Journey into Violence by William W. Johnstone

to call you Mrs. Kerrigan,” Lowery said.
    â€œAs you wish. What about the mechanical man?”
    â€œHe’s a kind of carnival sideshow, a man made of metal who will bow to the ladies and talk pretties.”
    â€œBetter mannered than some human men I’ve known,” Kate said.
    Lowery allowed himself a smile and then said, “His name is Golem, and if you give him fifty cents he’ll tell your fortune. He told me mine.”
    â€œThe mechanical man did?”
    â€œYes. He said just one word. Death. Did he mean the death of Sarah Hollis or the death of me for a crime I didn’t commit?”
    Kate said, “Hank, the word golem appears in the Old Testament, in Psalms I believe. In Biblical times it meant a strange creature that was not quite human in the eyes of God. Today, in these modern times, it describes a person who is not too clever. And, Hank, you’d be a golem to believe a word a clockwork man said. Where was this wonder may I ask?”
    â€œHere, in Dodge, at a vacant lot off Front Street. I think he’s powered by steam, but I’m not sure.”
    â€œAnd he was operated by a pair of hucksters, I’m sure.”
    â€œYes. How did you know that?”
    â€œBecause hucksters always operate in pairs, one to bring in the mark and the other to work the swindle. I watched bunco artists do the hundred-dollar prize in the soap wrapper scam many times in New York when I was a child. A fortune-telling mechanical man is no different, even if he’s powered by steam.”
    â€œGolem said ‘Death’ only to me, Mrs. Kerrigan, not to anyone else. It could mean I’m going to hang.”
    â€œIt means no such thing. I will not permit it. I plan to investigate this murder and bring the real culprit to justice. Now, is there anything you need?”
    â€œCigars and something to read to take my mind off things. A bottle of bourbon would be good if Sheriff Hinkle will allow it.”
    â€œHe might, but I won’t, Hank. You need to keep your wits about you. You’re fighting for your life and your brain can’t be befuddled by alcohol.”
    Kate left the jail area and swept into Sheriff Hinkle’s office like a forty-gun frigate on the prod. The lawman was sitting back in his chair reading a newspaper, his feet on the desk.
    When he saw Kate, he quickly scrambled to his feet. “You had a nice talk with the condemned, Mrs. Kerrigan?”
    â€œ Condemned, Sheriff Hinkle? Surely you mean accused ?”
    â€œYes, yes, of course,” Hinkle said, intimidated by Kate’s frown. “Just a slip of the tongue, you understand.”
    â€œI understand perfectly, Sheriff. Let’s not allow such a slip to happen again, shall we? Now, first, do you have any wholesome reading material for Mr. Lowery? I would prefer that he not have novels of the more risqué sort since the last thing a prisoner needs is his dormant ardor inflamed.” Kate looked around the small office. “Of course anything by Mr. Dickens or Sir Walter Scott would be quite acceptable.”
    â€œMrs. Kerrigan, all I have is the 1879 edition of the Revised Statutes of Texas, and it makes for some mighty ponderous reading,” Hinkle said. “A man spends an hour trying to make sense of that book and all he gets for it is a headache.”
    â€œI suppose it will have to do for now,” Kate said. “See that Mr. Lowery gets it. Do you have any cigars, Sheriff Hinkle?”
    â€œFor the prisoner?”
    â€œFor Mr. Lowery.”
    â€œI don’t smoke.”
    â€œThen get him some. A box of the best kind, mind. I’ll reimburse you later.”
    â€œMrs. Kerrigan, Lowery is my prisoner. I’m not his servant,” Hinkle said.
    â€œAnd now on to the second thing, Sheriff,” Kate said as though she hadn’t heard. “I want to see the cabin where Sarah Hollis died. My son Trace and my segundo Mr. Frank Cobb will accompany