“Oh! I can’t talk about it Mr Wentworth, really I can’t! Oh, that poor girl, and to think it happened under my roof! I opened my home to her as a place of sanctuary and safety, to think it has ended thus!! Oh dear me! Oh, the publicity [hic]!”
Mrs Adams, given to melodrama even when she was sober, and hard of hearing at the best of times, was even harder to get a straight answer out of now she’d had a drink or three to ‘steady her nerves’
One of her ‘girls’ came to the rescue, a big blousy red-haired woman of around 30 who had been around the block a few times and seemed to be in command of the situation, more so than the Madame of the brothel herself.
“Tilly, take Mrs A to her room, will ya, and keep her away from the sauce…” she turned her blue worldly-wise eyes on young Charlie “Listen Deputy, Mrs Adams found Annie but I was the last person to see her alive, well excepting the… the person who did this.” She paused a second while she collected herself. She was tough, but she had feelings too. “I can probably tell you more about what happened here tonight than any of the others.” She offered.
She gave the lawman a quick resume of the household and their usual movements.
“Our bouncer and the black girl you saw downstairs, they were on duty all night at the front door. They see everybody who comes in and out that way. Mrs Adams usually stays in the parlour unless she gets a customer, that's pretty rare, no offence to the old dear, and The Beauty, er, Miss Berk who you just saw, she’s usually in the parlour or in her room with a trick; she’s so pretty that the men come straight here to her. I think she went to the saloon once, twice at most tonight. Me and Annie are in and out all night between here and the saloon or other places we can pick up a john.”
She stood dumbly for a second staring at the spot where the Hayden girl’s body had lain.
“Me and Annie have to work a little harder for our tricks than Tilly” she said wistfully.
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
In a way, Charlie was thankful that Mrs. Adams had been escorted out of the room. The woman was drunk and any statement she made now would be dismissed by Judge Townsend. He would have to try again when she was bit more sober.
As Hettie spoke, he was glad that there was at least one person who had a good idea of what was what. Considering all the comings and goings that when on in here, the killer would have had plenty of opportunities and choices...if this was just a random killing. That thought prompted Charlie to find out if Annie was the intended target or just the most convenient one.
“Me and Annie have to work a little harder for our tricks than Tilly” she said wistfully.
Charlie took a look at Hettie and despite what she did for a living, the gentleman in him took over, "I'm sure you don't have to work too hard as you seem to be very nice and very helpful especially in this situation. Which leads me to what you said about the front door being guarded by your bouncer and one of the girls. What about the back door? Do you lock it or is it left opened?"
@ [Javia
Charlie took a look at Hettie and despite what she did for a living, the gentleman in him took over, "I'm sure you don't have to work too hard as you seem to be very nice and very helpful especially in this situation. Which leads me to what you said about the front door being guarded by your bouncer and one of the girls. What about the back door? Do you lock it or is it left opened?"
Hettie couldn't help a grim smile at the young man's gallantry, despite the somewhat inappropriate circumstances.
"I'll show you" she said simply. She looked about the room, as if for one last time thinking of it as Annie's room; Hettie was used to drawing a line under things. Then she led the lawman out of the tawdrily, gaudily decorated bedroom, down the stairs into the tawdrily, gaudily, decorated hallway, and past the tawdrily gaudily decorated front parlour where visitors awaited their turn on busy nights and where Mrs Adams held court.
They moved into a dining room with attached kitchen which after all the gilt and red velvet of the other rooms was startling in its domestic simplicity. It was just like anybody else's dining room, in other words. For those who lived and worked here, this was a sanctuary: away from the constant grind of trying to pick up men and endure their mauling. Hettie's mood both lifted and sagged as she entered the hallowed place, she smiled for a second, as she always did when she came in here, then suddenly was aware of tears stinging her eyes.
She wasn't a tough brass in here, she was a woman who had just lost a friend.
She suddenly felt a wave of sickening sorrow. "Sorry... don't know what's wrong with me..." she said, sniffing and wiping away a tear and a good part of her eye makeup.
"Here's the back door" she pointed out the portal "Don't know if it's locked or not now, usually is, to stop customers sneaking off without paying, but we're not too great at remembering to lock it when we come back from the outhouse" she admitted. "Specially Annie" She sniffed again as she struggled with her emotions.
"Place backs onto the funeral parlour, there's a wooden fence" she added, thinking he might need to know what could not be clearly seen at this time of night.
Storyteller / Shared NPC
Quite the hubbub goin' on there, ain't it? Well now, Marshal Guyer will raise an eyebrow at a second strangling when he gets the report. One, that could happen anywhere, but a second one, now that will make the man stop and think. Neither is related to the other, some will say, but the method, that is the same. So he will want to see the second corpse to see if there are identical marks on the throat. Even old Malcome Jolly would be able to recall that. Not everyday he tended to two corpses that ere strangled.
As for the killer, there's a chance of a sprained ankle, not uncommon, and certianly something folks just treated themselves, will, this one would be for sure. No sense hobbling around, especially if either young Charlie or Marshal Guyer might see the torn up ground where the killer landed and think maybe their suspect was injured, so they'd be lookin' awright.
Slipping in through the unlocked back door had been easy enough, but getting back out that way might not be so easy, hence, leaping from the second floor window. Question is will that be it for a while? I mean, it'll take a bit before the anle is healed up, even wrapped in some makeshift bandage there would still be pain.
But we're no closer to finding out who done it than we were after the first one. but we know the killer might show up anywhere, inside 'er out. Other thing, don't seem ta cre if it man 'er woman, and that oughtta have Kalispell on edge, 'speially after Phineas McVay get's hold of it!
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
"Here's the back door" she pointed out the portal "Don't know if it's locked or not now, usually is, to stop customers sneaking off without paying, but we're not too great at remembering to lock it when we come back from the outhouse" she admitted. "Specially Annie" She sniffed again as she struggled with her emotions.
"Place backs onto the funeral parlour, there's a wooden fence" she added, thinking he might need to know what could not be clearly seen at this time of night.
Charlie went to the door and found it to be locked. Considering there had to be at least ten minutes since he had arrived here plus the time to come and fetch him after the body had been found, anyone could have locked the door again even if it had been left unopened.
Considering it was the door leading to the outhouse, the amount of people who used it would make it difficult to find any clues...if there were any. In fact, other than Annie's room, there would be nothing that would help in finding her killer. The only thing really left to do tonight was to go upstairs and do a thorough search of the room and take notes. After that he would have to wait until morning to talk to Mrs. Adams and hope that she would be coherent enough to give him a list of those who had been here during the night.
He went back to Hettie, "Thanks for showing me around. Other than what you've told me already, is there anything else I should know about Annie...it may help me find out who did this."
@ [Javia
Hettie frowned.
Why had this happened to Annie?
Why not her, or Sally, or Tilly?
She heard herself talking to the Deputy in a sort of disembodied way.
"Annie attracted the wrong kind of men." She shrugged at that "Not that we don't all get our fair share of those, but, Annie got it worse: there was something about her that was a magnet for bullies, fellers who like to beat women, hurt them... it's like this was always going to happen..."
She suddenly pulled herself together.
"Listen, you'd better catch this bastard!!" she barked at Charlie "And I want a front seat when they string him up!"
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
Monday March 13, 1877, partly cloudy skies, 18 degrees, and climbing slowly. Hail falling intermittently.
Speed had loaded the stove, and Charlie had had it going pretty well over his shift. The coals were banked and ready for Speed when he opened up in the morning. First thing, get the coffee on. There was no telling if Pike would be in or not, depending on how things were going on his ranch. The town was quiet anyway, so Pike could come and go as he pleased.
The only thing of interest were the reports of two killings. Oddly, both were strangulations. Neither of the two victims seemed to be connected at all. A store clerk and a prostitute. Though both were strangled using a cord, or a rope there just wasn't anything other than that which was similar in the two cases.
Speed had studied the two reports that Charlie had filled out and left for him. They were as good as any he'd seen, complete with all the information on what he believed happened, witnesses, and even the undertaker's statements. They were a good job, to be sure.
Still, something was nagging at Speed about the killings. The girl could have been killed by any one of her customers, but old Jasper Nichols? He just didn't fit alongside Annie Hayden, and there just didn't seem to be anyone who was a suspect in his killing, or hers for that matter. Of course, if it had not been the thaw from winter it probably would just be one of a dozen reports of all manner of crimes, not that it was any less serious.
There were men to talk to about Annie's demise, alibies to be checked out for each of them. Lots of leg work that hopefully paid off with a suspect who would turn out to be the killer. Prostitution was a risky business, even if Kalispell appeared to be filled with good people!
"The law is the law."
"Mining's not everyone's choice of hobbies, it just happens to be mine."
Good people. Weren't the two who were now dead good people? That two people who were not related, or even connected for that matter, were murdered not too many days apart, and by strangulation. It seemed odd, but then again, was it related? If so, how? There was a complaint that Nichols had cheated at least one person out of a couple of pennies, and Annie Hayden? There was a mystery. Killed in her own room, so our suspect would be a man, or perhaps not, but a woman in the brothel? It was certainly possible.
He sat back, considering the possibility. A woman who did not work there would have been noticed, perhaps even questioned as to why she was there. That would have been reasonable, even expected. The last thing Mrs. Adams would tolerate was a woman in her brothel looking for her errant husband.
It appeared that the only similarity between the two murders was strangulation. That was hardly anything to build the case on, but he would notate it. He would make it a point to see if Charlie had any hunches since he was called to both murder scenes. If he had some ideas, Speed would be more than willing to hear him out, but as it stood, these were two unrelated cases.
"Woof, Woof!"
Monday, April 22, 1877, Clear and Sunny, in the fifties.
Our killer was no longer limping around, making the best of a bad, though temporary situation, and hadn't been for the past few days. Feeling a whole lot better, but not ready to go out on the 'hunt' quite yet. Yes, there was that need arising, that need to choke the life out of anothetr human being, a feeling that had been suppressed for months, only to return, and with a vengeance!
Killing had been a by product of the War Between the States. Not that our killer had fought for or on either side, victims had appeared almost out of thin air, or so it seemed. Grey, Blue, no matter, they came and they died. All manner of killing was tried over those years guns, knives, bludgeoning, and strangulation. Finally, it was strangulation that won out as the preferred method of 'execution' of the victims. It seemed more personal, more satisfying, more fulfilling.
Now, in Kalispell, that perverse need had resurfaced once more, as it always did, and was quelled quickly, but then there was the ankle to be dealt with, and that was simply a matter of time and a good bandage until it was healed. It could have been worse, that was for sure. A broken ankle would have ended this reign of terror before it even began. It would be another day or two before the need would be so overwhelming that another victim would be required.
The sun had made a fairly constant return to the once leaden skies with it rain, sleet, and snow. The ground was drying up and the thought of footprints was no longer an issue. That was something that was diligently taken care of when necessary, but the ground had been so torn up after his jump to escape that there was no need to cover any tracks, besides, there were many tracks from that evening out there that it would have been difficult at best to distinguish one from another, which was cause to smile.
Soon.
Storyteller / Shared NPC
May 3, 1877, Clear with some passing clouds, and cold near freezing
Wiling away the time as the ankle healed had been for the most part, none too difficult. A bit on the unpleasant side, and that had more to do with the day-to-day activity, which was expected. But a good tight bandage had made a difference. Now, it was back on the prowl, that casual search routine where our killer was neither conspicuous nor suspicious. Almost as if our subject was a normal part of the landscape.
It had been far too long since Death struck Kalispell. Oh, there had been opportunities, that was for sure, however, caution played more of a part than simple restraint on the killer's part. The ankle needed to be fully healed before striking again. And the ankle felt fine, would there be more nighttime leaps to freedom? Hard to say, but doubtful. That risk had been too much for our killer, the chance that it could have been more severe, if not broken, was warning enough.
It was dark, clouds were slow to cross the sky, and that was just fine, it was a waning crescent moon anyway, so there was not a great deal of moonlight, even with the blanket of stars shimmering brightly in the night sky when not hidden by the clouds. And there, a target! It was the wiry Amos Conroy ambling up the street, a likely victim, that was for sure, but wait! Coming in the opposite direction was the brothel owner, Missus Adams. What was her first name? Neither seemed to be paying much attention to anything in the cold of the evening. A choice!
A choice and either would fill the bill, perhaps choosing one for the evening's entertainment and release, then reserving the other for another time. As the killer was aware of either one's habits, and, for lack of a better term, availability. So, without hesitation knowing where the selection was going, the murderer knew how to get there ahead of the victim taking shortcuts most would avoid at night. Not our killer.
The garrote shot out in the darkness looping over the head and found its mark! Twisting it quickly, before protesting fingers could get between the garrote and the skin, which would make the task all the more difficult, as it was strenuous enough to take the life from someone by strangulation without having the added thickness of the fingers to contend with. Again, the choice was willing to fight and struggle against the killer, and it was that fight, that determined struggle that the killer loved, and was addicted to! The thrashing about, arms flailing, fingers clawing at the garrote, eyes bulging, the muted choking sounds as the windpipe was collapsing.