Relentless (23 page)

    “No,” I said, “it’s not. You kidnapped a woman and held her captive. You also beat her. You’ve got some serious trouble, Webley. And this time your influence isn’t enough to get you out of it.”

    He put his face in his hands again. Left them there for some time. I glanced at Callie. Thank God she wasn’t going sympathetic about him now. Anybody else would have to stand trial; so should he.

    “I’ll hunt up your lawyer and tell him what happened,” I said to Webley. “I’ll have him meet you at his office at ten o’clock.”

    “I just can’t believe that you’re going to charge me.”

    “You couldn’t believe that I was going to charge your son either. You might’ve forgotten, but that’s what started this whole thing. That trouble Trent got into. You should’ve just let it ride out its course. Look where the hell it led, Webley. You can’t be too happy about that.”

    

    

    When we left, Webley sat on the edge of the bed, touching a tentative hand to his wife’s face. The dead eyes expressed a certain surprise. I suppose that first moment of the death sensation is a surprise. Whatever you think it’s going to be, it’s probably different.

    The butler saw us out. At the back door, he said, “He’s never going to be the same.”

    “Good,” I said. “He needed to change.”

    

    

    As we walked down the sloping hill to our horses, Callie said, “You’re getting to be so cold, Morgan. We all need to change. None of us is perfect.”

    “It’s this town,” I said. “I need to get far away and fast.” She slid her arm through mine. “I assume you’re planning to take me with you.”

    “I’ll think it over and let you know.”

    She unslid her arm and used her fist to punch me in the kidney. “Think it over and let me know. And right now.”

    “All right, I’ll take you with me. Just don’t hit me anymore.”

    The moon was full and high and solemn as we rode home. Callie seemed to grow stronger the closer we got. She said, “I’m rid of him finally.”

    “We all are.”

    She didn’t have to tell me it was Stanton we were talking about.

    “I wonder if she really killed him.”

    “If she didn’t,” I said, “why would she have written that letter?”

    “Because she wasn’t well. Because she was always imagining things that hadn’t really happened. Because maybe if Webley kept telling her she’d killed him, maybe she started to believe it herself.”

    I laughed. “I thought you wanted this to be over.”

    “I do.”

    “Then let’s leave it alone. Laura Webley killed Stanton. We have her confession. And her husband agrees that she did it.”

    “Don’t you see what could’ve happened?” Callie said as we drew close to our place, all limned with silver in the moonlight.

    “No, I guess I don’t.”

    “Webley knew how suggestible Laura was. What if he killed Stanton and then convinced her she did it?”

    “Webley has an alibi. The butler said he was at home that night.”

    “You don’t think the butler would lie for him?”

    

    

    As we dismounted, I said, “You’re hard, you know that? You’re little and pretty and delicate. But you’re hard. You get something in your mind and it stays there, and then you fight for it like a snake I just stepped on.”

    “I’ve always wanted to be compared to a snake.”

    I got all sentimental and carried her across the threshold. I set her down on the bed and said, “I’d better not sit down with you.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because then I might get certain kinds of ideas.”

    “I wouldn’t let you anyway,” she said. “I need a bath and a good night’s sleep before I’d even think about that.” She took my hand, touched it to her cheek. “Ouch.” She’d rubbed my hand against one of her many facial bruises. Not to mention her nose. “But you think about what I said, Morgan, all right? He could’ve killed Stanton and then made Laura think she did it.”

    “Maybe,” I said. “But probably not. Laura seemed pretty convinced she’d killed him.”

    Callie put on a pot of coffee, drew back the covers, and said, “I guess I’ll just clean up at the sink tonight. You think you could stand sleeping next to me?”

    “I might just survive.”

    “You’re sure in good spirits.”

    I took her in my arms. To hell with her washing. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve got my wife back, and I’m in the clear as far as my job goes.”

    “Won’t that be hard on Ryan?”

    “I’ll try and get him a raise. I think I can swing him a pretty good one. The town council’ll want to be nice to me for a while. For not trusting me. I’ll have some leverage so I can help Tom.”

    “They should, and just for the way he had to wrestle that Conroy-that con artist-on the stage the afternoon Stanton was killed. He really didn’t want to go. He said he had a right to be here.”

    I laughed. “Con artists are getting bolder these days. They think you shouldn’t be able to do anything to them- like run them out of town-when they start cheating people.”

    Just before she let her clothes fall away, she said, “How about turning down the lantern?”

    “At least you didn’t ask me to go outside this time.”

    “I just never got used to being nude around you. You should be happy I’ve got a little modesty left. A girl like me with a past like mine.”

    “Yeah, you and Belle Star.”

    “Well, I’m not exactly an angel.”

    “You come pretty close.”

    “You’re stalling, lawman. Turn down the lamp.”

    

    

    Which I did. But I didn’t mention that sitting at the table and watching her moonbeam-traced silhouette was even more erotic than watching her lamp-lit. I don’t suppose it was pure sex I wanted. I wanted the physical and mental reassurance that she was really back and free of suspicion. And free of Stanton.

    As she began to dry herself off, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I walked over to her and held her face to mine and kissed her in a gentle way that stirred both of us nonetheless.

    She decided to bathe me, too. Was I going to say no? Thus, a lot cleaner than we’d been, we slipped into bed and proceeded to make the sort of love that would make twenty-year-olds envious. The second time through, slower now, a little talk here and there now, she started to cry. She said it wasn’t for any particular reason; that it was just an expiation of sorts. The way coming was an expiation sometimes-not simply heady pleasure but a cleansing, too, a rebirth.

    And then we fell asleep in a position so awkward that one of us would have ordinarily untwisted ourself out of it. But not tonight. Awkward or not, we remained in that position until well after every rooster, dog, cat, bird, and horse in the valley was up and making its own particular kind of racket.

    I had to get up and head to town. I let her sleep.

    

    

    BY THE TIME I reached the town marshal’s office, the word about Laura Webley had apparently been spread around pretty well. Just about everybody I saw waved and grinned at me. Even a couple of old foes waved. They didn’t like me but on the other hand, they probably hadn’t wanted to believe I was a killer either.

    Tom Ryan was holding his morning meeting with the deputies. I could hear his voice all the way up the hall from his office. He sounded pretty damned authoritative. I sure hadn’t sounded that confident when I was his age. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait up front.

    At first I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I recognized the voice before the words took on meaning. What would he be doing here?

    But soon enough what he was doing here was clear. He said, “I got the town council out of bed early this morning and they’ve assured me that I’m right on this matter. They’re going to back me completely. And I told them that I’d talk to Tom here and that I was sure Tom’s men would go along with it, too.”

    “But Morgan’s a friend of ours,” somebody said.

    “He hired every one of us. Taught us everything we know.”

    “It’s time for Morgan to move on,” the voice of Webley said. Webley, the man I’d left grieving over the dead body of his wife, had recovered remarkably. And was plotting to get me out of town permanently so that neither his son Trent nor himself would be charged for anything. The fact that Tom Ryan hadn’t spoken up in my behalf-Well, even the best friendships end. Tom had a family to feed. And he’d always wanted to be marshal.

    I started thinking about what Callie had said and it started making sense. Given Laura’s mental condition, it had probably been easy enough to convince her that she’d killed Stanton. Easy enough for her husband anyway. She’d written out the letter and killed herself. He probably hadn’t even helped her with it. Given her unstable mind, she hadn’t needed any help.

    Webley had murdered Stanton and managed to have his wife die for what he’d done. I was his last obstacle in town. With his money and influence, he’d now run the town council and the marshal’s office and be a happy man. Likely there’d be another young, delicate woman in his life in a seemly time. He’d want people to think that he was mourning Laura before he brought another rare flower home. And Trent wouldn’t be doing even a day of jail time. Tom would drop the charges. And if the county attorney got fussy about it, well, county attorneys could be replaced just like town marshals.

    I finished off my coffee and went outside. I leaned against the hitching post and rolled myself a cigarette.

    The town made me lonesome. I’d gotten used to the slant of sunlight on the peaked roof of the Lutheran church; and the cry of pigeons echoing off the underside of the roof of the bandstand in the park; and watching the angle of horse necks as the shiny animals dipped their heads to drink from the trough.

    I was lonesome for the way the town had been a few years ago when it seemed that there was a true desire to lessen the influence of both the Webleys and the Grices. But it had stalled somehow. Maybe I hadn’t pushed hard enough. Or maybe I’d pushed too hard and spooked people away. Nobody could relish an open battle with Webley.

    I heard the door open and them talking, the two of them, and then their boots on the boardwalk. They must have recognized me from my back because they suddenly stopped talking. They’d sounded so hearty just then, too, talking about the way things would be around here from now on.

    I turned around and looked at them. That’s all. Just looked. And that’s all it took. Ryan froze. Embarrassed. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

    Webley just shook his head. “If you came to town to cause trouble, Morgan, you’re too late.” He’d never looked smaller or more nervous. He’d bought himself a new town marshal and he was still afraid. It didn’t say much for being the most powerful man in the valley.

    “You should look a lot happier,” I said to Webley. “You’re back in control.”

    “How could I look happy? My wife just died.”

    “Maybe you wanted her to,” I said.

    “And just what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Then he put a halting hand up in the air. “No, don’t tell me. I’m sick of your theories. My wife was a disturbed woman. She shot and killed the man she’d taken up with. I have to live with that the rest of my life. I’ll be damned if I let you punish me any worse with your lies.”

    Gently, Ryan said, “Maybe you’d better go have yourself some coffee, Morgan.”

    “He buy you pretty cheap, did he?” I said to Ryan. The words came hard. We’d been good friends once. “He offered me five hundred dollars a month when I came to town. If I kept things favorable to him. You’re a lot younger than I am, Ryan. You should be getting more money than that.”

    "Too bad you can’t arrest a man for insolence, Ryan,” Webley said.

    Ryan still looked embarrassed.

    There wasn’t much point staying here. We could trade insults all morning, but that wouldn’t change anything. Webley had his town back.

    I glanced at them and then walked away. Ryan broke with Webley and hurried up to me. “I’m sorry about how things turned out.”

    The hell of it was, I supposed he really was sorry. We’d been friends. But he had a family and responsibilities, and he had to do what he needed to to survive.

    “Be careful of him, Ryan. He looks like a mild little man. But he’s as ruthless as his old man was. He just doesn’t make as much noise about it.” I took a few steps ahead, then stopped and glanced back at him. “There’s a good chance Webley himself killed Stanton and then convinced his wife she did it.”

    I didn’t wait for his reaction. I just walked over to the cafe, where I spent a good hour pouring coffee down myself and looking out the window at the town I’d soon be leaving. A number of people stopped by my table to say hello. I appreciated that. I’d have good memories of them and apparently they’d have good memories of me.

    When I saw him come in the door, my hand automatically dropped to my gun. He was still the same, but not the same. The hair had been cut short, the beard stubble had been shaved off, the gunny duds had been exchanged for a plain blue cotton shirt and blue trousers. And the cockiness was nowhere to be found in the eyes or on the mouth. He saw me, too, and came straight over.

    “I thought I put you on a stagecoach,” I said.

    “You did, Marshal,” he said. “And that Ned Hastings kept right on going. He’s probably got himself in a gunfight already. He may already be dead. I hope so because I sure don’t want to run into him again.”