Haxan (17 page)

I had never seen him this angry. He always struck me as genial and easy going. It most surprised me, this degree of passion.

“Doc, did she say how she got those blisters on her hands?”

“She was boiling water for the wash and it slopped on her.”

“You believe that stupid story?”

“I’m telling you what she said, Marshal Marwood.” His forced professional tone let me know I wasn’t going to find a sympathetic ear. Not with this. There was a hurt life in that back room and he was committed to saving it. As far as he was concerned nothing was more important, not even the law.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury to think that way.

“Doc, I don’t want to fight you on this. Listen, Abel Finch is lying dead in the grain warehouse. Can you examine him for me?”

“I’ll do it right now if you’ll stay with Phaedra. She shouldn’t be left alone, John.” At least we were back on a first name basis. “Not for one minute.”

“I’ll wait until you get back. Here’s the key to my hotel room. You can pick up the bottle of laudanum while you’re out. It’s in the bottom drawer of my dresser.”

“Thank you for your trouble. I’ll be back directly.”

After Doc Toland left I stepped through the curtain divide into the examining room. Phaedra was lying in bed, her blonde hair spread across a tasselled muslin pillow. Her eyes were fixed on an open window. A hot breeze scraped the curtain back and forth.

“Hello, Marshal.”

“Phaedra. We need to talk.”

“I know. I knowed all morning this was coming. But I had to bring him to Haxan to be buried, Marshal. It’s what he wanted. He never liked this town much, which is why we lived in the mountains. But he hated that homestead and he hated me and Clayton more for what we done behind his back.”

“Phaedra, there’s no way to get around this. You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe you measure trouble by a different yardstick than I do, Marshal.” She turned her face away and pressed it into the pillow. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to joke about it.”

I couldn’t say anything. She wiped her face with the palms of her hands and then held a fist against her mouth. When she spoke her words were real and had frightening weight to them.

“My husband beat me, Marshal. He beat me hard. For five years Abel Finch beat me. When I was pregnant I lost that baby because of him.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. Maybe the bad memories, too. “But now he’s dead. He ain’t going to beat me no more. Not ever again. And I’m not sorry for that even if I hang.”

“Phaedra, did you kill Abel Finch?”

“No. But he got killed and that’s fine with me.”

“It’s not fine with the law, Phaedra. I can’t turn a blind eye to murder. Your story how he got killed is too pat. You couldn’t possibly know all those little details if you weren’t there.”

“It don’t matter now.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It matters to the law and it’s going to matter to Judge Creighton when he’s due to ride through in a couple of days. Now tell me how your husband died.”

She wouldn’t say anything else. She lay there, watching the curtains move back and forth.

I gave up and returned to the front office. Doc had left his record book open. I read the entry he had written for the Phaedra Finch case. There was a list of bruises over her entire body and an old fracture he found in her left wrist that had never healed properly. When she lost the baby she wasn’t able to have any more. Beside the entry Doc had prescribed laudanum to rest her mind and body, and sunflower salve and cold packs for her bruises. Underlined was a single word: REST.

The door creaked open. It was Doc. “That didn’t take long,” I said.

He shelved the bottle of laudanum. “How is she?” he asked.

“Resting. I couldn’t get anything out of her.” I watched him move about the room. “What did you find when you examined Abel?”

He rummaged through his medicine cabinet. “About what you would expect. Abel Finch’s face is a parboiled mess. The skin is hanging off his bones.”

My stomach felt hollow. “Like he was held down in a pot of boiling water?”

“That’s correct. I also found a lump on the back of his head where someone struck him.” He touched his own scalp behind his right ear to show me the spot. “It’s likely he was hit from behind by a right-handed person. While he was unconscious, or too groggy to fight back, he was drowned. A messy way to die, John.”

“I don’t know a good way yet, Doc.”

“You may be right.”

He didn’t have the shutters open in this part of the office and it was way too hot in the room. “Doc, do you think Phaedra could have killed her husband?”

Doc Toland studied me with his watery eyes. “After what she suffered? I’m surprised it took her five years to do it.”

“But Abel was a heavy, grown man and she’s no bigger than a fence rail.”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyone, pushed to that limit, can find the strength needed to do murder. John, you don’t understand murder the way I do. You view it through the intractable lens of the law. A dividing line between right and wrong. I see murder as a human response to uncontrollable stress factors. When those stresses get to be too much anyone is capable of killing. Even a broken girl like that one.”

“All right, Doc. Thanks for your help.” I made to go.

“What are you going to do about this, John?”

I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “I don’t have much choice. I’ll ride out to the Finch place and talk to Clayton. See what he says. Then I’ll arrest Phaedra for murder.”

“I don’t envy you that task.”

“Yeah. You said that already, Doc.”

I slammed the door when I left.

I
wasn’t halfway down the stairs when four men from the Haxan Peace Commission marched across Front Street in my direction.

That didn’t take long at all, I thought with a sinking feeling.

“Marshal,” one of them called out. It was August Wicker. “We must talk.”

I waited for them to walk to me. No reason to meet them halfway in any sense of the word. I already knew what they wanted and I was determined to kick as hard as I could against it.

I propped one shoulder on a wooden post, letting my grey duster fall open so I could reach the Colt Dragoon. These men weren’t armed and they weren’t looking for that kind of trouble. But I might have to open up their heads with the gun barrel to make my position clear.

They stopped lined abreast on the street. Wicker gaped at me with his catfish mouth. The other three were Hew Clay, Micah Slattery, and Seth Choate, the banker. All were reasonable businessmen. Or so I thought.

“Pleasant morning, gentlemen.”

“Uh, morning, Marshal.” August Wicker was chosen, or knowing him, had chosen himself to act as their spokesman. He hooked his thick thumbs under his navy blue silk vest. “Marshal Marwood, I’ll get down to brass tacks. We know Phaedra Finch is upstairs in Doc Toland’s office.”

“That’s no secret.”

“We want her run out of town. We’ve got no truck for the likes of her.”

I didn’t say anything. I was doing everything I could not to punch his smarmy face. I hadn’t forgotten how he tried to get Magra to come work for him, and had gotten in my way the night that stupid kid tried to face me down with a gun set to misfire.

Yeah, hit his face with a straight right. Throw my shoulder behind it, too. Then maybe stomp his head against the wooden boardwalk to make my morning just that much sweeter. I liked the idea a whole lot. It was hard to fight down the impulse to carry it through.

When I had myself under control I said slow, “You listen to me, Wicker. That woman is sick. She’s under Doc Toland’s personal care. I don’t want her bothered.”

“A woman like that mars the moral probity of this town,” Wicker shot back.

I would have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Wicker?”

His face was pinched. “You know damn well I own the Quarter Moon. But that’s no reason to disparage me.”

“How many soiled doves do you employ? How many girls do you slap around every night when they don’t carve enough whisky money off the drunken trail hands?”

His face reddened. But for the moment I had him backed into a chute and the gate closed.

“Marshal,” Seth Choate said in a reasonable voice. “I’m a family man. We all are. It’s not good to have a girl like that in our town. Haxan has enough of a bad reputation already. This commission is trying to rectify that. This looks doubly bad after what she’s done. I’m not talking about killing Abel Finch, either.”

“Nothing has been proven in a court of law, Mr. Choate.”

“Oh, come now, Marshal, we’re not stupid,” another of the men shot back.

“You could have fooled me, Mr. Slattery. Anyway, she hasn’t been arrested.”

I was disappointed to see Hew Clay with these men. I had counted on him as something of a friend. I guess what they say is true about the world. If a man wants a friend he should buy a dog. And then shoot the dog before he bites you.

“You haven’t arrested her? Then what are you waiting for?” Hew asked, incredulous. “Marshal, we have wives.” The men nodded in unison. “They don’t cotton to the idea of someone like Phaedra, who’s done what she’s done, being around our families.”

“I don’t know that she’d be around your family, Hew. Unless you invited her over to dinner.”

“Don’t make light of our concerns, Marshal.” Wicker had discovered his voice once more. “A man like you wouldn’t understand the concerns we have. That much is plainly evident.”

“Why is that, Mr. Wicker?”

“Now who’s being naive?” His sleek catfish smile was meant to wound. “Everyone knows you bundle with that Navajo slut every chance you get.”

The other men lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Hew stared at his shoes in an embarrassed way. He had gone out of his way to help Magra. Nevertheless, this was a road they weren’t prepared to walk shank’s mare unless I forced them to.

“Come again, Wicker?” My words were filled with black ice.

“You don’t scare me, Marshal,” Wicker challenged. “You may have these other gentlemen buffaloed, but not me. I haven’t forgotten how you went traipsing off with that murdering White Hawk while our town needed protection. Not to mention your heavy-handed ways in keeping the peace. Why, you threaten good honest folk as much as the drunken rabble that dusts through our town. No, Marshal, I’m not afraid of you. I’ll write Washington and complain.”

“Make sure you ask them about owing me two weeks back pay. I still haven’t seen that money.”

“I won’t be bucked and thrown by a common civil servant, Marshal Marwood. I don’t care if you are federal. Our commission hired you and by God we’ll get what we paid for. We’re respectable citizens. We demand to be treated with respect by the man we employ to protect us.”

“Mr. Wicker, you’re wrong on all counts. No matter what you say, I work for the United States government, not some cobbled together ‘peace commission’ you and these other jaspers pulled out of your ass. I’m a licensed federal officer and I’m making it as clear as I can: I won’t have you interfering in government business.”

“Perhaps we will hire a sheriff to come in and take over those local responsibilities you find too difficult to perform,” Wicker threatened.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Then I can get a full night’s sleep for once.”

“Marshal,” Mr. Choate added, “we’re not trying to fight you. We’re concerned about our town.”

“Gentlemen, that woman in Doc’s office is government business. You get in the way of this investigation and I’ll throw you all in jail and have you on bread and water for a week. Count on it.”

I stepped off the boardwalk, slow. The men backed up the same number of paces. I singled out Wicker and they moved aside. They were leaving him alone to me.

“One thing more, Wicker. You’d better take this to heart.” I tapped the badge on my vest. “I don’t have to wear this tin to kick the hell out of you. Say what you will about me. But don’t ever believe it applies to Magra Snowberry. Do you understand me, you possum-lick sonofabitch?”

His quick tongue stabbed a fleck of saliva from the corner of his rubbery lips. “Are you threatening me, Marshal?”

This could go a dozen different ways. I was half-surprised I didn’t care which way it broke.

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Well, my good man, you’ve gone too far.” Now he wanted to play the victim. People of his ilk always do. They eschew any personal responsibility for their words and actions, and when it comes back to bite them on the foot they immediately begin to wallow in self-pity.

Wicker attempted to gather the remaining shreds of his dignity. “I will write Washington and lodge a formal complaint against you. I will not be pushed around in my own town by the law. Your days in Haxan are numbered, Marshal.”

“Get out of my way, Wicker. I’ve got important work to do.” He didn’t budge. I didn’t raise my voice. I just told him again in a low growl:

“I said get out of my way. Or I’ll move you myself.”

He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it fast. “Your time will come, Marshal. Come on, men, we were wrong. We can’t reason with him at all.”

They turned and walked down Front Street toward their various businesses and establishments. I watched them go. They weren’t bad men. Hell, even Wicker wasn’t all bad. They were scared because of what Phaedra represented. How she flaunted the things they believed in, or pretended to believe in.

I started for my office when Jake slipped out of the alley between the icehouse and a dry goods store. “I heard it all, Mr. Marwood,” he said. “I thought I should hang back unless you really needed me, though.”

“You did right, Jake. Too much loose powder can be set off with a single spark.” My heart was hammering. I hadn’t liked what Wicker had said about Magra. He didn’t know how close he came to dying.

I admit it scared me a little.

I was supposed to be the law here.

Jake grinned that easy grin he had when a tight situation turned out for the better. “They backed down quick enough. Not much spleen for a real fight.”

We walked side by side. The town was quiet. Not much was happening in the plaza other than Alma Jean Clay buying an armload of Indian paintbrushes off a blind Mexican woman.

“Those men didn’t want to fight,” I told Jake. “They just needed to blow steam so they could feel better about themselves. Once I recognized that I thought it best to let them do it.”

I watched Alma Jean collect her flowers and head with a purpose toward the livery stable.

I cut a glance at Jake. “Did you see Magra to the hotel without any trouble?”

“Oh yes, sir. She’s safe and sound.”

“Good.” On top of everything else I didn’t want Magra dealing with Alma Jean. What was she doing with those flowers? She whipped a horse-drawn Texas buggy past us. She was wrapped in a knitted shawl and headed out of Haxan. Strange.

We clomped into my office. I lifted my Sharps from the gun rack. “I’m riding out to the Finch place, Jake. You stay close to Doc while I’m gone. Keep an eye on things. I don’t think those men will cause any further trouble but you never know. They may decide different. If they do, you will have to handle it alone.”

“I’ll stay awake. What about the prisoners? The Haxan Peace Commission always wants us to release them after collecting fines so they can keep spending what money they have left.”

“To hell with the Haxan Peace Commission. We’re here to uphold the law. That’s what I aim to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

I stopped. This wasn’t helping. I was venting my frustration on men who had paid their fines and their jail time. “Never mind me, Jake. I’m steaming over Wicker. Give the prisoners breakfast and let ’em go. If the stage comes for Olton’s prisoner release him under custody, too.”

“Yes, sir. I thought that’s what you would decide, Mr. Marwood. I was only checking.”

I saddled my horse at the livery stable while Piebald looked on with curious eyes. That kid hung around the stable more than he did at home or school. Couldn’t blame him, though. Aside from the saloons the livery stable was the one place in town you could always pick up news.

“You going after someone, Marshal?” he asked.

I cinched a strap tight. “That’s right, Piebald.”

“Going to gun him down?” He cocked his thumb and finger and took aim on a skinny brown rat rustling through the straw.

“That’s not my intention, son.”

“What kind of lawman are you?”

“A smart one, I hope.” I chucked him under the chin and swung into the saddle. “Keep an eye on things while I’m gone.”

“Don’t I always, Marshal?”

I rode west and hit the foothills before dinnertime. By late afternoon I was working my way high in the San Andres Mountains.

The mountain range lay between the arc of the sun and me. It was getting dark fast by the time I rode onto Abel Finch’s property. It wasn’t much to be proud of, if truth be told. There was a wooden cabin built around a natural rock chimney that also served as a fireplace. They had a makeshift corral and lean-to for Phaedra’s mare, but no other animals were on the property.

At least there was water. It dribbled from a crack twenty feet up and pooled in a rock basin as large as a pool table. It wasn’t much, but it provided moisture for a few large scrubs and one or two scrag trees bent and twisted by the ever-present wind. There were also signs rain sheeted down the side with so much force that it splintered rock. Other than that there wasn’t much in the way of green about the place, or material prosperity.

I knew Abel made what little money he needed from hunting and trapping. Though what he found to hunt and trap in these barren mountains was beyond me. It was by all accounts a cold, mean place for any man to live.

I dismounted and ground-tied my horse. I stood on a narrow rock ledge. Far below me the lights of Haxan glittered white and yellow. I was so high up their tiny pinpricks twinkled like stars. It made me feel there was a distance there I could never traverse.

I had come to Haxan. But I would never be part of it.

I felt a shiver ripple through me. I didn’t like this mountain. It had a bad feel that scraped your soul like a dull skinning knife. How many nights had Abel Finch stood on this rock ledge hating the glittering town below?

The cold desert wind ruffed my hair and flared my grey duster.

How many nights had the lights of Haxan, that Gomorrah of the desert, twinkled into the night like a lost constellation while Phaedra was being beaten?

How often were her screams scrubbed by the cold wind until only the impassive mountains remained?

I turned from the view, and my tumultuous thoughts, and advanced on the squat, dark cabin. In the middle of the yard was a big iron pot of water. Beside it lay a galvanized washtub. The coal and ash in the fire bed was dead. Rumpled clothes lay on the ground as if they had been thrown aside and forgotten.

The high wind moaned across the broken mouth of the rock chimney. There wasn’t a porch or any place to sit outside where you could enjoy the sweep of the land and sky. This wasn’t a home. It was a place to hide while fear scrabbled like a rat around the edges of your soul.

The cabin door was unlocked. I hit the latch hard and went inside.

I froze when I smelled the gun oil. I stood rooted, letting my eyes adjust, waiting for my pulse to drop back to normal.

“I could shoot you now,” the boy said with calm deliberation, “and never bat an eye.”