The End of the Line (16 page)

“That's right, there was the killer who must have seen ol' Deek.”

“He may have been one of the same men at the card game. Until I hear something that convinces me otherwise, that's the assumption I'm making.”

“It weren't me, and it certainly weren't my little brother. Hell, we pulled Frank off of Paine.”

“So it was Frank Dodds laid into Devon Paine. Man must be six inches smaller than Dodds. Not much of a fair fight.”

“Mr. Dodds ain't known for being the fairest man at Holt City . . .”

“As I understand it, Deek Penner pulled all three of you off the man,” said Durrant.

“Deek was a solid lad.”

“Not solid enough. What did you think of him?” said Durrant, his tone softening.

Ralph Mahoney's eyes shifted through the woods. Durrant thought that he must be looking to see if he was being observed.

“He was a good man,” Mahoney finally said. “Didn't deserve to die's for certain. But he was poking his nose into another man's business, and no good's ever going to come from that. He shouldn't have been nosing around. That's all.”

“You think that got him killed?”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing. I'm not saying nothing.”

“You're afraid of Frank Dodds.”

“No, sir.”

“You're afraid of something, Ralph. I can see it.”

Mahoney stood up straight. He was six foot three, and must have weighted two hundred and forty pounds, thought Durrant. But he suspected that under the layers of grey, ragged clothing he must be somewhat diminished after a winter in this hard, unforgiving country.

“Let's talk about Pete,” said Durrant, looking around to where the younger brother sat waiting.

“He's a good lad, Petie,” said his brother.

“So why did he lie?”

“Boy is just worried. He don't want to cross Frank. Frank's got a temper, everybody knows it. You seen it, didn't you? You saw Devon Paine's face.”

“At least we've come clean about that part of the night.”

“It ain't too hard to figure, is it?”

“No, Ralph, it isn't that hard. But Paine told me it was a horse.”

Mahoney laughed. “What the hell would he be doing with his face down by a horse's foot!”

It was Durrant's turn to shrug.

“So of course Pete is scared. He don't want to lose his job, for one thing,” said Mahoney.

“Wouldn't be too hard to find work come the spring.”

“We got responsibilities. We send money home when we can.”

“So you can't afford to lose your work for Dodds? Bob Pen would likely put you to work straight off if Dodds fired you.”

“But that's come spring. That's still some time off, given the amount of snow we got this winter. They say there's still ten feet or more on the Kicking Horse Pass. It's going to be June before we start down the other side at this rate. What's the boy going to do till then? Walk back to Fort Calgary? He'd catch almighty hell . . .”

Durrant watched the man. “Who would he catch hell from?” Mahoney turned away from the Mountie a moment. “Look at me when I'm talking to you! Who would he catch hell from?” demanded Durrant.

“Nobody.”

“From your old man, is that it?”

“They need the money. They can't keep up with the farm. It ain't nothing.”

“Deek Penner was a patriarchal figure around this camp, wasn't he?”

“I don't know what that means.”

“He was like a father to some. He sounded like a father to others.” Mahoney looked down at his feet. Durrant continued, “Bet for some he sounded a little
too
much like their own pap for his own good.”

“Deek weren't nothing like our old man,” said Mahoney. “Got to being a little preachy sometimes, but not much like our old man, no.”

Durrant nodded. “Maybe he sounded a lot more like your old man than you're letting on. I think that's why young Pete there didn't care too much for Deek Penner. Deek was onto the fact that you and your brother were in on Frank Dodds' moonshining and that's when Deek got much too preachy. Maybe you couldn't raise a hand to your old man, but Deek Penner? That's another thing all together.” Mahoney smiled a thin smile. He shook his head. “You don't think so, Ralph?”

“You got us all figured, don't you?” said Mahoney.

Now it was Durrant's turn to smile. “Losing his job ain't the only thing Pete is afraid of, though. Is it?”

“Maybe he's afraid of losing a few teeth if he speaks ill of ol' Dodds,” said Mahoney.

“My guess is that you'd back him up.”

“Against Dodds?”

“Against any man.”

“Damn right.”

“What's he got to hide?”

“Nothin'.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I don't give a damn!” said Mahoney, glaring at him, and the woods fell suddenly silent. From the corner of his eye Durrant could see Pete Mahoney stand up and in his mind played out the scenario of subduing both men. Mahoney must have read his face, and immediately looked down, submissively.

“Mr. Wallace . . .”

“Sergeant Wallace.”

“Sergeant Wallace,” Mahoney hissed, “You seem like a pretty bright fellow. You seem like you got a good head, as our Daddy used to say. You must know what goes on when five hundred men are holed up for the winter in a God-forsaken place like this. Sometimes men get on each other's nerves. Men is always looking for something to let off a little steam. A bit of fisticuffs, some poker, and a drink for the medicinal benefits from time to time.”

“And a man is dead from this?”

“Deek Penner is dead, but I don't know why, Sergeant Wallace.”

“Who's making the whiskey in this camp?” asked Wallace.

“I don't know,” Mahoney said wearily.

“I think you do. I think your brother knows too. I think your brother is maybe very well acquainted with who is making whiskey here at Holt City.”

“You had best leave my little brother alone, Sergeant Wallace.” He didn't look at Durrant when he said it.

Durrant let his gaze slip in turn to the younger Mahoney. He could feel the tension radiating from the Mahoney next to him. He drew in a breath of the cool air and tasted the rich aroma of pine. He looked back at the man before him, his shoulders square to him, Durrant's face coming close to his in the dim evening light.

“Or what, Mr. Mahoney? Or what?” He let his left hand tighten around the slender handle of the Bulldog in his pocket, his thumb itching on the hammer.

“Or that piece of iron that you got there in your pocket is going to be all that stands between you and the devil himself, Sergeant. Between you and - the - devil - his - self.” He drew out the words, each one punctuated with a jab of his finger towards the Mountie's chest.

For a moment Durrant imagined stepping back over the icy road and drawing the Bulldog on the man and pulling the trigger, the explosion of the powder in the compact cartridge cutting the silence of the woods like the bark of some angry cur. He drew in a breath and smiled, letting the image fade from his mind.

“You get in my way of finding out who killed Deek Penner, Mr. Mahoney, and it will be you who will be delivering a message to that self-same devil. I'll see to that myself.”

•  •  •

It took Durrant nearly an hour to navigate the ice road in the darkness. Several times he slipped, and once his crutch broke through the thin crust of ice and wood chips and he toppled forward, the crutch catching him in the chin, nearly knocking him senseless. The long walk gave him time to consider his interrogation of the Mahoney brothers. Durrant mused that while both men wore soiled and tattered overcoats that clearly hadn't been to the laundry all winter, neither of them had any evidence of blood on them.

Hungry as Durrant was, when he arrived back in camp he went directly to Dodds' cabin. The trail to the shack was well packed and a thick plume of smoke rose from the chimney. Even if he didn't relish the company, Durrant looked forward to being warm.

He knew that he could not intimidate the belligerent Dodds and would need to try a different tact. He stepped up to the cabin, and before allowing a second thought to enter his head, pounded on the door. A chair scraped against the floor and heavy, booted feet plodded across the crudely planed floorboards.

“What is it?” he heard Dodds bark.

“It's Sergeant Wallace, Mr. Dodds. I'll have a word with you.”

“Blue Jesus, man, don't you ever rest?” The door was opened and Dodds stood before him in a grey undershirt and waistcoat. His hair was mussed and he looked as if he'd been sleeping. The odour of whiskey and oil hung heavy in the warm air that emanated from the cabin.

“I have some questions for you, please.”

Dodds stood and regarded the Mountie a moment. Without a word, he stepped away from the door and walked back to the round table that filled much of the room.

“I hear you were putting it to a couple of my boys today,” he said, taking his seat. Laid out on the table were an assortment of tools—peevies and axes, a few short-handled saws—along with a sharpening stone and a can of oil. Dodds took up one of the saws and began to carefully sharpen its serrated teeth with the rounded edge of a file.

Durrant stood by the door watching the man. The room was warm, the broad stove in the corner rattled a little, and the scent of body odour was infused with the oil and the tipple.

“That's what I want to talk with you about,” he said. Dodds didn't look up. He made no response at all. “Pete Mahoney seems a good lad, but he's scared and I believe that he's covering for you.” Dodds continued to file the saw. “He lied to me today, and if it wasn't about the killing of Deek Penner, then it was certainly to cover up your moonshine operation.” Dodds picked up an oily cloth and rubbed it across the blade of the saw. “He might be a good lad, but he's a bad liar and if I have to break him to get to you, it won't keep me up at night.”

Dodds grinned. “Just wondering what would keep a man like you up, is all?”

“Things you couldn't even imagine, Mr. Dodds.”

“I bet I could,” Dodds said, looking at Durrant for the first time since the man stepped foot in his cabin.

“Nevertheless, I aim to take
you
down, and if I have to take the Mahoney boys with me when I do, that will suit me just fine.”

“You got this all figured out already, do you, Mr. Wallace? Pardon me,
Sergeant
Wallace.” he corrected himself with a toothy grin, regarding the Mountie coolly. “Oh, I already heard you don't take too kindly to being referred to with the familiar. Sit if you like; I can't imagine it's pleasant to be on that thing all day long,” said Dodds, nodding at Durrant's prosthetic. Durrant remained standing.

He continued, “So if you got it all figured out, why not throw the shackles on me now and put me on the next freight that heads for Fort Calgary? Why not haul me down to the station and send word to your man Steele that once again the Red Coats got their man?”

“Why not indeed?” asked Durrant.

“You can't and you won't. Cause you got no proof of anything. You got no proof of this notion that I'm behind Deek's murder, and you got no proof that I'm making whiskey in this camp. You got nothing.”

“Oh, I've got a fair sight more than nothing.”

Dodds grinned again and put down the saw, wiping his hands on the oily rag. He shook his head. “Maybe you do, but it ain't enough to convict anybody of anything, especially me.”

“What did Paine say to you that night that made you lay into him so hard?”

“Paine and I didn't get mixed up.”

“That's not what Ralph Mahoney tells me.”

“Ralph?”

Durrant nodded.

Dodds snorted, and picked up a two-sided axe and began to file one of its broad blades. “Ralph, eh? It was just a harmless row, that's all. I don't see what it had to do with Deek Penner, no how.”

“Deek got between you.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Deek got between lots of things here at Holt City, Sergeant.”

“Did he get between you and the profit you hope to reap from making moonshine and selling it to the navvies come the spring?”

Dodds laughed. “You almost tripped me up there, Sergeant, with your clever talk. You came pretty close.”

“Did he threaten you, Dodds? Is that it? Did he threaten to upend the applecart?”

Dodds shook his head. “You got a one-track mind, Sergeant Wallace.”

Durrant's voice was low and flat, “Let me tell you something, Mr. Dodds . . .” But Dodds interrupted him.

“No, let me tell you something, Wallace,” he said, his head snapping up, his grip tightening around the handle of the axe. “Let me tell
you
something. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. There might be moonshine in this camp, but it ain't moonshine that got Deek Penner killed, and that's for damned sure.” It was Durrant's turn to shake his head. “Scoff if you like, Wallace, but it will be your fault when you get yourself banged on the head like our boy Deek Penner. At least as I hear it he saw it coming.”

“You threatening me?”

“No, I ain't threatening you. Jesus Christ, man, you been here what, two days, and you already figure you can finger me for killing Deek, making whiskey, and wanting to ruin the whole goddamned
CPR
operation. Well, let me tell you, you don't know the half of it.”

Durrant drew a deep breath. “Half of what?” he said.

Dodds laughed again. “You ain't going to hear it from me.”

“As I see it, you got a choice to make, Mr. Dodds. You can keep your mouth shut and wait for me to finish my case against you, or you can tell me what you know and see if maybe I believe you.”