I needed to find out who might have gotten hold of an authentic 1873 Winchester, and how. Thankfully Jack had managed to pull together a file of many major gun collectors and museums. It was a haystack, to be sure, but one of these haystacks either sold their needle, or had it stolen. Jack had given me another thread, and now I needed to pull.
I went to the office, turned on my computer and ran a search for 'Winchester 1873' and 'stolen.'
Only 149 hits came back. I searched through every entry, looking for anything that could be a piece of thread. Most of the articles were police and newspaper reports of replica Winchesters stolen from gun shows. No help there. I wasn't looking for a replica. Whoever was using that gun was using the real deal. None of the 149 hits went anywhere that looked promising.
I ran a new search, this time for 'Winchester 1873' and
'museum.' Over four hundred responses came back. I refined my search by adding the words 'authentic' and 'working.'
Now we were down to thirty-two hits.
I sifted through each entry, arriving at the estimation of fifteen museums in the United States that listed authentic
Winchester 1873 rifles among their collections, along with some sort of reference to the gun being in working condition.
My first call was to the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and
Museum, located in Waco. I got an automated system, pressed zero for the operator. A nice woman with a wonderful Southern drawl picked up the phone.
'Ranger Museum, how may I help ya?'
'Hi, do you still have an exhibit featuring the Winchester
1873 rifle?'
'Gun that won the West, we surely do. It's open from nine ayem to six pee-yem. Day passes are a dollar fifty, yearround pass is twelve dollars. That's the better deal, y'ask me.'
'How long have you had that rifle?'
'Oh, heck, I've been here three years and it's been here long as I have, I'd have to ask for sure though.'
'And you've had no other rifles come and go since then?'
'Why no…may I ask your interest?'
'That's okay, I appreciate the help.' I hung up.
I called ten more museums. Each one could currently account for their Winchesters, and had seen none go missing in recent memory.
Then I dialed the twelfth number on my contact sheet, the
Museum of Outlaws and Lawmen in Fort Sumner, New Mexico.
'MOL Museum, this is Rex speaking.'
'Hi, Rex, I'm calling because I read somewhere that you have an authentic, working Winchester 1873 rifle in stock. Is that true?'
'It ain't in stock,' Rex said, 'this is a museum, not a sidewalk sale, son.'
'Sorry, but you do have one.'
'Why yes, sir, we do.'
'Just one?'
There was a split second of silence before Rex answered, and I picked up on it.
'Why, yes, one's just about all we need.'
'Have any rifles come in or left the museum for any reason over the last year?'
'Listen, you care to tell me what all these questions are about?'
'I was just wondering…'
'Our gun is here, it's in great shape and it looks a lot better in person than it does over the phone.'
For a moment I assumed we'd been disconnected, but then
I heard the dial tone and knew Rex had hung up on me. My heart began to beat faster. But I had to confirm it.
I dialed the number again. The same man picked up.
'Hi, I just called about your Winchester 1873 model rifle, and-'
'Hey, either come to the museum like all normal folks or stop calling.'
Once again I was greeted by a dial tone. I stared at the phone for a moment. This museum clearly didn't like my line of questioning. Then I recalled that the museum was in New
Mexico. The heart of the Old West.
I picked up the receiver and dialed again. This time a different number. It picked up on the first ring.
'Hey, Henry,' Amanda said. 'Missed me much?'
'I have to go to New Mexico,' I said. 'And I need to leave tonight.'
There was silence on the other end.
'Does that mean I shouldn't wait for you for dinner?'
'If you don't mind waiting until tomorrow to eat.'
'As if I don't have enough trouble getting out of bed in the morning,' she said. 'So you found something out there?
New Mexico?'
'Yeah, something to do with the murders. I know it.'
'Something about the gun?'
'Yeah, I think I have a lead at a museum.'
'Then go. Do whatever you can to find this guy,' she said.
'I'll be here when you get back. Dinner might be a bit cold, though. I'll just rename it vichyssoise and call it a gourmet meal.'
I laughed. 'No way. When I get back you're getting the finest grilled cheese in North America.'
'I'll keep a bowl of Kix nearby just in case.'
'Thanks, babe. I'll call you when I leave.'
Then I hung up and checked departure times for flights to
New Mexico.
23
I cashed Jack's check at a local Chase branch, then took a cab home and threw a pile of clothes into a duffel bag, hoping
I'd buck the odds and end up with a matching outfit or two.
I took the Xeroxes from Agnes Trimble's book, packed them in a valise.
As I zipped up the duffel, I stared at the bed. Neither
Amanda nor I had bothered to make it that morning. I could still make out the ruffled sheets where we'd lain the night before. I could re-create it; where Amanda's arm lay across my chest, where her legs curled around mine. My hand gently stroking her leg, the way she smiled and kissed my cheek.
I had to leave before I thought about it anymore, because the more I did the more Jack's words resonated.
I made sure my phone was charged and I had a clean notebook and tape recorder. The bills made my wallet fat.
I thought about the last time I traveled across the country, several men wanting me dead and Amanda unaware of the lie I'd fed her. And now she shared my bed. I still had to prove myself to her, and to do so I had to put her life before mine.
And yet for the first time since we started seeing each other, despite how much I loved her, I thought about my conversation with Jack and wondered if Amanda deserved better.
Another cab sped me to the Continental terminal at LaGuardia Airport. I ran to the reservations desk and
