Jarrod Barkley had persuaded the judge to render the desired judgment although neither as easily nor as quickly as he had anticipated. The consequence, thereof, had him now hurrying back to his office at a time much later than he'd planned.
He was relieved, and not surprised, to find his secretary still at her desk, and found himself smiling as he chastised her, "You do realize it is well past quitting time?"
"For you too. I assume you were successful?"
One eyebrow rose as he replied, "As far as the outcome is concerned, yes. In regards to my plans for the day, the jury is still out, and the outlook is rather bleak."
Her initial smile was replaced with a look of concern. "How can I help?"
He was about to tell her she couldn't and she needed to take herself home, where she belonged at this hour, when he quickly reconsidered. There was at least one matter that needed her assistance. Marshal Frank Sawyer.
With a flick of his head, he signaled her into his inner office where he shared his concerns about the potential case and let her know what she was to do. She had understood fully, without need for further explanation. This wasn't the first time she carried out such instructions.
Maureen McNally. What a find she had been. Jarrod, more than anyone … more likely than she … recognized the value she brought to his practice. Confident she would carry through, he returned his focus to more pressing matters. Not the least of which was the ongoing struggle with the railroad, and the concomitant upcoming trip to Sacramento. He expected the next three weeks before his scheduled departure to be exceptionally busy.
He'd been correct, and found himself on the eve of that departure, once again, in his office well after closing time. When he'd entered, Maureen, without comment, had handed him a packet, and nodded.
He's almost forgotten the instructions he'd given her three weeks earlier. Now he found himself letting the other work sit as he gave into the lure of Sawyer's request.
John Markle had done his job, in his usual thorough way … and with absolute discretion. Pinkerton's had a number of agents in the San Francisco area, but none, in Jarrod's estimation, as good as John.
This effort was no exception. He had a meticulously thorough report on Mr. Merton Greenley, with said man none the wiser. It was an impressive resume … one filled with raw ambition and the trappings that so often go with that; bribery, extortion, coercion, fear-mongering, abuse, and, if Sawyer were to be believed, murder.
What stood out, though, by their very absence, were any reprisals. Except for the one case, which was successfully defended, he never faced charges in relation to any of his activities. How much a factor Nathan Springer played in that, was less certain.
In his now-to-be-expected way, John Markle, had noted other, less obvious issues. Chief among these, in Jarrod's view, was the lack of motive for the murder. It seems Mr. Greenley had made repeated entreaties to the murdered man to sell him his property. The man had refused.
While Greenley had successfully purchased a number of properties
in the surrounding area, no evident purpose appeared by which to explain how the owning of this particular piece of property would justify the risk of committing—or arranging the commission of—murder.
He, seemingly, had done nothing in particular with the properties once he'd acquired them. No mining had taken place, no efforts to control any water resources on the lands in question, none of the usual reasons for overstepping the legal means of procuring land titles. The motivation, so far, remained a mystery.
What was not a mystery—in no doubt whatsoever—was a clear understanding that Mr. Merton Greenley was a ruthless, and a dangerous, entity. One would challenge the man at considerable peril. Dare Jarrod accept the risk? And who else would be at risk? Heath Thomson, without a doubt. Possibly, Frank Sawyer. Those men could make the decision themselves. Jarrod's responsibility ended with advising them of the risk, and ensuring they understood its full extent.
But what of the family? Would his involvement put them in direct danger? That was the question for which he had no answer … and no idea where to find the answer. It was fine to think that the decision could be theirs—the right to say yes or no—but to what, exactly? Was there a risk? If so what was it … and how severe might it be?
Which brought him nicely back to where he'd been three weeks ago. Did he want this case?
I suppose the fact that I'm still asking the question suggests I have some interest. How much interest? If you're honest with yourself, Jarrod T. Barkley, you know it is more than just a tad. In truth, you'll have trouble resting easy if you let this go … especially in view of what you now know. How do you let this man go free? With all else he has done, is murder so hard to believe?
I suppose one could say, compared to you, Heath Thomson seems to have little to lose. I doubt that's true. I expect, in choosing to pursue this, he could lose his life. I only can assume that his life is as important to him, as mine and the lives of my family members, are to me—Frank Sawyer's suspicions to the contrary, notwithstanding.
I've read all the materials Sawyer left me with. It's not likely there's anything he can add—and it seems that this fight really belongs to Heath Thomson. So, the next step would be a meeting with him. But where?
Although John found no evidence of it, it wouldn't be unreasonable to suspect Greenley is watching either, or both, of them. Unless, of course, he truly is as arrogant as it appears. He seems to have gotten what he wanted; the owner dead with no heir and thus, undisputed ownership of the property he'd sought. Additionally, he's disposed of any objections from Sawyer or Thomson. Perhaps he sees no reason to give them further thought.
However, that might not be a safe assumption, and there is no point in unnecessarily arousing Greenley's premature interest.
No, better to play it safe.
I need to know where Heath Thomson is, and what he's doing. Presumably the good marshal can supply that information. Then I can determine a means and place of meeting, without detection.
He was about to call for Maureen, when the door opened and she stepped forward. She paused for a moment when she saw the look on his face. "Looks like you've read the report … and, there's something more you need."
He chuckled. "Right you are. Time to employ those special talents that you have used to perfection so many times."
He told her what he needed.
She was nearly to the door before she turned back, shaking her head and emitting her own light laugh. "Almost forgot what brought me in here."
She moved back to his desk and handed him a small box. "When you didn't return to the office in time to get out and pick this up, I knew you would be disappointed. I decided to take care of it for you."
His head snapped up. "How did you know … what … where?"
"You mentioned it to me months ago, and when I heard nothing more I expected you were not yet in possession of it … likely planned to collect it today."
He looked at her, his eyes holding hers. "Have I ever told you how thankful, how utterly grateful, I am that you refused to allow me to pass you over in favor of someone older, more experienced … more male?"
And he was. There'd not been a day, not even a moment of a day, since, that he'd regretted his decision to hire her.
"Yes sir, you have. Many times." She laughed him off, her grey eyes sparkling. Once again, evoking for him, a realization of how much she reminded him of his mother. Victoria Barkley was capable, determined, honest, and powerful. Powerful, in a way that did not usurp her muliebrity.
He glanced at the box in his hand and a thought suddenly struck him. "This was expensive. How did you pay for it?"
Having nearly reached the door, again, she turned back and smiled.
"I took the necessary funds out of petty cash. You should know that the cashbox now holds no more than what most people would have deemed appropriate in the first place."
He understood what she was saying, and his reply was intended to send an equally clear message. "Thank you. Please ensure you replenish it from the business account."
She acknowledged his statement with a slight nod, before closing the door behind her.
Turning back to the papers on his desk, Jarrod determined he'd taken the Sawyer matter as far as he could for the moment, and returned his focus to the cases he had decided to take. Yes, he certainly had more than enough work … didn't need this additional case ….
Several hours later, he slipped the paperwork from Sawyer and Markle, as well as that pertaining to the railroad situation, into his leather case and prepared to turn things over to Maureen. He would be gone for several weeks.
He was catching the early morning steamer to Sacramento, and a week later he'd be heading home. He sometimes was surprised that he still thought of the ranch as home. He seemed to spend more time here than he did in Stockton. Either here, or in Sacramento.
Sacramento was a pressing concern. He was still working to get a bill drafted—a bill that would squelch, once and for all, the railroad's claims in the valley. He couldn't afford—their neighbors couldn't afford—to let that matter be forgotten. He was slated to meet with a number of the legislators who had expressed interest, and on whom he was putting his hopes. It was what he saw as the last piece of unfinished business in the life of Thomas Barkley. He owed it to his father to put it to rest. It was a debt he planned to pay in full.
