Chapter 12

On the way back to town, Malik convinced Long Hand to bunk in his rail car rather than sleep on the ground outside of town. Access to the rail car bunks also had the advantage of requiring the fewest stair steps to climb compared to the available lodging elsewhere.

After getting Long Hand settled in for a nap, Malik arranged for dinners to be delivered to the railcar. Urban, went to the depot to post a report to the Wichita office, then he joined Malik, Quincy, and Long Hand for fried chicken, potato salad, and a chilled sweet-and-sour cabbage salad.

The four men settled around the table in the center room and Malik gave Long Hand a fuller explanation of the sequence of events that led to him getting shot, including the deaths of the men who murdered Bill Edwards.

“Marshal Lonegan knows about that group at the B-Bar-L.” he explained. “The problem, at the moment, is that we don’t have any direct evidence that any of those men were involved in the ore thefts. And from what you and Emmet say, Long Hand, neither of you could give a clear description nor be able to identify the men who shot at you.”

The Sonora deputy marshal nodded slowly. “I think I understand the white man’s law. It demands that those who are guilty be punished but gives the same care not to punish those who may only look guilty and have done nothing wrong. It is game worthy of the hunt, but it is often a long and a difficult stalk. By the time the chase ends, both hunters and hunted may be gaunt and wasted.”

Malik gave a half shrug. “I can’t argue against that, Long Hand. It does sometimes seem like an endless process. But it’s just one more of those things that the men who wrote the Constitution wanted to make better than it was in the old countries where they came from. So the rights of the innocent became more important than punishing the guilty.”

“As well it should be,” Quincy added. “After all, there are many more innocent people than there are those guilty of crimes. It is more important that the innocent be protected. What is the greater wrong? To allow a guilty man to escape punishment or to punish a man for a crime he did not commit? The former is infuriating, the latter is outrageous.”

“Interesting,” Urban said. “I hadn’t looked at it quite that way before. Of course, I’ve never practiced criminal law, so it’s not really in my ken.”

The car swayed nearly imperceptibly as someone mounted the railcar’s ladder steps rather than the standard stairs deployed on the other side. Urban said, “I’d sent a coded message to Ming telling them to get out here tout de suite. Ming likes all that secret message stuff. This will likely be his reply.” While he was speaking, there had been a knock at the door. Urban stood. “I’ll get it.”

He came back shortly. “One for each of us, Emil. Mister Trent said yours was marked ‘urgent’.” Urban handed Malik an envelope.

Both men tore the envelopes and extracted the message sheets, then leaned toward the car’s windows for the light.

Before Urban could make further comment, Malik muttered a shocked, “No!”

The other men looked at him. He looked up. “It’s from my friend, Cowboy Tsosie. He’s in Dorado Springs. He says his sister is missing and the man who’s been courting her was found murdered.”

Long Hand asked, “Standing Horse? Aspen?”

“Yes. Standing Horse was stabbed in the back. One of Aspen’s moccasins was lying nearby.”

Long Hand said, “Like the other young women.”

Malik looked at Long Hand, then pulled out his watch. After glancing at it, he said, “I need to talk to Joshua Trent, send some wires. Fred, you may want to come along. I think I’m going to disrupt the northbound’s schedule, this evening.”

Both men had been wearing workman’s canvas jackets and they grabbed them as they left the car.

Inside the station, a young woman was seated on a bench against the wall, a cloth-wrapped bundle on the bench next to her. A few feet away, two small children, a young boy and a younger girl, were sitting on the floor, quietly playing with small, homemade rag dolls. Joshua Trent was at the telegraph key, taking down a message. As he keyed his “message received” code, he looked over and saw Urban and Malik at the counter. He said, “This one’s for you, too, Mister Malik.”

“Thank you, Mister Trent.”

It took Trent a moment to finish transcribing from the shorthand he used to take the messages from the rapidly sputtering telegraph contacts. Then he placed a message form on the counter for Malik to read.

Dorado Springs Aren 1May1887

EMalik Waypoint

SHorse body in wooded area south edge town near railroad found 4:50PM. Two pair boot tracks lost on rail ballast, headed north into town. NBound departed 4:12PM. Search train.

CTsosie

Malik pushed the message toward Urban and turned to Trent, who was still standing at the counter. “Where is the train, Joshua?”

“They left Utica Switch at five eleven, so they picked up a couple minutes. It could be here at six-ten, give or take five minutes.”

“Thank you. I want to send a message to Cowboy, please. Send ‘Received two wires. Will search train.’ Here, I’ll write it down.” But Trent was already tapping the key.

Urban asked, “What did Long Hand mean about ‘the other young women’?”

“Give me a moment, please, Fred.” Malik walked hurriedly to the door leading to the platform. He opened it and looked toward the steps leading up from Jackson Street. Two boys were seated there playing some form of hand-gesture game. He called, “Nate, Tom, will you deliver a couple messages for me? One goes all the way up to Sunset Road.”

Nate, at eleven years, the older of the two, jumped up with a “You bet, Mister Malik.”

“Come on in here, then.”

The barefoot boys ran up the two steps and across the depot platform, following Malik through the door and to the inside ticket counter. Malik tore two blank message forms from the pad, then took a pencil from the cup, and began to write. As he finished, he said to Nate, “You know Val and Juanita Garcia’s house, up on Sunset?”

“Sure, it’s the blue one with three stories.”

“Good lad. Carry this up to Mister Garcia, please. It’s a rush, so move at your best speed, just not so fast that you lose your breath. And you might want to check the Malik Ranch office, first, in case he’s workin’ late.”

“Yes, sir, Mister Malik.”

“Here’s a nickel. Come back and tell me after he has the message and I’ll give you another nickel.”

The boy was standing wide-eyed at Malik’s largesse. “On your way, Nate. Don’t forget to check the office.”

The boy, Natan Vargas, pocketed the coin, then pulled it out and put it in the opposite pocket, and ran out of the depot, through the front door.

Malik knelt next to ten-year-old Tommy Palmer and handed him the other note sheet.

“Tom, please take this to my brother, Andy, over at Baylor’s store. He’ll likely be upstairs in the apartment. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mister Malik.”

“If he’s not there, come back and tell me and we’ll figure out where he might be.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad. Here’s a nickel. After you give the note to my brother, I’ll give you another.”

“Thank you, Mister Malik.” And he, too, took off running, still holding both the coin and the message in his two fists.

Malik looked over at the woman with the children and smiled. Then he turned to Urban and said, in hushed tones, “We might better talk outside, but let’s stand by Mister Trent’s window so he can hear us.”

The two men walked out the platform door and went to stand by the open ticket window which was a few feet from the door. Malik and Urban each leaned an elbow on the counter, facing one another. Trent ensconced himself on a stool, just inside the window, where he bent forward, over the service counter.

Malik, in quiet tones, explained. “I’ve told both of you how the state attorney general has received reports of a number of girls and young women who have gone missing from several towns along the northern half of the branch line these past several months.” He looked around, then back at each of the two men. “I’m going to show you something, nothing illegal, but I need you to keep it confidential and to make no loud remark about it when you see it. You’ll understand why in a moment. Agreed?”

“Long’s it’s legal, Emil,” Urban said.

Trent said, “Sure, Mister Malik.”

Malik reached into his coat pocket and brought out the badge case. He opened it and held it where each man could see it. Trent’s eyebrows rose on his forehead. Urban breathed, “How about that.”

Malik said, “My appointment is for special assignments, not full time. Judge Westcott, the federal district supervisor up in Fort Birney, asked me to look into the disappearances. I’ve had a suspicion the trains are being used, but the crews have been questioned and none of them have noticed anything unusual. Still, the coincidence of train schedules and apparent kidnapping sites, at least in the few instances I know about, is too much to ignore, considering that lives may be at stake. I want to do a thorough search of the northbound when it arrives here.

Joshua, who’s the conductor this evening?”

“Fergus Healy.”

“Well, Mister Healy’s familiar with my suspicions, though he is skeptical. We’ll have to see. Any objections, Fred?”

“None at all. The train runs much later for lesser causes. I take it you’ve sent for help?”

“Yes. My brother and Val Garcia, who you met on our expedition.”

“Then might I also suggest Tom Palmer. He’ll be familiar with the structure of the railroad cars.”

“Of course. Good idea. We’ll have to wait until one of our messengers gets back. They were the only two out here. Mister Trent, may I have another blank sheet and a pencil?”

While Malik scribbled another message, Trent asked Urban, “How was that trip? Did you see anything, uh, interesting?”

Urban pulled a kerchief from his pocket and opened it on the ticket counter, revealing several tiny, irregularly-shaped silver nuggets. He handed two to the station agent. “Here, have these. As one of the owners you have more right to ‘em than I do.”

Trent pushed them around in his palm for a few seconds, then dumped them back onto Urban’s kerchief, saying, “Reckon there’s more where those came from.” He grinned at Urban, who chuckled and returned the kerchief to his pocket.

The front door opened and Tommy Palmer came through the door with Andy on his heels. Like his brother, Andy had donned a canvas work coat. But, while Malik was wearing his thirty-eight caliber revolver in a shoulder holster, Andy had his forty-four caliber Colt, holstered and on a belt at his waist. Trent said to the newcomers, “They’re out on the platform, gentlemen.” The man and the boy walked from the front door to the side door that led to the platform.

Tommy Palmer made the unnecessary announcement, “Here’s your brother, Mister Malik.”

“Thank you, young Tom. Here’s your payment. Now, are you up for one more mission?”

“Yes sir, Mister Malik.” The boy practically stood at attention.

“This is a note for Thomas Palmer, Senior. Do you know where he lives?” Malik asked, with a straight face.

“Yes, sir. He lives in the--aww, Mister Malik. That’s my Pa. He lives in the same house I do.”

“Very well, Thomas Palmer, Junior. Take him this note, then I want you to stay home after delivering this note to your pa. Stay home. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I guess so.”

“Very well, then, here’s another nickel. On your way.”

The boy took off running and, ignoring the steps, leapt down from the platform, and, continuing apace, disappeared north, along West Railroad Avenue.

Andy said, “What’s going on?”

“A short while ago, I received a wire from Cowboy--” he interrupted himself to rummage in his pocket, bringing out the two telegraph messages and handing them to Andy. “Here, simpler for you just to read ‘em.” The sun had not yet set, but it was darker under the platform’s roof, Andy leaned in the ticket window to take advantage of the light from the lamp on the wall inside.

At that moment, Quincy and Long Hand came around the south end of the depot, from the freight end of the platform. Long Hand appeared to be moving easily. He carried a shotgun, Quincy a rifle.

Quincy said, “We figured you might need help searching the train.”

“Thanks,” Malik said. “I’ve sent for Val Garcia and Tom Palmer. That’ll be six of us.”

“Count’s seven, from where I’m standing,” Urban said.

Joshua Trent said, “I make it eight.”

“Thanks, I didn’t want to assume. Joshua, we’ll need you to manage the train crew and any people on the platform. Move people away from the train and keep them back. Fred, what’s in your shoulder holster?”

“Two-barrel snake gun, loaded with four-ten cartridges.”

Malik thought for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do: Emmet, Long Hand, you two stand on each side of the locomotive and watch the train for anyone who gets off after any passengers have disembarked at the platform. We’re watching for anyone doing anything unusual near the train, including running off.”

Trent, still inside the office, interjected, “Excuse me, Mister Malik. Better they stand at the rear of the train. They’ll not have the steam noise to contend with and, as the light’s fading, they’d easier see shapes silhouetted against the glow thrown by the engine’s head lamp.”

“You heard the man, fellas. Rear end of the rear car. If anyone takes off, order ‘em to stop. If they don’t, throw a shot at their hips or legs. Make sure no one else is in your line of fire.

“Andy, you and Tom will examine the cars from outside. Use some lanterns for looking into shadowed areas. Fred, you, Val, and I will go through the passenger cars and then over the tops of the freight cars. Fred, your job will be to cover our backs.”

They could hear a horse gallop up and stop in front of the depot. Several seconds later, Nate banged through the front door and was directed by Trent onto the platform. Val Garcia followed closely behind, a shotgun in hand.

Malik addressed the boy. “Here’s your nickel, Nate. Good job, thank you. I see you’re not out of breath. Did Mister Garcia give you a ride back?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“Can you carry one more message for me?”

“Of course, Mister Malik.”

“This one is for your ma and pa.” He handed the boy the paper. “Then I want you to stay at home this evening. Here’s another five cent piece.”

Nate stood there, looking bewildered. Malik asked, “You understand the mission, don’t you, Nate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve accepted payment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, on your way, hop to it.” With one more uncertain look, the boy ran off, likewise leaping the steps and into the street, headed toward the barrio east of the tracks.

Urban asked, “What was that note?”

“I advised his parents to keep him indoors and away from the depot as the railroad police were here searching for some kidnappers. I put the same advice in Tom Palmer’s note.”

Trent said, “That reminds me,” and he began rummaging in a drawer.

A train whistle could be heard in the distance. The double-faced clock extending from the wall above the ticket window showed six o’clock, straight up. Tom Palmer came clumping up the platform steps, a holstered pistol on his belt. “What’s going on, Emil?”

“Just about to ask the same thing myself,” Val added.

“Andy, show them the wires, please.”

The Malik brothers and Urban stepped away from the ticket window so the two men could read by the lamplight. When they’d finished reading, Palmer asked, “What do you want us to do?”

Malik answered, “Tom, I’d like you and Andy to examine the cars from the outside, on the ground, one on each side. Look ‘em over good. Best to keep abreast and talk to each other so you can keep track of one another.

“Val, you, me, and Fred will go through the coaches and over the tops of the freight cars. Fred’s job is to watch our backs.

“Meanwhile, Long Hand and Emmet will post themselves at the rear of the train and watch along the sides for anything suspicious or anyone running off. We will order anyone suspicious to halt. If they don’t, shoot for their legs. We need to question anyone involved. But don’t forget we’re in town, so consider where your shots might travel.”

Some three miles south of town, and still more than two miles south of the Rio Isabella, the locomotive’s bright carbon-arc headlamp came into view, a plume of dark smoke rising above, as it rounded the last curve on the downgrade from the Utica Heights.

Malik said to the group, “Some of you already know, but for everyone, there’s been a number of young women and girls who have disappeared from some of the train-stop towns over the past several months. This may be another instance. Train crews have been questioned, but they’ve seen nothing unusual. We need to go over every part of this train. If we have to open sealed freight cars, we’ll have Fred, here, as an officer of the railroad who can witness and stand by until Joshua or Tom can seal the door again. We’ll save breaking seals until last, if necessary.” Freight car door latches were often looped with a wire that was closed by means of a stamped metal seal. Opening the door would break the wire. The intent was to show any tampering with the cargo while in transit.

“Is this like the Gutierrez girl?” Val asked.

“What Gutierrez girl?” Malik wanted to know.

“Nita Gutierrez. Her mother’s the cook over at Stella’s. She disappeared a couple months ago.”

“I hadn’t heard. Must have happened while I was at Gabriela’s. How old is she?”

“Sixteen, I think.”

“What did the sheriff say?”

“He had Bill Edwards looking into it, then the sheriff pulled him off, said they’d learned she was a runaway with some women’s dainties drummer. Her ma denied it, but that was it, as far as any investigation.”

Palmer said, “Can’t trust what the sheriff says.”

“Andy, did Bill say anything to you?” Malik asked.

“Just that Judge Gunderson got word from another county, passed it on to Noah.”

The engineer blew two short warning blasts as the train approached the bridge over the Rio Isabella, just in case anyone had ill-advisedly chosen the bridge as a fishing perch.

Malik said, “Emmet, why don’t you and I get to the other side of the track. I’ll climb aboard from that side, meet Val and Fred on the back platform.”

Trent put two lit trainmen’s lanterns, with freshly cleaned globes and reflectors, on the ticket counter, and called Palmer’s attention to them. Palmer took them, with a thanks, and handed one to Andy. Then Trent came out on the platform and said he’d explain the situation to Fergus Healy, the train’s conductor. Trent also produced two shield-shaped badges that were stamped “K&ASR Railroad Police.” He handed one to Palmer and the other to Urban, both men being paid railroad employees. Those men thanked him and pinned the badges on.

Palmer said to Andy, “Grab hold of the first car as it passes. We’ll start at the engine and work our way back. I’ll grab the locomotive ladder and get to the other side through the engine cab, let the crew know what’s goin’ on.”

Meanwhile, Malik and Quincy strode down the platform steps, onto Jackson Street, and went over to the east side of the depot siding at the Jackson Street grade crossing. At the same time, a half mile south of the depot, the northbound’s locomotive had just finished crossing the Rio Isabella bridge. Malik and Quincy walked to a spot opposite the south end of the passenger platform, where the two passenger cars, at the tail end of the train, would be spotted. Meanwhile, the engineer was blowing grade crossing warnings as he entered Waypoint.

Approaching the station, the train slowed for the switch onto the depot siding and, with clanging bell, the engine finally huffed and hissed past the depot platform, where Palmer mounted the ladder to the cab as the engineer whistled an abbreviated crossing warning at Jackson Street. Then, slowly, the steam engine continued pulling the freight portion of the train over the Jackson Street grade crossing and along West Railroad Avenue, past the Railroad Arms, the End of Track Saloon, the West Side Corral, an empty lot, at last coming to a halt across from Hannah Isely’s Waypoint Bakery.

Besides the locomotive and its coal and water tender, the consist included three box cars, with Andy mounting the access ladder on the first. Then followed a flat car carrying two large wooden crates, a tank car, a gondola car, the baggage and express car, and finally, the two passenger coaches.

The train’s conductor, Fergus Healy, was leaning out from the rear platform of the second coach, waving a red-lit lantern side to side toward the head end of the train, directing the engineer to bring the consist to a halt. The passenger coaches, wheels squealing under pressure from the brake shoes activated by the pneumatic system, stopped smoothly at the depot platform.

Healy, having seen the two men waiting on the off side of the train, called a greeting. “Ah, and it’s Mister Malik, now. Is the depot platform too grand for your tastes, then? Aye, but you look grim, laddie.” This last was said as Healy hung the lantern in a bracket on the rear of the car where its red glow could be seen from behind the train. He was about to turn back to Malik when Fred Urban climbed aboard from the depot side and said, “Mister Healy, good to see you again.”

“And you, Mister Urban. Sure an’ Mister McGillycuddy said he had to put you off the train here, for disturbin’ the other passengers, don’t you know.”

“I was merely helpin’ them back to their seats after his crew took the curves too fast.”

“A likely story.” Then, in serious tones, “What’s goin’ on, then, Mister Urban? I see you wearin’ a railroad copper badge.”

In the interim, Malik had climbed aboard, and he answered Healy’s question. “There’s a young woman missing from Dorado Springs this afternoon, and the young man she was with was found dead, stabbed in the back. Once more, it was near the tracks and with a train due -- this one. But there were no other signs of what went on, only one of the girl’s moccasins, found near the boy’s body.”

“Sonoras, then?

“Standing Horse was Sonora. The girl is Navajo, Cowboy Tsosie’s seventeen-year-old sister, Aspen.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Healy muttered, shaking his head. He made a hurried gesture of the Roman church’s sign of the cross, then looked up and said, “I don’t know where she’d be, but the train’s yours to find ‘er, boyos.”

“Mister Trent can describe the search we’ve planned. How many passengers have you?” Malik asked.

“Sixteen. There be ten noisy ones in the number one car an’ six sober ones in the number two car, and a young man getting’ off here, says to meet his wife and young’uns. The ten noisy are returnin’ to Fort Birney from a weddin’ at Romulus.”

Urban said, “Get your crew and talk to Joshua Trent. If any of your men have any suspicions, find Mister Malik or myself. Keep the crew away from the cars, because we’re watching for anyone slipping away from the train and we may shoot.”

“Aye an’ I will.” Healy stepped down onto the platform and walked off toward Joshia Trent.

Malik addressed Urban and Garcia. “We’ll be looking for anything that makes us suspicious. If either of you see something that catches your attention, just say so.” He paused briefly, then asked, “Ready?”

Urban nodded, Garcia said, “Let’s go.”

Malik said, “I’ll go first, Fred,” but Urban was in front of the door. He pushed down the lever, opened the door, and stepped into the coach.

The next seconds defied the passage of time.

As Malik stepped through the door behind Urban, he could see forward, over Urban’s left shoulder, toward the front of the car. There, two men in rough, dirty, laborer’s clothes, were moving hastily from their seats. In the next instant, Malik realized they were pulling handguns from their coat pockets.

Urban had stopped in the aisle, more to the right side. But now he turned toward the two gunmen, watching them.

Malik called out, “Fred, get down,” as he drew the .38 pistol from his own shoulder holster with his right hand while he elbowed Urban with the same arm, urging him to move out of the aisle. Urban did not budge.

In rapid succession, then, more than a dozen shots were fired, the first eleven being discharged in less than fifteen seconds:

# 1. The first shot -- from the man whom Malik, in his mind, had instantly dubbed Tall Man -- went four inches to the left of Malik’s left shoulder, through the finish paneling of the rear bulkhead and came to rest in a structural member of the coach.

# 2. To shoot clear of Urban necessitated that Malik lean to his left, moving between the seats, his gun hand pulled awkwardly across his own chest. Malik’s first shot zipped between Tall Man and his partner -- the long-haired, bushy-bearded Hairy Man -- clipping the sleeve of Tall Man’s jacket near his shoulder and continuing on to embed itself in the right side of the door frame at the forward end of the car.

# 3. Then Hairy Man’s first shot went into the ceiling above Urban’s head, spending its energy in the running board on the roof.

While Malik’s elbowing seemingly had no effect on Urban, the loud report from Malik’s pistol discharge appeared to urge him to action. But, instead of seeking cover, Urban reached to retrieve his own two-shot handgun, the easily-concealable, smooth-bore pistol which was loaded with the .410 shotgun shells, ideal for the firing distance at which they found themselves. Malik moved to pass him, but Urban had pulled his coat open with his left hand to facilitate reaching his gun in its shoulder holster, thus Urban’s left arm further blocked the aisle.

Malik elected to go down on his knee, push aside Urban’s trailing jacket, and fire past Urban’s waist.

# 4. As Malik crouched down, the second shot from Tall Man, who had flinched at the tug of Malik’s bullet on his sleeve, also went wide to Malik’s left, but at even greater distance, as Malik had already been moving to his right, back into the aisle. Tall Man’s second slug buried itself in the rear bulkhead after passing through a seatback.

At that point, the two shooters at the front of the car concentrated their fire on Urban, possibly believing that Malik had been hit, as he had had dropped out of sight when he went to his knee to fire past Urban.

# 5 & 6. Tall Man quickly fired his third and fourth cartridges. The former projectile went through Urban’s open jacket, past Malik’s right ear, under Garcia’s arm where he held the door open, and eventually fell among the track ballast, several hundred yards to the south. However, the latter projectile, #6, struck Fred Urban in his chest.

# 7 & 8. Malik heard Urban grunt, but that sound was immediately followed by a loud report as Urban let loose with both No. 4 buckshot cartridges at once. Even though twelve of the sixteen, quarter-inch, lead pellets shredded the ceiling panel just behind him, Tall Man howled, dropped his pistol, and reached for his face and forehead, where the other four pellets had penetrated.

# 9. Hairy Man then fired his second shot. It also struck Urban, this time in his face.

# 10. Malik took aim at Hairy Man and was squeezing the trigger when Urban fell heavily onto Malik’s head and upper body, mashing him to the floor and pressing his head sideways against the decking. In the process, Malik had fired his second round, but he had no idea where the bullet might have traveled. In fact, that projectile, intended for Hairy Man, had instead struck Tall Man in his neck.

# 11. Then Malik heard, muffled by Urban’s body, a shotgun blast from Val Garcia’s ten-gauge coach gun.

# 12 & 13. His ear jammed against the car floor, Malik made out heavy footsteps leaving the car, followed quickly by a nearly inaudible shout from outside. Another shot immediately followed, also outside. Seconds later, there was another shot, at greater distance.

Then a woman screamed.

When Urban didn’t respond to his muted calls, Malik shifted to one side and, twisting his torso, he managed to extricate himself from underneath Urban, rolling the lawyer onto his back.

Malik pushed himself up from the floor, rose to his knees in the aisle and, gun still in hand, looked to the front of the car. He could see, through the accumulated powder smoke, Tall Man’s body draped over a seatback, his blood leaking down the upholstery. Behind Tall Man, the coach’s forward door hung crookedly, with a jagged hole high on its hinged side.

Two passengers, both men, peeked out into the aisle from between the seats.

Malik, still on his knees, bent to check Urban, lifting the man’s shoulders onto his own knees. One quick look made it obvious that the railroad’s general counsel was dead, with a bullet wound in the center of his chest and another to the ridge of his cheek, close under his left eye. That eye bulged unnaturally, while his right eye stared blankly at the ceiling.