“My wife recognized him as someone known to her to have come from here.” Alec glossed over the fact that Daisy hadn’t remembered the name of the place until they reached Denver. “I take it the plane hasn’t landed here yet?”
“Nah. Only person to land here last coupla days is our local aviator, Mr. Simmons, back from a business trip to Portland. I’da heard for sure if an air mail plane came in. I ought to’ve heard it was expected.”
“We did our best to notify the proper authorities,” Alec assured him, “but we thought it best to come ourselves to make sure he would be apprehended.”
“The proper authorities, huh? Well now, this here’s a federal offence. We got two federal agents in town, but they’re Prohibition men. I don’t know that they’d have the authority to arrest this here … . You didn’t give me a name in your cable, Chief Inspector.”
“Pitt,” Alec told him. “Wilbur Pitt.”
“Can’t call him to mind,” said Judkins, shaking his head.
“He’s Otis Carmody’s cousin,” said Daisy.
Suddenly alert, Judkins exclaimed, “Mr. Carmody’s boy? He was shot in New York City.”
“I saw him shot. Wilbur Pitt was there and he ran away.”
“Pitt shot his cousin?”
“I didn’t say that,” Daisy protested, suddenly exhausted and certain she had misinterpreted everything, from Pitt’s presence at the Flatiron to his intended destination.
“So you didn’t, ma’am. But I guess that’s enough for me to hold him on, pending New York State requesting extradition. I’ll need you to take a look at him when he lands and make a statement.”
“He’s not likely to land in the dark,” said Alec. “My wife’s had a tiring two days, Mr. Judkins. If you don’t mind, we’ll go and find a hotel for the night.”
“I’d like for you to stick around for a bit, Mr. Fletcher, talk ’bout how we’re gonna do this without everything going up in flames.”
“I’ll take the ladies to a hotel, old man,” said Dipper, returning with Bessie from hauling the plane into a hangar, with the aid of a mechanic.
“Streetcar’s over that way,” said Judkins.
“I’ll call for a cab,” said the mechanic disapprovingly. Daisy guessed Dipper, whose funds seemed inexhaustible, had rewarded his help with a lavish tip. “It’s the Osburn you want, sir.”
The taxi took them to the Hotel Osburn. As they entered, it dawned on Daisy that, dressed in flying suits and with no luggage, they would not appear to the management as desirable guests. She relied on Dipper to cope.
Dipper might have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Bessie.
“No coloureds,” said the desk clerk, stony-faced. “There’s a rooming house the other side of the river.”
Tired as she was, Daisy wasn’t going to stand for that. “If Miss Coleman can’t stay here,” she snapped, “I shan’t. Come on.” And she marched out to the pavement.
The others followed. They stood in a cold, weary, disconsolate group under the winking hotel sign. Somewhere a train whistled mournfully.
“There’s bound to be another hotel in the town,” said Dipper with forced cheeriness.
“It’ll be the same, honey,” said Bessie dispiritedly. “Ah’ll go find the rooming house and y’all go on back in there.”
“Never!” Daisy and Dipper declared as one.
23
Almost dropping on her feet by now, Daisy wondered where on earth they were going to spend the night. Perhaps Chief Judkins would give them a bed in a cell.
“I’ll find us somewhere,” Dipper said confidently. “I hate to leave you, ladies, but first I’ll have to find someone to ask.”
“Looks like that might be an all-night drugstore over there,” said Bessie, pointing.
As Daisy and Dipper turned to look, a young man strode up to them. “Miss Coleman?” he asked Bessie eagerly. “You’re Miss Bessie Coleman, ma’am?”
