Eden's Sin (3 page)

The dismissal
made Sinclair grit his teeth. 

“
Judge, we're not quite done talking.”

Parsons looked up, his expression clear he didn't like Sinclair's tone of voice.

“What else?” He tapped his fingers on the blotter.

“
I think you should know I've heard about the rape, and I intend for that to be part of my investigations.”

“
Rape? What are you—” Parsons stopped and waved his hand as if rape were a pesky fly buzzing his head. “Oh, you mean that whore outside town?”

The way he said
whore
grated down Sinclair's back like the screech of train brakes. He nodded and searched his notes.

“
I have her name as Mary Rose. Fifteen years old. And from what I was told, she was a cook and laundress. Not a whore. “

Parsons scowled.
“Same difference as far as the men around here are concerned. And a whore is the absolute least of my concern. Or yours. That is not why you were sent.”

“
I don't think—”

“
Damn it, Major,” Parsons slapped the ink blotter, “there will be no arrests. I can't afford to lose the man power.”

Sinclair leaned over the desk.
“There
will
be an arrest, if I can find the guilty man. The deadline of this railroad's completion doesn't negate the law.”

Parsons' face reddened.
“Are you telling me you think a common prostitute is as important as what we're trying to accomplish here?”

“
I'm telling you right is right and wrong is wrong. I don't prescribe to the theory that progress somehow voids that truth.”

“
Perhaps I should telegram Washington and have you replaced for this job.”

Sinclair grinned.
“Perhaps.” He turned for the door. “You do what you have to do, and so
will I.”

Damn that man
. He slammed out of the railcar and loped down the steps.  He'd traveled thousands of miles from Washington and politics and greed, yet here he was right back in the middle of one of Father's games.

“
Hold up there, Major.” Stevens
splash-slomped
down the mud-puddled street behind him. “You have to go meet McGrady.”

“
Fine.” But he didn't have to converse with Stevens on the walk to the saloon. He increased his stride, leaving the man a few steps behind. Damn but he wished he could saddle Lincoln and ride back to Fort Hayes. Surely there was an assignment in the farthest, most remote point of Wyoming or Montana, some place he could avoid doing his father's
favors
, some place he could thwart his family's political expectations. Some place he could forget the past. Forget whose son he was.

“
…and this is where you'll find the men, if they're not working.” Stevens was talking.

Sinclair slowed his pace
until the man walked beside him, then stopped to look at the building Stevens pointed to.

“
Devil's Gate, huh? Is this the only saloon in town?” Sinclair peeked through the dimly lit windows.

“
No, but it's the one the men frequent. You see, upstairs is Garden of Eden, the brothel. As I said, if the men aren't working, they're here for one reason or another.”

“
Or both.” The men at Fort Hayes spent most all of their money at the local brothels.

Stevens nodded.
“Shall we?” He opened the wooden door.

Sinclair
stepped into a room thick with cigar smoke, the sights, sounds and smells just like every other bar room west of the Mississippi. Raucous laughter bounced off the pine walls, intertwined with female squeals and giggles. Tinny piano music split the air along with the
swoosh
of petticoats as a girl danced atop the bar. Glasses clinked, cards shuffled. The smell of smoke, sweat, and sex tinted the air. Lanterns hung from nails on the walls and set in the middle of the tables, a soft hue hiding a harsh reality.

Men lined the walls
and crowded around tables, talking, drinking, sopping large biscuits into red-eye gravy and dunking cornbread into steaming bowls of stew, all slipping free of their day of worry— in one fashion or another.

And o
ne of these men could be a rapist. More than one could be robbers and saboteurs.

“
So this is the town restaurant too?”

Stevens pushed past a couple o
f tables. “Yes. You should be able to find most of the men you'll need here.” He stopped beside a large round table full of men—one, an oversized giant. “Cormac McGrady, this is Major Bradford. He and his men are here to put a stop to the robberies. He needs to ask you a few questions.”

McGrady
stood and stretched out his large hand. “Glad to meet you, Major. Have a seat and a drink.” His thick Irish brogue rolled over the words.

Sinclair shook
his hand. Firm grip, cool palms. The man looked him straight in the eye, no signs of nervousness. Good.

“
I'll pass on the drink. Coffee sounds good though.”

“
Alice.” Cormac stuck his hand in the air and waved. “Can we have a couple cups of coffee over here?”

“
MmmHmm. Sure thang.” An older woman sauntered to the bar and grabbed two cups and a coffee pot.

“
McGrady, let's take a smaller table.” Sinclair nodded toward an empty corner behind a man wearing a low-brimmed hat over his black, straight hair and sun-dark skin. Part Indian most likely. Nervous, maybe because of his decent, maybe because of guilt. After all, it was the Indian’s land the railroad wanted. That would be perfect motive for causing trouble. The government didn’t see it that way, but by-God, Sinclair would fight if someone tried to take his land.

“
Well, you gentlemen have things to discuss.” Stevens wrinkled his nose as a big-breasted whore and her customer brushed against him. “You don't need me here. I'll head back to the rail office. Major, report to Judge Parsons tomorrow.” He tapped the brim of his bowler and hurried out the door.

Sinclair
watched him go. Arrogant jackass. He reminded him of Theodore … too much.

“
I'd enjoy playing poker with you sometime, Major. That is, if your face is always so easy to read.”

“
Hah
. I don't play – for that very reason. I'm afraid I have a hard time keeping my opinions to myself.”

A sly smile lit
McGrady's face. “Oh, then, I'd pay to see you and Parsons butt heads.”

“
You're too late.” Sinclair glanced around the room, watching, learning faces. The Indian man moved as Sinclair took his seat, keeping his hat low enough to hide his face. “The judge and I have already had words.”

McGrady
laughed. “Well, there's always next time.”

“
Yes, I'm sure there will be.” Sinclair leaned in. “For now, I need to know—”

“
Here's your coffee.” The woman set the cups in front of them.

“
Alice, this is Major Bradford,” McGrady made the introductions as she poured.

“
MmmHmm.”  Her mouth pursed with disinterest. “You eatin', soldier?”

“
No, ma'am. Thank you.”

“
MmmHmm.”

McGrady
blew on the steaming cup as Alice scurried away. “She's president of the Ladore welcoming committee.”

Sinclair spooned sugar into his cup
. “And yet, not the rudest person I've met today.”

McGrady
chuckled. “So how can I help you, Major?”

“
Parsons spoke highly of you.”

McGrady
stopped mid-sip. “Don't hold that against me. My men depend on me to secure work and pay. It’s up to me to find that work. Doesn’t mean I approve of the boss-man.”

“
Fair enough. Tell me what's been happening.”

“
First it was a busted chain on a railcar twenty miles from here – a whole load of tracks that had to be reloaded by hand. Of course no one noticed until the train arrived with empty flat cars. We lost two days work. The payroll’s been robbed off the train a few times. Back when my Addy arrived in town, she was almost killed by a sliding load of rails. Last week ten barrels of spikes went missing.” Cormac sighed. “My gang, McGrady Gang, is just the cuttin' crew. But the men working behind them can't work if they don't have supplies. And none of my
men will work if there's no payroll. I had to use some of my own money to hold them over until the next pay came through.”

“
That's very commendable of you.” But why hadn’t Parsons paid the men from his pocket? Surely if the Katy was as important to him he claimed, he would finance the men on the front crew. Unless he wanted it to go bankrupt…

Sinclair took a careful sip of the steaming coffee.
“Do you think the same men who are robbing the payroll are sabotaging the supplies?”

The Irishman shook his head.
“It's not just one man or one group of men. There is an endless supply of both men and women who are not happy to see this railroad come through here.”

“
Women?” And why did images of Miz Gabrielli have to fill his head?

“
Yes, sir.” Cormac smiled. “Even my wife caused just a wee bit of trouble herself, but she's made peace with the railroad and Parsons.”

“
Care to elaborate?”

“
No. Not really. But I swear my Addy no longer bears a grudge against Parsons or the Katy.”

Sinclair sighed. Lord, this assignment kept getting more involved.
“I'll accept your word on that.”
For now
. He sipped his coffee. “What about Kate Parsons? Would she be one of the unhappy women you mentioned?”

McGrady
lifted his brow. “Well, she was there when the train nearly got dynamited—”

“
What? Kate Parsons dynamited her father’s railroad?” Damn, this investigation was going to be easier than he thought

“
Oh, no. Addy stopped the farm widow who lit the fuse before anyone was hurt. It was all a misunderstanding.”

Sinclair narrowed his eyes.
McGrady wasn’t telling the whole truth. “You and I both know dynamite is rarely a misunderstanding.”

McGrady
dropped his gaze, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Addy was approached by a politician, a senator who wants to see Parsons fail.” His voice was barely a whisper. “This politician wanted her to provoke trouble. But she helped expose the farm-wife, Helga, who had the dynamite.”

Suspicion shot rapid-fire through Sinclair.
A senator? That was no coincidence. It had to be the same senator feeding Father and the investors information. Sinclair sighed. What in the hell kind of mess had he walked into?

“
So I’m to believe your wife had nothing to do with blowing up the Katy?”

“
Nothing.” The big man’s voice was rough, insistent. “Would I be stupid enough to tell you all this if she was guilty? As soon as she found out the women were being misled by Helga, Addy risk her life to stop the sabotage. Ask anyone.” His fist tightened around his cup, but he never blinked or looked away.

“
All right, then.” Sinclair sipped his coffee, his thoughts running in ten directions at once. He had to find out the identity of that politician. “Can you tell me the senator’s name?”

“
Not without talking to Addy first.” He shook his head. “It’s not my secret to tell. Besides, we both feel the senator is still dangerous.”

Sinclair frowned.
“Do you think this man has hired someone to pick up where Helga left off?”

“
I do.” McGrady shook his head. “And I won’t take that chance with Addy’s safety.”

Sin
clair scrubbed a hand over his jaw and decided to change the topic. He’d find out the senator’s identity somehow. Just not tonight. “How many men switch rail lines each week?”

“
As many as a dozen.”

“
Any of them on the Katy crew this week? Are they in here now?”

McGrady
nodded. “A few.”

“
What about him?” Sinclair pointed to the Indian man, now leaning in the far corner.

Cormac
looked. “He’s not part of my cuttin’ crew, but most of these boy-os aren’t.”

Damn. The possibilities of suspects were endless.
“All right. I'd like a list of names. Men you think have it in them to cause this kind of trouble, men who just want to steal or men hired to sabotage. Then I think a few of my boys better
hire-on
tomorrow.” While a few others would be riding the train every day, guarding the money and the supplies.