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The Guilty - Jason Pinter [87]

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felt he was also bringing justice to

the guilty.

I brought up the photo of J. Frank Dalton on his deathbed.

Thought about the alleged report of Jesse James and William

H. Bonney meeting near Las Vegas in 1879. Ten days after

the birth of James's daughter.

The Guilty

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Daughter. That word stuck in my throat. Mary Susan

James. Born just three years before her father was allegedly

killed.

On a whim, I checked to see if there were any records of

Billy the Kid having children, a wife, any trace of a bloodline. According to the records, Bonney never married and it

was unclear whether he had any children.

I looked up the family tree of Brushy Bill Roberts. Roberts

had apparently married a woman named Melinda. Records

showed that Roberts had one son, Jesse William Roberts,

who was born in Hamilton, Texas, in 1897.

Jesse William Roberts. I looked at the photos featuring

Brushy Bill and Frank Dalton together. Added that to the

alleged meeting between the outlaws in 1879. It would be

a mighty big coincidence--or a case of damn good foresight--for the man who'd later claim to be Billy the Kid to

name his only son after Jesse James. Either that, or Jesse

James and Billy the Kid were better acquaintances than

people thought.

My fingers flew as I typed more searches into the machine,

my mind ignoring the pain from my stitched-up hand. I

couldn't stop. The spool was unraveling and I couldn't slow

down. I knew I had stumbled upon something, a story that

drove to the very heart of a century-old legend.

I looked for lineage records pertaining to Jesse William

Roberts, son of Brushy Bill Roberts. Jesse had married a

woman named Lucy Barnett. Lucy gave birth to two of Jesse's

children: James and Catherine.

Catherine Roberts. Brushy Bill's granddaughter. Who shared

the same name as Billy the Kid's mother, Catherine Antrim.

Catherine Roberts died of tuberculosis in 1927 at just three

years of age. James Roberts, Brushy's grandson, eventually

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Jason Pinter

moved to New Mexico, where he married Lucinda Walther.

In 1957 she gave birth to a son named John Henry Roberts.

John Henry Roberts married a woman named Meryl Higgins,

and in 1987 Meryl gave birth to twins: Martha James Roberts,

and William Henry Roberts.

William Henry Roberts. Currently aged twenty-one. The

same age Billy the Kid was when allegedly killed by Pat

Garrett.

The theories were true. William H. Bonney, known by

millions as Billy the Kid, known by few as Brushy Bill

Roberts, had fathered a son.

I knew why this killer was using the Winchester rifle. Why

he had chosen the weapon and bullets he did. Why he had

stolen that gun from the museum in Fort Sumner. Why he had

waited twenty-one years to reclaim his heritage. To continue

the destiny set forth by his ancestor.

The bloodline had survived. And one hundred and thirty

years after his supposed murder, Billy the Kid's greatgrandson, William Henry Roberts, had brought the lawlessness and bloodshed of the Old West here to New York City.

39

The vodka tasted cold and bitter as it slid down her throat,

but the tonic dulled the taste and made it easy to swallow. She

knocked the glass on the counter and signaled the bartender,

a bohemian named Gregory who wore a ponytail pulled back

so tight she feared it might tear his scalp off, and told him to

refresh the drink.

"What, you going in for surgery and need a cheap anesthetic?" Gregory said with a laugh. He took a bottle from the

well, gave her an inch and a half and topped the rest with

tonic. "Hey, Mya, you okay?"

Mya Loverne looked up at Gregory and managed a weak

smile. She'd come to the Suave bar four times in the past week

alone, drank herself into oblivion each time, and this was the

first time Gregory had noticed her.

Drinking was all she could do since Henry abandoned her.

Since Amanda had run her off. Since Mya had nothing left,

nobody to lean on except the awkward embraces from sweaty

drunks who weren't quite repulsive enough to turn down. The

physical pleasure dulled the pain. Not for long, but long enough

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