mean—"
Gwin reached across the table to grasp her brother's wrist. "No."
The boy gave her a pleading look before continuing. "I mean, the ones who killed Silas and the others."
"I thought there was just one man," Cole said.
Gwin released her brother and sat back. "There was just one man."
"And you both saw him."
"No. Arthur saw him. I didn't get a good look at his face, but I'd sure recognize that voice again if I heard it."
"Well, together, you can both still identify him. You can testify at his trial, and that'll be the end of it. He won't be able to hurt you or anyone else again."
Gwin shook her head. "It's not that simple. The man they arrested is not the same man who killed Silas."
Arthur nodded soberly to confirm his sister's words.
"And did you tell this to the authorities?" Cole asked.
Indignant anger sparked in Gwin's eyes. "Of course we told them! That's when the trouble started."
"Wait a minute. Back up. What trouble?"
Arthur pushed up in his seat. "I told them, Mr. Shepherd. I told them that the fella they had in jail wasn't the one who shot them. I saw the man who shot them, and he was a giant. Big as Goliath himself. Swear to God. I saw that giant's face."
Cole eyed Arthur dubiously. A giant? Wasn't Arthur too old to be making up stories about giants? Cole looked back at Gwin. "I don't understand."
"Well, understand this , Pinkerton man. They told him to look harder and to think about it. They said maybe he would change his mind, and when he didn't, they said, 'Look, kid, it was dark that night. How can you be sure of anything you saw?' And then, when he still wouldn't change his mind, this one detective, he took me aside and said to me, real quiet so nobody else could hear, 'You better talk to your little brother, miss, cause things might start to go hard on the two of you if your story doesn't begin to make more sense. '"
"Are you saying they were trying to force him to make a false identification?"
Gwin folded her arms neatly. "Aren't you smart? No wonder you work for a famous detective agency."
Cole ignored the sarcasm. "What you're telling me doesn't make any sense."
"It didn't make much sense to us either, but we got the message loud and clear. Either we identified Cortez as the killer or we would be considered suspects ourselves."
"That's not so unusual. I'm not saying that you had anything to do with it, mind you, I'm just saying that as the only two survivors, it's normal procedure for them to include you in their list of suspects."
She rolled her eyes. "That makes about as much sense as two turkeys strutting up to the chopping block on Thanksgiving Day. Who do you think reported the murders in the first place?"
Arthur interjected eagerly. "It was after I told them that they had the wrong man that they tried to kill us!"
Cole held up one hand. "Who is this 'they' you're referring to?"
"We don’t' know," Gwin replied. "Someone took a potshot at us outside our hotel. Two nights later, someone tried to break into our room. That was enough for me. If we waited much longer, we'd end up either in jail or dead."
Cole studied Gwin's face. There was no indication that she was lying; then again, lying was her specialty, wasn't it?
Doubtful, he looked away only to catch the eye of an attractive blonde in the next compartment. She smiled at him, and he had the passing thought that she looked like Cynthia.
Cole had always prided himself on his ability to size people up, but he had soon discovered, fresh out of college and newly inducted into the New York City Police Department, that when it came to women, he had a lot to learn.
He had met Cynthia and had soon, like a fool, grown incapable of thinking with anything but that which riseth below his belt. For six months, he'd fancied himself in love with her. He had been so bowled over by that pretty, lying face, he had managed to overlook the small fact that she was married. Hell, she wasn't just married, she was married to a Tammany
Gwin reached across the table to grasp her brother's wrist. "No."
The boy gave her a pleading look before continuing. "I mean, the ones who killed Silas and the others."
"I thought there was just one man," Cole said.
Gwin released her brother and sat back. "There was just one man."
"And you both saw him."
"No. Arthur saw him. I didn't get a good look at his face, but I'd sure recognize that voice again if I heard it."
"Well, together, you can both still identify him. You can testify at his trial, and that'll be the end of it. He won't be able to hurt you or anyone else again."
Gwin shook her head. "It's not that simple. The man they arrested is not the same man who killed Silas."
Arthur nodded soberly to confirm his sister's words.
"And did you tell this to the authorities?" Cole asked.
Indignant anger sparked in Gwin's eyes. "Of course we told them! That's when the trouble started."
"Wait a minute. Back up. What trouble?"
Arthur pushed up in his seat. "I told them, Mr. Shepherd. I told them that the fella they had in jail wasn't the one who shot them. I saw the man who shot them, and he was a giant. Big as Goliath himself. Swear to God. I saw that giant's face."
Cole eyed Arthur dubiously. A giant? Wasn't Arthur too old to be making up stories about giants? Cole looked back at Gwin. "I don't understand."
"Well, understand this , Pinkerton man. They told him to look harder and to think about it. They said maybe he would change his mind, and when he didn't, they said, 'Look, kid, it was dark that night. How can you be sure of anything you saw?' And then, when he still wouldn't change his mind, this one detective, he took me aside and said to me, real quiet so nobody else could hear, 'You better talk to your little brother, miss, cause things might start to go hard on the two of you if your story doesn't begin to make more sense. '"
"Are you saying they were trying to force him to make a false identification?"
Gwin folded her arms neatly. "Aren't you smart? No wonder you work for a famous detective agency."
Cole ignored the sarcasm. "What you're telling me doesn't make any sense."
"It didn't make much sense to us either, but we got the message loud and clear. Either we identified Cortez as the killer or we would be considered suspects ourselves."
"That's not so unusual. I'm not saying that you had anything to do with it, mind you, I'm just saying that as the only two survivors, it's normal procedure for them to include you in their list of suspects."
She rolled her eyes. "That makes about as much sense as two turkeys strutting up to the chopping block on Thanksgiving Day. Who do you think reported the murders in the first place?"
Arthur interjected eagerly. "It was after I told them that they had the wrong man that they tried to kill us!"
Cole held up one hand. "Who is this 'they' you're referring to?"
"We don’t' know," Gwin replied. "Someone took a potshot at us outside our hotel. Two nights later, someone tried to break into our room. That was enough for me. If we waited much longer, we'd end up either in jail or dead."
Cole studied Gwin's face. There was no indication that she was lying; then again, lying was her specialty, wasn't it?
Doubtful, he looked away only to catch the eye of an attractive blonde in the next compartment. She smiled at him, and he had the passing thought that she looked like Cynthia.
Cole had always prided himself on his ability to size people up, but he had soon discovered, fresh out of college and newly inducted into the New York City Police Department, that when it came to women, he had a lot to learn.
He had met Cynthia and had soon, like a fool, grown incapable of thinking with anything but that which riseth below his belt. For six months, he'd fancied himself in love with her. He had been so bowled over by that pretty, lying face, he had managed to overlook the small fact that she was married. Hell, she wasn't just married, she was married to a Tammany
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