CHAPTER TWELVE
“YOU KNEW IT WAS GOING TO FALL?” GIDEON ASKED IN WONDER.
“This is Alden Vickery, Mr. Bates,” Wilson said. “He’s one of our masons. Tell him what you just told me, Vickery.”
“The gargoyle, the one that fell. They sent for us to take a look at it. The gargoyles are part of the gutters and that one was clogged up. I went out and I saw some of the stone had broken off and created a dam, so I opened it back up, but the water had been standing a long time, and the iron bolts holding it to the building were rusted nearly clear through. I told them they needed to repair it or it was going to fall.”
The hairs on the back of Gideon’s neck were standing at attention. “Who did you tell?”
“I don’t know. Some gentleman. Said he was the club president, I think. I wanted to do it right away, but he said the club would have to vote or some such nonsense. He said they’d let us know. I tried to tell him—”
“When was this?”
Vickery blinked in surprise at Gideon’s vehemence. “I don’t know exactly.”
“How long before the gargoyle fell do you think?”
“A week or two, I’d guess. Not long.”
“So you see, Mr. Bates,” Wilson said quickly, “Wilson Brothers is not responsible. We warned your club president or whoever he was—”
“Yes, yes, I know. You aren’t responsible at all. Mr. Vickery, it’s my understanding that the remaining three gargoyles were removed, even though they did not appear to be in danger of falling. Is that correct?”
“Yes. They said they didn’t want to take any chances and the other members wouldn’t feel safe until they were gone.”
“They? Did you speak with more than one person that time?”
“I . . . Yes, I did. It was the same fellow as the first time and some other man was with him.”
“Do you remember what the other man looked like?”
“I don’t know. Ordinary looking, except he was a preacher. I could tell by his collar.”
“I see. Thank you, Mr. Vickery. And thank you for your help, Mr. Wilson.”
“You can’t hold us responsible,” Wilson said again.
“I don’t, Mr. Wilson. You can rest assured of that. I know exactly who is responsible for this.”
CONSULTING WITH THE POLICE WAS A BIT MORE DIFFICULT THAN dealing with Wilson Brothers Masonry. Gideon began to regret not having a background in criminal law, because he would have been much more familiar with the police department, but eventually he was directed to the correct precinct and the detective who had investigated DeForrest Jenks’s death.
Detective O’Reilly was a jovial, red-faced Irishman almost as big around as he was tall. He suggested Gideon treat him to a beer in a nearby bar so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Gideon was only too happy to buy O’Reilly a beer or three if he could give him the information he needed.
“Oh yeah,” O’Reilly said when they received their beers and had withdrawn to a booth. “I’ll never forget that poor sod. What a terrible way to go. And if he’d been standing a few feet away, it would’ve missed him completely.”
“Where exactly did you find him?”
“Under the big stone monster,” O’Reilly said and laughed heartily at his own joke.
Gideon smiled politely. “I meant how close to the building?”
“Of course you did. Not far away. The . . . what do you call them things?”
“Gargoyles.”
“Gargoyles.” He gave a little shudder. “It didn’t jump off the roof, you know. It just kind of let loose of its moorings and fell straight down from where it was.”
“So Jenks must have been standing right next to the building.”
“I guess so. That’s where we found him. Flat on his face and the gargoyle perched on his back, so to speak.”
“His back?”
“Yeah. It was almost funny. Would have been if the man wasn’t dead, I mean. It was like the man had cushioned the gargoyle’s fall, so the thing was hardly even damaged, just sitting there on him.”
“Let me get this straight. Jenks was lying on the sidewalk, facedown, and the gargoyle was on his back.”
“That’s it.” O’Reilly had drained his beer and signaled for another.
“What were his injuries? Jenks, I mean.”
“His chest was crushed. The weight of the thing and the force of it hitting him did that, I guess.”
“Not his head?”
“Oh no. His head wasn’t hurt a bit, not even his face when he hit the sidewalk. I reckon they could have a viewing for him with no trouble at all. That’s nice for the family. It’s bad when they can’t see the dead loved one. Makes it hard to accept they’re gone.”
Gideon could imagine. What he could not imagine was getting hit by a falling gargoyle and not having any injuries on your head. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”
“A falling gargoyle? Not when it hit somebody.”
“I’m just trying to figure out why the gargoyle didn’t hit Jenks in the head if he was standing up.”
O’Reilly shrugged. “Maybe he ducked.”
But even if he ducked, the gargoyle wouldn’t have landed squarely on his back unless . . . “Could Jenks have already been lying down when it hit him?”
O’Reilly glanced around as if making sure nobody was listening. Nobody was, because nobody in the bar cared what they were discussing. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, and I know this fellow was a friend of yours, but . . .” He glanced around again.
“He wasn’t a close friend,” Gideon said quite truthfully. “And I need to know if there was anything suspicious about his death.”
“Not suspicious, but . . . They said he’d been pretty drunk when he left the club that night.”
“So you think he’d passed out?”
“That’s what we figured. I didn’t tell the widow that, you understand. No sense making it harder for her. But we thought he was already down when the thing hit him.”
“Do you usually find drunks lying facedown?”
“We find them every way. I even saw one poor sod who drowned when he fell in the gutter and then it rained.”
But O’Reilly didn’t know that DeForrest Jenks had not been a drunk and hadn’t habitually passed out on public streets. Or that someone who had reason to wish him dead knew something heavy was ready to fall and kill him if only he were in exactly the right place.
“What if I told you that Jenks had enemies, someone who wanted to marry his widow?”
“You mean she had a lover? And they wanted this Jenks out of the way?”
Oh no, was that the first thing someone would assume? That Priscilla had been in on it, too? Of course it was, if Knight had killed Jenks and promptly married his widow, which was exactly what he’d done. “Not really, but suppose this enemy knew the gargoyle was ready to fall and only needed a push, so the enemy drugged Jenks and laid him down on the sidewalk, and then he went up on the roof and pushed the gargoyle off.”
O’Reilly thoughtfully sipped his beer. “Did anybody see him do it?”
“No.”
“Did he tell anybody he did it?”
“No.”
“Any chance he’s going to confess he did it?”
“I don’t know. There were two of them, and one is already dead.”
“Which means all the other one has to do is keep his—or her—mouth shut.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d say you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of proving it, Mr. Bates.”
“But couldn’t the police reopen the investigation and—”
“And what? Why would we reopen it a year later when it was ruled an accident and nobody even questioned it then and you’ve got no proof otherwise even now?”
“What would it take to reopen the case?”
O’Reilly shook his head at such an absurd question. “Your man would have to march down to the precinct house and confess and beg us to arrest him, because even then we’d probably just think he was drunk or insane.”
“But—”
“Mr. Bates, thank you for the beer. I’m sorry your friend got killed, but if what you say really happened, you’re going to have to figure out another way to get your revenge, because the police can’t help you.”
DAISY WAS ENJOYING AN AFTERNOON WITH NO RESPONSIBILITIES. The maid had done the housework, and Daisy had no committee meetings or other church responsibilities, so she was free to sit back, put her feet up and read the latest salacious novel from the collection she kept locked in the safe in her husband’s office. She had to replace the dust jacket with one from a more respectable book, in case someone happened to see it, but that rarely happened.
Today she appeared to be reading a book of sermons when the maid told her there was a man at the door who wanted to see a Matthew Honesdale and he wouldn’t believe no one named Matthew lived there.
“Should I send him away?” the girl asked.
“No, I’ll see him,” Daisy said, overcome with curiosity. She glanced down at her dress and sighed. She’d chosen her oldest gown today since she had not expected visitors, but it would take too long to change. The man might leave and she’d never find out what he wanted with Matthew.
She chose to stand in the middle of the modest parlor to meet him, and the maid ushered him in and announced him as Leonard Ross. She assumed her best lady-of-the-manor expression and signaled the maid to leave the door open.
She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but he was a pleasant surprise: young and attractive and a little puzzled, although his checked suit offended her sense of fashion. “Mrs. Honesdale?”
“Yes. I understand you’re looking for a Matthew Honesdale.”
“That’s right. Your maid said he doesn’t live here, but I was told otherwise.”
“By whom?”
That stopped him and he winced slightly. “A friend. So you’re not his wife, Mrs. Honesdale?”
“No, I am not. May I ask what business you have with Matthew Honesdale?”
That stopped him again. “I’m not sure I should discuss it with anybody except Mr. Honesdale. Are you sure you don’t know him?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know him. I said he doesn’t live here.”
To her surprise, he smiled. “Ah, that’s different. So you do know him.”
“Mr. Ross, perhaps we should sit down. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea or coffee?”
“I’d prefer something stronger, but coffee will do.”
Daisy rang for the maid and offered Mr. Ross a chair near the gas fire. When the maid had gone off for the coffee, Daisy took the chair opposite his.
“Now, perhaps you’ll tell me how you ended up here looking for Matthew.”
He leaned back and studied her for a moment. “I was sent to find him. My . . . business associates are anxious to speak to him.”
“And would Matthew be happy if you found him?”
“He might be richer if I found him, so I assume that would make him happy.”
“So you have a business proposition for him.”
“Yes, I do. Or rather Mr. Franklin does. Mr. Franklin is my, uh, associate.”
This was the most interesting thing that had happened to her since Endicott Knight died. “What kind of proposition would that be?”
Ross gave her an apologetic grin. “I don’t think I could discuss it with a lady like you.”
“Oh, I know what kind of business Matthew does, so I doubt you could shock me.”
“Really, Mrs. Honesdale, if you just tell me where I went wrong and where I can find Mr. Honesdale, I’ll leave you to your own business. Believe me, you’ll be glad I did.”
“I don’t think I will, Mr. Ross. I think I will worry and fret over whether I did the right thing or not, because I’m afraid I must send you away unsatisfied if you don’t tell me more.”
At her emphasis on the word “unsatisfied,” his eyebrows had risen, and she saw the unmistakable glint of interest in his dark eyes. She hardly ever saw that glint in a man’s eyes anymore, not since she’d let Matthew convince her that marrying Peter would mean a life of leisure and luxury. Before that, she’d seen it on every man who entered her house. Oh, maybe it wasn’t for her specifically, but she could elicit it at will back then with just a swish of her skirt or a flutter of her lashes. That glint made a woman feel alive.
“I wouldn’t want to be unsatisfied, Mrs. Honesdale, but what would your husband think?”
“He’ll think what I tell him to think.” Awareness flooded her veins. She was powerful and in control again. Oh, how she’d missed that feeling. “Now, tell me why your Mr. Franklin wants to see Matthew.”
“You said you know about Matthew’s business.” It was a question.
“Yes, I do. We used to be . . . partners.” Only a slight exaggeration.
“Partners, eh?” Now he was really interested in her. “Then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. It’s not a secret or anything.”
Daisy remembered the door was still open, and she certainly didn’t want the maid to hear what Mr. Ross had to say. She got up and closed it. When she was back in her chair, she said, “Tell me.”
“Mr. Franklin is looking to, uh, expand his business interests into New York City.”
“Where are his interests now?”
“Chicago.”
“Then he must know what he’s doing. Why does he need to consult with Matthew?”
“He knows his business, but he doesn’t know the city. He needs a partner to introduce him to the right people.”
And, she knew, to help him figure out whom to bribe and whom to intimidate. “And how did he settle on Matthew?”
“Mutual friends suggested Mr. Honesdale would have the right contacts.”
“Does your Mr. Franklin actually know Matthew?”
“No.”
“So Franklin would be just as happy with anyone who could give him the help he needs.”
“Maybe. I’d have to ask him.”
The maid tapped on the door and delivered their coffee. When she had gone, Daisy went to a cabinet and brought back a bottle of bourbon. After adding some to Mr. Ross’s coffee, she did the same to her own.
She gave him a chance to taste his before she said, “Now tell me exactly what your Mr. Franklin’s plans are once he’s paid off the right people.”
GIDEON HAD RESISTED THE URGE TO GO TO ELIZABETH AND tell her what he’d learned. What he’d learned was interesting but not helpful at all. In fact, it only confirmed her theory that the law offered no hope of justice, at least so far. So at the end of this very full day, he went to Priscilla’s bank for his long-delayed visit to see Mr. Renfroe on the slim chance he might know something about how Endicott Knight had disposed of his money.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Bates?” Renfroe asked when Gideon was seated in one of the visitor’s chairs facing Renfroe’s massive desk. Renfroe was a portly man in an expensive suit he’d had made when he weighed at least twenty pounds less than he currently did. He wore a diamond stickpin and had a heavy gold watch chain stretched across his round belly, as if it were holding his vest closed against the pressure of his girth. He made up for having no hair at all on the top of his head by sporting enormous side-whiskers.
“Mrs. Priscilla Knight has asked me to help her settle her husband’s affairs. She was quite confused and, I must say, alarmed when you informed her about the current state of her finances.”
“I thought she might be, which is why I made a point of informing her. Of course, I only know about the funds she and her first husband had deposited with us. Perhaps Mr. Knight merely moved those funds to another institution, but I knew Mrs. Knight would assume they were still with us. I didn’t want her to be surprised.”
“That was kind of you, Mr. Renfroe. Do you usually take such an interest in your depositors?”
Renfroe shifted uneasily in his large leather chair. “No, I don’t, but I do try to look after the widows. My father died young, and my mother had a difficult time of it, I can tell you. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, so I offer what advice I can and try to help them.”
“If Knight really was moving her funds to another bank, how would we find out which one?” Gideon asked to see what he’d say.
“He would probably have documents from that bank. Checks and statements, that sort of thing.”
“And if he didn’t?”
Mr. Renfroe leaned back in his luxurious chair, frowning. “Mr. Bates, may I be frank with you?”
“I hope you will be.”
“I do not believe Knight was merely moving the funds.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he withdrew them in cash. If he were merely moving them to another bank or investing them in something like stock or property, he would have asked for a bank draft or used a check.”
“Some people prefer to deal in cash,” Gideon suggested.
“That may be true, but I find that legitimate business rarely requires large sums be paid out in cash.”
“What did you suspect, Mr. Renfroe? And please be frank, because Mrs. Knight’s future depends upon it.”
“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Bates, but I hesitate to say what I suspect because all of the possibilities are so distasteful and reflect very poorly on Mr. Knight.”
“Then let’s speak in general terms. In your experience, what are some reasons a man would need to withdraw large sums of cash?”
Renfroe sighed and shook his head. “As I said, all of the possibilities are distasteful. The usual one is gambling debts. Gambling has no appeal for me, but I understand it can become quite an obsession with some men.”
“Except for an occasional game of cards at his club, I’ve never known Knight to gamble.”
“I haven’t either, although I never knew him particularly well. Another weakness that frequently drains a man’s resources is women. I don’t mean his wife, although some wives can be extravagant, but rather a kept woman who requires support over and above the usual costs of supporting a family, and whose demands can become excessive.”
“We’ve found no evidence of another woman.” Except for the one in the photograph.
“And some men prefer many different women and the variety found in brothels. Customers in such establishments are encouraged to spend lavishly on liquor and entertainments, I understand.”
Establishments that catered to men with Knight’s tastes would be more expensive than most, Gideon suspected as well.
“I know this only from hearing the lamentations of men ruined by such practices, you understand,” Renfroe added.
“Of course,” Gideon said, more than willing to believe him.
Gideon waited, but Renfroe apparently had nothing else to offer. “Is that all?”
“Probably not, but that is all I can think of at the moment.”
“What about blackmail?”
Plainly, Renfroe had not considered blackmail. “Good heavens, do you think Knight was being blackmailed?”
“We have reason to believe it, yes. That is one reason I came to see you today. I wanted to know if you had any idea what Knight was doing with the money he withdrew.”
“I told you, it was all in cash. If he had used a check or a bank draft, we would have records, but . . .”
“Can you remember anything at all about his behavior at the bank? Was he particularly friendly with anyone in whom he might have confided? Or even someone who might have overheard him say something or have seen him with someone who might have been the blackmailer?”
“Do blackmailers accompany their victims to the bank?” Renfroe asked, horrified.
“I have no idea, but if anyone was with Knight when he made the withdrawals, that person might know something, at least.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. I don’t think I ever encountered Mr. Knight when he visited the bank. He never asked to see me, and why would he if his main interest was simply withdrawing as much of his wife’s money as he could?”
“You’re probably right. Who else might have seen him?”
“Any of the tellers. The doorman.”
“Shall we ask them?”
“No, I don’t think that’s wise, and I don’t want to get them upset, either. I can call them in, one by one, and ask them over the course of the day tomorrow. If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”
Gideon wasn’t satisfied with that. He wanted to hear their answers. “I would be happy to sit in while you question them.”
But Renfroe was shaking his head. “I said I don’t want to upset them, and having an attorney present would do that only too well. No, I’ll make it a matter of my personal concern. They’ll be anxious to help Mrs. Knight if they can.”
Gideon reluctantly took his leave with Renfroe’s promise to send for him when he’d finished with his task. In the meantime, he had another death to investigate.
“HE WANTS TO OPEN SEVERAL HOUSES IN THE CITY,” DAISY TOLD Peter that evening. “Each of them would specialize.” She’d waited until after supper, when the maids had left for the day and they could speak privately, to tell him about Leonard Ross’s visit. They were enjoying their after-dinner coffee in the parlor she hated so much.
“I don’t understand,” Peter said in that petulant voice that set her teeth on edge. “Why did he come here looking for Matthew?”
“He said someone told him this was where Matthew lives. Who cares why he came here? The important thing is that we heard about this first.”
“I don’t know why that’s important.”
He wouldn’t. She had to think of everything. “Because this is our chance.”
“Our chance to do what?”
She managed not to snap at him. Patience was the key for dealing with Peter. “To finally have everything we want. Don’t you see? This Franklin needs a partner, someone who knows the city. He wants to open the first house in a respectable neighborhood and cater to the carriage trade.”
“Isn’t that dangerous? The respectable neighborhood, I mean.”
“Of course it is, which is why he needs our help. Don’t you see? We can guide him. We can introduce him to the right people.”
“And what do we get in return?”
“Half of the business. Maybe more than that. We can provide the house and the introductions.”
“What house are you talking about? This house belongs to the church. We can’t—”
“Knight’s house.”
He blinked stupidly. “But we don’t own that house.”
“Matthew does, or at least he owns the mortgage.”
“What good does that do us, though?”
“We can buy the mortgage from him and then foreclose, because Priscilla won’t be able to pay it and she won’t care about holding on to Knight’s house, in any case. Matthew won’t think anything of it, either. He never wanted the mortgage in the first place. He only took it because I asked him.”
Peter smiled at the memory. “And you did it so if Knight ever reported the blackmail, he’d be implicated. Matthew never suspected a thing.”
“Of course not. He still thinks I’m his creature.”
“That’s been the most fun of all of this, knowing Matthew still thinks he’s in control. He’s going to be so surprised when he finds out what we’ve been doing right under his nose.”
“Which is why we need to convince this Franklin to go in with us instead of Matthew. You have no idea how much a house like that can earn.”
“And we’ll be rich, like Matthew is.”
“Richer,” she assured him, glad to see he finally understood.
He considered the possibilities for a long moment. “I’ll have to give up the church.”
“You were going to anyway, when we had enough money.”
“I’m glad we won’t be doing the blackmail anymore.”
“I know it was difficult for you,” she soothed.
“Poor Jenks. I still dream about him sometimes.”
She managed not to roll her eyes. “But it was necessary. And won’t your father be furious when you leave the church?” she added to distract him.
He brightened instantly. “Yes. Yes, he will. We’ll have to make sure he knows about the house and what’s going on there. Maybe we’ll invite him for a visit. Can you imagine his reaction when he realizes what we’ve done?”
“That would be delicious,” she said, although she knew Nathan Honesdale would never accept an invitation to her home, even if it weren’t a brothel. They’d make sure the scandal touched him, though. Poor Peter didn’t seem to realize that any scandal that ruined his father’s name would ruin his, too, but she wasn’t going to point it out. Ruining Nathan Honesdale had always been one of her goals, ever since he’d told her she wasn’t welcome in his house, and she didn’t care if Peter’s good name got ruined, too. “I’ll need you to help me with Franklin.”
“Certainly, my love.” He gave her the silly grin he thought was appealing. It wasn’t.
If only she could get rid of him, but she would need him for a while yet. “Men like Franklin don’t like doing business with women. I’ll tell you what to say to him, but he won’t want to think I’m making any of the decisions.”
“You know you can depend on me. Haven’t I proved that already?”
“Yes, you have.” As difficult as it had been to convince him in the first place, she had to admit he had managed to follow her instructions so far.
“What do we need to do now?”
“This Ross fellow is going to let us know when Franklin arrives in the city. Then we’ll meet with him and find out exactly what he needs.”
“And we’ll make it clear he won’t get it unless we’re his partners.”
“I don’t think we need to be quite so uncompromising, darling. He could always seek out Matthew if we’re unreasonable. We should be as accommodating as possible, I think.”
“Oh, of course. You’re right. What will he want from us?”
“He’ll tell us, and we’ll be only too happy to help.”
“Can we trust a man like that, though?”
“Absolutely not, but he can’t trust us, either, can he, darling?”
Peter smiled at that, because he didn’t know he couldn’t trust her, either.
IN THE LIGHT OF DAY, GIDEON OBSERVED THE NEXT MORNING, Death Avenue didn’t look particularly dangerous. Pedestrians and vehicles, both motorized and horse-drawn, moved easily around and across the tracks that ran down the center of Eleventh Avenue. Even when a train came chugging along the tracks, no one seemed alarmed. In fact, they seemed almost oblivious to the danger such a huge vehicle could pose if one weren’t quite careful enough. True, it chugged very slowly, but it also would stop very slowly if someone were to slip and fall at just the wrong time. Still, pedestrians crossed in front of it with impunity, allowing themselves just enough time to clear the tracks to avoid disaster as the train went by.
The now-legendary West Side Cowboy rode his horse ahead of the train to warn people and vehicles off the tracks. Dressed in a uniform coat of navy blue and sporting a large-brimmed Western hat, the rider held a red flag that presumably alerted everyone to the oncoming danger. Wasn’t he supposed to be waving the flag or something, to be more noticeable? Gideon couldn’t help observing, however, how many people and even vehicles hurried to cross in front of the train after the cowboy passed. So the cowboy’s warning obviously wasn’t as effective as it was supposed to be.
Gideon tried to imagine the street after dark, the time when Endicott Knight had been hit. The train would have a spotlight and the cowboy would carry a lantern, but Gideon imagined his warning would be just as ineffective.
Gideon had spent most of the morning trying to track down someone who could tell him about the night Endicott Knight had died, but the people in the office of the New York Central Railroad had claimed complete ignorance and referred him to the police. The detective who had investigated Knight’s death wasn’t on duty, and no one knew where he could be found. Finally, Gideon decided that the West Side Cowboy might know what had happened, since he’d undoubtedly been on the spot when Knight died.
Gideon waited until the cowboy took a break and led his horse into a livery stable for a rest. The stalls were all full of horses, who turned their heads lazily to follow Gideon’s progress as he sauntered through. When Gideon found the cowboy, he had unsaddled his horse and was brushing him. Gideon introduced himself.
“A lawyer, huh?” the young man said with a frown. Gideon guessed him to be about twenty. “That can’t be good.”
“I’m just trying to find out some information for a friend of mine, about the man who got hit by the train a couple months ago.”
“I don’t know nothing about it.”
“But surely you remember when it happened.”
“We all remember when it happened. Not too many folks get hit by the train anymore, and even then, it’s usually kids, fooling around. So for a grown man to get killed, that’s something you remember.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“I told you, I don’t know nothing about it.”
“But if you were there . . . ?”
“I wasn’t there. I only work in the daytime.”
“Who works at night, then?”
“Lots of fellows. Lots of fellows work in the daytime, too. There’s twelve of us cowboys.”
Why hadn’t Gideon realized that? It would take more than one person to guard the tracks twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. “Do you know who was working that night?”
“I sure do, but why should I tell you?”
“Because the dead man’s widow is still very upset, and she wants to know what happened to him.” He glanced around to see if anyone was listening, and of course nobody was, but he lowered his voice just the same. “They said it was an accident, but some people think he committed suicide, and his widow thinks somebody might’ve pushed him.”
The cowboy’s eyes got big. “Pushed him? You mean on purpose?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
The young man whistled his amazement. “Sam was working that night. He says he still has nightmares. Your fellow got caught under the wheels. It wasn’t pretty.”
Gideon could imagine. “Where can I find Sam?”
“He’ll be at home, probably still sleeping if he worked last night.” The cowboy gave Gideon the address of Sam’s rooming house. “Do you think he saw the guy get pushed and that’s why he’s having nightmares?”
Gideon had no idea, but he was determined to find out.