitched while I looked at my watch. “Exactly thirty minutes ago. I looked at my watch.”
Burke was satisfied but Chief Jelcoe wasn’t. From the beginning he hadn’t taken kindly to the action of the City Fathers in bringing Jerry Burke to El Paso and installing him as the supreme authority over the police department; and the ridiculous showing he made in his mishandling of other cases on which I had trailed Burke around hadn’t helped our friendly relations to any extent.
Now, he openly sneered: “Any witnesses around when you supposedly discovered the body?”
“A couple of Scotties,” I told him as calmly as I could. “And... I met a man just up the canyon as I was returning from a long walk. He might be able to verify the time.”
I purposely saved the identity of the man to tell Burke later, and Jelcoe pounced on my somewhat halting explanation with a gleeful sniff.
“A stranger, I suppose? One who will conveniently vanish in thin air if you attempt to prove an alibi by him.”
“What do I need an alibi for? Am I a suspect?”
“You were here. You reported finding the body.” Jelcoe’s voice sounded as though that clinched it.
I nodded disgustedly. “And I kissed him on the lips and marked his face up with lipstick after bopping him.”
Chief Jelcoe shrugged thin shoulders, the expression on his face indicating that he wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn I had done just that.
Jerry Burke put an end to the by-play by saying brusquely: “I’ll answer for Baker for the time being.” Two men were bringing up a stretcher, and Burke stepped in front of them.
He said: “I’ll go through his pockets before you take him away,” and leaned down to do that.
He brought out a little pile of keys, cash, and trifles, and laid them on the grass while Jelcoe stood by, rocking back on his heels and watching suspiciously.
Burke had an envelope in his hand when he straightened up, and he took a folded sheet of paper out while a photographer took several shots of the body.
Burke’s body stiffened as he stared at the sheet of paper. Jelcoe and I stepped close on each side of him and peered at it.
It was heavy orange notepaper, giving off a faint perfume, and the message was written in black ink in a flowing feminine hand. But what I saw first, and what brought a gasp from my lips, was the inked symbol in the bottom left-hand corner. A cross with two bars!
Drawn free-hand with firm vertical and horizontal strokes of the pen; like this:
Identical with the crimson marks on Leslie Young’s cheek!
The paper became a blur in front of my eyes, and I could have sworn it shook in the grip of Jerry Burke’s fingers. But his voice was steady enough as he read:
April 13th. 1939.
Dear Mr. Leslie Young:
You are not acquainted with the writer of this note but I know much about Leslie Young. If you are interested in matters that used to interest you come to Hacienda del Torro tomorrow night at eight. You will not be known by any who are present, and there will be no danger.
Cross the Rio Grande at Zaragoza, turn left on the first road beyond Waterfill Gardens, drive ten miles to stone gateposts on the right with a bull on the archway.
Burke was silent for a moment as he refolded the notepaper and frowned at the envelope. “It was mailed in El Paso yesterday afternoon.” He replaced the letter carefully in its envelope and put it in his pocket.
“D-didn’t you see those marks on the bottom?” Jelcoe sputtered.
Burke nodded. “The same symbol that’s on Young’s cheek... which gives us plenty to think about.” He turned to me, dismissing the chief of detectives.
“I’d better go up and break the news to Mrs. Young. Want to go along, Asa?”
I did. Very much. Walking toward Burke’s car with him, I said:
“While you’re getting turned around I’ll walk down the road and send the pups up to wait by my car. I’m all packed and ready to leave.”
I whistled to Nip and Tuck and went on while he got in and started his motor. At the foot of the road leading up to the Martin cabin I stopped and told the pups to go up and wait. Burke came along as they trotted up the slope submissively.
Getting in beside him, I asked: “Do you know Mrs. Young?”
“Not very well. I’ve met her a time or two.” As he let out the clutch and we rolled ahead, he added heavily: