“We do,” Virgil said.
Virgil stayed near the window next to the bridge model, and I moved toward Cox.
“We’re territorial marshals out of Appaloosa,” I said. “I’m Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch and this is Marshal Virgil Cole.”
“G. W. Cox,” he said.
I shook his hand.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
I looked to Virgil.
“We got word,” Virgil said. “A telegram from the Rio Blanco Bridge way station. Two days ago, the bridge was destroyed. Three men dead.”
Cox didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at us with a blank expression on his face.
“I’m sorry?” Cox said with his slow long drawl. “Could you repeat that? Two days ago, whhhuuut?”
28
Virgil nodded to the model in front of the window.
“This bridge was blown up,” Virgil said. “Three men died, they were killed.”
Cox shook his head.
“This can’t be,” Cox said.
Virgil nodded.
“’Fraid so,” Virgil said.
“Two days ago?” Cox said.
Virgil nodded.
“Any idea who would do this?” Virgil said.
Cox looked to the floor for a long moment. He shook his head slightly, then walked to the big desk and dropped into his chair.
“Leave us, Jessup,” Cox said.
Jessup just looked at Cox for a moment.
“Now,” Cox said. “I don’t need you standing there looking like you are looking. Just leave.”
“Certainly, Mr. Cox, sir,” Jessup said, and closed the doors behind him.
“You know this to be a fact?” Cox said.
“Not seen it firsthand,” Virgil said, “but that was the telegram.”
Cox placed both of his hands squarely on the desk in front of him.
“Why am I just receiving this information?” Cox said.
“The lines were down,” I said.
“Just recently fixed,” Virgil said.
“When the communication connection was reestablished,” I said, “we were contacted.”
Cox stared at me blankly.
“To confirm, we made contact with the way station just a while ago,” I said. “The bridge being blown up and deaths were confirmed.”
“Got any idea why somebody’d do this?” Virgil said.
Cox looked away, then leveled a look at Virgil but didn’t respond to Virgil’s question.
“You got enemies?” Virgil said.
“I’ve spent most my life putting people in jail, Marshal,” Cox said. “I have plenty of enemies.”
Cox stood. He put his hands in the pockets of his Englishman’s robe and walked slowly over to the bridge model. He looked at the model with a sad expression on his face as he shook his head slightly from side to side.
“Walton Wayne Swickey,” Cox said.
“Who’s Walton Wayne Swickey?” Virgil said.
Cox stared at the bridge model, not saying anything.
Virgil looked to me, then back to Cox.
“Who is Walton Wayne Swickey?” Virgil said again.
“A powerful, money-grubbing man,” Cox said.
“Where would we find him?” Virgil said.
Cox shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Virgil looked to the model, then to Cox.
“Why?” Virgil said. “Why would he do this?”
“Because I got the bid to build the bridge and he did not.”
“Any other reason?” Virgil said.
“Like what?” Cox said.
“You tell me,” Virgil said.
“I can’t imagine any reasons,” Cox said.
“No other bad blood between the two of you?” Virgil said.
“No,” Cox said. “Nothing I’m aware of. I never knew the man until I bid against him, did not know him from Adam. I was warned, when I went up against him, though, that he was a ruthless, not-to-be-trusted sonofabitch.”
Cox looked back to the model and shook his head.
“But this?” Cox said. “Why anyone would do something so atrocious as this, Marshal, is beyond me. Even Swickey. Losing a goddamn contract? Well, hell, that offers no logical reason, or explanation for such awful nonsense as this, no matter how burned or scorned one might be. Just nonsense.”
“He live here,” I said. “In Appaloosa?”
Cox shook his head some.
“I don’t know. He was here for the bidding,” Cox said. “Not sure where he lives, though.”
“You have no idea?” I said.
“No.”
“And no idea of his whereabouts?”
“No, I don’t know where he is,” Cox said. “I’ve not seen him, but I’m not around here full-time. In fact, I just returned to Appaloosa last week.”
“From?” Virgil said.
“Philadelphia.”
“When was the last time you saw Swickey?” I said.
“The day I was awarded the contract to build the bridge and he was not.”
“What were your parting words?” I said.
“No words,” Cox said. “He just smiled at me. A devil’s smile, conjured up from the bowels of hell.”
29
“What now?” Cox said.
“Everett and me are riding over there,” Virgil said. “Have a look at this firsthand.”
“When?”
“Subsequently,” Virgil said.
“I’ll go with you,” Cox said.
“Not necessary,” Virgil said.
“Might not be,” Cox said, “but I insist.”
“Conditions are bad,” I said.
“Yes,” Cox said. “They are. No matter. I have a great deal invested in these men and this bridge.”
Cox walked to the office doors and opened them.
“Jessup,” Cox called.
“Yessir,” Jessup replied.
“Get my horse ready to ride,” he said.
Jessup showed up at the doors.
“Now?” Jessup said.
“Yes,” Cox said. “Now.”
Virgil looked to me and moved toward the door.
“We have readying to do,” Virgil said. “We’ll come back around here in a bit. If you’re ready to ride, you can ride with us. We won’t wait on you.”
“I’ll be ready,” Cox said.
Virgil nodded and I followed him out of the office.
We left Cox’s place and walked back in the direction of the sheriff’s office.
“Think we need to try locate this Swickey fella,” I said.
“Yep.”
“Not sure how best to go about that,” I said. “Not this time of night, anyway.”
“Same as before,” Virgil said.
“Wallis?”
“Yep.”
Virgil and I cut through the alley and crossed two blocks to Main Street. When we got to the Boston House, the saloon was locked up.
“Any idea where Wallis could be,” Virgil asked.
“Don’t,” I said. “Not if he ain’t at the saloon.”
“Know where Tilda stays,” I said.
“How do you know that?” Virgil said.
“She showed me.”
Virgil looked at me, but I didn’t look at him back as I walked on.
“She’s just up the street here at Fletcher’s old boardinghouse,” I said.
When we got to Fletcher’s we entered the small dark lobby and climbed the steps to the second floor. The boardinghouse halls were lined with a few dimmed sconces. We walked down the cold hall, stopped at the last door and I knocked.
“Tilda,” I said. “It’s Everett and Virgil, sorry for the hour, but we need to ask you something.”
We heard some bedsprings squeak and the sound of hushed voices. I knocked lightly again.
“Tilda?”
After a moment, Tilda cracked open the door.
“Hi,” Tilda said shyly.
“Sorry to bother you this time of night, but we’re looking for Wallis,” I said. “Need to find out something from him. Know where we can find him?”