The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 32: Just Mad Enough

We walked down the snowy street in silence for a minute.

"What do you suppose was young Brogden's motive for becoming involved with these people?" I asked.

"I suspect money. There is always the possibility of something more complex or sinister, but it seems unlikely."

"It's a shame," I said. "He is a young man. What do you suppose will be the charges against him?"

Holmes shrugged. "It seems he never actually completed their job, so he may even be let off with a warning, and even the sternest judge would not give him more than five years. He shall have time yet to move his life in a more positive direction."

I did not need to ask Holmes where we were going; by now, I recognised the way to the Sac County jail. We were greeted by Sheriff Sweet, who was as surprised to see us as we were to see him.

"Sheriff," I said. "You are aware that you ought to be resting, are you not?" As soon as I spoke the words, I began to regret them. It was to our advantage to stay on Sheriff Sweet's good side, but my medical instincts had, probably wisely, taken over.

The lawman only laughed. "Do I look like the sort of man who can stand staying in bed for days on end? I'm careful enough here at my desk, and Doc Irwin says there's no signs of infection. But what brings you two here?"

Holmes answered. "Criminal records regarding the Brogden family."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. "You won't find any for the Brogdens of Sac County."

"I suspected as much," Holmes replied.

The Sheriff sighed. "Look, I know we started off on the wrong foot, what with you being all high and mighty, and me chasing you off properties and calling bullshit on your theories, but I'm starting to think there might be something to what you've been saying."

Holmes smiled. "I am glad to hear it."

"So what are you two doing now?" he asked, lighting a cigar. "We've got Wright, and he's been surprisingly gregarious for a killer with a game leg, so I've been taking notes. Most of it's death threats and the like, but he lets loose a little real information now and again."

"Excellent," Holmes replied. "Watson and I have been following leads to Wright's associate, who I have reason to suspect is still in the area, looking for the Blomberg jewellery. Or rather, waiting for us to find them."

"That's a strange thought," replied the Sheriff. "They lost the jewellery? I wondered why they might have stuck around."

"I believe Deputy Hieman tricked them into giving him a portion of the jewellery on the pretense of cutting it up for them to more easily sell. I discovered some documents suggesting Wright and his associate had intentions of meeting with a 'B.B.' to do so. This meeting ultimately did not occur as planned. I strongly suspect B.B. is young Bill Brogden."

The Sheriff gave a puff on the cigar and frowned. "Well, I can't haul him in here on your 'strongly suspecting', though I do see your point."

Holmes nodded. "I thought I would at least learn of his past criminal activities, if any existed."

Sheriff Sweet nodded. "Again, can't help you there."

"No matter," Holmes replied. "What have you gleaned from Wright?"

"He's told me in gruesome detail how he killed seven different men and how I am no different, so he'll hang. All he'll say about his partner is that he'll get the drop on me any day and...let me find it—" The Sheriff grabbed a notebook from his desk and began to thumb through the pages. "Ah, here it is. 'My partner will bring your old, ugly body to its knees and I'll gut you like I did my father.' A pleasure to be around, that Wright. Makes me glad we invested in thick steel bars on the cells."

"Quite so," Holmes replied. "Might I speak with him?"

"If you've got the stomach for it," replied the Sheriff. "I don't imagine you'll learn anything new, but he might surprise us."

Holmes nodded, and we passed through the door to the next room. It contained two cells, separated by a thick panel of wood as well as steel bars. The nearer one was empty, but in the second cell, Wright sat on his cot. He smiled when we entered.

"Never got a chance to thank you for stitching me up, Doc," he said.

I hesitated, unsure how to respond, or if I ought to respond at all.

"I do wish you'd let the Sheriff just bleed out, though," he said. "Have you ever watched a man bleed out?"

I had, in the army. I preferred not to dwell on it.

Wright turned to Holmes. "How's the investigation going?"

Holmes was expressionless. "Are you interested in sharing the name of your co-conspirator?"

Wright smiled. "Which one?"

"Which person or which name?" asked Holmes.

"You tell me," said Wright with a shrug.

Holmes crossed his arms. "If you cooperate, you may have a chance to decrease the severity of the punishment for your crimes."

"And if I don't, my co-conspirator or conspirators are still free." Wright leaned back in his cot and placed his hands behind his head. "Rather than there being no honour amongst thieves, I think the saying would be more accurate if it expressed our limited sense of honour. I'm not ratting on anybody."

We were silent for a long moment.

Wright stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "You can gain a lot of insight into the character of a man by the way he dies," he said. "And I would love to learn more about you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." With a twisted grin, he turned and stared at Holmes through the bars. "You would make a fascinating study."

Holmes took a step toward the cell. "I already know more about you than you ever shall about me, and my methods have the advantage of being far less messy than yours." He tapped his temple with his forefinger and smiled.

Wright cocked an eyebrow. "If you want my advice—"

"I do not," said Holmes.

"—find dear Mrs. Blomberg's riches and see what happens. He'll come for them and you'll never see him coming."

"Perhaps," said Holmes. "But what if I uncover the identity of your friend first?"

"Do you want his name?" asked Wright.

"I would," Holmes replied.

"I might consider giving it to you," he said.

I scoffed. I had not intended to do so aloud, but found Holmes and Wright staring at me, irritation in both their faces. "Honour amongst thieves indeed," I said.

"Yes, thank you, Watson," said Holmes coldly.

Wright stared at me wordlessly for a long moment. "What is it you do?"

"I am a medical man; surely you reca—"

"No," Wright waved his hand. "What do you do with Holmes?"

"I take notes," I said.

"So does he," said Wright. "Why are you here?"

I looked to Holmes. He continued to stare at Wright.

"Watson, go and wait in the Sheriff's office." His tone was infuriatingly superior. "I shall only be a minute."

Anger coursed through my veins at his tone and the way he would not even condescend to look at me when addressing me. "Right," I said through gritted teeth. I closed my notebook, placed it in my breast pocket and took my leave. I was shaking with anger when I sat down in a chair across from the Sheriff.

He raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

I nodded, deciding it would be better for Holmes if I did not explain. "Holmes is still speaking with him, for some reason."

Sheriff Sweet chuckled darkly. "Perhaps your friend is just mad enough to speak his language."

That was precisely what I feared