Matt paced back and forth in the waiting room of St. Claire's hospital. Joe Jones had left him at the entrance. He figured he'd done all he could to help, and since he'd left work early he could make up some income by meeting the late afternoon trains.

The door from the treatment rooms swung open and an elderly, mustached doctor walked towards Matt. He was taller and heavier than Doc Adams, but carried the same worldly kindness in his eyes. "Marshal Dillon, I understand that you brought in the patient, Kitty Russell."

"That's right, how is she?"

The doctor shook head, "To treat a woman like that is an abomination. She's suffered quite a shock to her system and her abdomen, jaw, wrists and ankles are badly bruised. However, there are no broken bones, and although there is some congestion in her chest, there is no sign of pneumonia. I see no reason why she won't make a full recovery with rest and proper nutrition. She's sleeping comfortably in room 100."

"Can I see her?"

"Not now. I have her heavily sedated. She'll sleep for at least 4 or 5 hours. Come back later. I'll release her to your care when she wakes up, if she feels up to it. Oh, one more thing." The doctor wiped his mustache in a gesture reminiscent of Doc Adams, "She's in a hospital gown right now, but she will need something other than a porter's jacket to wear out of here. I assume you can take care of that."

"I – I – of course, thank you doctor." Feeling greatly relieved, he checked the time as he left the hospital. Since Kitty would be asleep for a while, he had time to take care of another matter. He got his directional bearings and 15 minutes later stormed into police headquarters. Lieutenant Roget was at his desk, but Matt walked by before he could utter a word. He stopped at a door marked, Captain's Office, in gold letters. After a quick knock he went in without waiting for a response. A young looking captain jumped up from his desk and drew his gun. He pointed it right at Matt's chest. Surprised by both the gun and the youth of the man pointing it, Matt held up a hand. "My name's Matt Dillon. I'm a US Marshal. I have information about a number of crimes, but I have to be sure I'm giving it to the right man." The captain slowly lowered his gun. "Sorry, I have enemies right here in this building." He met Matt's eyes. "Since I took this job, a year ago, I've been trying to rid the place of corruption. It's running wild, but knowing that and proving it are two different things. If you think I'm the right man to talk to, please have a seat."

45 minutes later the two men emerged from the office and the captain called over a seasoned sergeant. "Sarge, get a couple of good men and go the empty warehouse on Bank Street and Vine. A trap door leads to a basement. You'll find a mess down there. Arrest the woman, her name's Clarice Benet, and take care of the body of the dead man, Paul Benet. Then be sure to collect anything else that's there. Everything is evidence of criminal acts."

Matt saw Lieutenant Roget inching towards the door, and reached out a long arm to grab him. "Roget, I think the captain has something to say to you too."

"That's correct. Roget, I've long suspected you and the coroner of covering up murders for money. It seems Rosemarie Le Croix was one of the victims. You're under arrest."

Matt took satisfaction is seeing Roget in handcuffs. Crooked lawmen were a special kind of low in his book. "Captain, you have my statement. Contact me if you need anything else."

"Than you Marshal, I hope I can be of service to you sometime."

Matt left the building and steeled himself for his next task. It would be a challenge – selecting an outfit for Kitty to wear when she left the hospital. Over the years, he'd gotten the hang of choosing gifts for her, including articles of clothing, but putting together an entire outfit was a whole other thing. Luckily he didn't have to shop. Joe Jones had mentioned that Kitty was staying in the Column Hotel on Charles Street. He was confident that, with a show of his badge, he could talk his way into her room. Then the hard part would begin.

He found the hotel with no trouble and, as expected, was allowed into her room. He closed the door and was hit with a wave of emotion. Even in a hotel room, everything was so Kitty – the scent of her perfume, the way her shoes were lined up just so, the brush on the vanity with strands of her red hair. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that she was going to be fine. It was time to get to work, and the closet a good place to start. As expected, her clothes were hung neatly and with care. He worked his way through item by item. The blue dress was pretty, but seemed awful fancy – maybe she'd want to feel fancy at a time like this – no she wouldn't want to leave the hospital dressed for a party. The red dress was nice, but so was the yellow, both were a bit revealing, so she'd want a shawl. That would lead to the problem of choosing a shawl, and they mostly looked alike to him. He kept going and came to a skirt. Maybe that was the answer. Kitty often wore skirts and blouses in the daytime. OK that would be it. He unclipped a maroon skirt from a hanger and started looking through blouses. How was he supposed to choose the right one – pink with pearl buttons, light blue with pleats, yellow with a high neck - finally he came to a white blouse with a ruffle down the front. It seemed right. He looked at what he'd chosen and wavered – was the skirt too plain, the blouse too fancy? Maybe he should start all over. No – he took hold of himself. He had to make a decision or he'd never get back to the hospital. Next – undergarments. He went to the dresser and opened a drawer. Stocking and garters were right on top. He put his hand on a pile of stockings, and had to smile. Too many times to count, he'd had the pleasure of slowly and gently peeling stockings from Kitty's legs, knowing that she loved the feel of his big, calloused hands on her soft, sweet flesh. With a slight smile, he placed stockings and garters next to the skirt and blouse. He opened another drawer. It revealed slips and corset like things that he had no name for. He only knew that she eagerly unfastened them, to open her body and breasts to his tender touch and soft kisses. Those items too, went on the pile of clothes. He shut the drawers, and turned to her shoes. The point of having so many shoes eluded him. He chose a pair of slip-on flats. They looked comfortable, and Kitty likely needed to feel comfortable right now. Or did she? Maybe wearing her fanciest shoes would help her feel beautiful. He looked through the shoes again, and picked up a pair of red, glittery high heels. They looked awful hard to walk in. He stuck with his original choice. With particular care, he packed everything in Kitty's small duffle bag and started hurrying out the door, before he could second-guess himself. He paused. There was one thing he knew for sure, Kitty would want her hair brushed and shiny. He grabbed her hairbrush and hurried back to the hospital.

TBC