by C. A. Asbrey
“Except for Cussen’s family.” Abigail cut in. “They need to know who killed him, and why.”
“Sure. I ain’t got a problem with that.” The mayor stood and buttoned his coat. “Send the body back and tell them the killer committed suicide and why. They don’t need to know anyone hid the body. Let them think it wasn’t found in the snow. I doubt they’ll want to make a fuss when they hear he incited riots and got a girl killed. I’ll go talk to Percy Williams so he knows the gardener is family. The rest of us need to shut our mouths about this for the Williamses’ sake. They’re good folks, and this’ll destroy their reputation.” He strode over to the door, the Astrakhan collar on his coat snug around his thick neck. “You let the MacGilfoyles go with a warnin’. It should keep them quiet.”
His hand landed on the round brass knob, staring at Abigail as he leaned against the jamb. “We don’t get many like you in town. I didn’t know what to expect when the doc told me about a female Pinkerton. You ain’t the rough piece I expected. You’re almost decent enough to be invited to meet the wife.”
“Almost?” Her brows rose along with her hackles. “I’d be delighted. You’d be surprised how many politicians’ wives I speak to, Mr. Barfelt. They take up quite a considerable part of my time, professionally speaking.”
The mayor’s brow furrowed. “Hmmm. Well, you explain our decision to them MacGilfoyles And I’ll take care of telling Percy Williams.”
The door closed behind him and the sheriff turned to her, a mischievous grin playing across his face. “Politicians’ wives take up your time, huh? Best keep away from his, she never uses one word when twenty’ll do. You’ll never have time for anything else.”
“When people assume I’m a whore because I work, they deserve what they get.” She shrugged. “I’m appointed, not elected, so I don’t have to court popular causes or toady to politicians.” She walked over and dragged open the office door. “Come on. Let's get the MacGilfoyles warned so I can get this case behind me.” A dark foreboding fell across her spirit at the memory of Nat striding from the room without a second glance. “This isn’t why I came here.”
“Yeah.” Ben turned back to her as he headed for the cells. “Why did you come here? You never did say.”
“Unfinished business. That’s all I’m prepared to say.”
They clattered along the corridor toward the cells where the older man rose to meet them with an air of expectancy, tempered by desperation. “Well? What did he say?”
Ben rattled the ring of jangling keys in the lock and gestured towards the street with his head. “You can go, as long as you keep your mouth shut about this, or everyone’ll want the mayor to do them a deal.”
“Really?” The gardener turned excitedly back to his son. “We’re free to go with no charges?”
“No charges, as long as you both keep your noses clean.” The sheriff pulled the door open and stepped back to let them leave. “And the mayor is gonna tell Percy Williams you were kin to Kathleen, so don’t be surprised if he speaks to you in private.”
“He is?” MacGilfoyle’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not a good thing. We’ll get sacked.”
“That’s the least of your problems.” Abigail cut in. She stepped forward, staring at the two males loitering in the cell corridors. “Tommy MacGilfoyle, I know.”
“What? What do you know?” MacGilfoyle demanded.
Her eyes glittered through the half-light of the corridor. “Tommy stabbed Cussen. He was the right height, and he was the one with a history of anger and impulse control. I was warned about hanging about with him while dressed as a boy due to his propensity for fighting, not to mention all the other reports floating around town. I know it was you, Tommy.”
The sheriff’s mouth dropped open while the boy gasped and ducked behind his father with eyes like a hunted rabbit.
“Don’t let them hang me, Pa! Please don’t let them take me away.”
MacGilfoyle thrust out his chest aggressively. “I thought you said Kathleen did it.”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I was most careful to avoid that. I described how Cussen died and said she’d admitted to it. I didn’t say it was actually her who struck the blow.”
Beads of sweat spangled MacGilfoyle’s upper lip. “You said we were free to go.”
Abigail inclined her head. “And you are. I just want you to know I’m aware of what really happened here. I can’t prove it, but I know it. I also want Sheriff Gibson to be aware too, in case there are any more ‘accidents’ around Tommy. He needs to get a hold on that temper of his, and fast.”
The sheriff finally found his voice. “What’s goin’ on? Tommy? Kathleen admitted it.”
“And everyone said she couldn’t possibly have done it. She was covering for someone. They were right. She was covering for her nephew. He was the person of the right height who also had the means, motive, and opportunity. He is also the only one with a record of being short tempered and ready to lash out. He was also right outside the door and would have heard any argument between his aunt and Cussen. For the record, I want you to know I cannot prove who struck the fatal blow, but you confirmed it by your reaction.”
“We need to tell the mayor.” Ben ran his hands through his hair in dismay. “This changes everything.”
Abigail shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. I cannot prove it beyond all reasonable doubt, and I have no wish to see a sixteen-year-old hang. This would never stand up in court. I want him to be aware we’re watching him, though. I will place your name in the Pinkerton intelligence files, Tommy, so don’t think for a moment you can leave town and behave as you want. This is a chance for you to start again. Take it, and watch that temper of yours. You will never get another chance.”
The lad peeked out from behind his father. “I will, missus. I will. I’ll be good.”
MacGilfoyle’s brows gathered. “You can’t prove it?”
“Nope.” Abigail held his gaze, registering the attempt to stare her down. “And I have no intention of delivering a poor investigation. I only act on what I can prove in a court of law. Don’t make me regret it.”
Confusion reigned in the Irishman’s eyes under gathered brows. His breath quickened and his lips curled into a cold smile. “I don’t rightly know why you did this.”
“I did it because I’m honest. I can’t prove it. Now, go.”
The MacGilfoyles didn’t need to be told twice. They scattered toward the door like ball bearings on a steep hill. The slam of the door was still ringing behind them when the sheriff turned on her, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “We should’ve charged him. We could’ve broken him into confessin’.”
She shrugged. “It’d still fall at trial. A good lawyer could ride a coach and horses through that confession, and you know it.”
“They hid a body. We’d have got them on that.”
She folded her arms, her frown underscoring the determination flaring in her breast. “And what would it achieve? In my experience, prison only teaches young men to become better criminals. He has a much better chance of living a decent life with a warning and a father ready to teach him how to earn an honest living. We both know how juries work, especially out here. They’re loathe to convict children or women for capital offenses at the best of times. If you throw in an admission from an aunt ready to protect her nephew, along with him being the noble protector, and we’re right back where we were. Not to mention the Williamses’ name is no longer protected from the scandal.”
Ben threw up his hands. “Why didn’t you speak up and tell the mayor?”
“Because it’ll never stand up in a fair court, let alone a provincial one.” Her eyes widened. “There’s a problem with the court system when there’s a noose at the end of it. We all know that. I could name dozens of cases where they obviously did it, but the courts felt sorry for them or were swayed by a sob story. There’s Madeleine Smith, Constance Kent, Mrs. Howard acquitted for killing her husband’s mistress, and that’s just off t
he top of my head. There’s a strict moral code, and if you appear to work within it, and belong to the established community, you can get away with almost anything. It’s not how it should work, but it is what happens. We can get further with a warning and being known to the authorities than we can with him strutting around proclaiming his damned innocence to the world. That’s what he’ll do if he’s acquitted.”
The sheriff’s mouth hardened into a line. “Yeah, you’re right. They’ll see him as the boy who protected his aunt. They’ll never convict him. Not in Pettigo.”
“Not here, and not in most of the world.” Abigail shrugged. “It’s reality. I have no way of proving who struck the fatal blow, and his aunt admitted to it. A lawyer would destroy the case in an instant. Besides, Kathleen Williams was willing to protect him, too, and not one of you had a problem with that.”
“Do you think he’s a killer?” asked the sheriff. “A cold-bloodied one?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s a hot-bloodied ruffian. Maybe his father will be more aware and keep him in check. Even if he did stab Cussen, he was defending his aunt from a bully. He had a better defense than Cussen did, and he was allowed to get on with his life after causing that girl’s death.”
“Nobody deserves to die for bein’ a bully.”
Fire flared deep in her eyes. “And nobody deserves to die for being a Catholic. It was a hatpin, not a cutlass. A sixteen-year-old boy wielding it to protect his aunt was less likely to see the consequences of his actions than a grown man inciting a hateful riot based on lies. The mayor didn’t want the Williamses’ good name dragged through the mud because of this, either. Nothing’s changed, except that I voiced my suspicions.”
The lawman paused, running out of steam. “He admitted it.”
“And his lawyer would say we scared it out of him.” Her face softened. “It’ll never stick, and everything else remains exactly the same. Aren’t we better to try and reason with him rather than release another hardened criminal on the world? There’s no jury in the country who would hang a boy for this. Even if we got him to jail, he’d come out of prison as criminal as the worst of them. It’s a university of crime.”
Ben Gibson’s heavy sigh signaled the end of the debate. “What’s the point? You’re right. We’d never find a jury to convict him. Hell, most of the jurymen would want to shoot Cussen in broad daylight when they heard the full story.”
Abigail strolled and lifted her coat from the hook. “Don’t get me wrong. I hate to see a killer walk free, too, but what else can we do? Life isn’t black and white, it’s shades of gray. If I really thought he was a danger, I’d have told the mayor.” She pulled on her gloves, wriggling her fingers into the sheaths of leather. “Besides, I suspect they’ll disappear soon. The road to the north is now open again and the railway won’t be far behind. They’ll be long gone, and so will the name MacGilfoyle. That’s a family with a whole lot of aliases. They’ll soon find an alter ego.”
She thrust out a hand, proffering a handshake. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Ben.”
He took it, his strong fingers closing around hers. “You too, Abi. Would you and your friends like to join me for dinner tonight? Celebrate the end of the case, maybe?”
She delivered a crisp, professional smile. She needed to think, not talk, and Nat was a powerful presence brooding behind every word and action. She needed to process this mess now that she had the freedom to concentrate on one thing at a time. “That’s so kind of you, but I must decline. I have other business. The men are in the saloon, and I’m sure you’d enjoy a drink with them better, anyway. Have a great evening and thank you for all your help once more. I’m glad we have gotten to the bottom of this.”
♦◊♦
She walked out into the street, snuggling into the collar turned against the biting freeze settling in as darkness fell. The clear skies had brought much-needed sunshine, but the temperature dropped like a stone as soon as the sun set. So now what? She had come here to speak to Nat and to dig deep into the tangled Gordian knot of feelings buried somewhere in the fathomless gulf between them. Some green shoots had begun to grow, only to be trampled underfoot by Jake’s emotional outburst.
She loitered on the wooden sidewalk, looking aimlessly one way, then the other. There was still life in the frigid town; stiff people bundled against the cold were scurrying home after a day’s work; mercantiles and businesses were concluding deals. Then there was her. Abigail MacKay was all alone with nowhere to go. No, it was worse than that; she was lonely again. Alone was nowhere near the same as lonely. Lonely was the screaming void of emptiness she’d inhabited until that man trespassed into her heart.
A trapezoid of golden light fell over the wooden sidewalk opposite, gleaming through the gathering night. The restaurant looked warm and inviting against the backdrop of monochromatic shades of gray and ice. She wasn’t hungry, but it was something to do and somewhere to go. She looked both ways in preparation to cross over. She always said hell would freeze over before she tried to tempt a man out of a bar, or anywhere else, to spend time with her. Her dark eyes caught the frozen drifts and icy ruts as the chilling irony hit her.
It already had.
♦◊♦
The high ceiling was painted dark brown, mostly because the choking tobacco smog was turning it a tarry ochre, anyway. The jangling piano was a quarter-tone out of tune, but the singer pitched at least an octave out, so it was the least of the problems. She was loud; not good, just loud. She battered out ‘The Royal Wild Beasts’ with an impressive array of suggestive winks, nudges, and unwholesome finger wagging through a veil of smoke and a buzz of gabbing patrons. A group of men gathered near the stage, displaying either an impressive auditory fortitude, or it could be more simple: the ability to shut out the cacophony to concentrate on the chanteuse’s enormous breasts and long legs beneath a shockingly short peplum attached to her pinched-in bodice. One leg was white and the other black to carry through the Pierrot theme of her scanty costume, but it merely served to make one thigh look fatter than the other. Jake scanned the bar, where an array of men leaned, slumped, and listed, depending upon how long they’d been consuming the wares on offer in the Jagged Tick Saloon.
His bright blue eyes fell on the familiar long-legged man in the black hat at the end of the bar, his taut shoulders turned toward the door. He strode over and tapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Buy you a drink?”
The head turned, the brown eyes dripping disdain. “Go to hell.”
“Done. Care to join me?” Jake ignored the dismissal and bellied up to the bar beside him. “I’ve been tryin’ to talk to you for days now, but you disappeared.”
“I was working. I wanted this damn thing solved so we can all get on with our lives.”
Jake raised two fingers to signal to the barman how many drinks he wanted. “Yeah. You really tracked who made the suit and all the folks it was handed down to? Impressive.”
“Well, now we know who did it, we can put this nightmare behind us?”
“Nat, I spoke to Abi, and she accepted my apology. She wants to speak to you, but you never hung around long enough for us to tell you. It wasn’t easy, but I eventually got through to her. She understands.”
“Lucky you, but actions speak louder than words. Everything and everybody in this town mattered more than me. It wouldn’t have taken long to have a talk. It wasn’t going to make Cussen any more dead if she took an hour for me.” Nat stared at his shot glass as though it would leech the bitterness out of him. “This is the first time I cared about a woman more than she cared about me. It’s the shittiest feeling I ever had. I now think back on women like Allie and Florrie and feel real bad about the way I walked out on them.”
“Florrie? She was loco. She was gonna shoot you if you didn’t marry her.” Jake sipped his drink and stared straight at the huge picture of a nude above the bar. “She wasn’t even pregnant. Allie, yeah. That was sad.”
Nat sighed. “It was fo
r the best. I couldn’t settle down and be the man she wanted.”
Jake turned. “You couldn’t settle down and be the man I wanted, either. I wanted you to get a proper job and be respectable.”
“I tried. I apprenticed with a locksmith, didn’t I? It wasn’t for me.”
The fair eyebrows arched. “You learned all there was to know in about a year. You were a genius at it.”
“Yeah, but the hours didn’t suit. I can’t live a regular life. I’m not cut out for it.”
Jake scowled. “I was a bad example. I got caught up in a life of crime. I blame myself.”
“I blame you, too.”
Jake’s grip tightened on his glass. “Huh?”
“Every time you came back from a job you were excited and bursting with energy. Compared to twelve-hour days sitting in a shop, it was my idea of heaven. You weren’t a bad example, you were a great one.”
Jake shrugged. “I did it to pay for your education. You did real well. You could have been anything. Listen to the way you talk. You can keep up with the best folks.”
The dark eyes glittered with doubt. “Yeah? Then why’re you still doing it? Are you saving to get me a doctorate in locksmithing from Harvard?”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Nat, Abi got snowed in at the hotel. It’s the only way I got to keep her there long enough to get through to her. She would’ve been there to talk to you the next night, but you stayed here.” He paused, eyeing the young girl in the feathers and snagged stockings approaching with her hands on her swaying hips.
Nat nodded a smile of recognition to the girl and returned to his drink. “So? She told me to go. I did.”
“You need anyone for tonight?” Lizzie wiggled her pelvis and eyed Nat. “I ain’t wearin’ the paint, the way you like me.”
Jake’s jaw dropped open. “Nat, you didn’t. She’s a child.”
“I’m fourteen,” she protested.
“You’re a child. What the hell, Nat? You didn’t, did you? Fourteen?”
Nat’s brows met in consternation as his temper took the polish off his accent. “What do you take me for? I slept. I ain’t into children.”
