Chapter One

Saturday Morning April 12th 1890

"Oh, Thomas! Be careful with those crumbs on your new neck scarf!" Margaret Brackenreid cautioned her husband. "And not on the floor either. Honestly!" Her affection for him softened the tone of her voice as she drew his attention to their impressionable sons sitting at the breakfast table. She was rewarded by his smile.

"Your mother is right, I must be an example for you at home and one for my men at work. Character—that is what makes a Brackenreid! John, I want you to look after your little brother for me today. Can you do that, son?" He received a serious nod from his tow-headed eldest boy. "Now off with you both whilst I speak with your mother!" John and Bobbie placed their napkins by their plates and took off up the narrow stairs in a rush.

"I will be taking them to the park this morning while the weather is fair. Are you coming home at mid-day for your dinner?" Margaret asked, gazing with pleasure at how smart her husband looked in his new grey morning suit which he picked up from the tailor just yesterday at an impressive cost. A darker one was on order. Worth every penny, she thought. The cut of his waistcoat emphasized his impressively broad chest in a way she found supremely attractive and she believed the colour brought out the bright blue of his eyes. She had been the one to encourage the alteration in his wardrobe, more fitting to his new high- profile position.

"No, I don't think so. I am interviewing a potential replacement detective this morning and I want to keep tabs on him."

"You are not promoting from within? I thought that was your intention."

Thomas grunted. He hadn't really shared all the gritty details of his promotion with Margaret but thought he could say a few things to include her. "The Chief Constable wants me to clean out the embarrassing mess my predecessor, Inspector Cassidy, and Detective Lamb left behind and restore the reputation of Station No. 4. I was told not to promote from the squad because of all the hard feelings and people taking sides, so they are sending someone from the outside who is rising fast through the ranks."

Margaret patted his hand with pride. "You went from constable to Inspector in only ten years, Thomas-no one will top that, I'll wager!"

"Well—well see," he said, and chuckled. "Bringing in a new man from another station house-I suppose that way all the resentments will be focused on him, poor bugger, and not on each other. I hope this Murdoch fellow is someone I can count on. I may even give him a try at Acting Detective." He rose to get his jacket in preparation to leave for work. Thomas was already wearing his new responsibilities quite comfortably, he believed, but selection of his new detective was the first important administrative decision he would make as Inspector. He was charged with restoring order and solving cases—and that was exactly what he was going to do come Hell or high water! He was distracted by his musings and missed the last thing his wife said. "Come again?" he asked.

"I said, is that the same Constable Murdoch who got his name mentioned in the Gazette last month about solving that awful assault case?" Margaret repeated.

"That so-called newspaper? I wish you would not read that troublesome rag, woman. Getting mentioned in the newspaper better not become a habit of his…I need someone who knows his place, keeps his nose clean, works hard and will not ruffle any feathers. I have ambitions, Margaret. The last Chief Constable came out of Station No. 4 and one before that. Why not Thomas C. Brackenreid?"

Margaret puffed out her chest and grinned. "Indeed." She pinned his St. George's crest on his lapel and helped him with his overcoat, standing back to admire him. "You look splendid Thomas, a perfect gentleman!" She handed him the elegant walking stick she bought him as a present to mark his promotion. All that was left to add was the hat.

Better plant that seed now, she thought, while he is in a good mood. Margaret Brackenreid had her own ambitions.

"So, does this mean we can start looking to buy a home to raise our boys in? There is a lovely brick house with a sun porch for sale just three blocks over off Jarvis—I went by it on my walk yesterday. It will be the perfect expression of your new station in life." She beamed her most winning smile at her husband while handing him his brand new shiny silk top hat made with the deepest ebony hatter's plush. She went on tip-toes to give him a kiss on his cheek and watched as he sat the hat on his head, giving him a nod of approval. He kissed her back just as a shout emanated from the second floor accompanied by a boyish shriek. "Have a good day, Thomas. I will have your favorite Saturday supper waiting for you when you get home." With that, Margaret vanished rapidly up the stairs with a swish of skirts.

Thomas was left standing by the door taking in the sight of himself in his new outfit—looking just like any other member of the gentry-a banker, solicitor or businessman. Shaking his head he removed the top hat. "Too much," he said to his reflection. "We'll save this for the theatre or the opera." He grabbed his bowler hat instead and placed it on his head, then pulled the brim down at a jaunty angle and grinned into the hall mirror. Raising his cane to his shoulder, he opened his front door, took in a huge breath of fresh spring air, and went out of the house with a firm step.

X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X

Constable William Murdoch leaned his bicycle against Station House No. 4's stable wall and made sure his boots were still polished and uniform trousers were dirt-free from his hurried ride across town. He slung his messenger-case over a shoulder and proceeded into the Station House's front door, down into the small lobby, happy to see he was early for his appointment and that there was a friendly face behind the booking desk. "Constable Hodge? Good morning," he greeted the older man. "I was sent over to report to your new inspector. Do you know what this is about?"

Hodge put a finger to the side of his nose and smiled back. "Look sharp, William. He'll be with you in a minute," gesturing to a glass-enclosed office.

William restrained his curiosity about the disorder all around him—ladders, boxes, and furniture shoved willy-nilly so the walls could receive new paint, the smell from which was overpowering and stung his eyes. Another workman was noisily scraping lettering off one of the glass doors. Everyone in the constabulary knew that things were chaotic with this station house but William thought that was just about the personnel. He did not realize it extended to the physical condition of the building as well, especially as it was only two years old. No wonder my fellow officers look askance at the place.

A choleric-faced, ginger-haired man poked his head through the doorway of the glassed-in office and yelled. "Hodge! When Murdoch arrives, send him in!"

"He's right here, Inspector Brackenreid!" Constable Hodge answered and shooed William towards the door. "Good luck to you," he muttered kindly.

William adjusted his helmet slightly and entered the room to arrive at attention in front of a large desk, his arms pinned by his sides with his thumbs exactly aligned with the outside seams on his trousers. "Sir!" was all he said, with eyes straight ahead.

This gave Thomas an opportunity to inspect the new arrival. The constable across from his desk was free of any facial hair, quite fit and trim—no tell-tale snugness about the waist. His deep blue uniform was in good order, his hands were clean, and his brass and shoes had an admirable shine on them. He was surprised at how young Constable Murdoch appeared—he was not even eight years his junior but appeared much younger. Must be the modern barbering, he observed. He already approved of Murdoch's upright posture and deference to authority. So far so good.

"At ease, constable. I am Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. I suppose you heard we are reorganizing here." He paused, and when Murdoch did not answer, he motioned to him to speak.

"Yes, sir. You solved the 'Iyotte' case and got your promotion last month. May I ask why I am here? I reported to work this morning and was told to come over straight away." William kept his eyes front and center but took his helmet off and tucked it under his arm, trusting his hair remained fixed in place.

"I wanted to meet you, Murdoch. Five years as a constable, currently at Station House No. 1. Your record is good. I see you completed secondary school, so you can read and write. Any military experience?" Thomas always preferred a man with a background similar to his own.

"No sir."

"Oh, well. No one's perfect. It says here you are an expert in that Bertillon method the Chief Constable is so fond of." Thomas personally thought it was all poppy-cock but having someone on the squad to satisfy the Chief Constable was always a plus.

"Yes," William relaxed a fraction. He was starting to get hopeful his new Inspector was interested in modern police work and was going to ask for suggestions. "I have taken it upon myself to be acquainted with new developments in policing as they become available. Iam also familiar with his other forensic techniques, and those of James Marsh used in the Bodle case, physical evidence used in the John Toms case in Warwick, the use of photographs such as they are using in San Francisco. I even heard the American are experimenting with fingermarks…"

Thomas waved him quiet. "Yes, well, that is all well and good, but more importantly I need a straight arrow. I am a military man myself, like our first Chief, William Stratton Prince. Order. Duty. Code of conduct. Our job is to regulate the unruly behavior of the masses and enforce the moral and legal codes of the city. I will allow no corruption of any kind here-we may regulate the drunks and the brothels but we do not partake on the job, understood?"

"Sir?"

"I need every man's full attention. Do you smoke? Drink? Are you married or have a sweetheart?" Thomas was happy to get a head shake for each question. "Good order and discipline are paramount…"

Right at that moment a stupendous crash came from the central bull-pen as a cascade of boxes fell when a workman bumped into them. "Bleedin' idiot!" Thomas yanked his door open to holler at them in a Yorkshire-inflected bawl to be a "Damn lot more careful."

William winced at the profanity and tried to hide his reaction from the inspector. William knew Detective Brackenreid had a reputation for being no-nonsense, blunt and heavy handed, as well as honest and capable. Brackenreid was also celebrated for his gregariousness as well as a salty tongue, which was not as yet curbed by promotion to Inspector. I am the son of a sailor, after all, so it's not like I am unfamiliar with that kind of language. Between his father's mouth and two winters in a French lumber camp, William could swear for a full two minutes in English or French without repeating himself, but found the habit to be vulgar as well as sinful.

"I also uphold tradition." Thomas continued, trying to gauge what was going on behind Murdoch's rigid face. "The Toronto Constabulary was the first municipal police service in all of North America, did you know? I expect personal integrity, loyalty to the law and the constabulary and obeying orders. Do you have a problem with any of that?"

"No, sir." William had an inkling of what this was about and his heart sank. Being brought over here as a replacement constable was not what he'd hoped for. He was well aware Detective Wyatt at Station House No. 1 carried a grudge against him and knew that being banished to a new station house would feel like a come-down in the world, especially since he'd applied for an opening as detective and been passed over once already.

Thomas closed the folder on his desk and rose to meet Murdoch eye-to-eye, and since they were of a similar height it was natural to do so. In his career he never liked looking up to another man and never liked looking down, preferring to meet a man on even terms, differentiated only by rank. "Well, it looks like it took you a while to get your bearings but your record is outstanding other than it seems you got your detective's nose out of joint by getting ahead of him on investigations." In fact, Thomas thought Ambrose Wyatt of Station House No. 1 was a solid detective if bit of an uninspired block-head at times. "No man likes to be shown up." He glared pointedly at Murdoch and was gratified the man's face registered the complaint. "But you did use initiative, and that's how it is done."

William swallowed his feeling of humiliation, thinking he must be mistaken in detecting mild approval from his superior. Then the Inspector came right up in his face, blue eyes boring into his own.

The Inspector's question surprised him.

"What kind of copper are you Murdoch? Enjoying the position as a civil servant are you to lord it over others? Or biding your time until something better comes along?"

"No sir!" William's answer fairly flew out of him. "I believe in the law. I like the challenge of a case, Inspector, of finding out the answer from where the evidence leads." He unconsciously snapped back to attention.

Thomas was pleased. Finally! A spontaneous answer. "I cannot abide a shirker, Murdoch, no half measures."

William thought that dedication (some would say obsessiveness or stubbornness) was a side of his personality that was aptly suited to police work. "No sir. I am used to following it to the end, no matter where, no matter how long it takes. That is how we get to the truth." Over time William managed to say that without feeling a twinge of remorse….

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest in silent agreement. Just this morning he talked about character with Margaret and his sons at the breakfast table – Murdoch appeared to have the sort of character he appreciated. That made the decision easier. "So, Murdoch, I think we'll take you on here. I can't say it will be permanent mind you and there is no pay raise at all—so don't ask…" He was interrupted by Constable Hodge knocking loudly at the door. "Come in if you have to. What is it?"

"Inspector, we have a call about a body at the Toronto Club. When the help came in to clean and set up for the day, they found the night-porter, a Mr. Ross Abbott, dead, with signs of a robbery." Hodge handed Inspector Brackenreid his notes and gave a surreptitious glance towards Murdoch who was scowling.

"Oh, God help us, just what I need!" Thomas' thoughts flew to the myriad implications of a case involving the crème de la crème of Toronto. "The Toronto Cub of all ridiculous places. I suppose it is another one of those petty robberies that got out of hand. That's not just a men's club, that's a closed society with more secrets than the Masons."

In the past, Thomas would have leapt to take a case like this, but his new position as Inspector demanded a different approach. It took all he had to be able to let go of it and step back to take on a more administrative role. He exhaled and ran his hands through his hair before checking his frustration. Did he trust Murdoch, a brand new man, with such a potentially delicate, politically sensitive case? Thomas looked into the level brown gaze of the man before him and thought: There will never be a better test. It may be best to test him now, because if it fails he can get the brunt of it and I'll know whether or not my judgment was right about him.

"Well, Murdoch, I was going start you on Monday but I guess you'd better get going now, there's nothing for it." Thomas handed the notes to Murdoch who just stood there like a post. In frustration he raised his voice. "Well? Do you want to be my new detective, acting detective that is, or not?"

"Sir?" The pages hung limply in William's fingers and he had to blink a few times to get his head around what Inspector Brackenreid offered. Did he say Acting Detective?