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“I think this would be best done out of sight of prying eyes and ears,” Longfellow said, motioning to the small crowd that had formed.
Owen agreed, and they escorted the man out of the pub. Bran kept a firm hold on the suspect’s arm lest he try to escape. Once they were far enough away, in a secluded corner, Bran released his hold.
“Who are you?” Owen demanded.
“Don’t you remember me, Major?”
“No, I don’t.”
“That blow on the head must have done a proper job on you.”
At the mention of his injury, Owen grabbed the man by the front of his jacket. “How do you know what happened?” The man stammered. “Talk!” Fury flowed through Owen, liking nothing he had experienced before.
It was enough to make the man he was holding turn white. “All right, I’ll talk.” Owen freed the man. “My name is Paul Striker. I was under your command in New Zealand.”
“Did you know John Reese or Robert Miller?” Longfellow asked.
“Just enough to know they were in our unit, but we weren’t friends or nothing.”
“How about Willy Dent or Luther Kipling?”
Striker paused before answering. “I haven’t seen Kipling for the last month.”
“And Dent?” Bran prompted.
“I heard he had an accident.”
Owen would leave any further questions about his involvement in Dent’s death to Longfellow for later. “Tell me about New Zealand and the gold.”
At the mention of gold, Striker tensed. “What do you know?”
“Not a lot. I have bits and pieces of memories. I’m hoping you can fill me in.”
“Some natives showed us mines where there was gold. The deal was to split it fifty-fifty, but Barrows and Dent got greedy and killed the natives who knew where the mines were.”
“Did I have a hand in their deaths?” Owen couldn’t live with himself if he had helped kill innocent people.
“No, but you were glad to hear it. Said it was one less complication.”
Bile rose to the back of Owen’s throat. He had been a cold-hearted bastard. “What happened next?”
“We took turns mining for the gold, but Barrows got wind that you might be double-crossing us. He saw you speaking to an official from the Office of Foreign Affairs one day when they came to the camp. Barrows also saw you give them a letter.” Possibly the letter that had found its way to Longfellow.
“What did Barrows do?”
“He wanted you out of the picture. You being a major and a titled gentleman, if something happened, who would they believe, us or you? Barrows didn’t want to take any chances.”
“He wanted to kill me.”
Striker nodded. “He had me distract you while he grabbed a rock and hit you over the head.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“We thought it did. You fell to the ground, blood all over, but we didn’t check to see if you were dead. The next day we heard soldiers had found you wandering around with no memory. We thought that was the end of it. If you couldn’t remember, then there was nothing to worry about.”
“Except I got some of my memories back.” Owen stepped toward him. “Where is the gold?”
“There is none.”
