“You’re a lifesaver,” said Curtis with a broad smile, as he lightly kissed her on the cheek.
Bell and Irvine exchanged glances, smiling. They both knew that Curtis and Agnes were just pals and always teasing each other. Agnes gathered her skirts as she turned, left the conference room, and closed the door.
“Besides the coffee,” said Bell, “it was thoughtful of her to close the door.”
Curtis blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “She knows the score. Agnes has no more respect for Alexander than we do.”
“You were about to say…” Irvine prompted Bell.
“I discovered that, besides a missing finger, he probably has red hair. And rides a motorcycle, which he’s used on more than one robbery.” Bell reached into his pocket and lifted out a small silk sack, opened it, and spilled the cartridge out on the table. “We now know the Butcher Bandit uses a thirty-eight-caliber Colt automatic. This shell casing was found under a carpet. The killer somehow missed it since he hasn’t left any shells at his other bank hits. Sheriff Murphy of Bisbee was a smart man and had the county coroner remove the bullets from the murder victims. They all came from a thirty-eight Colt.”
“We can check sales of all thirty-eight Colt automatics,” said Curtis.
“There couldn’t be more than ten thousand of them,” Irvine replied sarcastically. “It would take ten agents years to check out every gun dealer, salesman, and hardware store owner who sells thirty-eight Colt automatics.”
“Art is right,” Bell said as he stared at the brass cartridge. “It would be a tremendous long shot.”
Curtis grinned like a fox. “Not if we have a lead to where the bandit hides out. Then we can check out dealers in the area.”
“Good thinking,” Bell agreed, not knowing what Curtis was about to reveal. “In the meantime, I’ll send it off to Chicago and see if our agency experts can pull any fingerprints.” He relaxed in a chair and tilted it back on two legs, propping a foot against the table. “Now, let me hear what you two have unearthed.”
Irvine opened a bound ledger and placed the book on the table in front of Bell and Curtis. “I hit pay dirt in Elkhorn, Nevada. They had recorded the serial numbers of the fifty-dollar bills in their vault the day before the robbery.”
“I can understand why,” said Bell. “Fifties are counterfeited more than any other bill. As their bookkeeper itemized the bills, he must have studied each one and made sure they weren’t bogus.”
Irvine tapped the entries in the book with his finger as he looked at Bell. “You can request the Chicago office to put out bulletins to banks around the West to be on the lookout for them. Fifties will be easier to trace than fives, tens, or twenties.”
“And a lot easier than ones,” Curtis added.
“I’ll see to it,” Bell assured Irvine.
“I made a few inquiries on my own and actually came up with two banks in San Francisco where three of the bills showed up.”
“Good work,” said Bell. He then focused on Curtis. “Now, how about you, Arthur? Any luck on your end?”
“Did you find any passenger trains the killer might have escaped on?” Irvine queried.
“No. But freight trains are a different story.”
“Weren’t they searched by the posses?”
Curtis shook his head. “Not the ones that were loaded and locked.”
“So where did you go from there?” inquired Bell.
Curtis broke out into a smile that spread and beamed. “It took many hours of digging in musty old railroad company records, but I did manage to make an interesting discovery. I found three cars that were on the sidings of towns that were robbed. Boxcar serial number 15758 was present in Virginia City and Bisbee during the robberies. In Virginia City, its cargo manifest was listed as fifty bales of barbed wire to be transported to a ranch in Southern California. Boxcar 15758 was empty when it sat on a siding waiting to be switched to another train in Bisbee.”
“Empty,” Irvine repeated, stirring restlessly in his chair.
“Yes, empty. It had hauled a load of pottery from Las Cruces, New Mexico, to Tucson, before being sent empty back to El Paso.”
“So we can scratch that one,” muttered Bell. “What about the others?”
Curtis referred to his notes. “Number 18122 was present at Elkhorn, Nevada, and Grand Junction, Colorado, when their banks were robbed. It was on the siding at Grand Junction waiting to be switched to a train to take it to Los Angeles. Its cargo was sixty cases of wine. At Elkhorn, it carried a load of mattresses, from a factory in Sacramento, California.”
“So much for 18122,” said Irvine. “It’s not likely the bandit escaped to different locations.”
Curtis fairly beamed. “I saved the best for last.” Rising and walking to a blackboard, he wrote O’BRIAN FURNITURE COMPANY, DENVER on the black surface. Then he turned with a pleased expression on his face. “Now we come to a boxcar that was present at five robberies.”
Both Bell and Irvine sat up suddenly in their chairs as Curtis caught their fixed attention. The agent had taken the bull by the horns and delved into an area no one had thought to go.
Bell, surprised at Curtis’s unexpected revelation, said, “The car was in five towns on the day their banks were robbed?”
“I’ve made a list of towns, times, and its final destination.”
Irvine nearly spilled his coffee as he set it back on the tray. “Don’t you mean destinations, plural?”
“No. Destination, singular.” Curtis laughed softly. “In every instance, the furniture car from Denver went to San Francisco. I could find no record of it ever having been hauled to Denver or anywhere else. I can only assume it was a façade the bandit used to escape the posses.”
Bell stared at the writing on the blackboard. “I’ll bet a month’s pay that a check of furniture stores in Denver will prove O’Brian Furniture does not exist.”
“I think that goes without saying,” Irvine summed up.
Bell turned to Curtis. “When was the last Southern Pacific Railroad account of the car?”
“It was put on a siding in the San Francisco railyards two weeks ago. At my last inquiry, it was still there.”
“Then we’ve got to find and search it.”
“And stake it out,” said Irvine.
“That, too,” replied Bell. “But we must be very careful not to alert the bandit that we’re closing in on him.”
Curtis lit another cigarette. “I’ll leave on the first train in the morning for San Francisco.”
“Irvine and I will join you.” Bell then turned his attention to Irvine. “You mentioned that three bills turned up in San Francisco.”
Irvine nodded. “That’s right. One at the Cromwell National Bank of San Francisco and two at the Crocker National Bank.”
Bell smiled for the first time. “It would seem, gentlemen, all roads lead to San Francisco.”