May 1880
Stuart Adams walked down the raucous Deadwood Main Street, crossing a street dividing what was commonly known as ‘The Badlands’ and the ‘good side of town.’ Even though Sherriff Manning had hired him as a deputy after the 1879 fire, it was his day off and he was heading into the hills to search for wildlife. He hoisted his knapsack containing binoculars, beef jerky, cheese, bread, a pocket diary, and water higher up on his shoulders.
But old habits die hard. He was always on the lookout for trouble. As the town was rebuilding, an attempt was made to make the town safer, but it seemed no matter what they did, the rowdies and outlaws still managed to create havoc.
As fast as the town burned, rebuilding began, although this time citizens were made to use brick for their buildings. The businesses reconstructed the quickest were the saloons and brothels. Maybe, someday, there would be no more of either, but it probably wouldn’t happen in his lifetime, nor his children’s, if he were ever to marry.
He didn’t begrudge men their drink and entertainment, but it was the way the painted ladies were treated. He’d seen plenty of supposedly upstanding citizens sneak into the back alley to enter the upstairs rooms. Other than breaking up fights or disputes, he’d never been in one for servicing. He’d been told there were hallways going across the second floors of each building from one end of the block to the other, all housing rooms.
A gunshot rang through the air, but since no others followed and no one yelled, he ignored it. Sometimes when men came in from their gold camps, they wanted to let off steam. As long as no one got hurt, they didn’t follow up on gunfire.
What was difficult to ignore on were the screams of the ladies of the evening. It was hard to tell if they were really in danger or laughing and screeching with the men who frequented them. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d run toward what he thought was a woman being accosted and found out it was one simply trying to get the attention of a customer. He believed there were times a woman, and sometimes men, could have been saved had there not been so many false alarms. It made for a frustrating job.
It was sad to say, if a woman screamed on the good side of Main Street, he would go running like a madman to save her. Those women weren’t any better than the ‘soiled doves,’ but he’d know for sure someone was actually in trouble. Sometimes when the camp men came to town and had a few too many, they forgot which side to be on.
Even in the middle of the day, the Badlands were noisy. But beneath the pianos, girls calling from the balconies of the Gem, and other brothels, and men calling back to them, someone was yelling murder from what seemed to be from the rear of the buildings. He turned left on Wall Street, passed The Sideboard Saloon, and turned right onto the alley behind the saloons, brothels, and stores. Several buildings down, a man hung out a second-story window.
“Hey, deputy, someone done kilt one of the girls up here. The culprit climbed down dese sheets and got away.”
From the corner of his eye came a flash of someone running down West Main Street. The person glanced over his shoulder before disappearing around a building. Should he make chase or check out the woman? Even if he went after the person, it didn’t mean he was the murderer or if he’d even be able to catch him. From what he saw, the man was wearing a rounded, brown hat, dungarees, and a red plaid shirt.
Ah, hell. Dressed like about every other miner in Deadwood. What was different about this man was his clothes seemed clean and in good shape for a miner and a long, dark braid ran down his back. He shrugged. Best to check out the so-called murder. Probably was one of the girls too drunk on booze or on drugs to move.
“Someone open the door for me.” Brothels usually kept their doors locked to keep out the worst of the men. He didn’t blame them. Besides, some of the brothels had regular customers.
He stared down the alley waiting for the door to open. He tipped his hat when a woman opened the door. A lady was a lady no matter what she did. “Hey, Miss Edda. Where is she?”
“This way.” Without making sure he was following her, the madam lifted her skirt and headed up the long flight of stairs.
Stuart followed her to a landing, then to a room on the left. He shoved his way through the scantily clad women gathered outside the door. “Move out of the way, people.” The men were probably hiding from him or had scurried from the building.
The women made a path for him, several of them sniffling into handkerchiefs. “Where is she?”
“It’s Ruby. She’s lying over the tub.”
The room was in disarray. For some reason, the foot of the bed was pushed up against the open window. A broken green lamp lay on the floor, the glass crunching beneath his feet as he walked to the tub.
Sure enough. There was a woman draped across the edge of the tub, her bright red hair covering her face giving him an idea where she got her name from. Blood was splattered in the tub and her hair. He squatted by the tub and felt the vein in her neck. Sure as shootin’ she was dead.
“Does anyone know what happened?” His knees creaked when he stood up and looked at the group of women.
“No. When her customer arrived, I called for her, but she didn’t answer. When I pounded on the door and got no response, Jack broke in the door. That’s when we saw the open window and a man climbing down the sheets.” She paused for a moment. “Jack was trying to pull him back up.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, Jack couldn’t get him up fast enough, so the man got away. He was surely the person to murder poor Ruby. Then you showed up.”
Stuart pulled his hat lower to observe the women in the room without them noticing who he was looking at. “When was the last time anyone saw Ruby?”
A few of the women shuffled their feet and wouldn’t look up, which was strange. In his experience, brothel women tended to stick up for each other.
“Well? Doesn’t anyone remember?” He placed a hand on his gun. Maybe it would put some fear in them. “Does anyone recall seeing a man enter Ruby’s room this morning? Did anyone see her last customer leave last night?”
Clutching the neck of her robe together, a rather pretty brunette stepped forward. “I saw her last night or early this morning after her last customer left. She said she was going to sleep. But I didn’t see anyone leave or come in.”
“Anyone else?”
A few shook their heads, while others remained quiet. “All right. Have someone fetch Doc Morris and have him come up here.”
Edda put a hand on one of the girls who turned to leave the room. “Call him. If he’s not available, call Doc Von Wedelstaedt.”
Would he ever get used to people having those telephones? They had one in the sheriff’s office, but he didn’t have one at his place. “Either one will work. Call Sheriff Manning and Undertaker Smith, too, and tell them what happened. And the rest of you get out of here.” With all the people coming and going from the room, any evidence would be corrupted.
Edda shooed the women from the room. “What do you think happened?”
“From the large gash in the back of her head and the broken lamp, I’d say someone smashed it over her head.” He took Edda’s elbow. “Now, I need you and your girls to stay out of here.”
“What are you going to do? Are you going after the murderer?”
“Since I don’t know who it is, no sense in running after someone who is probably long gone. I’m going to stay here until the doctor and sheriff arrive.” If there were still a door on its hinges, he’d close it. As it was, he’d have to stand in the doorway and keep guard. Since he wasn’t sure who the culprit was, he would keep his back to the room. Not that he wanted to watch the goings on in the main room, but he figured with the murder of one of her girls, Edda would shut her place down or send the men down the hallway to another brothel.
The murmur of the girls’ voices didn’t stop until Edda halted their conversations. “Girls. Go to your rooms. We’re closed for the night.”
Stuart placed his knapsack in the hallway outside the door and stepped into the main room, surprised at the opulence. He expected something dingy and dark, not brocade curtains, a bar, floral-covered chairs and couches, and tables for gambling. Since there were still lit cigars in ashtrays, liquor glasses, and cards strewn about the tables, his assumption the men high-tailed it out of the premises was correct. “I believe the sheriff will want to question everyone, so why don’t you all stay in this room. Maybe make tea or something.”
His comment brought laughter.
“Tea?”
“Did he say tea?”
“Does he think that’s what we drink up here?”
“Hey, deputy. Want us to make you a cup of our tea?”
Heat rose to his face. Okay, so maybe he was an idiot. Obviously, they don’t drink tea. “Uh. No, thank you. I’ll pass.”
After a few more chuckles, the women went back to chatting, and he returned to leaning against the doorframe. Depending on where the sheriff and doctor were, they should be here soon. In the meantime, he could think about who would want to kill the young woman.
He glanced over his shoulder at the tub where the girl lay. Like so many prostitutes, she was young—maybe seventeen or eighteen. He always wondered what made a woman become a soiled dove. He firmly believed it was not a choice, but a necessity. Then there were men like Al Swearengen who tricked women into coming to Deadwood under the false assumption they would be waitresses, only to find out they would be upstairs girls instead.
What was taking those men so long? If he stood here any longer, he’d doze off on his feet. The girls’ chitter-chatter had slowed. It was going on late morning. The women had probably been up until the wee hours of the morning.
Stuart repositioned his crossed legs and rested his head against the door frame. A yawn cracked his jaw. It wasn’t from being tired, but because of boredom. It was his day off. He should be up in the hills looking for wildlife, and not the two-legged kind. At this rate, it would be too late to do any hiking, and he wouldn’t have another day off until next week. Dammit. Why couldn’t he have ignored Jack’s yells?
Huh. Where had Jack gone? He’d disappeared into the hullabaloo. Stuart pushed from the doorway. “Miss Edda. Can you please come here?”
The bleary-eyed woman came around the corner. “Yes? Are you ready for some tea now?”
Stuart shook his head. “Very funny. Where did Jack go?”
Edda stared at the floor. “Now that you mention it, I don’t rightly know.”
“You wouldn’t be lying to me, now. Would you? Maybe he’s the one who killed Ruby and made up the story about a man tying bedsheets together to climb out the window. Maybe you caught him before he could get away.”
“I’m not lying. Ruby was a friend of mine. I’d never let someone get away with killing her.” She raised her chin in a sign of defiance. “Besides, he wasn’t the first one in the room.”
“Who was?”
“After he broke down the door, I was. And I can assure you, I didn’t kill her.”
Stuart raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“Yes. Not to sound crass, but besides being a friend, her death means a loss of income to me. Now I have to find someone to replace her.”
Made sense in a rather greedy kind of way. “All right. You can go. Hopefully, the sheriff will get here soon.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He’d been here nearly two hours, giving the perpetrator plenty of time to leave Deadwood. Heck, he could be almost in Scooptown by now catching a stagecoach for parts unknown. He mentally corrected himself. It was now called Sturgis. Plus, there were plenty of woods and hills to hide in between here and there.
Deep voices and pounding of boots on the stairs signaled the arrival of at least the sheriff.
Followed by Doc Morris, Manning appeared. “What’s going on here, Adams?”
“Someone murdered one of Edda’s girls.” Stuart stepped to the side to allow the men to enter the room.
“Has anyone touched anything?”
“Not while I was here. I don’t know about before I arrived.”
“How did you find her?”
While Doc Morris checked Ruby, Stuart filled him in on what happened.
“Did you get a good look at the man?”
“No. He got away before I could see his face. I was able to see what he was wearing, though.”
Manning waved the undertaker into the room. “Anything distinguishing?”
“Unfortunately, no. He looked like any other miner in town.”
“So, was she murdered, Doc?”
Morris stood and stared at the woman. “Unless she could smash the lamp on the back of her own head, I say yes. There’s glass embedded in her scalp. Plus, there’s a wicked stab wound in the side of her neck. That would account for all the blood.”
“When do you think she was killed?”
“Hard to say, but some time yesterday.”
Stuart nodded. “That would coincide with what Edda and some of the women said.”
“Well, let’s get her out of here.” He signaled to the coroner who removed the bundled-up quilt from the bed and spread it on the floor.
Stuart would never get over how heavy a body could be. Even one as slight as Ruby. After wrapping the woman in the quilt, Morris and the coroner carried her down the stairs.
“You did a good job, Adams. I know it is your day off, but I would like you to join me in interviewing the women. Maybe someone saw something they didn’t realize they’d seen.”
Recalling the way some of them wouldn’t look at him, he had an idea maybe they’d been involved. He could do a better job watching them while the sheriff did his interrogations. He withheld a sigh and followed Manning into the other room. Looked like his day off was ruined.