“You know who killed Jay Berman and Caleb Hough?” he asked cautiously.
“No,” she said, her smile fading. “But I think we’ve figured out the past. Brendan Fogerty wasn’t such a good guy—and he fooled the world with his book. He was in on the stagecoach robbery with his deputy, Aaron Munson, and the theater manager, Eamon McNulty. But Hardy heard them talking—and that’s why Munson shot him in his cell. He hadn’t expected the mob to go crazy and lynch him. Oh, and I forgot about Red Marston. I guess he was in on it, too. Sage must have found out from him or her friend, Trey Hardy. We think she was killed because she was trying to find a way out of town so she could tell the truth. She couldn’t go to the law in Lily, because the law was involved. Marston cared about her and wanted to protect her, which meant Fogerty and McNulty had to kill him, too.”
“Why didn’t they get out with the gold?” Sloan asked.
“Because McNulty dropped dead of an aneurysm—and he’d either been the one to stash the gold or he’d moved it, not trusting his partners!” Kelsey said. She flushed, offering him her hand. “Hi, Sheriff, I’m sorry. We haven’t met. Kelsey O’Brien.”
“Good to meet you,” Sloan said. She had clear eyes, a steady handshake and a lovely manner. He hid a smile; he’d expected no less from the woman who had finally lifted Logan Raintree from his pain. “And glad to have you here. Logan is at county, getting lab reports from Newsome. I’m going to drive over and see what he has.”
Jane nodded. “I’m going to suck up to Grant Winston and beg him to let me borrow this book for the night. Then I’ll acquaint Kelsey with the theater, and be Sage again for a while until we hear back from you.”
“Keep an eye on each other,” Sloan said.
“Of course. We’ve been doing that for a long time,” Kelsey said.
He nodded and left them.
On the street, Henri was giving a history lesson on the theater with each of his cast members popping up to illustrate a different character. People thronged around them. Others stood just outside the saloon, some of the men with plastic cups of beer raised high as they leaned against the sidewalk support posts, like old-time cowboys.
The drive took him about forty-five minutes. As he neared his destination, he received a call from Logan telling him they’d meet at the morgue. He arrived at a lab and offices that made his little place look like a ma-and-pa operation. But he was grateful that he had the county for backup; it was impossible to have the manpower and technical and forensic support in a town as small as Lily.
A receptionist met him and instructed him to follow a hallway. In an outer room, a man who introduced himself as Dr. Madsen’s assistant gave him a paper lab suit and mask, and he entered the room.
“Sheriff Trent, just in time,” Madsen said.
“Glad to hear that, Doctor,” Sloan said, nodding to Logan and Newsome.
“I was explaining to Agent Raintree and Detective Newsome that because of the way the throat was sliced, I believe the killer was right-handed and that the knife used was about six inches long and two inches wide.”
“Something like a Bowie knife?” Logan asked.
“Yes, something like that. I’d also say the killer came up behind his back, grabbed him around the chest and attacked immediately—he didn’t have time to fight back.” He shook his head. “There are no defensive wounds on the man anywhere. It must’ve been a lightning-bolt attack.”
“By someone Caleb didn’t think would kill him,” Logan said.
“Probably. If I understand the circumstances correctly, whoever was in the mine shaft with him had to be known to him. You don’t just walk into a place like that. You crawl in through an area the size of a two-by-four boulder. Is that about right?”
“That’s right,” Sloan agreed.
“Can you say anything more about the blade?” Newsome asked.
“It was very sharp. And jagged.”
“What about any trace evidence on him?” Logan asked.
“Just the sand and dirt you’d expect from the mine shaft,” Madsen said.
“What about our other dead man? Jay Berman?” Logan asked.
“He was kneeling. There were powder burns, so he was shot point-blank,” Madsen said. “The bullet fragmented and the lab’s still piecing it together. You found no shell casings, right?”
“Right,” Newsome glanced at Logan. “My people went over the tepee with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Why would a man kneel down to be executed? Why wouldn’t he fight?” Madsen wondered.