John walked into the Foreman’s bedroom alone. The Sheriff had left shortly after the Doc, taking the Deputy with him to wait outside for the undertaker.

That was probably for the best, especially with the Sheriff’s bubbling resentment of him. John didn’t take it personally, he had experienced targeted hate for who he was, what he was, and what he did more times than he could count. The man would either get over it or he wouldn’t.

John knew why the Sheriff suspected murder. The gold didn’t just up and vanish on its own. But it wasn’t like he could bring that fact up in front of the doctor. Someone could have stolen the gold, and then Thumb found out and killed himself because he feared what Daniel would do. But John doubted that. He didn’t know Frederick well, but he agreed with the Sheriff’s assessment of the man. The foreman didn’t have the stones to go through with something like this. But there was what happened and what could be proven.

As he stepped through the doorway into the bedroom, the odor of rot and death hit his nostrils. He was no stranger to the scent and didn’t bother covering his nose, instead breathing through his mouth almost automatically.

On a bed in the far side of the room lay Frederick Thumb, his eyes bulging and bloodshot. And while the rope had been removed from around his neck, there was a dark black bruise around his neck to show where it had been. The man’s death had not been a quick one. But there were no signs of struggle associated with someone being strung up against their will. John would know, he had seen it on more than one occasion during his time in the army.

He glanced up at the ceiling beam, the cut end of the rope was still tied around the spot above a tipped-over stool. He jumped up and caught the rope, giving it a firm tug before dropping back to the floor.

It was certainly strong enough to hold. Despite everything seeming to point to the man hanging himself, when he looked around the room, something felt off. He just couldn’t tell what it was. He tried looking at the scene from different angles, but the nagging feeling that was bothering him didn’t show itself.

Not seeing anything in the room that might change Doc’s hypothesis that Thumb had hanged himself, John turned to the discarded rope. Someone, probably the Sheriff, had cut the man down and then moved him to the bed. Odd, but not unreasonable if they thought the man might be saved.

There were traces of blood on the rope fibers from where it cut into the Foreman’s skin. But that was it. There wasn’t a single trace of blood or frayed fibers anywhere else on the rope except at the cut. John frowned at that. His previous observation came back to him. No signs of struggle. But his hands weren’t tied. Even the coldest of men broke in the face of death, yet Frederick was not some stone-cold killer. He was a fat bureaucrat, living large. Even if he decided this was the best way to go, there would have been some panic after the rope went tight.

He knew the Doc said the man died of strangulation and a broken neck, but the significant bruising around the neck and the bloodshot eyes told a different story. John would bet he had seen more people strung up than Hawthorne had. And he could tell at a glance, the man’s neck hadn’t snapped from the drop. But he didn’t doubt the man’s medical opinion.

John dropped the rope and moved over to the body to inspect the neck and hands. While rigor had set in, John could still turn the head slightly and feel that the neck was indeed broken. He moved to the hands and inspected them next. It was faint, but he could see some slight yellow bruising around the wrists. It wasn’t caused by a rope though. He placed his hands over where the bruising was, and it fit the general outline.

Someone had strung the Foreman up and held his hands to prevent him from struggling against the rope. Then after death, they broke his neck to make it look like a quick suicide. Why though? For someone to do all that, they had to be a soulless monster. John had done some abhorrent things in his time in the army, and he didn’t shy away from having to kill. But this was on another level. To just stand there and watch while the man choked to death. It was vile.

He would like to say he had never seen such actions, but he had. Thankfully those people died along with the Irtishian Empire.

Now that John knew this wasn’t a suicide but a murder, he had a dilemma on his hands. Did he tell the Sheriff and the Deputy about his findings, knowing that the person responsible was likely still in town? Or did he hide the truth and use his knowledge to tease the murderer out of hiding?

Neither was a good option. He hated shit like this. John was a simple man who used simple means to solve his problems. Why complicate things when a bullet was a valid solution?

His pondering was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. He turned to the doorway.

“Ahem. Are you finished, Mr. Smith? I need to retrieve the body.”

John nodded and stood before walking past the man. Two other larger men stood outside with a wooden stretcher. As soon as he made way for them, they headed into the bedroom.

He made his way downstairs, finding the Sheriff and Deputy standing near the front door. A small crowd had gathered outside. Likely having seen the undertaker and his assistants arriving.

“Well, find anything?” the Sheriff asked.

Surprisingly most of the annoyance had bled from his tone. Now the older man just sounded tired.

“We can discuss it back at the jail,” John replied diplomatically.

The Sheriff perked up slightly at his words but only grunted in reply. If the Deputy had caught on to what John implied, she hadn’t reacted. John had decided to tell the Peacekeepers what he found. He didn’t have the time or energy to go looking for this murderer, not with everything else he had going on. So the Peacekeepers were going to have to earn their pay for a change.

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A few minutes later, the group of men descended the stairs with a cloth-covered litter. John watched as the Sheriff and Deputy headed out the door.

“Alright! Move aside. Make way!” the man yelled as one idiot hadn’t moved quickly enough.

The Deputy was a bit more diplomatic in her approach. “Please go about your business, there is nothing to see here.”

Her attempts weren’t getting the same results the Sheriff’s were and he could see her growing frustrated. John was about to intercede when he watched her reach down and let her hand rest on her pistol. That got her message across far more effectively than any words. John smiled at this. The girl did have some gumption to her, she just needed to be more liberal with its application.

Soon the crowd dispersed and the undertaker stepped out and directed the two larger men to load the covered body onto the wagon. After securing their load, the man tipped his hat to the three of them before cracking the reins of his horse and moving down the street.

***

After a short walk to the jail, John followed the two Peacekeepers inside.

The door had barely even shut before the Sheriff spoke up. “I was right wasn’t I?”

The Deputy looked over at the man, a bit of annoyance in her eyes. “Did you not hear what the Doc said?”

So she hadn’t caught on to what John had left unsaid. That was less than ideal. It seemed like Seline was the type of Peacekeeper who was more focused on the common duties of someone in their role, and less on the investigative aspect.

He supposed he couldn’t hold that against her. John doubted Ember Creek had ever had anything like this happen before. And she was pretty fresh out of the academy. Three years on duty in Ember Creek was not the same as three years on duty in New Gata.

“You were,” John spoke, causing the girl to splutter.

“Wh- What?”

The Sheriff snorted. “Don’t sound so damn surprised, girl. I may be old, but I ain’t dead yet.”

“But the Doc said…” she trailed off.

“It was easy to miss. I barely even caught it myself,” John stated as he removed his hat and set it on the coat rack near the door.

The three sat down, the Sheriff behind his desk and the Deputy behind hers. John sat across from Seline, mostly because the chair opposite the Sheriff was full of junk. Once they were comfortable, John told the pair what he had discovered.

Blackwood slammed his fist on his desk, causing a thin layer of dust to flutter up and making him cough. Seline only frowned at his antics. “Maybe if you worked once in a while, your desk wouldn’t be so filthy.”

He waved her off as he got his coughing fit under control. “And maybe if you weren’t such a pain in my backside, I would be able to work in peace.”

“Are you two done?” John interrupted their byplay.

The Sheriff eyed him before whipping out a handkerchief and blowing in it. “Well, aren’t you a hardass? Can’t let anyone have a bit of fun. But fine. Let's discuss the problem. We have a killer on the loose. What do we do about it?”

“Catch them, obviously,” Seline rolled her eyes.

“Ideally,” the Sheriff replied, ignoring her snark. “And how do you propose we do that, Deputy?”

Instead of answering, she glanced over at him.

This caused the Sheriff to laugh, earning the woman’s glare. “Don’t be looking to him for help. He dumped this shit sandwich on our lap to deal with.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in confusion.

The Sheriff glanced his way, seeing John wasn’t about to speak, the man shrugged and answered the Deputy's question. “I get the feeling that our intrepid friend here would not have told us anything if he meant to look into this matter personally. That about right?”

John simply nodded.

“What? Why?” Seline nearly demanded.

The girl was idealistic, but also quite naïve. “Because I have other things to look into.”

The girl started getting angry. “Things more important than a murderer running around loose?”

“Yes,” he replied. “And I also have faith that you can do your job.”

That took the wind out of her sails and she slumped back into her seat. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s easy, girl. We start with who found him.”

John quirked an eyebrow at this. “You weren’t the one to find him?”

The Sheriff shook his head. “Naw, one of the workers did. Came running to us as soon as he discovered the body. Jacob, I think his name was. Man cut the foreman down and checked him for a pulse after placing him on the bed, but it was too late.”

Jacob? Why did that name sound so familiar? Then it hit him. That was the worker from the train. The one that had told him about the explosives …Explosives he should not have known anything about. There were other things the man was oddly knowledgeable about for someone who should have been a basic laborer.

Dammit, he should have trusted his judgment from day one, that man had set off alarm bells in his head, but he hadn’t done anything overtly suspicious. And John had been too annoyed after the train attack to put much thought into the man’s strange actions, completely forgetting about him upon their arrival.

John shot to his feet. “What about the dynamite?”

“Dynamite?” the sheriff asked, concern growing on his face.

“The dynamite that arrived on my train? It should have been stored at the Foreman’s office.”

Now it was the Sheriff’s turn to shoot from his chair. “What? There was no explosives stored there. There would be no need for it, there are no mines around here where they would need to blow in. The rock is too unstable. Besides the metals being extracted are all easily accessible with hand tools.”

Things were starting to come together in John’s mind. The much too knowledgeable Jacob, the missing miners, and now an entire train car worth of explosives missing.

“I changed my mind, I’m going to help with this investigation. We need to find Jacob as fast as possible. I think he may be involved with the disappearances somehow. Or at least know something about them.”

The three hurried out of the building, heading in the direction of the worker housing in search of the suspicious worker.

As the three arrived, they found the area mostly empty.

“Where is everyone?” John asked.

The injured man who had been smoking a pipe and staring into the distance blinked as John addressed him. “Huh? …Oh, they all headed out this morning.”

“What!” Blackwood yelled. “I told everyone to stay put until we deal with the danger outside town.”

The man on the bench shrugged, seemingly uncaring as he tapped his pipe on the arm of the bench beside him. John was pretty sure whatever he was smoking wasn’t just tobacco.

“We don’t get paid to sit around.”

“Idiots,” the Sheriff spat.

“Do you know which way they went?” John asked, ignoring Sheriff Blackwood’s outburst.

“Northeast. Although not sure why, ain’t no mines out that way. But one of the new guys insisted that’s where they were told to go.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know this person’s name, would you, friend?”

The man paused, rubbing his chin in thought. “I think he said his name was Jake or Jacob.”

That pretty much sealed it. Jacob was involved. And was probably the person who had killed the foreman.

“Alright, thanks.” John tipped his hat toward the man and began walking away.

“That’s it?” Deputy Seline asked incredulously.

“For now,” John spoke quietly.