Never Sleep by K.B. Owen

Author:K.B. Owen [Owen, K.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: K.B. Owen

I found Frank with Comstock in the study. The doctor was just tidying up after bandaging Frank's shoulder and putting a sling on his arm. I was gratified to see that some color had returned to Frank's face. Only the deep shadows under his eyes gave away his pain and exhaustion.

“Rumor has it that you will live, Mr. Wynch,” I said lightly. Frank gave me a wan smile, then frowned at the sight of Leonard's jacket still around my shoulders. I flushed and took it off.

The doctor turned to Frank on his way out. "Remember, no strenuous activity for the next few days." Frank gave a reluctant nod as the doctor left.

I looked from Frank to Comstock. "Tell me how it happened.”

Comstock leaned back wearily in his chair. “The carriage with the Broadhursts and Vinets arrived here ahead of ours. The men waited outside as our carriage pulled up and helped my wife and daughter out of the vehicle. Gerard and I got out as well, and I’d just turned to give parting instructions to Wynch here, when we heard the shot and saw him crumple. Fortunately, the ladies were inside by then."

“So you, your son, and Mr. Wynch were standing together in a group?” I asked.

Comstock nodded.

I turned to Frank. “Is that how you remember it?”

“Yes.”

Obviously the shooter had a clear shot of all three men. Was Frank the intended victim, then, with the goal being to maim rather than kill? I had the feeling we were dealing with a skilled sniper.

“Did you find anything?” Frank added, breaking into my thoughts.

“It’s precious little.” I pulled out my handkerchief and showed him what I’d collected. I described the location and the presence of the horse.

Frank picked up the shell and examined it closely.

"Can you tell what kind of rifle it came from?" I asked.

"Looks like a .52 caliber," Frank said. "Could be an old Spencer repeating rifle, although a Spencer carbine is more likely, if he got away on a horse. Rifles are too cumbersome to carry on horseback." He set down the casing with a sigh. "Doesn't narrow it down much. A lot of those around since the war. It's a good weapon."

"Accurate at a hundred yards?" I asked.

"And more," Frank said.

"Then how did you come to be hit instead of Mr. Comstock?" I asked.

“The moon was clouded over tonight," Frank pointed out. "He may not have had a clear view. The three of us were standing close together, and we're all of similar height.”

Comstock, who had been silent all the while, stood. “I want to end this investigation, now.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “Why? You need more protection, not less. It could have been you, or one of your children, or your wife, who had been struck by a bullet tonight. Why do you want to pull out of this now?”

Comstock shook his head stubbornly. “I want to take…a different approach. One that will not involve the Pinkerton Agency,” he added, looking over at Frank.

I frowned, trying to make sense of this.

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