by C. A. Asbrey
"Oh, Abi. You know there ain't any other woman we could joke with like this. Not ever." Jake laughed as she glared at them.
“Well.” She folded her arms. “Things are getting back to normal. Real fast.”
"There ain't anyone else who would show up the way you do.” Nat snorted as he threw her a huge smile. It fell from his face as he turned serious again. "I was so shocked. So was Jake. It made me realize we know nothing about you. You know us. You know almost everything, but we wouldn't even have known if you were dead."
She sighed. "I'm so sorry I put you in that position. It was never meant to be like this. It’s all so complicated."
"What happened that night Abi?" Nat asked.
"I don't know. I really don’t. Either I was unconscious or my mind has blocked it out. I remember nothing, not even going to the stables."
"The doc said you fought,” said Jake.
"Maybe.” She shrugged. "It sounds like me, anyway. I really don't remember. Maybe that's for the best, or I might wake up with the horrors." She glanced at Jake, especially at the muscle flinching in his jaw. She smiled and brought her hand to her temple. "Nature can be kind at times. I never even dream of it. The bullet left me with a physical scar, but not a mental one. You can’t really see it unless you look hard. Most of it is covered by my hair. There’s a little mark here." Her delicate fingers rested on a scar just under her wig; angry and red in the cold weather. “Tom assures me it’ll fade completely soon; maybe even within a year if I use wool wax.”
Nat instinctively put out a hand but stopped short, aware he couldn't grasp a boy’s hand in the bar. "So? What now?" He was reluctant to ask, but needed to know the answer. "Are you working?"
"No. I came to let you know how I was."
His smile warmed with relief. "Jake said you would do that. I didn’t dare hope."
Her dark eyes turned to Jake's under the brim of her hat, still resolutely feminine and undisguisable with their long, thick lashes.
"So, where’ve you been?" asked Nat.
"I went home to New York and spent time with my mother. She was told it was a robbery.”
Nat sipped his drink. "And that poor bank manager? The one you were engaged too?"
"He was told I died." Abigail sighed. "It’s very sad, but it does free him up to love again."
"Good. I hope you stay at your ma’s, too." Jake’s brows met in a frown.
"Where are you staying here?" asked Nat.
Her lips formed into a moue. “In the church with the rest of the men. I have to stay as a boy now, because they'll know no more strangers could have got into town, and they registered who came off the train."
"We’re there, too. Well, you can stick around with us. We'll look after you." Jake Conroy’s smile warmed as he fixed her with an intense gaze. "I guess I still owe you. If I'd stuck with you, you'd never have been shot. I'm sorry, Abi. I really am."
She dropped her gaze. “That's not fair to you.” Her earnest brown eyes met his gaze. “And it's not that simple. I could have stayed in the boarding house. You did your best. Really. Let it go. You can’t control the world. You’ll go mad if you try. Trust me. I know."
Jake nodded. "Well, it's over now, and you ain't stupid enough to get sucked back in."
She shook her head. "Nope. I'm starting again. Really soon. I thought you should know I’m fine."
"Abi, no!"
"Yes, Jake. I really have to. People like Violet McCully would still be killing if I hadn't been a Pinkerton. There are more out there. McCully killed for money, but she seemed to relish the power. I think she enjoyed it, but together, they were even worse than they were apart. People didn't have to die at all for the arrests to be made. It gave her a thrill, I swear it did. McCully’s sister was angry when I confronted her in her cell, but it wasn't because she was accused. I swear it was because I had lived to thwart her. She seems to think she has the power of life or death over anyone who gets in her way, even a little. Without women in the law, she’d have gotten away with it. She’d pose around as a helpless victim with a pretty face. Other women never fall for that nonsense. My evidence will make a difference.”
The men shared a look of concern as she continued, remembering the cold, controlled reaction of the woman before she dropped her gun. Violet had been weighing her options trying to decide if Jake really meant to shoot her. Jake also couldn't help reflecting on how quickly the ice maiden had melted when all other methods of finding out what he was doing had failed. What else had she planned if Violet had gotten Jake alone?
"I looked in her eyes and I saw real evil,” Abigail said. “She was the brains behind her brother's technique to bring in the criminals, and she cut right through anyone who got in her way, always taking them by surprise. She kills the way most people swat a fly. She seems to have no empathy or humanity, and was furious to have been caught. If Jake hadn't been there she would had killed you the minute you dropped your gun, Mr. Quinn. That's how they worked. On their own, they may never have killed anyone, but when they combined together, they made a hellish duo. We’ll probably never know how many they killed. They chimed off one another, escalating the hunger to kill. They killed because it was the easiest way to make money. They also killed anyone who saw them or got in their way.”
“Will they hang?” asked Jake.
“She will. Her brother’s turned state’s evidence against her and is singing like a bird. Add my evidence, and she’s doomed,” answered Abigail.
Nat’s eyes glittered from a grim face. "So? You’re going back. I don't suppose there's anything we can say to dissuade you?"
"What do you think?" She gave Nat an intense stare as she hooked him with a lopsided smile. “We all know how the court system fails to convict women or young people if a lawyer paints them in a sympathetic light or they have respectable connections. They get away with murder all the time. Newspapers have written exposés on the phenomenon for years. The juries are made up of men, and they simply can’t see that a respectable-looking young woman is capable of killing, or any kind of wrongdoing. Sometimes they need another woman to state the obvious. My evidence doesn’t get around the problem we have of juries being made up of men looking after their own social group when they appear in court, but I can try to get through to them how evil Violet Pickering is. She has some kind of sickness. She will kill again if they let her out. She’s dangerous, especially as she’s so unexpected.” She sipped her drink and looked at each man in turn. “There’s one more thing. Smitty commissioned McCully to bring you in.”
“Smitty?” Jake exclaimed. “That rich sonofa—” He paused, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “The son of the railway owner who thought we were stealin’ his inheritance? The bastard who tried to set us up for murder?”
“Yes.” She looked from one to the other. “Cornelius Schmitts Dewees. He absconded from his trial and is on the run. His family is obviously covering for him. More than that, he’s clearly still after you. I came here to warn you two. He has it in for you for some reason. Are you sure you’ve never met him?”
“Nope.” Nat shook his head. “Not that I know of, but until I get a look at him, I can’t be sure.”
♦◊♦
Abigail shifted on the straw-filled mattress in the church hall, Nat lying on her right, and Jake to her left. The place was clouded in the thick, sickly scent of gamey men who had decided it had been far too cold to bathe. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it melded with the smell of cheap booze and tobacco. There was a point where the nose was overloaded and stopped detecting the obnoxious odors, but hers hadn’t reached that point yet. The cloud of body odor mixed in with a hall full of men passing wind who had consumed soups and stews just that evening, bulked up with beans to stretch supplies. The stench was overbearing, and at times, nose-wrinkling. For the first time in weeks, she decided travelling as a woman may have been better. She rolled onto her side and glanced at Nat. Even in the darkness she could see his brown eyes glittering through th
e shadows at her.
A rustle of rough blankets could be heard as he stretched out an arm and felt the warmth of his fingers curl around hers. She tightened her grasp, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb. Somehow, her near-death experience had been freeing, making her seize the tender moment with an almost reckless abandon. It wouldn’t last, but she also knew she wouldn’t see him again. Her new posting was in a different state and further east. So right now, she was living for the moment and enjoying the simple touch of skin on skin in a life as frigid as the weather outside.
A scuffling sound near the door made them withdraw quickly, pulling their hands back under their own covers while the heavy breathing and panting behind Nat grew louder. She could make out the silhouettes of three figures in the darkness of the room. An unsteady man looked like he was being supported on both sides and the reek of cheap bourbon surrounded all three of them. The man was hefted onto the vacant mattress beside Nat, the exertion telling in the grunts of the men assisting him. They finally covered the man in blankets and padded back to the door. The man’s drinking companions clearly weren’t staying here. Who could blame them?
Nat leaned over and whispered through the darkness. “Let’s hope he doesn’t snore, huh?”
“Sssssh!” hissed someone nearby.
Abigail smiled silently into her blankets and turned over. Before too long, she was fast asleep.
♦◊♦
They waited until fairly late before guarding the latrines and wash rooms for Abigail to complete her ablutions in private. The hall was almost empty by the time she joined them, her disguise makeup fully re-applied, and hungry for the breakfast being served over at the saloon. She paused at her bed to fold her blankets and watched as the man in charge of the hall prodded and shouted at the drunk who’d been carried in during the night.
“Time to get up. C’mon. This ain’t a flop house. We expect folks to get up at a reasonable hour around here.”
Jake frowned, pausing to stare at the immobile figure lying on his back and kicked the man’s foot. “Hey, pal. Time to get up.”
Nat and Abigail exchanged a glance.
The man reached out and prodded at the sleeping figure on the shoulder with his broom. “Come on. I ain’t got all day, even if you do.” He dragged the blanket away and stepped back in shock at the deathly-gray face, a vivid burgundy stain contaminating one side. “Whoa. That ain’t right.”
“No, it’s not.” Abigail stepped forward, frowning heavily. She touched his skin. “So cold. This man’s dead, and has been for a while.”
"Died in his sleep, I guess." The man muttered with eyes wide as saucers. "I’ll go get the doc."
"And the sheriff.” She pulled back the covers all the way and started to unbutton the man’s shirt. "He’s been dead a long time, and has been moved after death."
"How do you know that, boy?" the man demanded.
"That mark there, all down the side of his face." She pointed to the burgundy mark staining his cheek. "That’s called livor mortis, and it’s caused by the blood settling on the lowest parts of the body after the heart stops pumping. It coagulates and gathers at the bottom with gravity. He was left on his side after death, and the blood pooled on that side." She pressed on the mark with a finger. "Nope, it’s not changing color. That means the blood is already congealed and he’s been dead for more than twelve hours. Someone brought him in here a good while after he died."
The caretaker propped his hands on his hips. "How the hell would a stripplin’ like you know that?"
"I—" Abigail floundered.
"He’s a medical student." Nat cut in. "He’s my nephew, and quite the prodigy. We’re all real proud of him."
"Huh? A porridgy?"
Jake shook his head. "It means he’s smart. If he says he’s been dead for a long time, he’s probably right. Go fetch the doc and the sheriff. We’ll keep an eye on things here."
♦◊♦
“I take it this is him?” The doctor frowned at the sight of a boy undressing an obvious corpse. “Is this the medical student? He’s far too young to be a medical student. Stop that immediately.”
Abigail stood, bowing her head to hide her face beneath the brim of her hat. “Sorry. I was trying to help.”
The doctor was a handsome young man in his thirties, with wavy brown hair and expressive gray eyes. “So? What have we here? Yes, livor mortis does definitely indicate the body has been moved.” He applied pressure to the dark red area in the same way as Abigail had. “He’s been dead for over twelve hours.” He tested the arm and fingers for mobility. "Probably nearer to forty-eight. Rigor has worn off. He’s stone cold. Really cold."
“He’s been stabbed, doctor. Once in the heart. It looks like a long, thin weapon like a stiletto. There’s no blood on the clothes, and little on the body.”
“You shouldn’t have been meddling with evidence, young man.” The doctor’s voice dropped to a growl. “I admire keenness, but this is too much.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve made other observations, if you’re interested?”
“Where’s the sheriff, Sam?” The doctor barked at the caretaker. “Get this boy outta here before he does any more damage.”
“I haven’t damaged anyth—ow!” Abigail squirmed as Sam grabbed her ear. “Let me go.”
“Hey!” Nat pushed the man’s shoulder. “Get your hands off him.”
The caretaker kicked out at Nat.
“Don’t push me.” Sam grabbed Abigail by the arm and dragged her out of the hall. “You’d better git, boy, or we won’t let ya sleep here tonight. It’s too cold to be out on the street.”
Jake seized her other arm and pulled her back. “We’ll go, but there’s no need to get rough with him. He was only tryin’ to help.”
“Ow! Will you all let me go?” Abigail bellowed, tugged between the pair.
“What’s goin’ on in here?” A burly man with extravagant gray muttonchops and a silver star on his jacket filled the door.
The doctor paused in his examination. “Sam’s getting rid of the boy, Ben. He fancies himself as a bit of medical genius and was meddling with the evidence.”
The lawman raised a thick brow. “You want to end up in my cells, boy?”
“No, sir.” Abigail dropped her head and pouted in an adolescent manner as everyone released her. “I’m sorry.”
“So you should be.” He gestured with his head. “Now, git.”
She stepped away from the caretaker and walked over to the door, followed by Nat and Jake. The men shared a glance; they could see she was ready to burst the way her shoulders heaved and tightened. She reached the door and swirled around, yelling at the top of her voice.
“There’s something else. He’s been redressed after his death and they’re not his clothes. They’re trying to hide his real identity by leaving him here looking like a tramp.”
She jumped aside to escape Sam’s booted kick before Jake stepped in front of the caretaker, staring him down with an arctic glower.
“Wait.” The doctor frowned. “Why do you say that, boy?”
“A few things. There’s no puncture wound in any of those clothes, or blood. He was dressed after he stopped bleeding. The clothes almost fit him, but not quite. That’s not so surprising in a tramp as they often wear second-hand, but those clothes are covered in brick dust. He has soft hands, and neatly-cut nails. He’s never done manual work in his life. His callous on the left hand shows he writes a lot and he’s left-handed. The wear on those clothes shows a right-handed pattern of use in the cuffs, and on the fabric, in general.” She paused, glancing nervously at the doctor and the sheriff. “And the trousers are far too short, but the ends are worn. How can you wear out the fabric if it’s flapping around your ankles and not rubbing on anything?”
The doctor stared at the slip of a boy in disbelief. “What age are you boy?”
“Fifteen,” Abigail said, inserting a voice-breaking trill.
“He told the caretaker the body had been d
ead for over twelve hours and had been moved before he told him to get you and the sheriff,” Nat said. “He’s a real smart kid. He knew about that red mark. He doesn’t deserve to be pushed about for trying to help.”
“You look younger than fifteen.” The doctor frowned. “What’s your name?”
“Albert,” Abigail said, staring at her booted feet. “I’ve never been big for my age.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff said. “Real girly, but It’s a man’s brain you got there.”
“Are you apprenticed to anyone?” asked the doctor.
“I’ve studied under Doctor MacIvor in Chicago. He qualified as a physician in Edinburgh, and wants me to go to university to study.” She thought on her feet to explain her presence here. “My uncles are helping me to find work to raise the money.”
“Edinburgh, huh?” The young doctor scratched his cheek. “One of the best in the world. Impressive. Sam, let him in. He might be some use, after all. My name is Doctor Fox. Where can I contact this Doctor MacIvor?”
Abigail walked tentatively forward. “He has a practice in Hyde Park, Chicago, and does work for the Pinkertons, too.” She paused. “But the telegraph wires were brought down by the snow. You can’t contact him, can you?”
“He don’t miss a trick, this one, does he?” chortled the sheriff.
“No, he doesn’t,” the doctor answered. “Have you ever helped with an autopsy, Albert?”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen a few. I’ve never helped.” She bit into her lip. “And Doctor MacIvor always calls them post-mortem examinations. He says autopsy comes from ‘auto’ in Greek and means ‘self’. You can’t examine yourself after you’re dead, can you?”
A smile twitched at the doctor’s lips. “Yeah, I can see Doc MacIvor’s real particular. What university does he want you to go to?”
“Lind University in Chicago.”
Dr. Fox turned to the sheriff. “He checks out. If you’re all right with it, I’ll use him as an assistant. He’s been trained to notice things I haven’t.”
“He’s fifteen.” The sheriff’s gaze hardened in protest.