Chapter 7
Jarrod wandered back to his office at just past eleven, tired, a little bit drunk, thoroughly frustrated. He had broken about even at poker, but learned nothing that would be helpful in figuring out who the girl killed in the alley really was. He had gotten nowhere tonight, so he just picked up Ivy's carpetbag and came back to his office.
He lit a couple lamps in his office, loosened his tie and left it on his desk, then washed his face in the basin he had in the alcove in his private office. And that was all he did before he put the lamps out and stretched out on his sofa – as far as he could stretch out. He hated that his legs hung over the end. He tried every which way to get comfortable, but nothing was working. He wondered if he ought to get up and get a room at the hotel, but he decided he wanted to be here, in case something important came to him during the night.
So he didn't sleep. He hadn't had enough liquor in a short enough amount of time to really get passed out drunk or even pleasantly relaxed. His mind kept right on racing even as he closed his eyes. Who was that girl who was killed in the alley? There had to be an answer – what was it? What did it have to do with the two men in Harry Lyman's jail?
He finally started to doze, and his thoughts began to muddle pleasantly. And then it hit him, full in the face, so hard he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.
Why was she shot in the throat? He couldn't remember another murder he'd ever heard of in which the victim was shot in the throat. Why wasn't this girl shot in the head? Put the gun at her temple and fire and it was a sure kill shot. Why was this girl, dead in the alley, shot in the throat?
Maybe it was strictly a matter of a height discrepancy, this girl versus her attacker, but no. Jarrod was suddenly certain it was not. There was a reason she was shot in the throat. He jumped up, lit a lamp, and scribbled himself a note that he left on his desk. Come morning, he would have to look more into that question, but how? He scribbled some more. Wire Pinkerton in Topeka. How was girl there killed? Specifics - throat?
He went back to his sofa, wondering if he'd have any more brainstorms, but this time he was asleep in only a few minutes.
XXXXXXX
When he woke up in the morning, Jarrod didn't remember having the big thought the night before or even writing himself a note, but his memory came awake when he saw the note on his desk. He read it and remembered, and he believed all over again that this was very important. He quickly washed and shaved, then got his clothing straightened out. After rifling through Ivy Erin's carpetbag and finding nothing but the dresses and empty reticule he'd put in there, he dashed off to the telegraph office.
After he wired his Pinkerton contact in Topeka, he hurried over to the sheriff's office. "Harry," he said even before he was completely through the door.
"Morning, Jarrod," Sheriff Lyman said. "I see you slept in your office again."
Jarrod took a look at his clothes and noticed they were still pretty rumpled, but he didn't really care. "What time is the hearing on the two you have in your jail?"
"Not until one this afternoon. Why?"
"That's not enough time," Jarrod said to himself, out loud.
"To do what?"
"Harry, have you ever heard of another murder committed by shooting the victim in the throat?"
"No. I haven't. Why?"
"That's what I started asking myself seriously last night. Why was Ivy or whoever she was shot in the throat?"
The sheriff shrugged. "I just figured a height difference between the shooter and the victim."
"Maybe, but maybe it was intentional."
Now the sheriff was really confused. "Why try to kill someone by intentionally shooting them in the throat?"
"That's what I thought, too," Jarrod said. "It doesn't make any sense. Maybe the killer was trying to aim better but got disturbed when he heard me coming. But what if that wasn't it?"
"If it was intentional, then why? I don't get it."
"I don't really get it either, but my gut is telling me there's something to get. I've wired Pinkerton in Topeka again. I want to know how exactly the Ivy Erin they have there was killed. If she was shot in the throat, too, then maybe we have something."
The sheriff shrugged again. "What? What do we have?"
"I don't know yet. Depends on what Pinkerton tells me. But if you have to cut those two loose, it might not make any difference. They'll leave town and that will be that."
Jarrod's mind was whirling. He stared at the floor, then shut his eyes tight, thinking.
"Jarrod, maybe you just need some sleep," Sheriff Lyman said.
Jarrod shook his head. "I don't think so. Don't ask me why, but I don't think so."
"Have you eaten this morning? You know how you get when you don't eat."
"Yes, Mother, I know how I get when I don't eat, but that's not what this is."
The sheriff shoved him toward the door. "Go eat anyway. It'll make me feel better."
"All right," Jarrod said. "I'll be back."
"I'm sure you will," the sheriff said and pushed him out the door.
Jarrod went to the café at the Stockton House and had several cups of coffee along with steak and eggs, but his mind would not let go of this idea he had. The problem was, so what if the girl in Topeka was shot in the throat? How would that help him identify the girl who had come to his office? How would that tie the two men in the jail to the murder here in Stockton?
He found himself seeing the Ivy Erin who had come to his office, even as he closed his eyes. Again, he thought about how unfair life had been to her, all the way up to the end of it, and now beyond. There was nothing but confusion left in the wake of her murder, confusion he might never be able to clear up. He might never be able to bring anyone to justice for destroying her in that alley. The thought angered him, no matter who she was, murderer or innocent.
He thought hard and asked himself – why do people murder other people? He'd had that bouncing around in the back of his head all along, but now he thought hard about it, tried to think about it in an organized way. Impulse – anger driven? Revenge? Robbery? Mistake? Enjoyment? Bounty? Dear God, there were so many reasons people killed other people that it was appalling. Which ones might apply to Ivy Erin's murder – or whoever she was if she wasn't Ivy Erin?
Jarrod's mind went somewhere else, to her name. Her real name. He might not even be able to put a real name on her grave, ever, unless he could make some sense of all of this and find somebody who would tell him the truth.
He stayed at the café for a long time, and half wondered if he ought to go back to his office and sleep a little more. He paid for his breakfast and left the café, heading for his office and a short nap. Before he got very far, he heard someone calling his name. He stopped and turned around. It was Harvey from the telegraph office.
"Got this in for you, Mr. Barkley, from Topeka," Harvey said.
That was fast, Jarrod thought, realizing it had only been four hours since he sent the wire. He looked at the message.
And there it was. The Ivy Erin in Topeka had been killed by a gunshot wound to the throat, but not just to the throat. The shot had gone upward through her head and taken her face almost entirely off. She was not recognizable. Identification was made by papers on her person.
Jarrod had stopped dead on the street. He didn't even know Harvey was still there until the man asked, "Any reply, Mr. Barkley?"
"No, not yet," Jarrod said. "Thanks, Harvey."
Harvey left. Jarrod still did not move. He just stood there and thought, and put things together, and remembered what the Ivy Erin here in Stockton had said. She was the one who was wanted in Topeka. Why would she have said that? Because it was true.
The Ivy Erin in Topeka was intentionally shot so that you could not tell who she was by looking at her. She was not really Ivy Erin. The girl here in Stockton, the one who had come to his office and then died in that alley – she was the real Ivy Erin.
Then he kept thinking. Who would have killed that girl in Topeka by mutilating her face? The real Ivy Erin, that's who, or a confederate who turned in her body for the bounty.
But then, who really killed the Ivy Erin here in Stockton, and why? Not a bounty hunter – he wouldn't have left her. One or both of the men in the jail. It had to be, but why? There had to be an answer to the why.
"Better get out of the street or you'll get run over!" Jarrod heard a friendly voice call.
Then he realized he was still in the way of traffic. He got himself together and got out of the street. And he knew what he had to do.
