Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Seven
Johnny stayed perfectly still, slumped against the sofa - his eyes at half mast, his breathing shallow to help ease the pain in his ribs. But the smoke, even though it was not as thick as it had been, still prickled at his throat, making him hack. Each cough brought black spots before his eyes. Madre de Dios, he knew he was in trouble.
He saw Scott sitting stiff backed, his hands on his knees, the side of one hand just touching Johnny's knee. Johnny surreptitiously tapped his fingers against Scott's knee to let him know that he was still with him. The only advantage they had right now was that everyone thought he was out of it. He studied Weatherly. The Colt wavered in his hand, forcing him to use both hands to steady the weapon.
He hadn't pulled the hammer back yet, giving Johnny hope that they still had time. Johnny shifted his eyes to look over at Latchford and Moore. Moore was standing now, his wounded hand pressed against his chest. The bullet had grazed the top of his hand, and the bleeding had already stopped. He was watching Weatherly, sizing him up, looking for a weak moment when he could attack. Latchford had taken a few steps closer to Weatherly, edging ever closer to the coffee table. Johnny gave the man credit. He had managed to avoid the broken china on the floor.
The smoke drifted lazily through the room, most of it hugging the ceiling and corners. Latchford sniffed and dabbed at the tears in his eyes, looking toward the open door leading to the hallway. Johnny could almost read his mind, see the nervous twitch of one hand, wondering how long they had before the fire reached them. Johnny wished he could tell Scott and Sam that there was no real fire, that the only danger they faced was the smoke. His eyes were drawn to Murdoch. His father lay motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest telling Johnny that he was still alive. But for how long in this smoke?
Sam shifted beside him. Johnny could feel the man's anger cascading off him. "You sent the note to Johnny?" Sam's voice was filled with bitter accusation. "You led him into an ambush."
"No!" Weatherly shook his head. "Mr. Moore sent the note. I was on my way to warn Johnny, but Heddy… she found out somehow. Dear God, I never meant any harm to come to that woman."
"What did you expect when you fell in with vermin like that?" Sam asked derisively, nodding his head toward Latchford and Moore.
"Qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent," Scott quoted. "They who lie with dogs will rise with fleas."
Moore sneered at Scott. "I never understood how a man with your education could waste his life playing cowboy in the uncivilized west."
"You call this civilized?" Scott asked sarcastically before turning back to Weatherly. He leaned forward and Johnny suppressed a groan as the sofa shifted beneath Scott's weight. .
"Think about what you're doing, Weatherly. My grandfather was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer. And neither are you. If you let them kill us then your hands will be as bloody as theirs."
Johnny saw Weatherly's hand tighten around the gun. "Easy, Brother," Johnny whispered under his breath. There was no telling what the old servant would do. He was scared and confused and held a deadly weapon in his hands. A combination that could get them all killed.
"Do you know for sure my grandfather left you out of his will? Did you see it?"
Weatherly shook his head.
"You didn't have to see it, did you? You knew all along what was happening. You intercepted all my letters to him; you knew what they were doing from the very start."
Johnny knew Scott was playing a dangerous game, one that could backfire on him, on them all. He caught movement to his right and saw Latchford take another step closer. He hoped Scott had noticed.
"No, I didn't," Weatherly's voice shook. "All Mr. Garrett's mail went directly to his office. I thought you had abandoned him. How was I to know?"
Scott's shoulders sagged. "You could have trusted me, Weatherly. You could have sent me a letter asking why."
"I was angry and hurt. I never meant for anyone to get hurt."
"I know. Give me the gun. I'll make sure the authorities understand the circumstances…"
"You'll spend the rest of your life in prison," Moore warned him. "In the eyes of the law you are as guilty as we are."
"He's wrong, Weatherly. You don't have blood on your hands. You didn't kill Heddy. But you did try to warn Johnny. That will go in your favor."
"Don't listen to him, Weatherly. You can have everything you ever wanted. You'll never have to lick another man's boots. We can still make this work." Moore showed his bloody hand. "Johnny Madrid shot me and then his father. He couldn't have any witnesses so he shot the doctor too. He's already wanted for killing Heddy. Just give me the gun."
"You could never live with yourself." Scott reached his hand out, palm up. "You have to make your decision now, Weatherly, before this house goes up in flames. Give me the gun."
Johnny saw the fear rising in Weatherly's eyes. "I don't want to go to jail."
"You don't want to burn to death here either. Just give me the gun. I'll do everything I can. I promise."
"God damn it! Shoot them!" Moore yelled. "Shoot them all!"
"They are using you, Weatherly," Scott warned. "They have been using you all along. Do you think they plan on giving you anything after they get Garrett Enterprises? Do you think they could afford to have someone like you around? You are a liability."
"Shut up!" Moore yelled again.
"Give me the gun." Latchford took a step towards Weatherly.
"Stay where you are," Weatherly ordered, aiming the gun toward Latchford, the Colt shaking in his hands. "Don't move."
"Weatherly…" Scott began, but Weatherly swung the gun back toward him. "Please, Mr. Scott, don't move. I don't want to shoot you."
Scott lowered his hand. "And I don't want to be shot either, but we have to get out of this smoke."
Johnny let his head loll to the side, staring at Sam, tapping his knee against the old doctor's knee. They needed a diversion, something to draw Weatherly's attention from Scott. Sam looked startled when he turned to see Johnny staring at him. Johnny opened his eyes wide and mouthed the word, "Panic!"
A moment seemed like an hour as Johnny waited, praying that Sam understood what he wanted. He rolled his head back, watching Weatherly. The old servant's thumb began to pull the hammer back.
Sam jumped to his feet. "We're all going to die in here!" he yelled, hacking at the smoke. "We'll be trapped!"
Weatherly spun toward the door. Scott lunged for Weatherly, knocking him to the floor. He landed on top of the old servant, reaching for the gun, his fingers curling around the barrel, prying it loose from Weatherly's grasp. Suddenly Johnny saw Latchford jump over the coffee table, then over Scott and Weatherly. Johnny wanted to shout a warning to Scott but his words were stolen by another fit of coughing. He could only watch as Latchford stomped the heel of his boot down on Scott's hand. He heard Scott yell in surprise and pain. Latchford reached down and grabbed the gun from Scott's useless hand and stood up, pulling back the hammer.
"You should have drowned in Omaha like you were supposed to, Scotty, my boy." He smiled in victory and his finger moved toward the trigger.
Johnny remembered the letter opener he had slipped inside his cast when he was in Garrett's office and threw it, praying it would hit the target. Latchford gasp in surprise, his finger pulling the trigger. Time seemed to slow down. Johnny saw the bullet gouge a hole in the carpet inches from Scott's head. Latchford sank to his knees, stunned to see the letter opener embedded to the hilt in the center of his chest before falling forward, driving it the rest of the way into his heart.
Scott's hand was a mass of excruciating pain. He rolled over onto his back and sat up, tearing his shirt apart and slipping his hand inside for support. He saw Latchford lying motionless beside him. But it was Johnny, lying halfway off the sofa, his heavy cast dangling over the side, threatening to drag him down to the floor that made his heart stop. He made it to Johnny just as Sam did, helping to pull his brother back onto the sofa.
"We have to get Johnny and Murdoch out of this smoke," Sam ordered, leaning over Johnny, trying to assess his injuries. Johnny was weakly trying to shove him away, telling Sam to take care of Murdoch first.
"I'm the doctor here, and you'll do as I say. Now lie still."
Scott looked around quickly. Weatherly still lay on the floor. Moore was cowering in a corner, his hand still nestled against his chest. Scott quickly grabbed Weatherly's gun from Latchford's hand awkwardly with his left hand aiming it at Moore. "Don't move a muscle," he growled. "I'll take any excuse to put a bullet in you."
.
Sam laid a restraining hand on Scott's arm. "We have to get Johnny and Murdoch out of this smoke."
Scott lowered the gun, trying to get his anger under control. He nodded to Sam and rushed toward the door only to have it pushed open from the other side. A half dozen uniformed men stood in the hallway.
The man obviously in charge pushed his way into the room. "Sergeant McGowan, Boston Police. What's going one here?" he demanded.
Scott turned to run back to Johnny but McGowan grabbed his right arm and pulled it back. Scott almost fell to his knees from the pain.
"I asked you a question. What's going on in here? Three are two dead men in the hallway."
Another officer ran in. "There's another one in a room down the hall. All the smoke's coming from the fireplace in there."
"We don't have time now," Scott gasped. "We have to get my brother and father out of this smoke. They are both hurt."
The Sergeant motioned for his men to move in. Scott could hear Sam yelling at the men to take it easy as they lifted Murdoch and carried him out the parlor door.
"Arrest that man!" Evan Moore yelled, pointing at Johnny. "He's Johnny Madrid. He's wanted for the murder of Heddy McLore. He killed Latchford and tried to kill me." He pointed toward Scott. "This man was impersonating Scott lancer. They were trying to take over Harlan Garrett's Estate."
Scott saw the look of suspicion as the sergeant took in the full carnage. Latchford lay dead on the floor. Weatherly sat next to him, rocking back and forth as he mumbled something incoherently. Moore's accusations sounded all too plausible.
"Latchford and Moore had my grandfather, Harlan Garrett, killed," Scott said defensively.
"Don't listen to him, Sergeant. He is an imposter. The real Scott Lancer is dead."
"Shut up, both of you. We'll straighten this out after we get the wounded to the hospital."
Sam tried to follow the men carrying Murdoch out of the room but McGowan grabbed his arm.
"What?" Sam tried to wrench his arm away. "I'm Dr. Sam Jenkins. Murdoch Lancer is my patient."
"They are all in it together," Moore yelled.
McGowan studied Sam for a long moment. "All right, don't cuff him, yet. Let him tend to his patients."
Sam nodded. "Thank you, Sergeant. Be careful when your men move Johnny. He has at least one broken rib and he may have a bruised kidney."
"They know what they're doing. Now you." He turned to Scott, "I'll let you go to the hospital with your father and brother, they can see to that hand of yours. But consider yourself under arrest."
Scott nodded his thanks as he watched Johnny feebly try to push the three officers away, but another bout of coughing left him defenseless.
"I understand, Sergeant. I'll cooperate fully. But that man," he pointed to Moore, "he is responsible for all of this."
"Don't worry, he's coming with us. We'll get this all straightened out."
Scott allowed himself to be led out the door. A wagon had already pulled up and Murdoch was carefully settled onto the cushioned bed. Johnny was propped up against the front of the bed, in back of the driver, to ease his coughing. Sam sat between the two of them. Scott was led to another carriage. Painted black, it had black iron bars across the windows. Moore's hand had been quickly bandaged and he was pushed into the carriage. An officer climbed in and Scott was told to follow. If not for the officer between them, he might have killed Moore.
Scott nodded to himself, knowing he had made the right decision in bringing Johnny and Murdoch back to the house. Neither man had been comfortable in the hospital with its smells of sickness and death. He sat in the chair he had pulled over next to Johnny's bed and watched his brother sleep. Johnny was propped up against a mound of pillows to help him breathe easier. Scott had once again come so close to losing him. Johnny had spent more time than any of them in the thickest part of the smoke, and with a broken rib he couldn't breathe deeply enough to clear his lungs. Pneumonia had followed. Walt's vicious kick had also left him with a bruised kidney. It was no longer a source of worry, but still very painful.
His own hand was heavily wrapped and supported in a sling. Luckily Latchford had broken his wrist and not any bones in his hand. It would heal a lot sooner than Johnny or Murdoch's injuries.
He sat back and closed his eyes. Scott couldn't help but feel responsible. It was his life that had pulled both Johnny and Murdoch into danger. Scott couldn't believe it was almost over. He still had nightmares about that first night when both his father and brother had been wheeled into the hospital. Murdoch had nearly succumbed to the bullet wound during those first terrible hours. But Sam had given him a fighting chance and the doctors on staff had pulled him the rest of the way through. He was now sleeping peacefully in the next bedroom with a nurse by his side.
It had taken a week to get the house free of smoke. Much of the downstairs furniture had to be replaced. The curtains and drapes were unsalvageable as was most of the wallpaper. In a way, it was good that so much of what he associated with his grandfather was gone. The pain of what he had done was slow to heal, but without so many memories haunting him, it was easier.
The staff had been asked back. Some had found other employment, but most of them had returned. And the house was getting back to normal, or as normal as it would ever be. This was no longer home to him. He felt drawn back to Lancer. But he wasn't sure if he had the right to turn away from this house and the business that was now his. He had responsibilities and they had to be addressed. But not now. Not until Johnny and Murdoch were well again.
He smiled as Johnny sighed softly. He was doing much better here. With the nurses Sam hired, they were receiving better care.
There was a soft tap at the door and Sergeant McGowan popped his head around the door. He had spent considerable time going through all the evidence with Scott, taking testimony when Johnny and Murdoch were up to it. He had managed to clear Johnny of Heddy's murder, although the thought that Johnny was actually Johnny Madrid had given the man pause. Scott decided Sergeant McGowan was fair and honest, and he liked him.
"Come in," Scott whispered.
McGowan found a chair in the corner and set it down next to Scott's. "How's the hand?" he asked.
"It'll be fine. Sam says I was lucky."
McGowan nodded toward Johnny. "How's he doing?"
"Johnny is…"
"Johnny is doing fine," Johnny said irritably. "I just want to get out of this damn bed."
"You know Sam's orders. You are to stay there until he says otherwise."
Johnny glared at Scott. "My backside hurts when I sit up and my chest hurts when I lay down. I think that means standing on the two feet God gave me is what I should be doing," he said petulantly.
McGowan looked from Johnny to Scott then back again before he burst out laughing. "Never has there been a better example of two and two adding up to three."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Johnny griped.
"It means, Johnny, that it's a preposterous idea. And you better stay in that bed or I'll spend the day with Murdoch and you can spend the day with the nurse," Scott warned, his attempt at sounding serious lost with a twitch of a smile.
"Is he always this bad a patient?" McGowan laughed.
Scott shook his head. "He's usually worse than this."
Johnny grunted, starting a fit of coughing that left him gasping for breath when it finally ended.
"Maybe I should come back later," McGowan said nervously.
Johnny shook his head. "Stay…" he managed to say.
McGowan settled back in his chair. "I put in a good word for Weatherly. He'll still have to do some time…He was an accomplice. Only your recommendation is keeping him from doing hard time."
"Thank you." Scott looked over at Johnny and saw his brother's approval. "In many ways he was just as much a pawn as we were."
McGowan nodded. "I also got word today that the Grand Jury came back with their decision."
"What's that?" Johnny asked.
"It's a jury that decides if there's enough evidence to bring a defendant to trial."
"What the hell do they need that for?" Johnny demanded breathlessly. "Moore is as guilty as sin!"
"Take it easy, Johnny, or we'll continue this discussion downstairs," Scott warned.
Johnny nodded, but he wasn't happy.
"We know that, Johnny," McGowan said, "but the district attorney wants an ironclad case against Moore. And he got it. They indicted him on murder, kidnapping, blackmail...the list goes on. He and Latchford caused a lot of people a lot of misery. We want everyone to get their due justice. This is the best way to do it. The only thing is…you three will need to be here to testify."
"When will that be?" Scott asked.
"Five weeks." He looked toward Johnny. "I ah…I talked to Dr. Jenkins and he doesn't recommend either you or your father making two cross country trips so close together. I was hoping you would stay here until the trial."
"Five more weeks?" Johnny shook his head.
"Johnny, Sam isn't going to let you or Murdoch travel for another couple of weeks anyway. It would only be a few more weeks after that."
McGowan stood up slowly, patting the edge of the bed. "You have a couple of weeks to think about it, Johnny. But I hope you say yes. Your testimony could go a long way toward getting Moore exactly what he deserves. I'll be back in a few days."
Scott watched Johnny lean back against the pillows. He was exhausted, but too proud to let it show in front of McGowan.
"I thought it was all settled," Johnny groaned. "I thought you got that will all figured out and this place is yours. Everything Moore and Latchford said was lies. Why can't we just say so in a regular court?"
Johnny's questions were valid ones. With the file he had found in Latchford's office the police were able to track every move they had made. Accomplices had been ferreted out. They had found the driver of the coach Johnny had been picked up in and arrested him for kidnapping and the murder of Heddy. The blacksmith who had weakened the two right wheels on his grandfather's buggy so it would overturn was also arrested for murder. Back in Green River, Arthur Bell's secretary, Agnes Stine, was arrested. She had been working for Latchford and Moore, allowing Arthur to see only what they wanted him to see. Scott's identity was no longer in question, in anyone's eyes, but most importantly in his father's. The death certificate, however, was still hidden in Scott's dresser. It was a lie, of course, but he didn't want to go through the hell it would take to prove it was a fake. For now, he had almost everything back. Almost everything. It would take more time to fully get past the feelings of his father's mistrust. But he knew now that Murdoch had been just as much a pawn in Latchford and Moore's scheme as everyone else. His father's ultimate proof of his love for his son was stopping that bullet.
Scott looked over to see that Johnny had fallen asleep. As he quietly slipped out of his room, he headed next door to Murdoch's room. They still had a lot to talk about when Murdoch was strong enough. He had to take it slow and easy. It had taken time when they first met. It had taken time to become a family. It would take time again. Murdoch had opened the door, now it was up to him to take the first step inside.
The End