Part 27 (1/2)

”An accident.”

”Yeah. I had my hand out and he walked smack into it.”

Hanrahan nodded. ”And I suppose yer hand was all balled up into a fist at the time.”

Grigsby nodded. ”Now you mention it.”

Hanrahan nodded. ”And where was Mr. Brubaker durin' these proceedin's?”

”On the floor. Some kinda problem with his head, it looked like.”

Hanrahan suddenly laughed. He shook his head. ”Jesus, Bob.”

”Anyway-”

”What about Sheldon?” Suddenly serious. ”Greaves goes to Sheldon with that, and yer up s.h.i.+t creek entirely.”

”He already went to Sheldon. Reckon I'll find out tomorrow what happens. Maybe I'll get to be a sailor boy after all.”

”Jesus.” He looked at Grigsby. ”You're thinkin' that Greaves might be layin' for ye? Lookin' to cause ye some physical damage of his own?”

Grigsby shook his head. ”It's only that I'm gonna be away for a while, and if anything happened to me, n.o.body'd know about those letters.”

Hanrahan frowned. ”You need some help?”

Grigsby shook his head. ”I'll be fine, Gerry. Like I say, this is all just in case.”

Hanrahan sat in silence for a moment. Finally he said, ”Tell me one thing, Bob. You figure it was worth it? Givin' Greaves a taste of knuckle?”

Grigsby thought about it for a moment. Finally he smiled. ”Yeah, Gerry, I got to say it was.”

Hanrahan stared at him for another long moment, and then he grinned. ”Greaves and Brubaker both.” He shook his head. ”I'd give me right arm to see a thing like that.”

”You keep your right arm. Things work out, I'll see you on Monday.”

”And if things don't work out?”

Grisgby smiled. ”Then maybe I won't.”

When he left Hanrahan's house, Grigsby was surprised to see that the real dusk, of vanis.h.i.+ng sun and blending shadows, had come and gone. Night had fallen. He slipped his pocket watch from his vest, saw that the time was nearly a quarter to eight. He climbed on his horse and rode over to the telegraph office.

No telegrams addressed to him had arrived. He wasn't surprised; it was early yet. Mort had gone home, so he told Peters, the night operator, to hold any telegrams addressed to Grigsby that arrived tonight, and hand them over to Mort in the morning. He left Mort a note, asking him to forward his telegrams on to the Woods Hotel in Manitou Springs tomorrow, and to the Clarendon in Leadville on Sunday. Mort, Grigsby knew, would tell no one, not even Greaves; Mort believed that a telegraph operator took the same oath of silence as a doctor.

Afterward, Grigsby rode to Wilde's hotel.

Ned Winters, the desk clerk, told him that Wilde had left for the opera house. Except for Vail and the French woman, the others, too, were gone.

Grigsby nodded. ”Okay, Ned. Give me the pa.s.skey.”

Winters hesitated. He was a round little man in a baggy checked suit who grew the left side of his hair long and troweled it up over his bright pink scalp and plastered it in place. ”I don't know, Marshal.”

Grigsby smiled. ”What is it you don't know, Ned?”

”If I should do that. Lonny-Mr. Laidlaw-he told me he don't want me ever to give out the pa.s.skey.”

Grigsby nodded. ”And what did he tell ya about sleepin' on the job?”

Winters looked quickly around the lobby. ”Like I told you this morning, Marshal, I musta just closed my eyes for only a minute.”

”You want to explain that to Lonny?”

Winters sighed. He opened a drawer in the desktop and pulled out a key, handed it to Grigsby. ”What happens if one of them comes back?”

”Tell him the maid's in there cleaning. Buy him a drink and come up and get me. Bang on the door twice.”

”How will I know which room you're in?”

”Bang hard on any one of 'em. Walls up there ain't that thick.”

Winters nodded. He leaned confidentially toward Grigsby. ”What's goin' on, Marshal?”

”How's that?”

Winters adjusted his bow tie. ”Well, I mean, you wanted to know where they were all at last night. Woke me up to find out. I figure it must be something pretty important.”

Grigsby nodded. ”Reckon there's not much slips past you, Ned.”

Winters smiled, pleased. ”Well, you know how it is, Marshal. I been in the business a long time.”

Grigsby put his elbows on the counter and leaned toward the clerk. ”I ever lie to you, Ned?

Winters shook his head. ”No sir, Marshal. Not that I know of.”

Grigsby nodded. ”Then I reckon there's no reason for me to start now.”

Winters stared at him.

Grigsby said, ”I'll be back down in a little while.”

Upstairs, no one was wandering along the carpeted hallway. Grigsby unlocked the door to Wilde's room, stepped in, locked it shut behind him.

The room smelled, in the darkness, like roses.

Figured.

He lit a match, cupped it in his hand as he carried it over to the oil lamp, used it to set the lamp's wick aflame. He blew out the match, stuck it in his vest pocket. He adjusted the flame, then held the lamp up and looked around the room.

He stepped back and nearly dropped the lamp. Over in the corner, somehow sprawled along the room's two chairs, was a dead man.

No.