The Chase (20 page)

Pardee rushed over to the rear door and found it unlocked. He jerked it open and peered up and down the alley but saw no one. “Hell's fire,” he muttered. “She got away.”

“She can't get far,” said the deputy.

“Round up the men!” snapped Pardee. He motioned to another deputy, who was standing at the entrance of the bank. “Get Doc Madison. Tell him the Van Dorn agent is down with a head wound and to get over to the bank double-quick.” Pardee knelt down and quickly examined Bell again. “Also tell him there looks like there's a bullet in the agent's leg.”

The deputy was no sooner out the door than Pardee was on his heels, running toward his horse tied to the hitching post in front of his office. It didn't seem possible, he thought, that everything had gone so terribly wrong. Only then did it begin to strike him that the bandit was a man disguised as a woman and that the poor widow he and his wife had taken in was an accomplice.

 

A
S SOON
as they left the city limits of Telluride and passed the road leading to the mines of Ophir to the south, Margaret gave the horse the whip and urged it to run through the canyon and down the road heading west toward Montrose. During the ten minutes since they left the bank, Cromwell had time to think. He pointed to a break in the trees that led to a bridge over the San Miguel River. It was an overgrown access road used by the railroad for maintenance crews repairing the track.

“Get off the road,” Jacob said to Margaret. “Go over the bridge and head down the track bed.”

She turned and looked at him. “I thought you said they'd never be suspicious of two women in a buggy?”

“That was before it occurred to me that the sheriff and his deputies were watching the bank.”

“That goes without saying, but what does it have to do with our escape?”

“Don't you see, dear sister? I was the last one to enter the bank and never came out. If what you say is true, Pardee is no fool. He must have put two and two together by now and is looking for both of us. But he'll never think to search for us riding over the track bed. He'll be certain we took the road.”

“And if he doesn't find us, what do you think he'll do then?”

“He'll backtrack, thinking that we hid out in the trees while he and his posse rode past. By then, we'll be on a train out of Montrose, dressed as two men.”

As usual, Cromwell was miles ahead of his pursuers when it came to matching wits. Though he was disheartened that Bell had out-smarted him in laying a well-conceived trap, he gained a certain amount of satisfaction believing he had killed the famous Van Dorn agent.

Just as he had predicted, the sheriff and his posse charged down the road that was out of sight of the railroad tracks in the trees and, not finding any sign of their quarry, had doubled back toward Telluride. It was a bumpy ride over the railroad ties, but it was compensated for by knowing that Pardee had been hoodwinked and would end up empty-handed.

B
ELL WAS CARRIED TO THE
T
ELLURIDE
H
OSPITAL
, where he was treated by the town doctor. The first bullet out of Cromwell's Colt had entered and exited his thigh, causing only minor damage to the tissue. The doctor said it would heal within a month. The doctor then stitched the scalp wound, sewing up the crease as neatly as a tailor mending a torn suit pocket.

After ignoring the doctor's demands that he remain in the hospital for a few days, Bell limped to the depot to take the next train to Denver. Wearing a hat to cover the bandage around his head, he, along with Curtis, watched with anger and sadness as the coffin containing Irvine was lifted into the baggage car by Sheriff Pardee's deputies. Then he turned and held out his hand to Pardee. “Sheriff, I can't thank you enough for your cooperation. I'm grateful.”

Pardee shook Bell's hand. “I'm sorry about your friend,” he said sincerely. “Did he have a family?”

“Fortunately, no wife or children, but he lived with an aging mother.”

“Pour soul. I suppose it's the county poorhouse for her.”

“She'll be taken care of in a good nursing home.”

“A good nursing home doesn't come cheap. Did Irvine have money?”

“No,” replied Bell, “but I do.”

Pardee refrained from any more questions. “If only things had fallen our way.”

“Our well-laid plans certainly turned into a fiasco,” said Bell, seeing the baggage car door close behind the coffin. “The bandit made me out the fool.”

“Not your fault,” said Pardee. “He fooled us all, and I was the biggest fool. I'm certain now the destitute widow who my wife and I took in was in cahoots with him. I should have been suspicious when she finagled information out of me about the bank's operations.”

“But you didn't tell her there was a trap being set. Cromwell would have never walked into the bank if he suspected a trap.”

Pardee shook his head. “They bought your story—hook, line, and sinker. If only we had known he was going to wear women's clothing, we might not have thought twice before we shot him down like the dog he is.”

“According to reports of his other robberies, he never dressed as a woman.”

“Even if the trap turned sour, my posse and I should have apprehended them. Stupidly, I thought they'd stay on the road. It never crossed my mind they would use the railroad track bed as an escape route until it was too late. By the time I figured out how they had outfoxed me, they were long gone.”

“Were the train passenger lists checked in Montrose?”

“I wired the stationmaster, but they had already left on the train to Grand Junction,” answered Curtis. “He didn't remember two women boarding, but he noticed two men. He said that one looked as if he were sick.”

“There was blood on the back step of the bank,” said Pardee with a tight smile. “You must have plugged him.”

“Not seriously enough to stop him,” Bell muttered quietly.

“I telegraphed the marshal of the territory. He had deputies in Grand Junction search all the trains going east and west but found no trace of two women traveling together.”

Bell leaned on a cane given to him by Pardee. “I'm beginning to know how the bandit's mind works. He went back to wearing men's clothes and dressed his sister as a man, too. The marshal, looking for two females, never suspected them.”

“A clever man, Cromwell.”

“Yes,” admitted Bell, “he is that.”

“Where do you go from here?” asked Pardee.

“Back to Denver and start all over again.”

“But now you know the bandit's name and habits.”

“Yes, but making a case is impossible. No federal prosecutor would waste time on an indictment with such flimsy evidence.”

“You'll nail him,” Pardee said confidently.

“We'll work even harder now that we've got a personal reason to see him hung,” said Bell.

 

W
HEN
B
ELL
and Curtis reached Denver late in the evening, a hearse was waiting to take Irvine to the local mortuary.

“He was my closest friend,” said Curtis. “I'll console his mother and take care of the funeral arrangements.”

“Thank you,” Bell said. “I'll take care of the costs.”

Bell took a taxi to the Brown Palace Hotel. Entering his suite, he removed his clothes and relaxed in a tub of hot water, propping his wounded leg on the edge to keep the bandage from getting wet. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander over the events of the past few days. Bell now knew the woman he'd passed in the New Sheridan Hotel was Margaret Cromwell. When her brother entered the bank from the front door, she was waiting in the rear with a horse and buggy. The picture of Cromwell made up as a woman disgusted him, yet he could not help but respect the shrewd, calculating mind of the Butcher Bandit. Avoiding Sheriff Pardee's posse by driving the rig down the railroad track bed was a stroke of genius.

At first, Bell thought Cromwell would not tempt fate with another robbery. The possibility seemed extremely remote, but, as he had with all the criminals he'd apprehended, Bell began to make inroads inside Cromwell's mind. He trained himself to think like the bandit. The more Bell thought about it, the more he became convinced that Cromwell believed he was invincible and immune to every investigation by law enforcement officers, especially the agents of the Van Dorn Detective Agency.

The next step would have to be carefully thought out. His mind was considering alternatives to accumulate enough evidence to arrest Cromwell when he heard a knock on his door. Favoring his good leg and suffering a brief bout of dizziness caused by his head wound as he stood, Bell climbed awkwardly out of the tub, put on a robe, and limped to the door. After pulling it open, he was surprised to see Joseph Van Dorn standing in the hallway.

Van Dorn looked up at the bandage around Bell's head, which had seeped a spot of red, and he grinned tightly. “You're a sorry sight.”

“Come in, sir, and make yourself at home.”

Van Dorn studied his wounded agent. He was concerned, but he made an effort to look nonchalant. “Is there much pain?”

“Nothing aspirin won't cure.”

Van Dorn stepped into the suite and looked around. “I like an agent who travels in style when it's not my money.”

“Can I call room service and get you something to eat or drink?”

Van Dorn waved a hand. “No, thanks, I ate on the train from Chicago just before it arrived in Denver. A glass of port would hit the spot.”

Bell phoned Van Dorn's request to room service and hung up the phone. “I did not expect the head man to travel over a thousand miles just to see me.”

“A meeting between us is not only appropriate but vital to the investigation.” Van Dorn sank into an overstuffed chair. “I prefer a detailed report to a few words on a telegram. Now, tell me what happened in Telluride, and leave out nothing.”

“Most of what I can tell you went wrong,” Bell said sourly.

“Don't blame yourself,” Van Dorn consoled him. “I wish I had a dollar for every plan I conceived that turned bad.”

A waiter brought a glass of port, and then Bell spent the next forty minutes filling Van Dorn in on the scheme to catch the Butcher Bandit and how Cromwell turned the tables on him and Sheriff Pardee. He told of the murder of Irvine and his own wounding, ending up with him waking up in the Telluride Hospital.

When Bell finished, Van Dorn asked, “You're certain Jacob Cromwell is the Butcher Bandit?”

“His disguise was the work of genius, and Irvine and I were caught off guard. But there is no doubt in my mind Cromwell was the person I recognized wearing women's clothing at the bank. Both Pardee and I also identified his sister, Margaret, who was staying in town to help him rob the bank.”

Van Dorn pulled a cigar case from his vest pocket, retrieved a long, thin corona, and lit it with a wooden match he flamed with his thumbnail. “It makes no sense. If Cromwell is wealthy, owns a bank with assets in the millions, and lives on Nob Hill in San Francisco, what does he gain by risking it all to pull off a string of robberies and murders?”

“From what I've been able to put together, the money he stole was used to build his bank's assets.”

“But why now, when he is financially secure and his bank well established? Why continue the crime spree?”

Bell gazed through a window at the blue sky above the city. “The simple answer is, the man is insane. I've put together a profile of him in my mind. I'm certain he robs and kills because he enjoys it. The money is no longer his intent. It has lost its importance. Like a man addicted to whiskey or opium, he is driven to commit mayhem and murder. He believes himself too untouchable by law enforcement. In his mind, he is invincible and considers every criminal act as a challenge to outwit the law.”

“You have to admit,” said Van Dorn, blowing a large blue smoke ring across the room, “so far, he's done a pretty good job of making us and every peace officer west of the Mississippi look like a bunch of amateurs.”

“Cromwell is not flawless. He's human and humans make mistakes. When the time comes, I intend to be there.”

“Where do you go from here?”

Bell grimaced. “I wish everybody would stop asking me that.”

“Well?”

Bell's gaze was focused and calm as he stared at Van Dorn. “It's back to San Francisco to build a case against Cromwell.”

“From what you've told me, that won't be easy. You have little evidence to make a case. A defense attorney would crucify you on the witness stand. He'd laugh at your identification of a man dressed like a woman, claiming it was impossible to tell the difference. And, without another witness or any fingerprints, I'd have to say you're fighting a lost cause.”

Bell fixed Van Dorn with an icy stare. “Are you suggesting I resign from the investigation?”

Van Dorn scowled. “I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. I'm only pointing out the facts. You know perfectly well this is the number one priority case within the agency. We won't rest until Cromwell is behind bars.”

Bell tenderly touched the side of his head, as if to feel if the wound were still there. “As soon as I sew up a few loose ends here in Denver, I'm returning to San Francisco.”

“I can arrange a team of agents to assist you. You have but to ask.”

Bell shook his head. “No. With Carter as my right-hand man, and backed by Bronson and the agents in his office, I'll have all the manpower I'll need. Better we continue to work undercover without an army of agents to cause complications.”

“What about Colonel Danzler and the Criminal Investigation Department in Washington? Can the government be of help in this matter?”

“Yes, but only at the opportune moment. Cromwell has an incredible amount of influence with the political and wealthy elite in San Francisco. He is the city's leading philanthropist. If we obtain enough evidence to indict him, his friends will circle the wagons and fight us every step of the way. At that time, we'll need all the help from the federal government we can get.”

“What is your plan?”

“At the moment, I have no set plan. Cromwell is fat, dumb, and happy, not knowing we're getting closer to him with each passing day.”

“But you're no closer now to seizing him than you were three weeks ago.”

“Yes, but now I have the advantage.”

Van Dorn's eyebrows raised in curiosity and he muttered skeptically, “What advantage is that?”

“Cromwell doesn't know I'm still alive.”

“It will come as a blow to his ego when he sees you've been resurrected.”

Bell smiled faintly. “I'm counting on it.”