“Come in, sir, and make yourself at home.”
Van Dorn studied his wounded agent. He was concerned, but he made an effort to look nonchalant. “Is there much pain?”
“Nothing aspirin won’t cure.”
Van Dorn stepped into the suite and looked around. “I like an agent who travels in style when it’s not my money.”
“Can I call room service and get you something to eat or drink?”
Van Dorn waved a hand. “No, thanks, I ate on the train from Chicago just before it arrived in Denver. A glass of port would hit the spot.”
Bell phoned Van Dorn’s request to room service and hung up the phone. “I did not expect the head man to travel over a thousand miles just to see me.”
“A meeting between us is not only appropriate but vital to the investigation.” Van Dorn sank into an overstuffed chair. “I prefer a detailed report to a few words on a telegram. Now, tell me what happened in Telluride, and leave out nothing.”
“Most of what I can tell you went wrong,” Bell said sourly.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Van Dorn consoled him. “I wish I had a dollar for every plan I conceived that turned bad.”
A waiter brought a glass of port, and then Bell spent the next forty minutes filling Van Dorn in on the scheme to catch the Butcher Bandit and how Cromwell turned the tables on him and Sheriff Pardee. He told of the murder of Irvine and his own wounding, ending up with him waking up in the Telluride Hospital.
When Bell finished, Van Dorn asked, “You’re certain Jacob Cromwell is the Butcher Bandit?”
“His disguise was the work of genius, and Irvine and I were caught off guard. But there is no doubt in my mind Cromwell was the person I recognized wearing women’s clothing at the bank. Both Pardee and I also identified his sister, Margaret, who was staying in town to help him rob the bank.”
Van Dorn pulled a cigar case from his vest pocket, retrieved a long, thin corona, and lit it with a wooden match he flamed with his thumbnail. “It makes no sense. If Cromwell is wealthy, owns a bank with assets in the millions, and lives on Nob Hill in San Francisco, what does he gain by risking it all to pull off a string of robberies and murders?”
“From what I’ve been able to put together, the money he stole was used to build his bank’s assets.”
“But why now, when he is financially secure and his bank well established? Why continue the crime spree?”
Bell gazed through a window at the blue sky above the city. “The simple answer is, the man is insane. I’ve put together a profile of him in my mind. I’m certain he robs and kills because he enjoys it. The money is no longer his intent. It has lost its importance. Like a man addicted to whiskey or opium, he is driven to commit mayhem and murder. He believes himself too untouchable by law enforcement. In his mind, he is invincible and considers every criminal act as a challenge to outwit the law.”
“You have to admit,” said Van Dorn, blowing a large blue smoke ring across the room, “so far, he’s done a pretty good job of making us and every peace officer west of the Mississippi look like a bunch of amateurs.”
“Cromwell is not flawless. He’s human and humans make mistakes. When the time comes, I intend to be there.”
“Where do you go from here?”
Bell grimaced. “I wish everybody would stop asking me that.”
“Well?”
Bell’s gaze was focused and calm as he stared at Van Dorn. “It’s back to San Francisco to build a case against Cromwell.”
“From what you’ve told me, that won’t be easy. You have little evidence to make a case. A defense attorney would crucify you on the witness stand. He’d laugh at your identification of a man dressed like a woman, claiming it was impossible to tell the difference. And, without another witness or any fingerprints, I’d have to say you’re fighting a lost cause.”
Bell fixed Van Dorn with an icy stare. “Are you suggesting I resign from the investigation?”
Van Dorn scowled. “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. I’m only pointing out the facts. You know perfectly well this is the number one priority case within the agency. We won’t rest until Cromwell is behind bars.”
Bell tenderly touched the side of his head, as if to feel if the wound were still there. “As soon as I sew up a few loose ends here in Denver, I’m returning to San Francisco.”
“I can arrange a team of agents to assist you. You have but to ask.”
Bell shook his head. “No. With Carter as my right-hand man, and backed by Bronson and the agents in his office, I’ll have all the manpower I’ll need. Better we continue to work undercover without an army of agents to cause complications.”
“What about Colonel Danzler and the Criminal Investigation Department in Washington? Can the government be of help in this matter?”
“Yes, but only at the opportune moment. Cromwell has an incredible amount of influence with the political and wealthy elite in San Francisco. He is the city’s leading philanthropist. If we obtain enough evidence to indict him, his friends will circle the wagons and fight us every step of the way. At that time, we’ll need all the help from the federal government we can get.”
“What is your plan?”
“At the moment, I have no set plan. Cromwell is fat, dumb, and happy, not knowing we’re getting closer to him with each passing day.”
“But you’re no closer now to seizing him than you were three weeks ago.”
“Yes, but now I have the advantage.”
Van Dorn’s eyebrows raised in curiosity and he muttered skeptically, “What advantage is that?”
“Cromwell doesn’t know I’m still alive.”
“It will come as a blow to his ego when he sees you’ve been resurrected.”
Bell smiled faintly. “I’m counting on it.”
