Innocent as Sin

by C. A. Asbrey

  “It’s weeks since Cussen was killed. Those coats ain’t gonna be in the same place as they were when he was killed,” said Jake.

  “I have to check.” Abigail shrugged. “I can’t take anything for granted.”

  “It’s gotta be Percy Williams,” said Gibson. “Kathleen would cover for him and it fits with Constance gettin’ annoyed at the ornament goin’ missin’ And not knowin’ her pa was involved.”

  “But what’s the motive? And how could Williams or anyone else get Cussen’s body out of here without being seen? It took two to bring the body into the church. Someone else is involved. They have to be.”

  “Maybe Williams and his wife in disguise? Could’ve dropped the body out of the window, I guess.” Jake flicked the latch and slid open the sash window. The warmth leeched from the room almost instantly, dissipating into the freezing void outside. He peered out at the snow covered bushes forming arctic mounds below. He reached out and dusted off the ice. “It don’t look like anythin’ heavy landed on these, though. They ain’t squashed, and nuthin’ regrows in December.”

  “So they must have taken him out via the door, which is right behind the front desk. The night porter has a camp bed off to the side, so either Dick Nash, Otto Schuster, Williams, or Tommy MacGilfoyle must have been around when the body was taken out. The night cover may have been asleep though, so they have an excuse.” Abigail sighed. “And we have no motive. None.”

  “What if the Williamses hid the body in their room until Constance and the night porter were sleepin’?” asked Gibson. “They could’ve snuck the body out through the kitchens. The door is only a few yards away.”

  “It’s possible.” Abigail paced. “I can’t test for blood in the bedroom, though. There’s too much of it there already, and I have no way to say whether any of the blood is from Cussen or Mrs. Williams.”

  “So I guess we go and find out what the Williams family did on the night of the eighteenth of December.” Jake slid the window closed. “Constance mentioned Cussen talking about riots in the church.”

  Abigail’s brows rose. “There were riots in Pettigo?”

  “Nah.” Jake shook his head. “Massachusetts, years ago. Constance heard Cussen talking about Catholics riotin’ and her mother told her off for listenin’ to unladylike things. Maybe we can ask the preacher if he was at the church his last night here. He might know other people who had dealin’s with him.”

  “Catholic riots?” Abigail frowned. “Cussen was talking about Catholic riots? Do you know what he said?”

  “No idea.” Jake thought back. “Somethin’ to do with us being drunken louts and animals. The usual rubbish about Irish folks. I ignored it.”

  “Are the Williamses Catholics?” asked Abigail.

  “No, they go to the Methodist church. Pettigo has a Catholic priest who comes through here about once a month. They get to use the Jagged Tick Palace for services on a Sunday mornin’.” Gibson fixed them both with disbelieving eyes in turn. “Kathleen Williams wouldn’t be seen dead in there. She ain’t never been anythin’ but Methodist.”

  “So we can dismiss them disagreein’ over insults to Catholics,” said Jake. “Even if she heard it at all.”

  “I’m missing something.” Abigail strode back and forth. “Something big.”

  Jake nodded. “Could Cussen have walked in on somethin’? Is there a chance any of the Williams could have had a lover or a secret? If he was religious, he might have been tryin’ to put them on the straight and narrow and things got ugly?”

  “The Williamses?” Gibson snorted with laughter. “Nah. Percy is too interested in his family and business. He loved his wife like it hurt. Adored her. He didn’t even use the brothel like everyone else. Neither of them would have had the time, anyway, since they worked together. Constance used to be a bit flighty, but she’s pretty stuck on the doc.”

  “When I was disguised as a boy, the cook and a maid were discussing how close Mrs. Williams was to MacGilfoyle. Could there have been anything going on there?”

  Gibson exploded with laughter. “MacGilfoyle and Kathleen? Are you kiddin’? How can I put this delicately? Mrs. Williams was a dry old stick. Real religious and pious. She was known for bein’ picky and demandin’ everythin’ be real clean. The idea of her with a rough laborer with dirty fingernails is too wild to be true.”

  “Some of the most proper ladies have been known to fall for the more rough and ready man.” Abigail avoided Jake’s penetrating gaze. “You’d be surprised.”

  Gibson shook his head. “Ma’am, let me put it this way. I’d be surprised if Kathleen Williams saw that as more than a Christian wifely duty. MacGilfoyle grows good roses for displaying in the hotel and keeps the garden nice, is all. Carnal stuff with others don’t matter as much to folks who really enjoy bein’ with their spouse. They did more than love each other. They liked, too.”

  They turned at a tap at the door and Dick Nash thrust his head inside. “The women are here to clean. Can I let them in?”

  “Sure. Let them in.” Abigail said, gathering the coats from the stand. “We’re finished here. Have you any boxes? We have to take a few things away.”

  ♦◊♦

  The chimney atop the red house was more than crooked, it was lurching perilously. Some new mortar showed a half-hearted attempt had been made to repair it, but it really needed knocking down and rebuilding. Nat tapped on the door and waited, his gaze constantly drifting over to the slanting stack while he listened to a muffled voice shouting about the imminent opening of the door and swearing at the clothing he was falling over on his way. A hirsute man appeared, his wide eyes blinking off sleep over a bird’s nest of a beard.

  “Bart Dunkley?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Nat swept his coat aside, wishing he’d had the forethought to put the damned star on the outer garment in this weather. “I’ve spoken to your boss. Can I come in? This won’t take long.”

  “What won’t? I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong.”

  “Mr. Washburn gave you a suit around about fifty-seven. It’s turned up in something we’re looking into, and we wondered who you passed it on to.”

  “Suit?”

  “Yeah, brown tweed. I’ve got it here if you want to see it.”

  “There’s no need. I can tell you easy. I gave it to Otto Schuster. He works at the Palace three nights a week. It was pretty done in then, but he worked in it for at least five more years. I thought he still had it. He was usin’ it for rough work after that; yard work and the like. I used to see him comin’ back from the brick factory in it.”

  “Otto Schuster? He does yard work for the Morgans, too, doesn’t he? He works at the brick factory, too?”

  “That’s the fella. He’s all right ya know. If someone stole the suit he’ll be pleased to get it back. Yeah. He’s worked at the brick factory for years. Just seasonal, though.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dunkley. You’ve been real helpful.” Nat stepped back. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

  “Nah, I’m up now. I might as well eat.”

  “Well, enjoy it.” Nat frowned and stared at the wonky stack above them. “Doesn’t the chimney worry you?”

  “That thing? Nah. It’s been catawampus since I moved here. It’ll probably see me out.”

  Nat shrugged. “It will if it comes down. It’ll bring half the roof with it, but it’s your call, sir. Thanks for your help.”

  ♦◊♦

  Nat strode into the building, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Abigail through the doorway of the back office with Jake and Gibson. They were deep in discussion with the lawman, without a glimpse his way. His heart dropped like a stone. They had made good with one another, but she had clearly made no effort to seek him out at all.

  He watched them chat, the muscle in his jaw flinching as his tension built into a burning anger. They were deep in conversation, poring over a box full of who-knew-what. Business as usual was the order of their day, while his world f
ell apart. Whatever was in that box was way more important than seeing him. Well, they could go to hell. After all, that’s where they’d sent him without a thought about how he was doing.

  He dumped the box on the deputy’s desk and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

  Jake’s head appeared around the door, frowning at the deputy whose bemused smile greeted the questioning blue eyes. “What was that?”

  “Your partner. He musta been in a hurry. He dumped this box on my desk and darn near ran outta here.”

  “Nat?” Jake hurried over and thrust his head out the door. He looked both ways along the street but there was no sign of his nephew. He turned back to the deputy. “Did he say anything? Where he was going?”

  “Not a word. He came in, stuck this on my desk and walked out.”

  Jake opened the box, fingering the suit pensively. “So what was he doin’ with this?”

  “Dunno,” answered the deputy. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Thanks.” Jake scooped up the box and strolled back to the office. “Abi, Nat brought this back. What do you think he’s been doin’?”

  ♦◊♦

  Nat trudged up Climax Hill, the powdery snow almost coming to the top of his boots. He was too irate to care about the icy melt seeping into his flesh as he swept through the drifts. Abigail’s face swam around and around in his mind, her eyes flashing as she declared she was done. Why was she concentrating on this damned case with Jake instead of him? It had been a kick in the guts for him to see them talking together in the office as though nothing had happened. Maybe Jake had been right and she was simply dallying with him; enjoying a fling. She had already said she was going back to work, so how were they meant to build a future together?

  The realization that she was probably flirting with danger hardened in his heart. Of course he was just a diversion. She had always been going back to work, and had told him as much right from the start. His breath quickened, spiraling along with his mood. He was going to solve this damned case and prove she wasn’t as clever as she thought she was. Once the case was out of the way, she’d have no excuse to push him aside. Was he just a bit of rough, an adventure? If she was going to walk out of his life forever she was going to have to explain why everything seemed more important than he was. Talking about love sure came easier to her than showing it.

  ♦◊♦

  Clancy turned from his book. “Nat? No. I haven’t seen him for ages. He was out early this morning shoveling snow, then he said he was going to look into something. He looked pretty pleased with himself so I thought you’d sorted everything out.”

  “Did he have the suit with him?” asked Abigail.

  “The box? Yeah. He hasn’t been back since this morning.” His brows rose, examining them in turn. “Have you lost him?”

  “Yeah, we got split up stayin’ at the hotel and all.”

  “I’m sorry. I have no idea where he’s gone. Have you tried the sheriff?”

  Jake’s downcast eyes betrayed his concern. “We just came from there.”

  The doctor placed his bookmark in place and closed the textbook. “I take it you two have sorted things out between yourselves?”

  Abigail glared at Jake. “You told him?”

  “He picked up on the atmosphere.” The gunman cast an arm towards the doctor in protest. “This is his house, and he was entitled to an answer.”

  “Yes, I was.” Clancy steepled his fingers and sat back. “So I also deserve an answer to this one. You two are fine?”

  Abigail bridled at Jake. “How much did you tell him?”

  “He told me he called you a whore,” said Clancy. “He also told me about his sister and how badly it affected him. The death of my prospective mother-in-law caused old issues to come back to haunt him.”

  “Yes.” Abigail pursed her lips and decided to tread carefully in this conversation. “That has come up before in another investigation. I understand it. We’ve decided to put it behind us. The doctors called it ‘irritable heart’. We don’t really know what to do to help.”

  Clancy nodded, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard of that. What treatment have you been given? Some people say it’s to do with strapping on equipment which damages the nerves in soldiers, but others have observed symptoms in civilians. A man called Scheuchzer used to send them for mountain air and relaxation in Switzerland. Saltpetre in new wine helped, along with congenial company.”

  “It did?” Jake frowned. “Maybe I’ll head off to the mountains for a bit when this is over.”

  “Good idea.” The doctor paused. “Saltpetre is potassium nitrate. The salt we found on the body.”

  “So the powder could be something to do with irritable heart?” asked Abigail.

  “I doubt it.” Clancy mused. “It was more like he’d lain in a pile of it. You’d use no more than a few grains for medicinal purposes. It affects the nervous system, but it can be poisonous if you take too much. It’s just a coincidence, I guess.” He looked at both Jake and Abigail in turn. “So it was worthwhile you heading to the hotel after all?”

  “About that.” Abigail sidled over and sat opposite. “Clancy, I did a full scientific examination of the private quarters. There was old blood on the carpet, which had been turned to hide it under the sofa. There were also blood spots between the floorboards from the front door to where the stain would have been before the carpet was moved. It’s a complete trail. It looks like the Williams place could have been the scene of the murder. I’m so sorry.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened as he processed this information. “Could the blood have been tracked through from the suicide? Could it be a false trail?”

  Abigail shook her head. “We know it wasn’t blood from Mrs. Williams as the boards were clean. It was the spaces between the planks which reacted to the chemicals, and they weren’t where people went in and out the door. They were drops left over after a cleaning, and we could still see Mr. Williams’s footsteps on the floor. The carpet had been deliberately turned to hide it and was well away from anywhere people could have stepped. It was hidden under the sofa. The tracked spots look like a murder scene behind the door when everything was put back in the original position.”

  “The dents in the carpet where the legs had been was a clue to the carpet bein’ moved,” said Jake. “It wasn’t from Mr. Williams. It was the other side of the doorway; near the hat rack.”

  “I have a diagram of the stains if you want to see it. I can talk you through the scene.” Abigail examined him intently, judging his reaction. “I took the rug. It’s at the sheriff’s office.”

  Clancy remained mute, staring straight ahead, shaking his head, but they were unable to read if it was denial or refusal.

  She stood, biting her lip at his reaction. “Does that mean you want us to leave? We understand if it’s the case. You’ve been more than kind.”

  Clancy blinked away the thoughts crowding for his attention and melted into a watery smile. “No, of course not. You must stay. It means I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to compromise you. Do your job. I know these people are decent. Any truth will speak to that.”

  “That’s real good of you, Doc.”

  “Nope, it’s the right thing to do.”

  Abigail arched her brows. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I know my fiancée and she couldn’t hurt a fly. Nor could her father. I don’t know what happened there, and I’m not going to interfere. I’m sure you’ll get to the truth and it’ll vindicate them.”

  “Let us know if you change your mind,” said Jake.

  Abigail pressed on. “I need to ask you something else. What were you doing on the night of the eighteenth of December?”

  “Me?” He rose and walked over to the desk and began flipping over pages of a diary. His fingers traced the paper as he read. “I saw my last patient at five, so I would have written it up, and then had dinner.” He paused, a smile of relief washing the tension from his features. “It was the night of the Ch
ristmas ball. I remember it. Constance and her mother were helping at the church where there had been a party for the local orphans. I collected them from there about seven and walked them to the hotel. I had a drink with Percy Williams in the bar while the ladies got changed.” His smile widened. “Constance was stunning that night. She was in emerald green and was the most beautiful woman in town. I never left her side all evening. We danced till we dropped. There’ll be dozens of witnesses. Everyone who was anyone in town was there. It went on until about midnight.”

  “Did the women meet you together, or did one take longer to get ready than the other?”

  “Almost together. Constance was first, and her mother arrived soon afterward.”

  “How quickly?” asked Abigail.

  “Fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty. Nothing significant. Certainly not enough to kill a man, dispose of his body, and clean the room.”

  “And a man like Cussen would have been tucked up in his room by midnight.” Abigail stretched out a hand. “I’m so pleased for you. I’m glad I asked now.”

  “So am I. That’s a weight off, I can tell you.”

  “What about Mr. and Mrs. Williams?” asked Jake. “Did they leave before the end?”

  “Oh, they were there the whole time, too. They were at the head table. I honestly don’t think they left, although I was dancing and enjoying myself. They were the host and hostess. People would have noticed if they disappeared.”

  “Was Cussen at the church when you collected the ladies, Clancy?” Abigail asked. “I know his face wasn’t looking its best by the time we saw it, so you might not have recognized him.”

  “There were all kinds of folks there.” Clancy closed his diary and held it out. “I honestly didn’t pay any attention. Do you want to check my diary for yourself? It’s important to me that you can see I’m telling the truth, and you believe me.”

  “No, thanks. I believe you.” Abigail walked over to get her coat. “We’d better get over to the church, and then the hotel. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

  “No rush, I’ll be here. Do you want me to speak to Nat about this if I see him first?”