CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

   Betty jumped at the sound of screaming. She had just been sitting and having her morning coffee when it happened.

   Stacklee came through her door, rambling on about how Lily had been murdered and about how it was all his fault. She told him to calm down but he was too upset to stop. Finally she got him to sit down and drink some whiskey to calm his nerves while one of the girls fetched Sheriff Doyle.

   When Doyle arrived, Stacklee was drunk enough to be quiet but sober enough to know that he might be under suspicion being that he was a black man working in a whorehouse full of white whores. To his surprise, it looked like the sheriff didn’t even take that into consideration.

   “Betty, did you see who went up with Lily last night?” Doyle said.

   “Yeah, it was some guy from out of town. Came in on the stagecoach.” Betty looked to Stacklee. “You talked to him, didn’t you? You catch his name?”

   The sheriff interrupted. “Doesn’t matter what he said his name was. He probably didn’t tell you his real one. Was this the same asshole who got into a ruckus with Nix and his boys?”

   “No,” Betty said. “It wasn’t the same man. But like I told you, Stacklee talked to the guy who went with Lily.”

   Stacklee picked up the whiskey but thought better of it and put the bottle down. “I talked to him but he didn’t seem the violent type. He was just smooth son of a bitch dressed like an Englishman.”

   “Well, this smooth son of a bitch cut up a whore real bad. You saw her. I almost puked up my breakfast after seeing what he done to her. Maybe Lily threatened his manhood or something and so he cut her up like a hog. I don’t care why. All I care about is getting my hands on the bastard.”

   Betty said, “Couldn’t it be one of those Indians out there?”

   “No, if an Indian does something like that, they don’t get sneaky about it. I don’t think it was any of them. I think it was a white man.”

   “Did you check the hotel, sheriff?”

   “If that guy is staying there, I doubt he’s fool enough to be there now but I’ll check anyway. Seems like your establishment is attracting the wrong sort of men. I wouldn’t be surprised if the mayor closed you down.”

   “The mayor could go fuck himself,” Betty said. She picked up the whiskey bottle and took a swig.

   Sheriff Doyle started towards the door. He resisted the urge to put his hand on Stacklee’s shoulder. It was a shame seeing the man fall apart like that. It was obvious that he cared about those girls.

   Once outside, Sheriff Doyle walked across the street to the hotel. Just as he was about to go in, he saw Mayor Douglas coming his way.

   He said, “Mayor?”

   “Sheriff?”

   “We have a bit of a problem. Girl was murdered last night at Betty’s.”

   The mayor stopped, looking obviously annoyed. “So? Take care of it.”

   “I plan to. Just thought you’d want to know about it. She was cut up real bad. Looked like an Indian got to her,” Doyle said.

   “So it’s an Indian did it?”

   Sheriff Doyle shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

   “Well, take care of it,” the mayor said, walking away. The sheriff didn’t know it but the mayor had bigger things on his mind like the black envelope he had received the previous day and the red tattoos that were consuming his flesh.

   Once the mayor was out of earshot, Sheriff Doyle said, “What the fuck is wrong with him?” He walked into the hotel and prayed that the killer would just be sitting there waiting to be arrested. God, why couldn’t it be that easy?

   Betty’s voice cried out from behind him. “Sheriff!”

   Doyle turned around and saw the woman waving a jar in the air. He walked over to her. “What the hell now?”

   “I just found this bottle under Lily’s bed. It’s from Tom Duma’s store and one of my girls said she heard him arguing with Lily last week.” Betty was shivering now. Not from the cold but from the implications.

   Doyle said, “So, I’m guessing you think it’s Tom Duma?”

   “Maybe. It could be.”

   “I’ve known him for a long time. I’ve had dinner at his house. It’s hard to believe he’d be capable of this.”

   “But it could be him, right?” Betty said. “Right?”

   Doyle shook his head. “Goddamnit,”

   He walked away in the direction of the General Store. It was easier when he thought it was an outsider. It was difficult to accept that one of the town’s own businessmen is behind the murder.

   When he walked into the store, Tom Duma was rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. He cracked a smile when he saw Doyle. “Hi there, sheriff.”

   “Tom, we need to talk.”

   “Oh? What about?”

   “About where you were last night.”

   The smile on Tom’s face faded. “Why?”

   “Make this easy on the both of us. Were you sleeping at home last night?” he said. “The entire night?”

   “Just what in the hell are you getting at? This have something to do with the ruckus over at Betty’s? You know I don’t visit the whores.”

   Sheriff Doyle put his hand on his pistol. “Just answer the question, Tom.”

   “I will not stand here and let you treat me like a criminal.”

   Doyle cocked his head. “Tom, how long we know each other?”

   “I don’t know. A few years.”

   “So we know each other fairly well. But I’m only going to ask you one more time.”

   Tom Duma grinded his teeth and stared at the floor. “I have things to do, sheriff,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you left my store.”

   Doyle shook his head. He took two steps forward and grabbed Tom’s arm, flinging him to the floor. Then he took him by the collar and dragged him outside. “You have to learn to cooperate, Tom. I don’t have time for bullshit.”

   At first, Tom Duma kicked and screamed as he was being dragged across the street to the jail. Then he quickly stopped and decided that it would be in his best interest to shut his goddamn mouth and let things work naturally.

   “In you go,” the sheriff said, as he opened the door to the cell and pushed Tom into it. “You want, I’ll let your wife know where you are.”

   “No need,” Tom said. “I saw her watching from the window. She knows exactly where I am.”