Chapter 7

"Quarter bit please g'lmen; whatever you can spare." The voice came from a man of medium build, with light brown hair, clothed in worn, patched working man's clothes. There was the faint hint of a southern accent Heath noted, as he took in the figure approaching them. He and Nick both had their guns close by, and he sent his brother a quick look, who nodded in response.

Heath regarded the man coming close to them and was suddenly struck by familiarity, as if he had met the man before. He squinted, trying to get a better look at the beggar's face, wishing that the gas street lights were brighter.

"Pls I don't mean any harm, just looking for something to tide me over until I find work." The poorly dressed man – his clothes were thin; too thin for the cold air – managed to maintain an aura of dignity, in spite of his pleas for aid. Heath suddenly recognized the man, as he remembered that long ago time at Carterson Prison. The memory caused an almost physical pain to hit him, as his breath drew hard inward not wanting to remember that period of his life.

"Logan Dawes?" Heath moved towards the man, going slow so as not to startle him. It had been so long since their time in Texas; however the last time he'd seen Dawes, over six years ago, the man had a small homestead, along with a wife and son. It had helped to erase some of the pain of the time in Texas.

"Do I know you?" The beggar squinted, and moved closer to the gas light at the corner. "Heath? Heath Thompson? Why I haven't seen you since Elk Creek!" Just as the man had moved forward he started to back up, but Heath put his hand out to grasp his arm.

"Logan it is you! What is going on? Why are you" Heath suddenly stopped, as he regarded the beggar in front of him. The last he'd seen of Logan the man was well fed, and showing off his thriving farm. Clearly things had not gone well for his old friend. "By the way it is Heath Barkley now, something of a long story."

"Oh Heath, I'm sorry I need to leave, just forget you saw me." The man's embarrassment was apparent, as he regarded the well-dressed group who were looking at him with curiosity.

Heath vaguely registered how Sarah and Priscilla had both drawn in quick breaths, as they stiffened with fear. He also noted how Nick had dropped his cigar, as he went for his gun when Logan had approached the group. Nick clearly was ready to defend the ladies; for some reason Sarah huddling behind Nick made Heath feel like he wasn't doing his duty to her.

"Nick, its fine! This is Logan Dawes, an old friend of mine." Heath made the introductions leaving out exactly where Logan was an old friend from. It was taking all of his self-control to hold it together as the memories hit him hard.

"Well then, any friend of my brother's is a friend of mine." Nick walked over and extended his right hand for a shake. Heath felt a surge of gratitude to his brother, but noticed that both Sarah and Priscilla were standing back, letting the men take the lead. He hoped it was just their fear of being accosted on the street, and not Logan's appearance that caused their reaction.

The next several minutes were spent with Heath and Logan catching up; Heath heard about the locust invasion that had destroyed the year's crops. Just as he was struggling to recover, a cholera epidemic had swept Elk Creek, which took his wife and son. Since then Logan said he'd been moving around working in various mines as he could find work. He was in Denver until he could get the fare to go to Georgetown, where jobs were plentiful.

"Well Logan I can certainly assist you with that! I will be in Georgetown in about a week, but let me help you before then." Heath knew the man's work ethic and inwardly smiled that he could help his once benefactor secure a job. "Here, you look way too cold so take my coat – you know how I am always warm. My card is in the pocket, along with ten dollars." He went on to state that he was staying at the Queen City Hotel, and he wanted to meet Logan in the lobby, to have breakfast.

"Heath, really? That is a very fine coat!" Logan was clearly hesitant at taking it, but Heath insisted, saying he could always return it tomorrow. In truth, Logan could keep it as Heath had always thought it too ostentatious for his taste. It had surprised him that Sarah, who'd always been so low-key had gifted him such a coat; it was like what an old, rich man would wear and made him wonder how Sarah saw him?

Just then the door man outside of the opera house hailed the Barkley party for their carriage, so they said good bye to Logan. Heath clasped the man tightly to him, whispering in his ear to please come to the hotel tomorrow morning. It pained him to watch Logan walk down the dark street, and tried to console himself that at least the man had a warm coat to protect him against the cold, hard wind coming down from the Rocky Mountains.

The carriage ride back to the hotel was interesting, to say the least; Priscilla had started to ask him about Logan which was a subject he wasn't ready to discuss yet. Luckily for Heath, Nick picked up on his reluctance and changed the subject to the evening's performance. Heath noticed the look Nick gave Priscilla, as he made his comment on the play, and appreciated how quickly Priscilla was chatting about the evening.

Heath, concerned about Logan, was aware of Sarah's tenseness, as she sat next to him. She had been standoffish during the encounter with Logan, and when Heath had offered the man his greatcoat knew that she'd been upset at his action. Not for the first time he wished that Sarah was easier going, and more willing to trust him.

Of course, he admitted to himself, he had tried to leave the coat in California, and wouldn't care if he never saw it again. Heath, when she had gifted him the coat had been taken aback at the gift and its lavishness. He now chided himself, wishing he'd been upfront with her at the time, about his feelings regarding the gift. As the carriage made its way through the dark streets Heath thought that he had somehow let both Logan and Sarah down, even as he wasn't sure why.

Arriving back at their suite at the hotel Nick had offered a nightcap, but Sarah had almost snapped that she was going to bed. Heath felt the hard look she gave him, clearly expecting him to follow her. One part of him wanted to stay and have a drink, but he knew that he would only pay for it later. With an inward sigh he bid his brother and Priscilla good night and quickly followed Sarah into their room.

The next morning…

Nick was awake by 6:00am the next morning, but conscious of Priscilla's sleeping form he moved carefully out of bed. Last night, after the show and Heath's encounter with his old friend – Nick wasn't sure what Logan Dawes was to his brother, but it was clear that the man was important – he'd been glad to get back to the hotel. He knew that Priscilla was tired, but had picked up that Heath was distressed while Sarah was hurt and upset about the encounter with the strange man.

In all honesty he only offered the nightcap to give Heath some breathing room, figuring that Sarah would say no and go to their bedroom. Nick was concerned about the faraway look in his brother's eyes, even as he wanted to get Priscilla into bed. Instead Heath had gone with Sarah, no doubt hoping to placate her; privately Nick wished him good luck with that. At least it left Nick to take care of Priscilla, who sagged against him once the other couple left the sitting room.

It was with pleasure that Nick helped Priscilla off with her clothes, after she'd removed her jewelry that she laid on the dressing table, the diamonds sending rainbow sparks on the walls. Nick let his hands softly stroke her body, as he removed her clothing, growling at the red marks her corset had left. He had been worried about how tightly she was laced, but was reassured when she reminded him that the stays always did that. Priscilla had teased him though that in another three months she was going to be showing and it wouldn't be safe for her to have such tight lacings.

He had wanted to roar with pleasure, at the idea of his wife great with their child, but contained himself. It took a great deal of self-control not to ravish Priscilla, as he helped her into her nightgown which was confection of white silk, inset lace and ribbon threaded trim. She looked like a petis four, and Nick in other circumstances would have been all over her.

However, she was carrying his child and needed rest; instead he used the hot plate left over from her teaching days, to make some tea. Soo had given them his special blend, along with the ginger root and file, for their use at the hotel when he wasn't there. Nick found himself very rewarded for his care when Priscilla had woken up at 5:00am, wanting to be held. One thing led to another, and he'd smiled even as tried to muffle her screams of satisfaction by letting her bury her head against his chest.

Nick was now dressed and standing in the sitting room at 6:15am wondering what to do with his morning. He was very surprised that Heath wasn't up; they both kept the same working schedule, but figured that maybe his brother was resting up after the events of last night. He used the in-house bell system to signal for first breakfast; Nick had set it up so he and Heath would have coffee and toast early in the morning. Second breakfast, later, was the full meal of eggs, meat, fruit, pastry, juice, and more coffee for them and the ladies.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings, and he opened it to admit a white coated waiter, pushing a cart. The man wheeled it into the room, showed the coffee, toast, and biscuits, along with jam, honey and butter. The Denver paper, and yesterday's Chicago paper was on the tray, Nick tipped him well, as was his habit; after the waiter he left he helped himself to a cup of coffee and settled down to read the newspapers.

When he heard the next knock on the door he looked over at the clock on the mantle and noticed that it was almost half past seven. Nick was puzzled at the sound; who would be knocking at the door and where was Heath? Folding the Chicago paper, which had more pages than the Denver one, he set it aside and walked over to answer the door.

An hour earlier…

Senior Detective Jack Regan tugged the collar of his utilitarian brown wool coat tighter against his neck. It was cold, almost freezing, and he was wishing he'd pulled his scarf out when he was gathering his winter gloves. His breath made little clouds, in the biting air, even as the sky was slowly moving from pinks and reds to blue, the sun rising in the east.

Jack knew why the beat constable had called the death in. The man had been doing his duty, patrolling the open park space that separated the grand mansions from the upscale hotels and shops along East Colfax Avenue. Any dead body would have been a cause for concern, but one dressed in a fine wool coat with a lavish Persian lamb collar was even more so of a problem.

The detective noted the prone position of the body, with the seeping blood stain marking even darker the black wool. He moved closer and noted the shaggy, unkempt light brown hair, the unshaven jaw line of the face that was laying on the left cheek, as well as the ragged nails on the hands that were raised above the head.

He said some approving words to the beat constable, who was standing just slightly away from the body, with a worried look. Jack noticed that he man was young, and was probably concerned about calling out a detective at six o'clock in the morning. The constable had done the right thing though, because the dead man didn't match the coat, and after all, it was the rich side of town.

That thought had him silently chuckling, as he thought about what his father, now a high ranking police lieutenant in New York City, would comment. Jack's grandfather had come over during the potato famine, but had the good luck to be married to a daughter of a man who was already high up in the Irish Immigrant Society. By the end of the Civil War Boss Tweed ran the city through a twisted combination of charity and violence.

It was the New York police department that both gave him a career and sent him west. Jack was savvy enough to understand that graft and behind the scenes dealing was everywhere, but the west offered a slightly more level playing field. A murdered man usually exposed the rougher aspects of society; he moved closer to examine the body.

"Is the coroner here yet?" Jack looked around, knowing the protocol involved in the finding of a suspicious corpse. The coroner, dressed in a grey overcoat and carrying his medical bag stepped up next to him. They conferred for a few minutes, and then Jack watched as the coroner turned the body over. Jack saw the worn, patched cotton shirt and blue denim pants – faded with many washings – that contrasted with the richness of the coat.

It was with sadness and reverence that he reached out to the body; Jack was solidly Catholic after all. The lavish outer garment had two side pockets and an inner breast pocket, with the lining being done in a brilliant scarlet satin. Jack didn't recognize the label of the maker, but did note that the city was San Francisco. He commented to the doctor, who nodded and waved his assistant over, to take notes.

The outer pockets were empty, but the breast pocket had a ten dollar bill – from the mint in San Francisco – and a calling card. The card was on heavy cream colored vellum card stock, with black engraving. Jack held it up, trying to catch the rays of the rising sun, to read what was on the card.

"Heath Barkley, Barkley Ranch, Stockton, California." Jack stated, and rocked back on his heels. He pondered the calling card, on fine stock with engraving, the wealth implied by the coat, even as the man's clothes and appearance belied those trappings of money. Something wasn't adding up here, and he looked at the scene again.

The body was laying off one of the paths which was covered in crushed rock, not quite hidden by the bushes on either side. Clearly the shooter wanted the body found, which a clue in of itself was even if Jack didn't know why yet. His main question was why a man who was clearly from the lower rung of society, dressed in a rich man's coat, dead in a rich man's part of town.

"Dale?" Jack indicated for his partner, Dale May to come over. Dale had just arrived at the crime scene, and Jack brought up to speed. He liked working with Dale because the man was a walking reference book. Dale read anything and everything, remembering all of it; there was also the advantage that his sister was married to a bank vice-president. This gave him access to the upper echelon of Denver society.

"Yesterday, on the Eastern Suncatcher, the private railcar of the Barkley family, from California, arrived at Union Station." Dale announced, and went on to tell Jack about the family connection to Denver, adding that the family was staying at the Queen City Hotel.

"Well then I think we need to pay a welcome call on our visitors from California." Jack replied "Maybe they can tell us who this man is…and who killed him." Nothing about the body, scene, or anything else was making sense, and he was a man who didn't like loose ends.