“You just be careful. Whoever did this will have no mercy on a Marshall.”
“I don’t need mercy.” Chase pulls on his black duster and slips on his cowboy hat. “The winds of justice are blowing, and I’ve caught their scent.”
Three days later, Chase is standing in the street holding a map given to him at the train station, they called it a guide book. "The visitor's guide for the City of Chicago." It's a paper map showing all seven major railroads crisscrossing the city. They have one thing in common. Each major railroad line has its own depot, where all the trains come in or out of the city.
“Damn,” he growls. It's bigger than he expected. He locates the Police headquarters and decides to start there. Before he left for Chicago, he’d received a wire from the U. S. Marshalls headquarters. This case was bigger than any of them realized. Chase turns and flags down a waiting carriage.
"Central Police Station." Holding his duffel, he climbs inside and settles down for the ride. The streets of Chicago are busy. Dust is flying as carriages, wagons, and people on horseback dodge around each other. The sun is shining high in the September sky, and a cool breeze is blowing. Chase jumps, and his hand goes to his rifle when a high-pitched siren erupts in the air.
"Easy cowboy, don't shoot," The driver pulls to the side, and Chase watches in stunned silence as a horseless carriage comes by carrying a massive black tank on its back with men riding on it or flanking it on horseback.
“That is our first steam-powered fire engine.” The driver said with pride. “She’s a screamer.”
Chase laughs and watches as it passes. He can’t help but think of Pierce and his creative mind. “Amazing.” It releases a loud hiss of steam and people wait for it to pass before moving back into the street. They pull back out into the dirt road and continue. A few minutes later he is paying the driver and walking up to a two-story brick building. The inside of the building is dark and dreary. The noise from Chase’s boots seems to echo on the wooden floor as he steps up to a desk and drops his bag.
Black benches line the walls, filled with people staring at him. The smell isn’t much better inside than it is outside. The city of Chicago is teaming with people. You won’t find the elite hanging out in the police stations of big cities, it reminds him of New York and San Francisco. Poverty, desperation, sickness, and despair.
“I need to see your Police Chief. He should be expecting me, Chase Rivers.” The man sighs when the front door slams open. Loud voices erupt as two police officers drag in a drunk from the street.
"The Chief will be with you shortly," the clerk snaps.
“Won’t doing nothing but trying to sleep!” An old gravelly voice shouted.
"You'll have your say later." The officer moves around to help. "Now sit down, or we'll put you in a cell." He shoves the old man into a bench seat and goes upstairs to talk to the Chief. Another officer offers him a cup of coffee to sober up.
“That sounds nice,” he slurs and glares at Chase.
“The Chief will see you now, Mr. Rivers.” A young officer leads the way. He shows him to an office on the second floor of the building and knocks twice on the door before pushing it open. The upstairs offices are a relief from the gloom of the station house.
"Police Chief John Mox, at your service." A tall, refined-looking gentleman with a handlebar mustache shakes his hand.
“Chief Mox, I’m here to investigate the four dead girls found on a railcar in Wyoming. I was told the Marshall’s office would notify you of my arrival.”
“Yes, they sure did. Have a seat, Marshall.”
“Thank you. Chief. I’m here to investigate a railcar that was transferred in one of the depots here, coming from New York. All four young women had their throats slit.”
“Why not just let the police handle this? Why bring in the Marshall’s office?” Chief Mox leans back and waits for Chase to answer.
“Chief, this is a federal investigation. I’ll need to inspect all seven train depots in the city. You can assign the officers, but I’ll need to direct them in this investigation.” Chase stands and groans inwardly when the Chief begins to puff and sputter.
“Now, just who do you think you are? No one directs my police officers but me.” Chase turns and pulls his badge slamming it on the desk.
“I’m a United States Federal Marshall, Chief Mox. I have jurisdiction over this case. I’m certain it would look good on your record if you helped stop these criminals and apprehend the ones responsible. You might even get a commendation for your efforts from the President himself." Chase picks up his badge and leans over the desk. "Chief, you must understand the President is really invested in this case. Four young women were murdered in cold blood and dumped like yesterday's trash. They were reported missing by their families after answering ads to come out West to be matched to husbands. The President is pushing to bring more families to settle out West, and it doesn't look good if they are being murdered."
“I had no idea.” He sits heavily in his chair and stares at Chase. “Of course, we’ll help in any way we can. The President, you say?” Excitement gleams in his eyes. “What do you need?”
“Thank you. I will start by inspecting all seven train depots.”
“I will assign my best officers to assist
