“Why would he do that?” Pinkerton asked.
“It’s what I would do,” Hollister said.
Pinkerton stared off into space a minute, as if considering all the facts.
“I’ll have a couple of my operatives dig into this Slater fellow, see what they can turn up. Does the senator believe in what it is we’re dealing with here?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Hollister said. “What do you think, Sergeant?”
Chee hesitated. He was not used to contributing to conversations like this, or being asked for his opinion. Most of his time in the army-his life, actually-he had been overlooked and ignored. He could deal with rowdies like Slater. He was comfortable in that world. But Hollister and Mr. Pinkerton and Dr. Van Helsing and all their educated talk were new territory. Monkey Pete he liked a lot. So far.
“I think at first… no… he didn’t believe it. Assumed it was Indians, like the major says. But he probably sent his man Slater to the camp and Slater knows it wasn’t Indians. And now the senator has come to realize he’s dealing with something he doesn’t know anything about. He’s worried of what it might cost him,” Chee said.
Pinkerton nodded. “And rest assured, the senator will try to glean any information he can from you. It is incumbent upon you both that it stays with us.”
“Going to be hard to keep it under wraps for long if we go traipsing about in this fancy train. It won’t be long till somebody from a newspaper knocks on our door to see what we’re up to. And if we use any of our fancy gear in public…” Hollister let the words hang there.
“Be that as it may, people may wonder about the train, your weapons, all they wish. But any word leaking out about these creatures can only cause needless panic,” he said. Pinkerton reached in his briefcase and pulled out two badges, handing one to Hollister and one to Chee. “I asked the president for one more thing that might help both of you… adjudicate this matter. He had the attorney general sign the commissions this morning. Congratulations. You’re both U.S. Marshals.”
Hollister and Chee looked at the badges in their hands and then at each other.
“You have the authority to make arrests, cross state lines in pursuit of criminals, and pretty much anything you might need in the way of legal recourse. You can even go back and arrest the senator as a material witness if you want,” Pinkerton said.
“I can?” Hollister asked.
“Don’t,” Pinkerton said. “I’d keep those in your back pockets, and only use them if necessary.” He stood up, gathering his papers. “I’m leaving for Washington within the hour…”
“You aren’t taking our train, are you?” Hollister interrupted.
Pinkerton stared at him with knitted brows.
“It’s just… I’ve… well, I’m very attached to the train,” Hollister said.
“Really. After just a few nights?” Pinkerton asked, finally getting the joke.
“I fall easily,” Hollister said.
“So it appears. No, Major. As I promised you in Leavenworth, the train is at your disposal. I’ll be taking other transportation back to Washington. I will expect to be updated regularly. Wires sent by the onboard telegraph will get to me. Monkey Pete is also an accomplished telegrapher.”
“Is there anything Monkey Pete can’t do?” Hollister asked.
“No,” Pinkerton said, snapping his briefcase shut. He shook hands with Hollister and Chee.
“Be careful, gentlemen,” Pinkerton said before departing the car. “I’ll be back from Washington in a few weeks. Hopefully, you’ll have this wrapped up long before then. Try to do it quickly; more people getting killed is not going to be helpful in the long run.”
“And don’t worry, Mr. Pinkerton, we’ll be careful too. Your concern is appreciated,” Hollister said.
Pinkerton was again caught off guard by Hollister’s specious manner. He made a little growling sound in his throat and left.
“You didn’t tell him about whoever was following us,” Chee said to Hollister after Pinkerton was gone.
“Knew I was forgetting something,” Hollister said. “I had a feeling he might be leaving soon. I wanted to make sure he’s gone so we can start on the real work.”
“The real work, sir?”
“Yes. We wouldn’t be here without Pinkerton, and he’s in charge. But I told him in Leavenworth I make the decisions on how we hunt these things. Now that he’s out of here we can get started.”
“Get started where, sir?”
“James Declan, Junior,” Hollister said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Senator Declan’s mansion sat on a rise overlooking the city. It was an impressive structure, four stories high, and having just met the man, Hollister had no doubt it was the finest in Denver. The senator did not appear to be the kind of man who would live in the second-best house.
“We should be on horseback,” Hollister said.
“Sir?” Chee answered.
“Walking up like this, it’s a little… diminishing. We should ride up on horses. Big horses. After all we’re U.S. Marshals now,” Hollister said, fingering the badge in his back pocket.
“Yes, sir,” Chee said.
“Chee, we’re on a mission here. We aren’t in uniform. You’re going to have to stop calling me ‘sir.’ You can call me Jonas. You can call me Hollister. I’ll even let you make up a good nickname if you’ve a mind to. But I think if you keep calling me ‘Major’ or ‘sir,’ it’s going to be a problem at some point.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, sir,” Chee said.
“Chee. You just did it again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I give up. ‘Sir’ away, Sergeant.”
They had reached the tall wrought-iron gate in front of the mansion. Terraced steps led up in flights of four to a good-sized veranda. The lawn was meticulous, the brick stairs perfectly aligned. The columns were painted bright white and the door, perhaps the largest Hollister had ever seen, was polished oak. Standing in front of it, he rapped the brilliantly polished brass knocker several times. They waited what felt like several minutes, the heat of the day slowly rising, and Hollister was about to knock again when the door creaked open.
An elderly black man answered. He was slightly stooped and his hair was peppered with gray, but his eyes were bright and wide-set in his face. He wore a white waistcoat with trim black trousers and white gloves.
“You must be Silas,” Hollister said.
“Yes suh, can I help you?” There was just the slightest hint of a Southern accent in his voice. Hollister knew it well from his time at the Point. His first year, there had still been a few classmates and instructors from the Southern states. But when the war broke out, they all left to fight for the Confederacy.
Hollister handed Silas the senator’s card.
“We’re here to see young Mr. Declan,” he said.
“Yes, suh. I was told to expect you,” Silas said. “Please follow me.”
They entered the house into a foyer bigger than most counties. It was as if the house grew in size once you were inside. The ceilings had to be at least thirty feet high.
There was a grand staircase on the right, and on the left was a parlor full of fine furnishings, with large couches and upholstered chairs, which Hollister thought looked incredibly uncomfortable. Silas was nearly halfway up the stairs by the time he’d taken it all in.
The stairs were carpeted and led to another high-ceilinged long hallway with a large stained-glass window at the end that gave some light. Silas walked slowly and finally reached the last room on the right. Hollister and Chee stopped gawking and hustled to catch up with the butler, who had already entered.
They found a large, gloomy room that smelled of stale air and unwashed things. Against the far wall was a large four-poster bed, draped in a flimsy canopy. There was a small lump of twisted bedclothes in the middle of it and Hollister thought the pile of sheets and blankets might include a man but he couldn’t be sure. A tray of uneaten
