Innocent as Sin

by C. A. Asbrey

  “He’s studying medicine. Clancy Fox thought he could learn something.” Nat watched Abigail pull out a wooden crate and perch on it.

  “Medicine, huh? What’s he gonna cure here?” The man peered at the ‘boy’. “He looks about twelve.”

  “Yeah, what can I tell you? I do as I’m told. He promised to be quiet. He’s learning stuff.”

  “So, the body’s connected to this place?” Janko asked.

  “We don’t know. It was covered in brick dust, and this is a brick yard. Have you lost anyone in the last few months?”

  “Few months? The body was only found a few days ago.”

  Nat nodded. “Yes, but his clothes could have gathered that dust any time.”

  “I guess. We don’t use itinerant workers much. They’re all locals, and nobody’s left since Carl retired and moved in with his daughter. That was October. He’s alive and kicking. You can find him in the Jagged Tick Saloon every Friday. I guess your body didn’t gather the dust here.”

  “So, you’ve nobody new? Nobody at all?” asked Nat.

  “The last new boy was fourteen and he’s related to my sister- in-law’s cousin’s father, on her half-brother’s side. Ya gotta look after family. We tend to already know everyone we employ.”

  “I guess.” Nat looked bemused. “Nobody left?”

  “Nope. They stay. We’re a good employer. We teach them a trade. Folks don’t tend to leave.”

  Nat sighed, admitting defeat. He stood, extending his hand. “Thanks anyway. We had to check.”

  A shrill tooting sound cut through the factory, and Abigail scrutinized the rotund man striding across the floor blasting on a tin whistle as he strode across the building. “Lunchtime,” said Janko. “You can ask any of the workers anything you want. It’s on their time, but they’ll tell you the same as I have. If your body has brick dust all over it, I’m guessing it ain’t from here.”

  ♦◊♦

  Abigail stood silently at the bottom of the steps waiting for Nat. Janko followed closely and nodded farewell. “See ya. Ask what you want. I’m going home to eat.”

  Nat shook his head, looking around at the workers opening lunch pails and settling on piles of bricks to enjoy a break. “See anything?”

  Abigail dropped her eyes. “Don’t stare. Him over by the door putting on the coat. Notice anything?”

  Nat shrugged. “It’s huge on him. The fur collar and cuffs look pretty bad. Real mangy. It’s horrible.”

  “Compare it to the rest of the coats here. That’s expensive tweed, and not even close to being worn out. His work shirt and trousers are filthy and ragged.”

  “So? He’s got an ugly new coat.”

  “Which is far too big for him. It’s almost at his ankles. No, I want to know where he got his coat from and how long he’s had it. It looks too new to be relegated to work wear in a brick yard.”

  “Fine, come on.” They strode over, Nat smiling at the man. “Hi, I wonder if you can help me?”

  The man’s hazel eyes drifted to the star on Nat’s chest. “Me? Why?”

  “Where did you get the coat?”

  The man puffed out his chest and swiveled proudly from the hip. “It’s great isn’t it. To think someone threw this away. It’s a bit singed, but I think the fur covers it.”

  “Singed?” Nat frowned. “Who threw it away?”

  “Dunno. I found it on Climax Hill. It was on a bonfire.”

  “When?” Abigail asked.

  “About a month ago.” he looked from one to the other. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a coat someone threw away.”

  Nat peered at the hem nearly touching his ankles. “What’s your name?”

  “Jethro Walters. Mr. Janko’s known me all his life. I went to school with him. I do odd jobs and yard work for him, too.”

  “Mr. Walters, I need you to show me where this bonfire was.” Nat gestured with his head. “Come with me.”

  “I’m workin’ here.” Jethro scowled in protest. “I can’t leave.”

  “It’s lunch break. The whistle blew. I’ve gotta insist you come with me and show me where you got your coat.”

  “We also need the date,” said Abigail.

  “Who is this pipsqueak? Are you babysittin’ on the job?”

  Nat rolled his eyes. “He’s a medical student. Dr. Fox sent him.”

  “That?” Jethro snorted. “I wouldn’t let him tend a cut finger. His balls ain’t even dropped yet. What’s a medical student interested in a coat for?”

  “I’m not interested in the coat. I’m interested in the man who wore it before you. He may be a murder victim.”

  “Murder!” The man’s voice echoed around the factory rafters. “I ain’t killed nobody. Not never.”

  “What’s the problem, Jethro? Are this pair accusin’ you of murder?” A workmate headed a little knot of men who gathered behind him.

  “Nope.” Nat smiled with as much charm as he could muster. “A body was found, and we want Jethro to show us where he found his coat. It might be a clue. If it was one of your family lying in the undertaker’s office, you’d want us to find out as much as we could, wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah,” muttered the lead-malcontent. “We ain’t standin’ by while Jethro’s set up for it, though.”

  “Set up?” Nat’s grin widened and gestured with a thumb toward Abigail. “How many lawmen bring an apprentice kid along when they’re railroading someone?”

  Abigail smiled winsomely under her fledgling moustache, trying to look as innocent as possible. “I’m not a kid,” she squeaked, in character.

  The crowd shuffled uneasily.

  “I want him to show us where he found it and when. That’s all,” said Nat. “Come on, Jethro. Mr. Janko said we can talk to anyone we want to. He’s fine with it.”

  “I’m not under arrest?” Jethro demanded.

  “The words never passed my lips,” Nat answered. “I said I needed you to show me where you found the coat. I’m asking for help as a good citizen. What are we waiting for?”

  “I ’spose. It was weeks ago, though. It’ll be covered in ice and snow.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  They stood on a natural terrace on Climax Hill, staring at a patch of snow. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. I told you, it was weeks ago, and there’s got to be at least three feet of snow on top of it.”

  “How can you be so sure this is the spot?” asked Abigail.

  “’Cause this is where we all burn stuff. We’ve done it for years.” Jethro pointed to the backs of the houses in front of him. “That one there is Mr. Janko’s place, and I do the work for him. That’s Mr. Morgan’s place. He’s the manager of the Golden West Trust Bank. Otto Schuster does his yard work, and up there’s the Regal Hotel. Eugene MacGilfoyle and his son look after the grounds and do odd jobs there. This here is where we burn rubbish. It’s flat, it’s outta sight so it doesn’t look messy, and the ground’s stony, so it ain’t gonna spread and set the whole place alight.”

  “This is waste ground?” Abigail asked.

  “The hotel owns it but they never mind us usin’ it ’cause it’s kinda private and outta the way ’cause it’s behind the outbuildings. Us men have been known to meet and chat at the end of a summer day around a fire here a few times to roast potatoes and put the world to rights. MacGilfoyle’s a real smart man. A real philosopher.” Jethro cast a hand out to the vista. “We sit on the boulders and we got a sunset, a view, a bottle of hooch, and good conversation. There are worse ways for a man to end a day of work.”

  Abigail scratched at the ground. “Think back. When did you find the coat? Why were you here? What exactly did you see?”

  Jethro’s brow crinkled. “He’s keen, ain’t he?”

  A smile ghosted over Nat’s lips. “Yeah, young ’uns, huh? So? Tell us.”

  The man looked to the left, staring at both the heavy sky and the memories in his head. “It must’ve been five or six weeks ago. No, I tell
a lie. It was about two weeks before Christmas, so it was about five or six weeks. We had a little snow, but nothin’ like this. Most of the snow came in January.”

  “Why were you here?” asked Nat. “Most of the outdoor work is finished by December.”

  “There was still prunin’ and tidyin’ to do. Mrs. Janko is real persnickety. She’s from Denver, you know.” Jethro added, as though her birthplace justified her peculiarities.

  Abigail cut in. “So you tidied and came here with the rubbish? What time of day? Can you remember the date?”

  “Dunno. Mrs. Janko will have it, though. There ain’t much she don’t keep notes on, and she’ll note the money she paid me. As to the time, I reckon it was gettin’ near four, because the light was startin’ to go. There weren’t nobody here, but a fire was already smoulderin’. This coat was on top, but I guess the fire hadn’t hardly gotten to it yet ’cause when I pulled it away, it wasn’t too bad. There were other clothes underneath, but they weren’t worth savin’. The one on top barely got touched. The collar was worst, so I covered it with coney fur.” He held out his arms. “Then I added the cuffs ’cause I had pelts left over after a big stew, and they match, and they were raggedy after I cut them down to size. Kinda swanky ain’t it?”

  “Lovely.” Nat grinned. “The only problem is it might belong to a dead man.”

  “So? Half my clothes come from clearin’ out after the dearly departed. That ain’t no reason to let them go to waste.”

  “He means we need to examine it in case there’s any evidence we can get from it,” said Abigail.

  “But I’ve been wearin’ it for weeks. If there was anythin’ in the pockets I’d have found it.”

  Abigail arched a brow. “We need that coat, Mr. Walters.”

  “But it’s freezin’. I need a coat. I threw my other one away. It was a rag.”

  “We’ll find you one. The church has loads of them, and if it’s not the victim’s, we’ll give it right back.” Abigai nodded.

  Jethro’s jaw dropped in dismay. “But it’ll be a rag compared to mine. This is nearly new.”

  “I’m sorry,” Abigail answered, glancing at Nat. “Maybe the deputy could take you by the church to take your pick of what’s in the charity box there.”

  “The best’ll be gone. The town’s filled with moochers.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, my friend. We need that coat.” Nat twinkled his most persuasive charm at the witness. “I’ll get you the best one I can. I reckon your sacrifice deserves something in return. Let’s go and see the parson. I’ll make him feel guilty enough to get the best coat I can get from him, huh? Maybe a bit extra? A suit, maybe?”

  Jethro relented at recognition of the game about to be played. “Sure. As long as it’s warm enough. But I want somethin’ stylish, too.”

  “I can’t guarantee it’ll have the style of your old one.” Nat’s dark eyes swept over the fur-trimmed ankle-length tweed. “That’s one’s special.”

  “You go. I’ll see what I can find here. Are there any tools I can borrow nearby? A shovel?”

  “Sure. Mrs. Janko will have some. I’ll get it for you, but I dunno what you expect to find after all this time.”

  ♦◊♦

  The booted feet crunched over the ice and snow pausing next to the huge hole in the snow where a slight figure crouched over the exposed dark ground at the bottom. She turned, nodding a greeting to Jake, who folded his arms and grinned incredulously. “Was your pa a miner, Abi?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. He owned a distillery. It’s still the family business. That’s how we knew Mr. Pinkerton. He was a cooper in Glasgow, and my father bought barrels from him.”

  “A distillery? Wait’ll I tell Nat. That almost makes you the perfect woman. Now, if you could talk a lot less—”

  “That’s not going to happen.” She threw him a smile. “Almost perfect, if you ignore my propensity for locking people up.”

  “It strikes me we’ve got pretty good at ignorin’ it.” He leaned forward. “Is that the ground? You’ve gotta be at least seven feet down.”

  “There’s been a whole lot of snow. More than I thought. Thank goodness not many people have walked around here or it’d be packed too hard for me to dig through easily.”

  “Nat sent me to see you home. He’s busy with a laborer who’s performin’ in the church hall with a box of coats.”

  She stopped digging and laughed out loud. “Are they still doing that? They left hours ago.”

  “Oh, yeah. Nat’s fit to be tied. It’s third time through. The pastor had to grab his own coat real fast, because it was in the rotation before he knew it.”

  “He was really fond of his fur-trimmed coat.”

  “Tell me about it. I think he’s holdin’ out for a new suit. He’d better shape up soon. Nat was losin’ patience, and that’s not somethin’ anyone wants to see. Are you goin’ to be much longer?” He glanced at the cerulean skies. “We’re losin’ the light.”

  “I’m almost done. I haven’t found much other than old ashes. I’ve bagged them.”

  “Huh? You can analyze ashes to see what they were?”

  “No, but there might be a rogue fibre in there. You never know.”

  “What can you tell from one fibre?” asked Jake.

  “Who knows? It’s worth seeing if a clever scientist can do something with it, though.” She stood, stretching her aching back before she scrunched a paper bag thoroughly closed. She tossed it to Jake. “Here, catch.”

  He caught it deftly in a one-handed snatch. “Got it. Now you.” He crouched and reached down. “Give me your hand. Jees, Abi!” He hauled her from the hole as she dug her feet into the sides.

  His brow developed into a scowl as he stared at her at the edge of the snow hole.

  “I’m not that heavy,” she said.

  “You’re blue around the lips.” His brows met. “You ain’t even got the sense to come in out of the cold, woman.” He rubbed her arms vigorously. “I can’t even hug you warm because you’re got up as a boy and it ain’t seemly.” He slid a hand around her arm and dragged her along in his wake. “Come on. I want the doc to check you out. Nat’ll kill me.”

  She trotted along in his wake. “Really? You’re the famous gunman and you’re worried about him?”

  “He’s family. Who else’s opinion am I gonna worry about?”

  ♦◊♦

  Clancy handed her a mug of hot milk with sugar. He stood back and smiled at the men who glowered at her before he walked back over to the sideboard. “She’s fine. Just a bit cold. There’s no need for you two to worry.” He turned to Abigail. “How about a spot of whiskey in there? I have Scotch.”

  She grimaced. “Och, no. I hate the stuff.”

  “I thought your pa owned a distillery,” said Jake.

  She chuckled. “And my mother owned a wooden spoon she used to paddle us with. I wasn’t fond of that, either. What’s your point?”

  “A distillery?” Nat grinned. “Really?”

  “Yes, but I’m not keen on whiskey at all. You have brandy, though. I like brandy.”

  “Brandy? Sure, I’ll put some in.” Clancy turned back to the sideboard and grabbed a decanter. “Drink the warm milk and sit by the fire. You’re looking better already.”

  “You have no idea what she’s like, Doc.” Jake cast a hand in her direction. “That woman has been close to death more times than I care to think about. See the mark on her head? It’s a damned bullet wound. I despair around her, I really do. We ain’t bein’ unreasonable in bein’ worried. She runs headlong into trouble.”

  Clancy stopped dead, apparently suddenly seeing Abigail through new eyes. “I did see it. I wondered.”

  “I only got a bit cold. There’s no need to make a fuss.”

  “I agree. A fuss never got anyone anywhere,” Clancy answered with a frown. “Let’s leave her to get warm. We can all chat later.” He bent at the waist and examined her carefully again. “She’s doing fine.”


  “Did you get the coat?” She asked.

  Nat nodded. “Eventually. Jethro extracted two suits and a coat in exchange, though.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” He wandered out into the hall and quickly returned carrying it. She stood, casting aside her blanket, and quickly spread the garment out over the table.

  “Is that stain blood? There’s not much.” Nat peered at the material. “I’d have thought it’d be covered. No wonder he was more worried about the scorching.”

  “Most of the bleeding was internal.” Clancy nodded. “There wouldn’t have been much on the clothes.”

  “The label says it was made in San Francisco by Frederick Carne and Sons. It must be expensive to have a label. The House of Worth only started doing that in Paris in 1858. Only the best fashion houses do that.” She paused over the stain on both sides of the lining. “Very dark brown and quite stiff. It’s possible it’s dried blood. I can soon find out.”

  Jake frowned. “Can you tell?”

  “Yes. We can apply hydrogen peroxide and guaiac resin. The hydrogen peroxide foams and the guaiac turns blue.”

  “It does?” Clancy arched his brows. “Why didn’t anyone ever teach me that?”

  “They probably hadn’t discovered it when you were studying,” Abigail answered. “It was only discovered in sixty-two. I’ve got some in my trunk. I’ll go get it. We need to measure everything, too.”

  She returned with a small leather case which she flipped open. She took out a small bottle of liquid and dripped a couple of drops on the stain. It fizzed and foamed into life before their eyes. “Well, we know it’s a protein.” She took blotting paper she soaked with distilled water and gently rubbed at the stain until a little came off on the paper. “This is a tincture containing guaic.” Abigail added a spot of fluid and hydrogen peroxide to the paper and watched it gradually change to a dull blue.

  “Well, it seems pretty conclusive.” Clancy frowned. “Can you prove it’s human and not animal blood?”