Who Murdered Tulsa Rose?
by Gary Clifton
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
At that, he was on the road to Uvalde, nearly exhausted and his leg throbbing. Charlie trotted wearily behind, with Cedric nursing his exhausted mount, struggling to keep up.
City Marshal Bear Smith, stood in the gathering dark, a fresh rolled smoke in the corner of his mouth. He was holding a lantern aloft at the smashed doorway of one of the shabby little compartments behind the sleazy Green Daisy Saloon.
Brannigan nudged him aside. “Got a letter from the Governor. He’s appointing John King Fisher—”
“Telegram was waitin’ on me, Henry Paul. Far as I know, Fisher is no damned good, but we gotta wait and see, I guess. Unless you gun him down on sight.” He chuckled.
Brannigan ignored the remark.
Green Daisy owner Pig Pickens was standing nearby, wringing his hands. “Damn murdering Lafe Hadley. Done kilt my best earner. Brannigan, I want you should shoot that sorry sucker when you catch him this time.”
Brannigan eased awkwardly down from Buck. “Wasn’t me caught him last time, Pig; it was Marshal Smith and Charlie. I was busy falling off my horse. And the jailer let him get away again.”
Brannigan didn’t bother to elaborate that Bear and Charlie had actually saved the fleeing Hadley from drowning in the Rio Grande, swollen from spring rains.
Brannigan and Bear exchanged glances. Both knew Tulsa Rose, who was overweight, slovenly, and profanely crude. Bear had once quietly remarked to Brannigan she had a face like an infected toe.
Brannigan nudged Bear aside. “Bear, this is your case. Happened in the city. You handled the case that got Lafe the gallows. I’ll of course help you, but I think Judge Mayfield and the city folks expect you to handle this.”
Bear exhaled tobacco smoke. “Okay, Henry Paul. I’ve arrested Lafe twice. Maybe a third time might stick. Man, I’m tired o’ chasin’ this guy. I’m tired, period.”
Brannigan borrowed Bear’s lantern and inspected Rose’s body. She was semi-clad in a torn, flimsy red nightgown, and her head was an indistinct mass of gore on the wooden floor. A two-foot metal pipe lay in the midst of blood splatter. “Anybody actually see Lafe Hadley break this door or attack Rose?” Brannigan asked.
Bear Smith, big, muscular, with his derby clamped atop a full head of red hair, puffed on his roll-your-own. “No, Henry Paul, we got no witnesses. But Hadley broke out and, a half hour before, people heard the commotion here. Then Hadley was seen high-tailing it on a stolen livery horse. I’m thinkin’ he headed east across the Nueces toward San Antone. Seems to me it’s him killed her all right. Who else had reason?”
“Hard to say, Bear, but if nobody saw Hadley do the murder, then we gotta keep an open mind. Pig, were Hadley and this dead woman seeing each other before he was convicted of murder last month?”
Pig Pickens shuffled uneasily, avoiding eye contact as he usually did. “Well, uh, Ranger, Lafe spent some time back here with her, uh... enjoyin’ her company.”
Bear Smith said, “And payin’ her all the wages he made cowboyin’ out at the Circle Z. Henry Paul, you weren’t in court, but she testified that Lafe killed that cowboy in self-defense. He got sentenced to hangin’ for knifin’ that cowhand from the Circle Z right out back of the Daisey.” He pointed to a spot on the ground nearby.
Brannigan studied the scene. “Circle Z. That’s run by Willard Post just a couple miles past my place. He ever come in the Daisy, Pig?”
“Yeah, maybe once or twice.” Pickens added a bit too hurriedly, “But he ain’t had no truck with Tulsa Rose.”
Bear, who’d become a hard man to lie to, eyed Pickens closely in the dim light.
Out of the darkness, a horse-drawn buggy clattered up. The driver jumped down and hurried to the door of Rose’s crib. Bear Smith’s husky form blocked his way.
“Whoa, Mr. Post, this room is a crime scene. Nobody goes in.”
Brannigan quietly asked the owner of the Circle Z, “What brings you to town this time of night, Mr. Post?”
Post, a slender, suntanned man of forty with a permanent scowl, replied, “Well, Brannigan, if it’s any of your concern, that sorry bully Lafe Hadley already murdered one of my best hands and you people have let him escape, twice. A rider stopped by my ranch with the news of this latest atrocity. Just wanna see he gets hanged proper.”
Bear said, “Just fixin’ to run him down, Post. If he killed this woman, he’ll answer for it.”
“If!” he roared. “I’ll ride along with you.”
“No, sir, Ranger Brannigan and I can handle it just fine. You ease on home and we’ll fill you in later.”
Post reacted in anger. “Man has a right to see justice done when he’s got a personal stake in this.”
Bear’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to Post. “Go home, pardner.”
Post climbed back aboard his buggy, struggled to release the wooden hand-brake lever and savagely lashed the mare in harness, jerking away back into the dark.
Brannigan asked Pickens, “What is Rose’s full name and is she from Tulsa?”
“Uh, Ranger, I jes’ looked it up. She’s got her mama’s address listed over in San Antone. The name she gimme was Hortense Anderson. I got no way of knowin’ how much truth there is in any of that, includin’ if she had any connection to Tulsa.”
Charlie squeezed his big frame into the room, giving the place a good sniffing.
Bear grinned at the dog’s diligence. “Bad guy rode off on a horse, Charlie. Hope you can pick out the right animal trail.”
Bear turned to Pickens. “Pig, get hold of Smothers, the undertaker and have him tend to this poor woman’s remains. Then board up this place and don’t let anybody inside until we get a chance to give it a thorough goin’-over. And see that boot print in blood in the doorway? I come back and that’s been walked on or disturbed, it’s gonna be hell to pay for you, understand? Make sure nobody steps on it, nor takes anything outta this room.”
Pickens weathered face said he didn’t want to, but he found a bucket nearby and placed it upside down over the boot print.
* * *
Brannigan rode Buck to Doc Hardy’s house. In his nightcap, Hardy examined Brannigan’s swollen leg. “Not busted, just a bad bruise, but get into a bed and rest for a week.”
Limping painfully, Brannigan led Bear and Charlie across the street to the livery barn next door to Bear Smith’s blacksmith shop. Bear had married Mary Osmond, whose family was murdered by rustlers posing as Apaches back in 1875. They had now lived six years in the small cottage Bear and Brannigan had remodeled behind Bear’s blacksmith shop.
Mary, flaxen-haired and slender. stepped onto the porch, holding their infant daughter, Amy, and a lantern. She took the news that her husband was embarking on another manhunt with a nod.
“It’s Saturday, boys. Liz is coming by today for coffee this morning. Bear... Henry, we’ll say a prayer for y’all.”
Bear swept both wife and baby up in his massive arms. “Yes, darlin’, while the two of you plan another batch of women’s rights activity. Have at it, girls.” He kissed both and mounted his black mare.
They rode over to the livery barn and inspected the stall of the stolen horse. “One last chance to get a good noseful, Charlie.” They knew the scent would be tricky to detect in a stable full of horses with similar odors. His money would still be on Charlie matching the scent of the right animal with the man-smell in Rose’s crib.
The livery employee on hand was old Square Deal, a gambler and general no-good.
“Square Deal,” Brannigan asked, “how good a horse did Hadley get away with?”
“A red roan, wore out ten-dollar plug, Ranger. One the stable here rents out. Lucky to make twenty miles; less if he runs him. And he ain’t got no saddle.”
“Was he armed?”
“Got away with my Winchester. It only had six or eight cartridges.”
“Was he wearing boots?”
“Nossir, he had on them jailhouse slippers. And, Ranger, he ain’t got no water.”
In minutes, Charlie woofed success and pranced anxiously at the door, ready to pursue. He’d somehow matched the man smell from the crime scene with the stolen horse.
Charlie’s nose told them that Hadley had opted not to try to ford the swollen Nueces and had ridden west, then north.
Bear said, “He’s prolly headed for Arizona.”
“That’s a long walk,” Brannigan said, “when his horse plays out.”
But Charlie’s nose said otherwise. The dog led north, with Bear, and Brannigan following.
Brannigan asked, “Bear... Willard Post, the Circle Z owner. Wasn’t he the one whose wife ran off with a traveling salesman a year or so ago?”
Bear exhaled cigarette smoke. “Post is a loner with a temper. Pulled him off a cowboy in one of them saloons last year. Near beat the man to death with a spittoon. And yeah, his wife ran away, probably because he was hard to live with.”
* * *
The trail Charlie was following led directly in front of Brannigan’s ranch. “Bear,” Brannigan said, grimacing from his injuries. “I’m gonna stop and hook up a carriage. Might sit better.”
“Henry Paul, you know Lafe Hadley ain’t much of a fighter. We’re gonna stop at your place, you get in the bed. Me’n Charlie can run Lafe Hadley to ground.”
Over Brannigan’s protestations but yielding to the crippling pain in his leg, they wheeled into Brannigan’s yard as the eastern sky behind them was turning pre-dawn gray.
Elizabeth was in the barn with Tad and ranch hand Emilio Alvarez, saddling Liz’s mare and Tad’s palomino for the ride to town for coffee with Mary Smith. The group helped Brannigan to his bed. He sprawled on the mattress, fully clothed.
When Elizabeth heard Bear was going to continue pursuing Hadley without Brannigan’s help, her fertile mind went to work.
“Tad, you stay here and help your dad. Bear, I’m going to accompany you. Hadley darn well could be laying in the gap up the trail somewhere. He won’t chance a shot at a woman.”
When both men objected, she reminded both she was head of the Uvalde County Commissioner’s Court and although not their direct supervisors, would certainly pull rank, anyway. “I’ve been kidnapped and I also killed a couple of my son’s kidnappers. I’m going, Bear.”
Ten minutes later, Charlie led Bear and Elizabeth out the Brannigan Ranch gate. Brannigan and Tad remained behind, both dissatisfied with their assignments.
Elizabeth urged her gray mare up beside Bear. “Lillian Post and I were friends,” she said, thoughtfully. “She attended some of our ladies’ meetings in town... until she disappeared. Willard raised Cain when he learned of her participation. He’s a mean and violent man. We might be chasing the wrong man.”
Lafayette Hadley, unlucky in both love and in a court of law, had similar problems with his stolen horse. At mid-morning. they came across the exhausted horse, standing head down beside the trail. Foot tracks led cross-country, still bearing north by northwest.
Bear said, “Charlie’s right again. Hadley’s heading directly away from the Rio Grande.”
“The stolen livery horse will rest up and find his way home,” Elizabeth said as they pushed on.
The sun was mid-morning high when a Winchester round kicked up sand in front of Bear’s horse. Charlie growled, hackles raised. The shooter was close.
Bear shouted. “Lafayette Hadley, stand and surrender. You hit one of us or the dog, and you’re a dead man. You won’t have to wait for the judge to set a date for your hanging. I’ll pull off your damned head.”
Preceded by a muzzle flash from a shallow gulley, fifty feet away, Hadley emerged, charging, and firing wildly as he came. “They gonna kill me noway,” he screamed, “for something I ain’t done. I wadn’t tryin’ to hit y’all. Jes’ go on and shoot me.”
“So much for not shooting at women,” Elizabeth slid to the ground, digging her little Colt out of her pocket.
Bear dismounted. He pulled the Winchester from his saddle scabbard, drew a deliberate bead, and fired. Hadley fell, and his stolen Winchester tumbled out of his reach.
On foot, they led their horses to the downed man. Bear’s round had just clipped the side of his head. He was alive, but only semi-conscious. Lanky, with a thin beard, he was a ringer for a hundred other cowhands in the territory. Charlie stood over the downed man like a hungry mountain lion.
“Why did you kill Rose?” Bear knelt beside him.
“Didn’t,” he gasped.
“Why did the dog pick up your sent at the murder scene?”
“Dunno. Went there, found Rosie dead. Didn’t stay a minute, then run like hell.”
“Long enough to leave your smell, “Bear said. “Let’s get him on that pack animal and back to Uvalde.”
* * *
They reached Uvalde at just past noon. Hadley had not fully regained consciousness when they checked him back into the Uvalde County Jail. Bear ordered the jailer to send for Dr. Hardy, and then he rode over to the crime scene.
True to his orders, Pickens had nailed several boards over the door of Tulsa Rose’s room. Bear banged on the rear door of the Green Daisy until Pickens appeared, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Pig, you said Willard Post came in once or twice.” Bear’s eyes narrowed. “Now rethink that and tell the damned truth. Something ain’t right about who went where.”
Pickens, astounded at the presence of Elizabeth, sputtered, “Whutchoo doin’ here Miz’ Brannigan?”
“Helping. I’m in charge of the County Commissioners.”
“Well, Marshal, uh, Ma’am, Mr. Post didn’t come inside the Daisy much, but he mighta stopped back here after hours to spend time with Rose. I... I ain’t sure.” He had just re-shaped his original statement.
“Was he here last night... when Rose got killed?” Bear asked.
Pickens studied his feet. “Dunno, Marshall.”
Bear interpreted the reply as a lie. Post had been there. Why would Post have been to the scene, then apparently left, only to return suddenly after Brannigan and Bear had arrived?
Bear sent Pickens back inside and pulled off the boards over the door to the room. Despite Rose’s body having been removed, the stench of decaying blood was overpowering in the rising daytime heat.
Elizabeth exclaimed, “Mother of God!”
Bear called Charlie inside and patted the floor around the bloody boot print, then atop the narrow bed. Charlie sniffed and stared uncomprehendingly at Bear.
Bear grinned. “Just keep all that scent in your nose-file, Charlie.”
Elizabeth sketched a likeness of the bloody boot print. She and Bear, Charlie trailing behind, rode the block to the county jail. In minutes, they were interviewing Lafe Hadley’s cellmate, a drifter doing thirty days for saloon fighting. He was jail-dirty and smelled of stale sweat.
“You’re Shadrack Thomas from El Paso?” Bear asked, looking at the jail card.
“Yessir. Been ol’ Lafe’s cellmate two weeks. I ain’t had nothin’ to do with them escapes.” He looked at Elizabeth, baffled. “Who is—?”
“County Commissioner Brannigan,” Bear replied, “Lafe tell you why he knifed that Circle Z hand, which got him sentenced to hang?”
“Marshal, Lafe said he was genuine in love with Tulsa whatsie. The killin’ came after a fight when Lafe caught the dead man in her room, slappin’ her around. She was a tavern woman and all, but I guess Lafe sorta lost it.”
“He say anything about wantin’ to kill Tulsa Rose?”
“No, he said he was mortified when they hadn’t believed her version of the fight in court. He said she told them Lafe was jes’ protectin’ her, and the knifing came after the dead man brought out a six-shooter in the alley outside Rose’s door. I guess the jury didn’t believe her, ’cuz she was a jaded woman, she was lying about the dead guy having a gun. She come over here and visited him most every day sayin’ how sorry she was.”
Bear glanced at Elizabeth. “You aware we never found the dead man’s pistol?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Bear, any chance Willard Post showed up at the murder scene?”
Bear’s face twisted in thought. “Yeah, matter of fact, he did.”
Bear asked the prisoner. “Lafe say he was goin’ to take up with Rose here after he escaped?”
“Yeah, he said he was gonna run for Mexico, and she’d follow in a few days. Hellfire, Marshal, Lafe was jes’ an old cowboy. He waren’t no killer. An’ he sure as heaven didn’t kill Rose.”
* * *
Copyright © 2018 by Gary Clifton
