“Oh, yeah? I got friends that will get me a lawyer! You ain’t got nothing on me, Marshal. We’ll have your gawdamn badge for this!”
“We’ll see,” Longarm said through clenched teeth. “We’ll just see.”
Chapter 16
When Longarm returned to Auburn with his prisoner, the townspeople turned out to give him a hearty welcome. They knew Mead, and they were all grinning when they saw that he was handcuffed and headed for jail.
“Congratulations, Marshal Long!” a man said, coming up to slap Longarm on the back. “It sure is good to see that Mead is finally going to get his long-overdue reward in Hell.”
“Well,” Longarm said, dragging his prisoner from his horse and shoving him toward the marshal’s office, “whatever happens to him is up to a judge and a jury.”
Marshal Jones had the door open wide, and he wasted no time in putting Mead in a cell.
“What happened to the other two prisoners?” Longarm asked.
“They were sentenced and hanged yesterday,” Jones answered. “You missed quite a show, but I expect that this one will make up for it when he dances in the wind.”
Mead, his face purple and swollen from the effects of the beating he’d taken from Longarm, shivered but managed to keep up his bravado by hissing, “The Huffingtons ain’t going to let me swing. They’ll get me off.”
“I don’t think so,” Longarm replied, collapsing in Pete Walker’s old office chair and then kicking his boots up on the desk. “We’ve got a witness that will testify that you, Claude Blanton, and Nick Huffington were all in cahoots. That you plotted to murder Noah Huffington and then ambush Marshal Walker. You’ll swing, all right.”
“What witness?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Mead turned around and went over to sit on the cell bunk. He cradled his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up to say, “I need a good lawyer. I want to see Mr. Abe Huffington!”
“If he comes by,” Marshal Jones said, “we’ll pass along the message. But we don’t have time to go hunt up the man.”
“I want a lawyer!”
“You’ll have one,” Longarm promised. “But it won’t change the fact that you’re going to hang.”
Mead’s head almost dropped between his knees, and he muttered something to himself that Longarm could not decipher.
“What’d you say?”
Mead’s head snapped up. “What if … ah, never mind.”
“What if what?” Longarm said, dropping his boots to the floor and going over to stand beside the cell. “Are you thinking about cutting a deal in exchange for your life?”
Mead didn’t look up, but when he spoke, his voice broke. “Maybe.”
Longarm glanced over his shoulder at Marshal Jones, who just shrugged as if he didn’t care much one way or the other. Longarm turned his attention back to the prisoner. “Was Abe Huffington involved in the murder of his son Noah or Marshal Walker?”
“No!” Mead looked up. “But you tell Abe he better come and take care of me!”
“Why?” Longarm said. “He’s a very busy and important man. What if he isn’t interested in your problems?”
“He’d better be!”
“Why?” Longarm repeated.
“‘Cause I ain’t going to no gallows while Nick Huffington goes scot free!”
“So you admit that he was in on the murders.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Not exactly,” Longarm admitted, “but close enough. Where is Nick right now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think that you probably do.”
Mead shook his head and began to pace back and forth in his cell. Then, he stopped and spun around to point at Longarm. “I know who’s been talking! It’s Agnes!”
“Who is she?”
“Agnes was Claude Blanton’s woman. She lives in that shack outside of Newcastle and she’s got all them damn kids and dogs. She’s the one that opened her big mouth, isn’t she!”
“No,” Longarm lied.
“The hell you say! It has to be Agnes!”
The very last thing that Longarm wanted was for this man to somehow get the word out to Nick Huffington that Agnes had betrayed them. If he did that, then the woman’s life would be in grave danger.
“How about a signed confession right now?” Longarm offered. “In exchange for my recommendation that you be given life in prison instead of the death sentence.”
“Not a chance!” Mead became very agitated. “I want to see Mr. Huffington and I want a good lawyer! I ain’t saying nothing more.”
To emphasize his words, Mead stomped over to flop down on his bunk. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and pretended to go to sleep saying, “Wake me when I have visitors.”
Longarm turned from the cell and motioned for Marshal Jones to follow him outside.
“Trouble?” Jones asked when they were alone and could talk privately.
“I’m afraid so. Mead is no fool. He was right in guessing that Agnes, the Newcastle woman, is the one who told me about the murder plot.”
“I see.” Jones frowned. “But what can Mead do to silence her if he’s in jail?”
“Nothing,” Longarm said. “But if he somehow gets word to Nick Huffington, Agnes is as good as dead. And even worse, Nick might decide to kill her children too so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.”
“Holy shit!” Jones exclaimed. “I see what you mean. What are we going to do if Abe Huffington comes here? Or a lawyer? We can’t legally keep Mead isolated.”
“I know,” Longarm said, thinking hard. “And I have a feeling that Huffington will show up pretty soon. When he does, we’ll just let him visit with Mead. It ought to be an interesting conversation and tell me a great deal about whether or not Abe has been involved in these murders.”
“But what if Mead tells him about Agnes?”
“Then Huffington will have to make a decision. He’ll either allow his only surviving son to go to the gallows exactly as he deserves—or he’ll pass the word along to Nick to head for Newcastle to kill Agnes.”
“And if Abe makes that choice, you’ll be able to arrest him.”
“Exactly!” Longarm went back inside and over to stretch out on Pete Walker’s bunk saying, “Like Mead, I’m going to take a nap. Wake me when we have visitors.”
“Any visitors?”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, closing his eyes. “Anyone at all.”
Longarm didn’t need to be awakened when Abe Huffington stormed in a few hours later. The politician was furious, disheveled, and badly shaken. He was also accompanied by a nattily dressed Sacremento lawyer.
“My client, Mr. Abraham Huffington, demands to talk to your prisoner in strict confidence,” the lawyer announced.
Jones glanced over at Longarm, who sat up sleepily and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He yawned, scratched, and said, “All right. Marshal Jones, open the cell and let these men have their little powwow with the condemned man.”
“I resent that remark!” the lawyer snapped.
“Well, that’s quite a coincidence,” Longarm said, “because I’m already starting to resent you.”
“You’re finished as a federal officer,” Huffington passionately vowed. “You’ve run roughshod over everyone in Auburn and I’m going to do everything in my power to see that …”
“Oh,” Longarm said, coming to his feet. “You mean, if you are elected the governor of California, you will try to get me fired.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“Well, Mr. Huffington, let me fill you in on a thing or two. In the first place, your political career is definitely finished. And in the second place, if you had anything to do with these murders, the only career you can look forward to is a life in prison!”
Huffington was well past his physical prime, but he almost attacked Longarm anyway, so great was his fury. But his attorney managed to hold him off and then get him pointed toward the cell.