Chapter 3

A lot of people in the legal business did not go into their offices on Saturday or Sunday. Court might be held if some case was carrying over, but none of that was happening today. Jarrod noted the town was a little on the quiet side when he stopped at the telegraph office and sent off his message to Agent Macklin. He hated doing that. He didn't like Macklin, but he did know Macklin, if anyone, would have the answer if this guy Askin was here about Alderson in any way.

Jarrod headed for his office then, expecting that if he didn't hear from Macklin today, it would be Monday at the earliest before he did. Jarrod really didn't want to confront Askin without word from Macklin, but then he didn't want Askin to be hovering over them any longer than necessary. He debated looking for the man, but by the time he reached his office and saw the work on his desk he still had to do, he thought he wouldn't go looking right away. There was a will half-finished that he wanted his secretary to be able to type up the first thing Monday. There was a contract involving the sale of some land, not Barkley land but land one of his clients intended to buy from someone else. There were a couple things he could do while he waited to see if Macklin answered quickly.

He dove into his work, but he couldn't stop thinking about Askin. He put things aside once or twice and turned in his chair, looking out the window. He thought about Nick. He thought about whether Nick might come into town before he wanted him to. Jarrod thought about their talk the night before, more of a confrontation really. If I find out you're keeping things from us again, I'll have your head on a plate, Nick had said. He meant it too, and Jarrod thought hard and hoped hard that he could do what he said when he guaranteed he'd let Nick know what he found out about Askin.

And then Jarrod remembered what else he said to Nick and Heath - Macklin's got nothing over me now. His heart sank. He hadn't even realized he said it until now.

Macklin had given him guarantees when the business with Alderson was over. Before they left with the general, Jarrod had said to Macklin we'd better be done now. That file better be closed. Macklin said it would be closed as soon as he got back to Washington. Jarrod had never checked to be sure the file was closed. He had never checked to be sure Macklin wasn't keeping the information he had, but Jarrod knew he'd never really had any choice but accept what Macklin promised at the start – because he was certain Macklin would disclose what Jarrod wanted forgotten if Jarrod didn't go along on this trick.

Now Jarrod stood up. He almost headed out the door to send another telegram to Macklin, to make sure Macklin came through on his promise to get rid of what he had on him, but when he turned and started that way, there was someone at the door. A man, standing there with his hands at his sides.

Jarrod didn't know what Will Askin looked like, and he didn't realize the man had been watching him on the street. He didn't realize this man in front of him was Askin and this man had seen him go into the telegraph office.

"Can I help you?" Jarrod asked.

Askin came closer, limping in a funny way, straight up to face Jarrod only a few steps inside the door. "I'd like to talk to you," he said, and then suddenly, without warning, he lashed out with the butt end of the pistol he'd been hiding in his hand.

The next thing Jarrod knew, he felt like the world was full of fog, and he didn't quite understand why. He thought he was still sitting at his desk. Had he fallen asleep? He could have, considering how little he'd slept the night before after the confrontation with his brothers, but no, that wasn't right. He tried to swim up through the fog. Pieces of visions came to him – a man at the door and then – what happened then? What was happening now?

Jarrod finally started waking up, but still couldn't remember what happened. When he tried to move and couldn't, he startled awake and opened his eyes. He was seated in one of the chairs in front of his desk, his hands tied behind the chair, facing the door now and not the window. He still had his gunbelt on, but his gun was gone. His head hurt. He couldn't see the blood that had run down from the side of his head to his neck, but he could feel it tickling and itching. He moaned.

"Hello, Mr. Barkley," a voice said.

A man moved around to stand in front of him. The man who had been at the door. The light from the window was making his face perfectly clear. "Who are you?" Jarrod asked, his dry throat cracking.

"You know who I am," the man said. "Your brothers mentioned me to you. We met last night."

Jarrod moaned. Memory was starting clear. "Askin. So they did. You didn't have to hit me or tie me up. I wanted to talk to you today myself."

"I was just being careful," Askin said. "I don't know what you know about things, and I don't know who you sent a telegram to this morning. Yes, I've been watching you."

"Why don't you just tell me what you want?" Jarrod said, closing his eyes again because his head hurt, and now his wrists were hurting too.

"Information," Sloan said. "About General Alderson."

"It seems you know he's been arrested and taken to Washington," Jarrod said. "You know as much as I do."

"Word is you helped get him arrested. Word is you knew those federal officers pretty well."

"Word is, huh?" Jarrod said.

"I want to know what you know about Alderson. I want to know what those agents told you that you haven't told anybody else."

"You want to know if your name came up, is that it?" Jarrod said. "My brother told me who you were last night – a messenger for Alderson at Mayville."

"I want to know what the government has on Alderson other than his confession."

"Not much. Not enough. And no, your name never came up, at least not to me. Your name never came up, and you know as much as I do about Alderson. What are you gonna do? Try to beat information out of me that I don't have?"

"I hope you wouldn't make me do that," Sloan said. "So my name didn't come up. Did the subject come up of who delivered the order to attack Union troops at Mayville?"

"Alderson said he gave the order," Jarrod said.

"How about that plot to murder President Lincoln," the man said. "Did Alderson give any other names?"

Now Jarrod was a little more confused. The way the man put those questions made it sound like he was out to get Alderson or somebody who had been in cahoots with him, not like what Jarrod expected – not like somebody who had actually been working with Alderson. Not like somebody who was here to avenge Alderson, but like somebody who wanted to get someone who did help him. Now, his head clanging, the questions conflicting – Jarrod had no idea what this guy Askin was up to.

"Look," Jarrod said, "all I know is that the federal men were here to get Alderson to confess because otherwise they couldn't nail him. They asked me to help get that confession, and I did."

He left out talking about any other names he might have heard from Macklin. He left out talking about anything else Macklin might have told him, and even left out saying that Alderson said his own brother was in on the plot against Lincoln. Jarrod was reluctant to give up anything now, not knowing what Askin really was after and why, not with his own head hurting and clouding his thinking.

Jarrod heard his clock in the alcove chime, fairly softly. It chimed a lot – eleven? He wasn't sure he was counting properly.

When Askin didn't answer anymore but didn't move either, Jarrod just looked up at him. "So, what do we do now? Are you waiting for something else? I've got nothing more to give you."

"Who did you send that telegram to?" Askin asked.

So it was clear, that's what he was waiting for now – an answer to the telegram. "My secretary in San Francisco," Jarrod said, "about a case I have there."

Askin slapped him across the face, hard. "That's a lie. You sent the telegram to one of those agents in Washington."

Now Jarrod's face hurt as well as his head. "If that's what you think, why did you ask? So you're going to hang around until an answer comes? That might not even be today. People are gonna notice when I don't go home."

Askin limped away, but not far. He moved behind Jarrod. Jarrod thought he might be looking out the window. Maybe someone would see him.

Jarrod tried something else. "Why don't you just tell me why you want to know what you want to know? We might be on the same side in this."

Askin came back around to face him. He looked down at him. "I don't trust you one bit," he said.

Jarrod closed his eyes, expecting to get hit again, but Askin just wandered away somewhere else in the office. Jarrod sighed, left with thinking only great, someone else who doesn't trust me.

Nothing much else happened as the clock chimed a lot, then a little. One, two, then three o'clock. Jarrod didn't try to talk anymore, and neither did Askin. They just waited, for the telegram from Macklin, Jarrod figured. He didn't know what was going to happen if it didn't come. He tried to free his wrists secretly, but they were secure. He was stuck.

It hadn't yet chimed four o'clock when Jarrod saw something slipped under the door. Askin saw it too. Jarrod was tempted to yell for help, but it was pointless. Whoever had left the telegram was already gone.

Askin picked it up. He opened the envelope and read it.

Jarrod watched him read it. Askin put it in his pocket and came toward Jarrod. Jarrod kicked out at him. He missed.