Thompson broke off, his mouth literally snapping shut. Silently, he berated his nephew for persuading him to venture forth on what was patently a fool's errand.
Critch laughed softly. 'Well, Marshal? If the individuals you mentioned are typical, the sisters must have netted closer to half-a-million than seventy thousand. What do you suppose happened to the rest of it?'
'Don't get smart with me, young man!'
'I wouldn't think of it, sir. You've got trouble enough in store for you, as it is. It's my guess that the heirs of practically every missing person in the country are going to claim that their loved ones were murdered by the Andersons, and that said loved ones possessed small fortunes in cash or its equivalent at the time of their demise. By the time the claims are all filed and adjudicated, to no one's satisfaction, of course, I suspect that you and the people who appointed you are going to have something in common that you don't have now. You're both going to wish you were dead.'
The marshal grunted, silently guessing that Critch was probably right. In any case, he had no intention of finding out by filing charges against young King. There was simply no evidence to support an arrest. No proof that the Andersons had had anything to steal, or that Critch had stolen it.
For his part, Critch was not feeling nearly as easy as he acted. He still could not bring himself to look at his father. Nor had Old Ike spoken a word, or otherwise indicated what he felt. That he must know or be reasonably sure that the money was stolen seemed certain. And whether the law, as represented by Marshal Thompson, could prove it meant nothing to him. Old Ike was his own law. He passed his own judgments.
'Well, Marshal?' Critch leaned against the bar, easing the weight from his injured ankle. 'I believe I've said all I have to say. Do you still want to arrest me?'
Thompson shook his head; said that he'd never wanted to arrest anyone in his life. 'So, no, I don't want to arrest you. In fact, I didn't come here with any real hope or intention of doing so. I'm probably not as familiar with the criminal code and the rules of evidence as you seem to be. But I'm sufficiently versed in them to know when I have a case against a man and when I don't – and I obviously didn't in this instance. As long as I was here, of course, I tried to do my damnedest. But the main purpose of my visit – I believe I mentioned it earlier, didn't I? – is murder.'
'Murder?' Critch blinked. 'What murder?'
'The murder of Ethel (Big Sis) Anderson.'
'But that's cra -!' Critch broke off, made a business out of lighting a cheroot. Gained a few seconds' time to think.
There was something wrong here; something subtly out of key in the marshal's attitude and tone. A charge of murder would naturally take precedence over any other, so why…? Never mind, Critch thought, never mind. The question was, how to use it to his own advantage. Get himself solidly back in the good graces of his father.
'Well, Marshal…' he shrugged. 'Perhaps, if you're going to accuse me of murder…'
'I'm not sure that I am going to. Perhaps I'll charge Arlie instead.'
He turned to grin coldly at Arlie, who was gulping a drink of whiskey. Arlie choked, spluttered and let out an indignant howl of denial.
'That's a God damn lie! I did not neither kill that woman!'
'So?' The marshal's brows went up. 'Then if you didn't, Critch did. I know that one of the two of you is guilty. You see, gentlemen…'
Big Sis had been killed the previous afternoon, he explained. Killed in the vicinity of the cabin where Critch had ostensibly been recuperating from his injuries. Arlie had also been seen in the area at the time, and, like Critch, had had the opportunity to commit the murder… _to which there had been an eyewitness!_ However, the eyewitness had been some distance away, and he was only sure that one of the brothers had done the killing – not which one. So…
'There's no problem here,' Critch said quietly. 'I'm guilty, Marshal.'
'That's an unqualified confession?' Thompson said. 'You wouldn't like to take some second thoughts?'
'Second thoughts? What about?'
'The fact that my eyewitness actually inclines to the belief that Arlie was the killer rather than you. Now, you were right nearby at the time of the murder. You could have witnessed it. And with you to corroborate the testimony of my witness…'
'Now, Marshal…' Critch gave him a stern look. 'You surely aren't suggesting that I incriminate my brother by lying to you?'
'I'm suggesting that you're lying right now! That you're doing so to protect your brother!'
'Nonsense! Why, I'd have everything to lose and nothing to gain by lying.' Critch shook his head; let it bow with humility. 'As things stand now, I know my father can't have a very high opinion of me. He couldn't possibly consider me fit to carry on in his footsteps. Given time, I might be able to redeem myself in his eyes, but I could only get that time by putting the blame on Arlie for a murder that I – '