CHAPTER THREE

The Wanderer was parked on a siding outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. In the front car, which served as both a stable and a storage facility (among other things), West and Artie saddled their horses and rode to the office of Sheriff Lyle Purdy. He was a barrel-chested man in his forties with flaming red hair and a matching mustache. Both were meticulously groomed. Purdy, who stood at well over six feet tall, had thick, muscular arms that reminded West of California redwoods.

"I'm glad you're here," he told the agents.

"But why are we here?" West wanted to know. "Death by natural causes is hardly a matter for the Secret Service."

"Normally, I'd agree with you. But this?" The sheriff opened one of the many file folders on his desk and laid it out for West and Artie to see. Affixed to the left side was a photo of an elderly dead man. On the right side was an official form with his vital statistics. "We found this fellow on Bathhouse Row. Looks like he was out walking and just collapsed."

"Wait a minute." Artie picked up the folder and examined it more closely. "Whoever typed this made a mistake. His birth year couldn't be 1855."

"What?" exclaimed West, who took a closer look at the file himself. "Sheriff, this man can't be twenty-one! He was eighty if he was a day."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I've seen his birth certificate. And you know who brought it to me? His mother."

Artie did a double take. "His mother?"

"Greta Anderson, 44, of Chicago. When she met the train and her son wasn't on it, she filed a missing persons report. Since he'd been to Hot Springs, the Chicago police sent the report here. Me and the deputies checked out every spa in town, but none of them had a Carl Anderson registered."

"That's what they told you, at least." This from Artie. "And Mrs. Anderson didn't know the spa's name?"

"No."

"How can you be sure this old man was Carl Anderson, though?" West wanted to know.

"Birthmark on his thigh. His mother said she'd recognize it anywhere. Poor thing was horrified when she saw the body."

"Who wouldn't be?" Artie asked rhetorically.

West, who still had the folder, noted, "It says he died of natural causes."

"Yes, of old age. At twenty-one! And it's not just him."

Purdy next brought the agents to the office of Dr. Kenneth Bancroft, Chief Medical Examiner. He was a friendly-looking, bespectacled man of fifty whose thick, sandy hair had started to gray. Bancroft showed the agents to the morgue and opened a drawer. Lying in it was a haggard-looking woman whose birth one might have guessed had occurred in the late eighteenth century.

Bancroft said, "This is Beverly Ann Gibson of Canandaigua, New York. Found dead three days ago in Hot Springs National Park. Age: nineteen."

The sheriff added, "Her grandmother filed a missing persons report. Seems young Beverly came to Hot Springs two or three times a year; stayed in a different place each time. But none of our spas had seen her in the last six months."

"Again," Artie noted, "that's what they told you."

"And you're sure this is she?" asked West.

"Yes," Purdy answered. "Last time she was here, Miss Gibson had a toothache and saw Doc Sweeney. He made a beeswax casting of her teeth, like he does with all his patients. This lady's choppers are a match for Beverly Gibson's."

"There were two others, as well," Dr. Bancroft advised them, "both in the last month. They looked to be at least eighty, and were found in different parts of town. So far, I can't identify the bodies."

"So, you don't know the others were young people who somehow aged quickly." This from West.

"No, we don't," said the sheriff, "but it's unusual to find old people dropping dead in our town at such a pace. And we know for a fact that two of our dead people weren't even old! Mr. West, this is the damnedest thing I've ever seen. And I just don't know where to take the investigation. That's why I asked the government for help."

"And you were right to do so," West assured him.

Artie asked Bancroft, "Doctor, have you noticed anything unusual about the corpses, anything they might have in common? Besides the obvious."

Pausing, the doctor replied, "Their right ring fingers. They all had marks on them, like they'd

been wearing rings. But no ring was found on the bodies, or near them. Right, Sheriff?"

Purdy nodded.

"Also," Bancroft continued, "the fingers appear to have been pecked at."

"Pecked at?" West repeated.

"Or nibbled on."

"So, you found tooth marks?" This from Artie.

"No, Mr. Gordon. That's the odd thing. There was no evidence that teeth had caused those marks."

"So, what did?" West queried.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

The sheriff interjected, "Miss Gibson's grandmother is due in tomorrow; one o'clock train. I'm guessing you'll want to question her."

"Definitely," said West.

The lawman placed a gentle hand on Miss Gibson's brittle shoulder. "I don't how to brace the poor lady for this. Do you?"

Neither agent answered.