Chapter 9

The next morning, after talking to Archer's nearby neighbor and finding no help at all from him, Jarrod went to Archer's place to confront the Saxhorn. That's what it felt like when he let himself into the house and saw the large brass instrument right there in Archer's living room. He went over to it like it was a living thing that might bite. He ran his hand around the bell and touched the valves before he brought himself to pick it up.

He looked at the mouthpiece for a while. He couldn't remember ever seeing anything like this, but it seemed pretty clear that what you were supposed to do to play this was blow into this mouthpiece and push down the valves to change the notes you played. That was when curiosity got the best of him. He wiped the mouthpiece off with his handkerchief, took a deep breath and blew into it.

He made a terrible sound that he could only relate to a sick dog he ran into once in Nevada, or Quinn's dying cow. He put the thing down, wondering how anyone ever got a pleasant sound out of it and why they bothered. But it was his client's only piece of evidence that might get him off this rape charge, so far at least.

Jarrod nosed around the house, spending some time at the desk in the corner with some of the letters and documents there. Then he spent some time in the kitchen and in the bedroom. He wasn't finding anything useful, but he was trying to remember what he was coming across, in case he needed it later.

He went out the back door and came across the two dogs who were on leashes and tied to one of the supports that held the roof up over the back porch. The dogs raised their heads and barked a few times, but they didn't otherwise move from their shady spots on the porch. Jarrod talked friendly to them for a bit, but then went out into the yard to look around.

He didn't find anything he thought was helpful, but he did come to realize that Archer was not a particularly well-to-do man. In fact, what he seemed like was a very lonely man. There was nothing in this house of anyone other than Archer – no photos of anybody else, not even parents or an old girlfriend. Archer apparently had no one in the world except these two dogs, a cat somewhere out of sight and some chickens in a coop near the barn.

Jarrod stopped, realizing something. This was just like him, just like he was not eight weeks ago in Ely, Nevada, and every other place he could ever remember being. Not so long ago, he had no one, not even the cat, the two dogs and the chickens. There was just a lost and lonely man, moving from town to town and looking for someone, anyone, to give him a life.

Suddenly, Jarrod felt a lot of empathy for this snake of a man nobody cared for. He heaved a big sigh to get rid of the memories he didn't want to have, and he left to go into Stockton, to see if he could find some other alibi or some facts to get Archer off the hook.

XXXXXXX

Jarrod went straight to the jail and found Sheriff Madden doing some paperwork at his desk. "Morning, Fred. Do you have a few minutes for me?"

"Sure, Jarrod," the sheriff said. "Anything the gets me away from this paper is welcome."

Jarrod sat down in a chair near the desk. "When you first checked into the allegations against Archer, did you check around to see who might have seen somebody talk her into that alley? Anything like that?"

Sheriff Madden nodded. "I did, but Henderson's daughter couldn't remember seeing anyone in particular. I did some asking around, but nobody admitted to seeing anything."

"How does a man get a girl into an alley and attack her in broad daylight and no one sees it?"

"That beats the heck out of me, too, and that's why I didn't believe her at first. It wasn't until after I had a very long talk with her that I arrested Archer."

"What did she say that changed your mind?"

The sheriff sighed. "She said that he talked her into the alley by saying he wanted to apologize for prosecuting her father. That he wanted a private word with her because doing it out on the street in public would look like he was strong-arming her. So, she stepped into the alley with him, and he grabbed her and pulled her back behind the smithy's shed and that's where he raped her."

"Smithy? He wasn't there?"

"I talked to him. He'd gone off to the saloon for a drink and a sandwich."

"Did you check for physical evidence? Was she injured? Did the doctor see her?"

"She wouldn't see the doctor, but she did have a couple small bruises on her face and on her arms."

"How about behind the shed? Any evidence there?"

"No, nothing I could find."

"What did she do after Archer supposedly raped her?"

"She says she went home in a buggy she'd come in on, alone."

"No evidence in the buggy?"

"No."

"And nobody saw her go into the alley, or what she was like when she came out?"

"Not a soul. Could be nobody wants to defend Archer or they just don't want to get involved, but nobody said they saw or heard anything."

"What's her name, Fred?"

"Bonnie. Don't go see her, Jarrod. Henderson might just shoot you. He was that mad."

Jarrod nodded.

XXXXXXX

Jarrod went to the saloon for some heavy thinking and some lunch. He had come to know Harry behind the bar pretty well since his return to Stockton, and while Harry was getting his sandwich and scotch together, Jarrod decided to ask a few questions.

"You know Henderson, right? The man who says Phil Archer attacked his daughter," Jarrod said.

"Yeah, he comes in here now and then," Harry said.

"You got any reason to think he's made up that story about his daughter?"

"Sorry, Jarrod, I don't know him well enough to say."

"Heard any talk about it?"

"Not a word, except a few characters say Archer deserves what's coming to him."

Jarrod took a swallow of the scotch Harry had poured. "Archer's not too popular with anybody, is he?"

"Never has been. Can't figure how you were ever friends with him."

"Me, either, but then I don't remember a thing about him one way or the other," Jarrod said. "He's asked me to look into this accusation against him, though."

"You always did have the reputation of being a bloodhound. Put you on the trail of something, and you never gave up until you caught it."

Jarrod chuckled. "Amazing, the things you find out about yourself when you can't remember anything."

"Still nothing shaking loose in the old noggin, huh?"

"Not a thing, Harry, and not a thing shaking loose on Archer, either. I'll eat up and start talking to people on the street. Maybe somebody will own up to knowing something."

"Don't be too disappointed if they don't. Not too many people around here think Archer is worth going out on a limb for."

"Why not? I mean, I know he's thoroughly unpleasant, but would that many people let him go to jail for that?"

Harry leaned toward him. "Let me tell you something you knew before but maybe have forgotten. People don't put themselves out for people too often even when they like them. People just don't like getting involved. If they don't like somebody, it's even worse. It's human nature."

"No, Harry, I don't think I've forgotten that," Jarrod said. "Just can't stop hoping for better, I guess. Listen, if you come to hear anything at all that might mean something on this thing against Archer, good or bad, let me know, huh? Something else I do remember is that this is exactly the kind of place where tongues get loosened up."

It was Harry's turn to chuckle. "I'll let you know, Jarrod."

Jarrod took his drink and sandwich to a table near the window, and he watched people come and go while he ate. Something else about human nature that came to him is that people tend to be creatures of habit. They do the same things at the same times every day. If people were out on the street in front of the bar today, they were probably in the same place yesterday and the day before.

Jarrod checked his watch. He was lunching a little early. If he finished up and went over toward the alley that led back to the blacksmith's shop, he'd probably catch the smithy going off to lunch at this saloon or one of the others. Then he'd probably see the same people on the street near there who were here yesterday, and the day Archer was supposed to have attacked Bonnie Henderson.

Convinced he had nothing to lose by checking his theory out, Jarrod finished eating and went over to the alley that led to the smithy's. The alley ran between the mercantile and the freight depot. Jarrod parked himself at the edge of the freight depot building and waited. It was only a few minutes before the smithy came out of the alley, heading for his lunch and liquor break. Jarrod tipped his hat to him, and then he began to talk to people in the street.