Journey into Violence by William W. Johnstone Page A

me.”
    â€œAll right. I can tell you how to get there.”
    â€œNo. You will also accompany me. I want you to be there.”
    â€œMrs. Kerrigan, I—”
    â€œI will brook no refusal, Sheriff. You said you’re not Mr. Lowery’s servant, but you are indeed a public servant. Now come along with me and start serving.”
    â€œMa’am, have you been sent to Dodge to be a trial and tribulation to me?”
    â€œPossibly,” Kate said. “God works in mysterious ways.”
    His shoulders slumped in defeat, Hinkle said, “Now God is on your side. All right. Let’s go.”
    â€œAren’t you forgetting something, Sheriff?” Kate asked.
    â€œNow what?”
    â€œThe law book for Mr. Lowery. Please give it to him and tell him he will get more suitable reading material and a box of cigars as soon as possible.”
    â€œWhen do you plan to return to Texas, Mrs. Kerrigan?” Hinkle said.
    â€œQuite soon, I hope.”
    â€œNot soon enough for me, lady.”

C HAPTER F OURTEEN
    â€œShe didn’t have much room, did she?” Trace Kerrigan said, looking around the tiny cabin furnished only with a cot, a dresser, and a pole nailed into a wall to hang clothes.
    â€œGals who work the line don’t live in palaces, young feller,” Sheriff George Hinkle said. “This place is a sight better than some I’ve seen.”
    â€œThis is where the body was found.” Kate used her arms to indicate the space. “Her back on the cot and her legs on the floor.”
    â€œThat’s right, Mrs. Kerrigan,” Hinkle said. “Seems to me she was stabbed and then fell backward.”
    Kate shook her head. “She didn’t fall. Her killer held her and let her down on the bed gently.”
    â€œHow do you figure that?” the sheriff said.
    â€œThe cot is several inches from the wall,” Kate said. “If she’d fallen, her weight would have driven it against the partition.”
    â€œMaybe,” Hinkle said. “What does that tell us?”
    â€œIt tells me that her killer cared for her enough to support her as she collapsed backwards.” Kate stared at the lawman. “I think Sarah Hollis knew the man who murdered her, perhaps knew him very well.”
    â€œMighty flimsy, Mrs. Kerrigan,” Hinkle said. “He could have held her because he didn’t want the noise of her falling on the cot to carry next door.”
    â€œYes, the shack next door was being used at the time by the black lady and a cowboy,” Kate said. “Sarah’s murderer would have known that.”
    â€œAnd Hank Lowery would have known that as well,” Hinkle said. “He was new in town, remember. He wouldn’t have cared about someone he didn’t know. After he stabbed her, he let her down gently so not to alarm Alva Cranley and her cowboy.”
    â€œI still think the girl and her murderer had some kind of close relationship,” Kate said. “A strange one though it may be. The back door, Sheriff, where does it lead?”
    â€œA couple outhouses back there, that’s all.”
    â€œWas the door locked the night Sarah Hollis was killed?”
    Hinkle shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    â€œYou mean you didn’t try it?”
    â€œI didn’t have to. I had my killer.”
    Kate stepped to the door and tried the handle. “It’s unlocked.” She opened the door, stuck her head outside and looked around. “Frank, come and take a look at this.”
    When Frank Cobb stepped beside her, she said, “It rained a little the night Sarah Hollis was killed.” She pointed to tracks in the thin mud outside the door. “What do you make of those?”
    Frank kneeled and studied the ground for a while and then rose to his feet.
    â€œWell?” Kate said, trying to read his face.
    â€œThe prints are of a man’s shoe who left the shack sometime after the rain