chapter 20
Friday, September 7, 10:30 p.m.
“Easy there, Hadlee.” Liam put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re not roping a steer.”
Caden and the others watched Hadlee wrap the rope around Bret’s neck. He yanked and tied it to the unconscious man’s hands behind his back. “Three of us couldn’t bring him down,” Hadlee puffed, “and Arley had to cold cock him twice! When he comes to, a fella in his condition, even a friend, might turn around and gore you.” He stood. “Just like a bull.”
“Rebecca has called the police and they will arrive shortly,” Caden informed them. “Please, gentlemen, if you would be so kind to take Mr. McGowan inside.”
He motioned toward the open rear door. “I think there has been enough tragedy for one night and there is no need for any of you to involve yourselves any deeper in this sordid affair.”
Arley turned to him. “Caden? You want us to leave this murderer with you?”
Caden put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Arley, I appreciate your concern, but you must think of the larger significance of this situation. Do you really want your family’s impeccable name and reputation connected in any way to what happened here tonight?”
Liam and Hadlee pivoted on their feet. They stepped away from their insensate friend and stood beside Mr. Caldwell. The men lingered for a breath, as if unable to focus on anything except the raw implication of what they had just heard.
“That’s right, gentlemen,” Caden continued. “All of you have much to risk and nothing to gain by involving yourselves in this troubling occurrence.”
They looked at each other as though waiting for the first reassuring murmur that would allow them to scurry away to their safe beds and wait for the familiar warmth of the next day.
Liam gestured toward the bound man. “But, perhaps we can help Bret. We’re all witnesses to what happened.”
“Are we really, Mr. Dawson?” Caden questioned. “Which one of us can truly say what transpired here tonight?” He stepped over to DeRocha’s corpse. “Each man in his own way happened upon this scene, yet we know how eager the popular press is to embellish the facts and make insinuations that have no basis in truth and serve only to sensationalize their tawdry melodramas for their gullible readers.”
The three men muttered amongst themselves. Hadlee turned and looked down at his unconscious friend. “Maybe you’ve got a point, Doctor,” he said. “The only thing we heard was Bret’s automobile backfiring . . . then someone yelling for help.”
“They could have been arguing,” Liam offered. “DeRocha’s always been jealous of Bret and Gabrielle. Maybe Timothy confronted him. Bret could have shot him in self-defense.”
“If he left the vehicle motor running,” Arley Caldwell said, rubbing his beard. “The shots could have occurred any time and it would have sounded just like his engine backfiring.”
“Or, was he leaving the corpse on our doorstep,” Edward suggested, “hoping to incriminate Doctor Hellreich and the Society?”
“And that, gentlemen, is my point.” Caden walked back and stood beside Edward.
His assistant’s timing was impeccable. Caden could see the seeds of uncertainty taking root in the doubting looks of men who now regretted attending the conveniently arranged private Society meeting this evening. “Any number of things could have occurred between Mr. DeRocha and Mr. McGowan, so, before we rush to any final judgments, I suggest you take my advice and leave your unfortunate friend inside the Society hall and depart immediately before the police arrive.”
“But Bret will remember,” Hadlee objected, “that we were all here. He’ll tell them.”
Caden exchanged glances with Edward. Caden walked back and stood in front of the three men. “If saving each of you from the ridicule of public scrutiny in the press will help to save his own neck from the rope, I believe Mr. McGowan will remain mute on your presence here. And if he decides to speak . . .”
He pointed back at the corpse. “Then he only calls forth testimony that is sure to lead him to the hangman’s noose.”
Arley pulled open his jacket and hooked his thumbs underneath his suspenders. “How do you know he’ll listen to reason, Caden?”
“Because, my friend, a drowning man will grab onto anything if it will keep his head above water a minute longer.”
The men stared at each other for the longest time. Hadlee spat on the bricks and they glanced back at the corpse.
“There will be time to pay your respects when he is lying in state, gentlemen,” Caden said. “Now, quickly, each of you take hold of him and lift him inside.”
Edward grabbed Bret McGowan’s legs. “There is a room in the cellar, doctor. We can leave him there until the police arrive.”
Edward pulled the creaking, hewn door open on its rusted hinges. Caden strode into the dank cellar and paused, making sure everything was as he had left it. He nodded to Edward and his assistant closed the door behind him.
A single oil lamp burned on top of an ancient, empty fish barrel in the middle of the damp cellar room. The immediate sensation of finally being alone with Bret McGowan was not at all what he expected—so much that he was only aware of his own discomfort rather than relishing his victory over this troublesome rival.
Bret McGowan lay sprawled on an old, moldy straw mattress, his hands and feet tied to the legs of the rusting metal spring frame. The glimmer of the yellow light flickered on his closed eyes. The thick cord of old hangman’s rope around his neck was fastened securely to a hook in the brick pillar behind his head.
How like a McGowan to die like a mad dog tied to a rope. Caden stood over the bound prisoner, examining his face as if looking at a prepared specimen.
Gone was the aggressive sneer of a powerful adversary—the sunken cheeks and sweaty, wan skin already betrayed the corrupting weakness that was surely advancing through Bret’s helpless body, the very smell of his skin revealing the rot from within.
Caden grimaced and took a step back. Which masculine qualities could women have possibly found attractive in this travesty of a man? Another sharp cramp stabbed at his groin.
After pausing to let the discomfort run its course and expire, he finally spoke. “Mr. McGowan . . . Bret, open your eyes. I know you can hear me.”
Bret didn’t move or open his eyes. He continued to lay silent and motionless in his presence.
Caden picked up the glass of water near the pitcher. He splashed the water on his prisoner’s face. Bret coughed and blinked. He shook his head and squinted up at Caden.
“Shrewd men,” Caden continued, “never let the ignorance and mistakes of youth poison their present wisdom and resolve. It is the current circumstances that should interest us. Whatever the past may have been between us, it is meaningless now.”
Bret sprang from the mattress like a mad man, but the rope held him fast to the bed frame. His wild eyes glared at Caden. “Meaningless? You son of a bitch! You and the other bastards raped my mother then—” He spat at him. “You hung my father!”
“And what would you do now, Bret? The war over all these years, all the wasted blood, dried and turned to dust. Another generation of young men destroyed, their promise and potential for greatness discarded by the conflicting whims of a few old men.”
He stepped forward. “Would you kill me? Have your revenge on me now for the sins of my youth? It is not old blood that you should worry about but new, freshly spilled in the alley behind the hall.” Caden waited until the flush of fury settled to a glistening sweat on the man’s pale face.
Bret groaned and closed his eyes. “Something . . . happened to Timothy. I was looking for you, then—”
“Then, you met up with Mr. DeRocha, who was late and rushing to attend my private meeting.” Caden put his gloved hand in the pocket of his coat and stood beside the lamp on the fish barrel. “Yes, something happened,” he continued, “and it happened between the two of you over Gabrielle Caldwell.” He turned up the flame. “You argued, you drew your weapon, and fired.”
Bret opened his eyes and coughed. “No, no. I found him.” He coughed again, harder. “Lying there.”
“And what about this?” Caden held out his gloved hand. In his open palm was Bret McGowan’s ivory-handled derringer.
Bret gaped at the revolver and squinted harder as if to make sure it really was his own. “I . . . I don’t know. I can’t remember everything.”
Caden withdrew his hand and placed the derringer back in his coat pocket. “How unfortunate for you, Bret. It seems much of your memory is plagued with the same symptoms typical of your indulgences.”
He withdrew his gloved hand, stretching then curling his fingers as he spoke. “But don’t worry, sir, for I witnessed the entire tragedy and I can testify that you were attacked by Mr. DeRocha, and in your diminished state, feared for your life and acted only out of self-defense.”
Bret blinked several times, opening his eyes ever wider. His forehead, a series of undulating frowns. “What the hell are you going on about? DeRocha . . . he was laying there and the next thing I saw—”
“Blood on your hands from the blood on your gun. Don’t be a fool, man. I’m offering you the only opportunity you’ll ever have to save what’s left of your worthless neck.”
Caden reached into the inside front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of folded legal paper. “As the only witness to your crime, I have prepared the necessary affidavit that will function as your sworn confession and my statement. It will be witnessed by my assistant, Edward.”
He held the paper out to Bret. “But there are three conditions that you must agree to before I allow you to sign it.” He snapped the document back.
Bret spat at him. “Join Satan, Hellreich. With a name like that you’re already halfway—”
“First, you will not mention the presence of the other men. Second—”
“The second I get out of here.” Bret shook his arms and legs, straining and pulling at the ropes. “I’ll string you up like the raping bastard you are!”
“Second,” Caden raised his voice, “you will sever all business and personal ties with the Caldwell family . . . and my niece.”
Bret grinned. “Sure . . . but this isn’t about Rebecca, is it, Cade? The only way to steal Gabrielle is with her father’s consent.” He jerked up like a mad dog from the bed. “You’ll never get your sick hands on Gabrielle, I promise you. And Rebecca will publicly condemn you when she knows the truth.”
Caden paused to study the problem before him in detail. The man’s awareness was returning, which could make a satisfactory resolution more difficult to obtain. He observed Bret now with the mingled understanding and mystification of the chivalrous charm this man held for naïve young women like Gabrielle and Rebecca.
Another quick, lacerating pain shot through Caden’s groin. He pressed his palm down against the spot. “And third.” He stood beside the bed, looking down on Bret McGowan’s face. “You will sell your house and possessions and leave Galveston forever.”
Bret jerked his bound legs toward him. “Call the police! I don’t care! Untie me, you bastard! When I talk to my lawyer—”
“Idiot.” Caden slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. “Headstrong as your father but twice as stupid and selfish; at least he managed to save you and your mother by declaring his treason, but you—”
He crumpled the paper in his hand and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “You don’t even have the slightest sense of self preservation, and to think you would join with Gabrielle or Rebecca to pass on your useless blood?”
Caden spat on Bret’s face. “The only lawyer to be called will be mine when I confess to shooting you in self-defense when you attacked me during your attempted escape.”
Bret tried to pull himself up with his fettered arms. “Liam, Hadlee, and Arley are my friends. They’ll explain!”
“Your friends have abandoned you.” Caden lowered his head and glared into his desperate eyes. “Do you really think they want to be involved in your crimes? Your friends still have reputations and businesses to worry about. A scandal like this would destroy them.” Thunder suddenly boomed outside followed by a loud crack of lightning.
Caden glanced up at the ceiling. Holding his head high, he raised his towering stature fully erect as though ready to deliver the final point of his lecture when all questions are answered and all doubts dismissed. “No, Bret, I was the one holding the light to lead you out of your nightmare. Gabrielle could have saved you years ago if you had let her but now it’s too late.”
A fleeting shudder passed across Bret’s face. A few moments later a stronger one convulsed his body making his arms and legs strain against the tension of the rope.
His mouth fell open, his tongue darting out to lick his dried lips. “Please, give me some time to think about what you said,” his voice almost hoarse with desperation, “I’m not well. I need some water and my medicine . . . in my coat.”
Caden walked back to the old fish barrel. He reached inside his other coat pocket and pulled out a small blue medicine vial. “Every disease has intelligence which is often superior to that of its host. In some cases, it will seek to preserve the host against harm because its own survival depends upon it.”
He placed the vial down on the barrel top near the lantern. “Seek counsel in yours, Mr. McGowan, then, perhaps, we shall talk again, but if not . . . you can curl up and die alone in the dark like the poisoned dog that you are.”
“Give me the bottle first.” Bret coughed. “When my fever passes we can—”
“Do you take me for such a fool?” Caden glared down at him. “Sign the affidavit now!”
“And leave Gabrielle vulnerable to a parasite like you? Not while I’m still alive.” He strained to look at the door on the far wall. “And where the hell are the police?”
“Justice shall visit you shortly, Mr. McGowan, just as it did your father. Of that, you can be certain.” Caden smiled and walked calmly back to the door.
He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open a few inches. “And by the way,” he said, without turning around. “From what I remember, your mother was the most sensible one in your family.”
“What? What did you say?” The rusty springs creaked and scraped. “God damn it, Hellreich, C’mere!”
Caden turned slightly, craning his long neck around as he spoke over his shoulder. “She listened to me . . . and I was the youngest, still a boy really, not much older than you and inexperienced in the ways of . . . intimacy. ‘Please ma’am, stop fighting, do what they want and we’ll go away,’ I pleaded, or something to that effect, and she did . . . several times over if memory serves.”
Bret bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you for what you did!”
Caden turned and faced him “For what? Saving your worthless skin? I never touched your mother and that’s why you lived to become a man, Mr. Bret McGowan, although my intervention and your mother’s sacrifice seem hardly worth it in retrospect.”
Bret howled, a wail sounding not of bodily pain, but of a crushed heart and spirit as though his very soul was being ripped out by the unseen hand of a vengeful god under Caden’s summons.
He struggled and strained against the ropes, throwing his head from side to side as though possessed, his contorted features almost twisting his face beyond recognition. “You’re already a dead man, Hellreich!”
Caden studied his wretched specimen once more with a slow, penetrating look. “Lorena . . . was a beautiful, haunting melody, so much that Confederate soldiers became homesick and deserted their ranks. The ‘cursed ballad’ a general called it, and offered a reward for the killing of the author.”
“I’ll kill you! I swear on my parent’s graves!”
Caden had heard enough idle threats for one night. He stooped and tied Rebecca’s red scarf as a gag around the pathetic charlatan’s face and mouth.
Satisfied that Bret could only grunt and snort like a caged animal, Caden rose and walked toward the door. “I’ve always found it amusing what drives men to forget their reason; a charming song, a woman’s name.” He paused and glanced down at the blue medicine vial on the barrel.
Caden yanked open the door and stepped outside. “Save your breath and relax, my friend.” He turned to look at Bret one last time. “You will have all of eternity when you join them.”
He pulled the heavy timber door shut and pushed across the dead bolt. Caden walked back up the stairs leaving the pathetic, trapped creature below to the unforgiving, wretched howls of his cursed conscience and fate.