Bounty Hunter

Chapter 32

Langford arrived back at the house in time to greet Inspector Muldoon, who was in a less than convivial mood.

“This better be important, Sergeant,” he snapped. “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork waiting for me back at the station, to say nothing of six—count ’em, six—know-nothing rookies out on patrol.”

Muldoon studied Langford’s face. “You’ve had an eventful day, Sergeant. And your nose seems like it’s broken. Lucky for you it doesn’t spoil your looks. I mean, you being so downright homely to begin with, and all.”

“Thank you for the kind words, Inspector,” Langford said. “My nose has been broke three times before. A man gets used to it.”

Muldoon smiled, removed his gloves and laid them on the table with his hat and swagger stick. “Now, why am I here?”

“I found a survivor from the Benton, the freighter pirated by Lambert Sprague.”

“We don’t know that was the case, Sergeant,” Muldoon said.

“A man named Bandy Evans says it was the case. I believe he can identify Sprague as the pirate leader.”

Muldoon was thoughtful for a few moments, then asked, “Is this so-called survivor in any way connected to the death of Wee Willie Winkie Sullivan, of hallowed memory?”

“Willie told me where Evans was located, a charity patient at St. Mary’s. Tone and me were bringing him back here when we were attacked in the street.”

The sergeant’s stare moved beyond Muldoon into the hallway. “Sprague’s men must have followed Sullivan here, then disemboweled him in my bedroom.”

Langford had carefully avoided any mention of the time and place of Sprague’s peace meeting, an omission Tone noted and understood.

“You were lucky today,” Muldoon offered. When Langford made no answer, he said, “And this Evans fellow, he’s here?”

“In my spare bed, Inspector. I want you to hear his statement.”

“Before I talk with him, tell me what you know about his miracle escape.”

“I don’t know much. He was in the water for several days before he was picked up by the whaling barque Derwent Hunter, Captain Saul Tanner commanding. It was Tanner who dropped Evans off at the hospital.”

Obviously feeling that he was expected to add more, Langford said, “Evans is in poor shape, but he’ll survive.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Muldoon expectantly.

“All right, let’s hear what he has to say,” the inspector said.

Tone decided to throw a chip into the pot. “Inspector, as far as I can tell, you don’t seem very excited about Bandy Evans.”

“I’m not. Again, I don’t think we can rely on one man’s say-so. How did he recognize Sprague though the smoke and flame of a ship that was sinking under him? Did his days in the water affect his recollection of what happened, and perhaps his sanity? Is he trying to railroad a respectable businessman for reasons of his own?”

Muldoon turned bleak eyes to Langford and then to Tone. “Maybe, when the word goes out that the police have a Benton survivor in protective custody, we can scare Sprague into making yet another stupid move.”

“Inspector, Sprague doesn’t scare worth a damn, and his move against Evans today wasn’t stupid. He was just unlucky.”

Muldoon smiled. “Good. Then maybe his luck is running out. Now, where do we interview Evans?”

“I’ll bring him out here,” Langford said.

The sergeant was gone for what seemed a very long while, time enough for Muldoon to comment on the unseasonably wet weather, the rambling roses in his backyard and how the oysters at the Tadich Grill were excellent this time of the year.

The heads of both men turned to look at Langford when he stepped slowly into the kitchen. The big cop’s battered face was stricken, his normally quiet hands trembling at his sides.

“Inspector, I’ve brought you here on a wild-goose chase,” he said. “Bandy Evans won’t be giving us any testimony. He’s dead. I think every last bone in his body is broken.”

Tone jumped to his feet and rushed past Langford. The bedroom was dark and he lit the gas lamp above the fireplace.

Bandy Evans lay on his back, his bulging eyes staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing. His chest looked like it had been crushed by a force so tremendous that a couple of splintered rib bones were sticking through the skin. His head was arched back so far that his prominent Adam’s apple looked like it was going to pop out of his throat, and his mouth was black with blood. The unnatural twist to the body told Tone that Evans’ back was broken, probably in several places, and the outsides of his upper arms were covered in massive bruises.

“My God, what happened?”

Tone turned and looked at Muldoon. “Inspector, he was hugged to death,” he said. “Squeezed to a pulp.”

“But, who—”

“The man who came through that window, I’d guess,” Tone said. “It wasn’t open when we checked on Evans earlier.”

He crossed the room to the window and looked outside. “Inspector,” he said, “here’s how the killer got inside.”

A ladder was still propped against the wall, but outside in the shrouded darkness there was no sound and nothing moved but the wind.

Muldoon stepped back to the body. “Who could do that, Tone? I mean, have the strength to crush a man to death?”

“I can take a guess, Inspector. Lambert Sprague employs a giant of a man named Blind Jack. He acts as his personal bodyguard and—”

“Yes, I know,” Muldoon said. “Blind Jack is a pirate scoundrel and murderer who should have been hanged years ago.” He looked at the broken thing on the bed. “Yes, Jack would have had the strength to do this terrible thing, and he can find his way in the dark like a bat.”

Langford came into the room, and Muldoon said, “First Willie Sullivan, now your sailor. It would seem that Sprague is covering his tracks well.” He looked at the sergeant and said, without pushing too hard, “One might wish that you’d guarded Evans a little better.”

Langford nodded miserably but said nothing.

“Well, what’s done is done.” Muldoon sighed. “I’ll send a detective and later have the body picked up.” He smiled, unwilling to sting the sergeant again. “We’re making quite a habit of this, are we not? I must remember never to spend the night here.”

Langford was not to be cajoled, prodded or coaxed into a lighter mood. A perceptive man, the inspector put a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, Thomas. We’re dealing with powerful enemies, and perhaps”—Muldoon struggled to find the right words—“with forces beyond our understanding.”

Seeing the confusion on Langford’s face, he said, “I walked on your bedroom floor, and every board of it creaks and groans. How could a man as heavy as Blind Jack walk on that noisy floor without alerting Mr. Tone?”

Langford shrugged. “He’s light on his feet, I guess.”

“Yes, that’s a possibility.” Muldoon frowned, carefully weighing his words. “Or like the rest of Sprague’s bunch, he’s in league with the devil.”

Tone smiled. “I believe I’ll go with light on his feet, Inspector.”

Muldoon nodded. “As you wish. But a man doesn’t serve twenty years as a police officer in San Francisco without seeing things, evil things, that he can’t explain. That creaking floor is one of them.”

“Maybe I’m in league with Blind Jack,” Tone said. “That would explain it. After all, I was here alone.”

“I’ve considered that already, Mr. Tone,” Muldoon said. “I sense recklessness in you, a distant, cold reserve, an inclination to violence certainly, but not evil.”

Tone made a little bow. “You flatter me, Inspector.”

“None of what I said was meant as a compliment, Mr. Tone.”

Muldoon stepped to the bedroom door. “I’ll be leaving now, Sergeant Langford,” he said. “I’m sure you wish to return to your duties. Tone can handle things here.”

After Muldoon left, Langford smiled at Tone. “Recklessness, violence . . . if only he knew what tomorrow night has in store.”

Tone returned the sergeant’s grin. “I wonder if I can drop the devil with a .38.”