Chapter 5
Stone and Katie rushed outside. Stone pushed the milling performers out of the way as he searched. Katie followed closely in his wake.
"Finch, where in the hell are you!" he bellowed.
A moan came from the second row of the circus bivouac. Finch was trying to get up off the ground. He covered the back of his head with one hand. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers. Katie knelt beside him. "Don't get up," she said.
"Talk instead," said Stone brusquely.
Katie drilled him with a dirty look. His tone changed as he said, "If you feel up to it, of course."
"Someone hit me with that whiskey bottle," he said groggily. "On the bright side, I can get fingerprints off it."
"It must have been the Rubber Man. Doesn't this guy have a regular name? I feel stupid always calling him the Rubber Man," Stone griped. He looked hopefully at Katie.
"He introduced himself as the Rubber Man. I didn't think to ask him his actual name," she sheepishly admitted.
"No problem. You did pretty well for a rookie detective." Stone smiled at her.
Finch looked at his holster. "Oh no..where's my gun!"
"Aw, Finch," Stone said in frustration.
"You try protecting your gun the next time you're unconscious," Finch retorted.
"OK fine." The marshal apologized somewhat.
"This wound will need stitches," Katie decided.
A man stumbled up to the threesome. He was Lenihan, the One Man Bicycle Band performer, and he had a bloody nose. "The Rubber Man stole my bicycle."
Stone exclaimed disbelievingly, "He's making a getaway on a damn bicycle!"
"He rode off toward town," Lenihan supplied.
"Katie, patch up Finch. I'm going after the suspect." Stone headed to town at a slow jog. He saw no sign of the Rubber Man. By the time he covered the quarter mile back to his office, he was quite winded. Silver City was virtually deserted; most businesses were closed with signs, "Gone to the circus".
"Chipper, get my horse and meet me at the train platform," he forced out in between labored breaths. "Ask Isaac if anyone rented or stole a horse within the last half hour."
The train was the most expedient transportation out of town but also the most obvious and with little chance of concealment. The stagecoach had already passed through town hours ago. Stone questioned the few people gathered for the next scheduled train arrival. No one saw the contortionist. Chip arrived with the marshal's horse. "No horses rented or missing from Isaac's livery," he reported.
"Keep an eagle eye on the train platform. Be ready with your gun. The suspect is armed," Stone briefed him.
"What does the suspect look like?" Chip asked.
Stone saw an illustrated circus poster tacked to the train station wall. "That guy." He pointed to the Rubber Man. "I'm going to check the roads around town. He couldn't have gone far on a bicycle."
The marshal skirted the town looking for the errant performer. In the distance, he heard a faint whistle as the train chugged toward Silver City. Then he saw the bicycle down a ravine, broken and bent. He urged his horse to a gallop heading down the adjacent road. When he covered enough distance to be satisfied the fugitive had not gotten that far, he rode at breakneck speed back to town.
Stone quickly dismounted at the train station. He directed Chip to cover the tracks on the opposite side of the platform. The train pulled in but the suspect was not among the passengers waiting to board. He glanced between the cars at Chip who shook his head. Stone knew in his gut the Rubber Man was nearby.
He noticed the porter beginning to load several crates. "Hold it," he ordered. One had an Indiana delivery address on it. "Back off," he said to the porter who looked confused but obeyed.
"Come out slowly and let me see your hands." Stone aimed his peacemaker at the crate.
Two boys were playing tag close by. They stopped running when Stone pulled out his gun.
"Why is Marshal Stone talking to a box?" asked the younger boy. "How come he's pointing a gun at it?"
"Seems kind of silly," replied his older brother.
The marshal overheard their conversation. "Skedaddle, you two."
Thankfully, Stone spotted Chip and waved him over. "Clear this area of people now." When Chip had backed up the small group that had formed, he repeated in a loud voice, "Come out or I'm putting a bullet smack through the crate."
A muffled noise came from the crate. The lid popped open a few inches. "Don't shoot!" The bystanders gasped "Ooh!"
"Put your hands out where I can see them and then stand up slowly," Stone ordered. The Rubber Man did exactly as instructed. "Where's the gun?"
"In the crate, at my feet," the contortionist replied in a shaky voice.
"Step out of the crate and move away." Stone kept his gun on the Rubber Man while he visually verified the gun's whereabouts. Satisfied, he gave him a none too gentle push across the street. "Let's go to the jail. Chipper, grab the gun." Chip started to pick up the gun, then stopped and dug out a handkerchief which he wrapped around it first.
"But I didn't do it. I'm innocent," the Rubber Man pleaded.
"So you're saying a guilty man would have tried to board the train along with the rest of the passengers," the marshal said caustically.
As Chip locked the culprit in the jail cell, Marshal Stone flipped open the daily log book. "For the record, what's your full name?"
"Melvin Worley, but I didn't kill Marco," he replied mournfully. "Sure, I wanted him dead but somebody beat me to it."
"Maybe, Worley, but you did assault a peace officer," Stone said and annotated the log.
"Uh.Marshal, do you think he can slip between the bars?" Chip asked.
"Good call, son," Stone patted him on the back, "Get the handcuffs."
Finch and Katie came into the office while Chip was ensuring Worley would remain in custody. Finch was pale and unsteady on his feet. Katie hovered close by. "He has a concussion. Dr. Gates advised him to rest."
Finch shrugged saying, "The fingerprints on the trapeze and the bottle match."
"Let's discuss the case on the back porch," Stone said after noticing Worley was intently eavesdropping. Out on the porch, Stone motioned to the comfy wing back chair, "Sit there, Detective." Finch gladly obliged.
"It certainly would be beneficial to have the murder weapon," Finch said.
"I get the idea you're not sure Worley did it. Let's review the evidence. We have the prints and Worley's unique ability to hide in the small chest that was at the murder scene." Stone ticked off each item on his fingers.
"Worley hated Muzzi because he stole his girlfriend and married her so that's motive," Katie continued.
Chip added, "He knocked Detective Finch out and tried to run because he knows he's guilty."
"A flimsy alibi. Although he was at the saloon last night, there was plenty of time for him to murder Muzzi beforehand," the marshal finished.
"So what does he have in his favor," said Finch playing the devil's advocate. "No one ever saw him in the big top. No murder weapon so no fingerprints as direct evidence. It seems a lot of people didn't appreciate his womanizing so the motive seems weak."
"Just whose side are you on, Finch?" asked Stone becoming a little agitated
"Ours, of course. I don't want a defense lawyer picking apart our case. If Worley's more forthcoming about his involvement, we might have a clearer idea of what really happened," Finch explained.
Katie and Chip nodded in agreement. Stone, though skeptical, could find little fault in Finch's reasoning. They filed back into the marshal's office.
"Time to answer some questions. It's in your best interest to answer truthfully. Things will go easier on you if you do," Stone said sternly. Finch subconsciously put his hand up to his head with a grimace. Worley lost some of his defiance.
"Do you admit you were in the chest on the pony cart when Marco Muzzi was checking the rigging?" Worley didn't answer for several moments. The marshal was about to ask again when Worley reluctantly spoke after carefully considering his options.
"Yes, I asked a clown to take the pony and cart into the tent so I could supposedly practice a new aspect of my act. I was able to sneak into the chest; he didn't know I was in there."
"Then what happened?" Stone urged.
"Shortly after the pony was in place, I heard two men talking briefly. Much later, a woman came in."
"Who?"
"I couldn't look. I might be seen. I heard a female speaking but not very clearly. They spoke in low tones," Worley said.
"Like lovers do?" asked Finch.
Worley nodded. "As the voices moved away, I decided to chance a peek. They went behind the hay bales and well." He was staring at Katie hoping to see her blush again. Stone casually shifted to block his view.
"And then?" prodded Stone.
"So I climbed up and cut the trapeze rope just enough to weaken it but not be noticeable," Worley paused, "I thought."
"Couldn't you see the woman's face from up there?" wondered Chip.
"I did have a bird's eye view but they were very busy, you know," Worley smirked.
"Jiminy Cricket, move on!" Stone growled.
"Sorry, it sticks in my mind. Even though their faces were blocked by a bale, well..with a pregnant woman, how disgusting." Worley made a face.
"Mrs. Griswell!" Stone, Finch and Katie exclaimed simultaneously.
Stone and Katie rushed outside. Stone pushed the milling performers out of the way as he searched. Katie followed closely in his wake.
"Finch, where in the hell are you!" he bellowed.
A moan came from the second row of the circus bivouac. Finch was trying to get up off the ground. He covered the back of his head with one hand. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers. Katie knelt beside him. "Don't get up," she said.
"Talk instead," said Stone brusquely.
Katie drilled him with a dirty look. His tone changed as he said, "If you feel up to it, of course."
"Someone hit me with that whiskey bottle," he said groggily. "On the bright side, I can get fingerprints off it."
"It must have been the Rubber Man. Doesn't this guy have a regular name? I feel stupid always calling him the Rubber Man," Stone griped. He looked hopefully at Katie.
"He introduced himself as the Rubber Man. I didn't think to ask him his actual name," she sheepishly admitted.
"No problem. You did pretty well for a rookie detective." Stone smiled at her.
Finch looked at his holster. "Oh no..where's my gun!"
"Aw, Finch," Stone said in frustration.
"You try protecting your gun the next time you're unconscious," Finch retorted.
"OK fine." The marshal apologized somewhat.
"This wound will need stitches," Katie decided.
A man stumbled up to the threesome. He was Lenihan, the One Man Bicycle Band performer, and he had a bloody nose. "The Rubber Man stole my bicycle."
Stone exclaimed disbelievingly, "He's making a getaway on a damn bicycle!"
"He rode off toward town," Lenihan supplied.
"Katie, patch up Finch. I'm going after the suspect." Stone headed to town at a slow jog. He saw no sign of the Rubber Man. By the time he covered the quarter mile back to his office, he was quite winded. Silver City was virtually deserted; most businesses were closed with signs, "Gone to the circus".
"Chipper, get my horse and meet me at the train platform," he forced out in between labored breaths. "Ask Isaac if anyone rented or stole a horse within the last half hour."
The train was the most expedient transportation out of town but also the most obvious and with little chance of concealment. The stagecoach had already passed through town hours ago. Stone questioned the few people gathered for the next scheduled train arrival. No one saw the contortionist. Chip arrived with the marshal's horse. "No horses rented or missing from Isaac's livery," he reported.
"Keep an eagle eye on the train platform. Be ready with your gun. The suspect is armed," Stone briefed him.
"What does the suspect look like?" Chip asked.
Stone saw an illustrated circus poster tacked to the train station wall. "That guy." He pointed to the Rubber Man. "I'm going to check the roads around town. He couldn't have gone far on a bicycle."
The marshal skirted the town looking for the errant performer. In the distance, he heard a faint whistle as the train chugged toward Silver City. Then he saw the bicycle down a ravine, broken and bent. He urged his horse to a gallop heading down the adjacent road. When he covered enough distance to be satisfied the fugitive had not gotten that far, he rode at breakneck speed back to town.
Stone quickly dismounted at the train station. He directed Chip to cover the tracks on the opposite side of the platform. The train pulled in but the suspect was not among the passengers waiting to board. He glanced between the cars at Chip who shook his head. Stone knew in his gut the Rubber Man was nearby.
He noticed the porter beginning to load several crates. "Hold it," he ordered. One had an Indiana delivery address on it. "Back off," he said to the porter who looked confused but obeyed.
"Come out slowly and let me see your hands." Stone aimed his peacemaker at the crate.
Two boys were playing tag close by. They stopped running when Stone pulled out his gun.
"Why is Marshal Stone talking to a box?" asked the younger boy. "How come he's pointing a gun at it?"
"Seems kind of silly," replied his older brother.
The marshal overheard their conversation. "Skedaddle, you two."
Thankfully, Stone spotted Chip and waved him over. "Clear this area of people now." When Chip had backed up the small group that had formed, he repeated in a loud voice, "Come out or I'm putting a bullet smack through the crate."
A muffled noise came from the crate. The lid popped open a few inches. "Don't shoot!" The bystanders gasped "Ooh!"
"Put your hands out where I can see them and then stand up slowly," Stone ordered. The Rubber Man did exactly as instructed. "Where's the gun?"
"In the crate, at my feet," the contortionist replied in a shaky voice.
"Step out of the crate and move away." Stone kept his gun on the Rubber Man while he visually verified the gun's whereabouts. Satisfied, he gave him a none too gentle push across the street. "Let's go to the jail. Chipper, grab the gun." Chip started to pick up the gun, then stopped and dug out a handkerchief which he wrapped around it first.
"But I didn't do it. I'm innocent," the Rubber Man pleaded.
"So you're saying a guilty man would have tried to board the train along with the rest of the passengers," the marshal said caustically.
As Chip locked the culprit in the jail cell, Marshal Stone flipped open the daily log book. "For the record, what's your full name?"
"Melvin Worley, but I didn't kill Marco," he replied mournfully. "Sure, I wanted him dead but somebody beat me to it."
"Maybe, Worley, but you did assault a peace officer," Stone said and annotated the log.
"Uh.Marshal, do you think he can slip between the bars?" Chip asked.
"Good call, son," Stone patted him on the back, "Get the handcuffs."
Finch and Katie came into the office while Chip was ensuring Worley would remain in custody. Finch was pale and unsteady on his feet. Katie hovered close by. "He has a concussion. Dr. Gates advised him to rest."
Finch shrugged saying, "The fingerprints on the trapeze and the bottle match."
"Let's discuss the case on the back porch," Stone said after noticing Worley was intently eavesdropping. Out on the porch, Stone motioned to the comfy wing back chair, "Sit there, Detective." Finch gladly obliged.
"It certainly would be beneficial to have the murder weapon," Finch said.
"I get the idea you're not sure Worley did it. Let's review the evidence. We have the prints and Worley's unique ability to hide in the small chest that was at the murder scene." Stone ticked off each item on his fingers.
"Worley hated Muzzi because he stole his girlfriend and married her so that's motive," Katie continued.
Chip added, "He knocked Detective Finch out and tried to run because he knows he's guilty."
"A flimsy alibi. Although he was at the saloon last night, there was plenty of time for him to murder Muzzi beforehand," the marshal finished.
"So what does he have in his favor," said Finch playing the devil's advocate. "No one ever saw him in the big top. No murder weapon so no fingerprints as direct evidence. It seems a lot of people didn't appreciate his womanizing so the motive seems weak."
"Just whose side are you on, Finch?" asked Stone becoming a little agitated
"Ours, of course. I don't want a defense lawyer picking apart our case. If Worley's more forthcoming about his involvement, we might have a clearer idea of what really happened," Finch explained.
Katie and Chip nodded in agreement. Stone, though skeptical, could find little fault in Finch's reasoning. They filed back into the marshal's office.
"Time to answer some questions. It's in your best interest to answer truthfully. Things will go easier on you if you do," Stone said sternly. Finch subconsciously put his hand up to his head with a grimace. Worley lost some of his defiance.
"Do you admit you were in the chest on the pony cart when Marco Muzzi was checking the rigging?" Worley didn't answer for several moments. The marshal was about to ask again when Worley reluctantly spoke after carefully considering his options.
"Yes, I asked a clown to take the pony and cart into the tent so I could supposedly practice a new aspect of my act. I was able to sneak into the chest; he didn't know I was in there."
"Then what happened?" Stone urged.
"Shortly after the pony was in place, I heard two men talking briefly. Much later, a woman came in."
"Who?"
"I couldn't look. I might be seen. I heard a female speaking but not very clearly. They spoke in low tones," Worley said.
"Like lovers do?" asked Finch.
Worley nodded. "As the voices moved away, I decided to chance a peek. They went behind the hay bales and well." He was staring at Katie hoping to see her blush again. Stone casually shifted to block his view.
"And then?" prodded Stone.
"So I climbed up and cut the trapeze rope just enough to weaken it but not be noticeable," Worley paused, "I thought."
"Couldn't you see the woman's face from up there?" wondered Chip.
"I did have a bird's eye view but they were very busy, you know," Worley smirked.
"Jiminy Cricket, move on!" Stone growled.
"Sorry, it sticks in my mind. Even though their faces were blocked by a bale, well..with a pregnant woman, how disgusting." Worley made a face.
"Mrs. Griswell!" Stone, Finch and Katie exclaimed simultaneously.
