Billy stood and came around his desk to touch Beckwith’s elbow and gently point the man back to his chair. Then Longarm’s boss continued the explanation.
“there have been a series of murders, Longarm.”
“Yeah, I think I remember somebody sayin’ something about that. But it’s been kinda a long while back. Some time since then we’ve taken some forks in the path. You know?”
“Back to the point then, eh?” Billy said agreeably. “The fact of the matter is that these officers and former officers have been dying. Been killed, actually. It was some time before anyone made the connection between these murders and the list of Last Man Club members. Unfortunately. We might have been able to warn some of the gentlemen in time to avert tragedy had anyone realized. As it is …” Billy spread his hands and frowned.
“Boss, surely now you ain’t gonna tell me that this Reese fella is involved in the murders. Not an’ him in Leavenworth all this time.”
“No, of course I’ll suggest no such thing, Longarm. But there is reason to believe that Ellis Reese’s son Steven is very much involved.”
“Oh?”
“Steven was in his early teens when his father was convicted and sent to prison. The boy has grown up since then. Hired out to a Texas trail crew and learned how to take care of himself. By all accounts, he has become a hard and competent man. Yet he remains a devoted son. Twice a year, more often if he can manage it, he visits his father in prison. He is said to be a very devoted and dutiful son.”
“Dammit, Billy, I don’t care if this guy runs a home for unwed mothers an’ qualifies for sainthood. Just what does all this shit have to do with a bunch of army officers gettin’ themselves killed?”
“Ellis Reese is dying, Longarm. He contracted consumption sometime ago, and the latest report is that now he has a cancerous growth in the bowel as well. The army doctors at Leavenworth say he will barely live long enough to see freedom.”
“And?”
“And his son Steven apparently believes that if there is money enough to pay for the treatment, Ellis Reese can be operated on in an attempt to excise the tumor. There is a doctor in Scotland who claims …”
“A quack,” Beckwith put in. “A charlatan.”
Longarm gave the lawyer a hooded look. As far as he could tell to this point, if all Ellis Reese needed to fully recover was a sugar tit, Samuel Beckwith would do his damnedest to see that the disgraced West Pointer never got it.
“As I was saying,” Billy continued, “there is a doctor who claims he can help. Regardless of whether he can produce a miracle or not, Steven Reese believes that he can. Or at least that he might. But the costs of the trip and the surgery would be prohibitive.”
“Unless his daddy was to come into twenty-odd thousand dollars about the time he was gettin’ outa prison?” Longarm put in.
“In a word … yes,” Billy Vail said.
“So you reckon this Steven Reese is goin’ around popping his daddy’s old comrades between the horns an’ making sure that Papa is the Last Man?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Do we have proof?”
“Not actually. Not enough to arrest the young man on.”
“Yet,” Beckwith said. “Yet.” He’d refilled his glass and was sucking the contents down.
“Let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re right as rain here an’ young Steve Reese has become a systematic murderer for the sake of his dear papa,” Longarm said. “It looks to me like what we have is plain murder an’ therefore a state crime. Or crimes. Whatever.”
Because the truth was that murder was not against federal law. And in the absence of a specific request for assistance from some local government or law enforcement agency, United States marshals and their deputies were not supposed to concern themselves with murder and other crimes that fell outside the scope of their jurisdiction.
“Assault on a federal peace officer is ours,” Billy said.
“Yeah? So?”
“So the man who should be next on the list is a former army officer who after he resigned his commission worked briefly as a federal deputy in Cincinnati.”
“Cincinnati?”
“Um, yes.”
“What the hell does that have to do with …”
“As far as we can determine, Longarm, his commission was never revoked by Marshal Hetherington.”
“An’ that means …”
“That means that, technically speaking, he is still a federal employee, albeit one who hasn’t drawn actual pay in, um, some years.”
“Hell, none of the rest of us does neither,” Longarm mumbled. “Not enough to matter, anyhow.”
“Longarm!” Billy admonished.
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
