The Countdown

…For Lovemondays & J

Chapter One

"...Why is the word for abbreviation so long?"

"Come again?" Henry Higgins asked, looking up at George Crabtree from the report he was trying to avoid reading, thinking that his workmate was already in a rare mood for it being so early in the morning. The station house's bull pen was quiet, just the two of them waiting for the rest of the men to report in. The Inspector was in his office on the telephone and Detective Murdoch already occupied his desk on the other side, leaving the two constables to their own devices before morning inspection at eight o'clock, an hour away.

George had a newspaper open, peering hard at the typeface. "Well, as you know, I have been enjoying increasing my vocabulary… but really some words are just so odd. Why, here's another one, pauciloquent. Four whole syllables meaning to speak with few words. Five syllables for abbreviation…seems to defeat the purpose, don't you think?"

Henry could not resist a snide comment. "Why are you reading the personals, George? Or is it the agony column today?"

George huffed at the slight. "I take creative inspiration where ever I can, that is part of the writer's process. Some of these stories are quite heart-tugging." He rustled the pages. "However, people are trying so hard to save money on these little announcements by abbreviating their message, that some of them are nearly unintelligible."

"There is another two-bit word…"

"I mean, if you are looking for someone, why an advertisement?" George complained. "And if you do, why…why obfuscate the message?"

"Don't ask me, George…." Henry mumbled this next part, but not quietly enough: "Those days are behind me…"

"You never had those days, Henry," George quipped right back, "but certainly your upcoming nuptials will suffice…"

Henry pulled the paper aside, a sly grin on his mouth. "You are exactly right about that, George. I am marrying the most wonderful woman in the world. I suppose you still need some assistance in that department. When you are done with the personals, you can look at the notice on page twelve about custom suits for said nuptials, one of which you will need to be measured for, since you are standing up for me. Then, perhaps as the best man in my wedding, you will meet a lovely young lady of quality. I am thinking one of Ruth's bridesmaids for instance." Henry slid his gaze sideways. "She has all eight of her female cousins lined up; one of them, surely could take a shine to you…" Henry's own eyes glistened in anticipation.

"We'll see about that," George scowled, trying not to shudder at the thought of eight more Newsome women. "But Henry! Look at this one: a man searching for his sister who apparently just walked away from her grocery shopping; this is from a woman seeking her uncle who never came back from Church. Both in the last week. There seem to be more of them in the personals than usual…um…not that I have actually been looking of course."

Henry placated his friend. "Of course, George, of course… but that is a rather morbid preoccupation, vicariously indulging in other people's tragedies." Henry said 'vicariously' with a flourish. "Give me the paper and I'll find you something more edifying." Henry could trade vocabulary-one-upmanship all day if that's what it took to get George going.

George snatched the pages back. "No, Henry! I tell you people have gone missing. You recall those two recent cases: Joshua Herkimer who stole from his employer and went and vanished on Tuesday; the corpse of Arnold Ferris we could not find after Sunday's fire? Even detective Murdoch thought that was odd. "

Henry snorted. "Well, people walk away for more than one reason. Skipping out on their rent, more like it…or their wife." Henry snuck an uncomfortable glance into the detective's office. "Besides, a thief does not wait around to be caught, an arsonist does not usually get burned up in his own fire."

"But this is unusual. Healthy men and women are gone without a trace. I have counted up six, one a day for the last week, and it is usually not that many for a whole month…"

Henry rolled his eyes at Inspector Brackenreid, who joined the pair. Before Henry could stop his fellow constable from embarrassing himself, George launched at their boss.

"Inspector, have you seen the unusual number of advertisements for missing people?" George's voice rose as he stood excitedly. "Corpses gone from crime scenes? It's a veritable epidemic, sir. A catastrophe!"

"Here now! What's this nonsense?" Brackenreid took the glasses off his nose and pointed them at the two constables.

Henry tried again. "Sir! I am sure there is a logical explanation—"

"Yes! Henry. Sir: the obvious explanation is…is - cannibals!"

Henry and the inspector looked at each other, dumbfounded. "What…?" Henry sputtered first.

"It is well known that ground-up and powdered mummy is an ingredient of some medicines. It's why there is a thriving business in Egyptian tomb robbing. It's supposed to be a cure-all for what ails you."

The inspector shifted his eyes and dropped his voice. "Don't let Doctor Ogden hear you say that!"

Henry started laughing. "In Toronto? Someone is taking live people to turn them into mummies? Why not just take the dead ones?" Henry said reasonably. "You read too many of your own stories, George. That's why I don't read anything now but The Times."Henry actually sniffed, presuming everyone knew there was really only one Times newspaper of any import to refined individuals, which was, of course, the London Times.

The inspector snorted. "So! You get news that is a week old and an ocean away. What good does that do you?" Brackenreid dismissed one constable and turned on the other. "And you: cannibalism? Of all the happy-dafty ideas…"

"Sir! What if someone is hunting us down? After all we have no corpses," George insisted. "Nothing to indicate a sequential killer. I attended a lecture just last month from an adventurer in South America, Brazil I believe in the deepest Amazon jungle, who documented cannibalism. Perhaps a tribal member has migrated north, expanded their territory to Canada!"

Brackenreid's eyes bulged for a moment before he laughed. As imaginative as Crabtree was, this seemed more like something that Higgins would have cooked up. He called loudly over to the other office for his detective. "Murdoch! We have a body. Better get it before someone eats it!"

"Sir?" Murdoch stuck he head out of his door just in time to hear the last statement, looking alarmed.

The inspector shook his head, chortling. "The early bird gets the worm, gentlemen. That's what you get for being called in last night by the detective here and deciding to stay for your official shift so you can get overtime. Higgins," he ordered, "Go fetch Dr. Ogden, will you? Crabtree, you and Murdoch are off to Wellington Street. A body's been found in a building that's coming down just before ten this morning. Better get a move on, because the mayor and the city controller says that nothing will stop your crime scene from being blown up."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

William adjusted his hat in the small confines of the police cab, not sure how to escape George nattering on about his latest theory. Changing the subject, pointing out flaws in the constable's theory and skeptical inquiry were incapable of derailing George's enthusiasm for suspicious disappearances. Fortunately the address on Wellington Street was not too far away, so while praying the traffic would move swiftly, he decided the best thing to do was sit back and let George expound on his 'evidence'.

Which George did…at length. William tried not to sigh, wishing for the sixth time he'd opted for bicycles, except that all his equipment would not have fit on two-wheeled conveyances. He tried one more time to wrap it up. "You assert that these specific six individuals have been taken in the last week, by a cannibal, and eaten?" William did not hide the doubt in his voice. "That's your best explanation for a series of random disappearances, which might not even be foul play, without a body showing up? After only seven days?"

"One a day." George nodded then paused, his hand over his mouth as a new idea struck him. "Oh my God! I wonder how many people that would feed? Perhaps it is a whole tribe of them sir! At one hundred to one hundred fifty pounds per body, minus the bones and gristly parts, and at a half pound of meat per person that's…"

William automatically calculated the answer, then bolted out of the cab before it came to a full stop to forestall answering. "We're here!" he shouted unnecessarily, trying to get the visual images from George's fevered imagination out of his head. He surveyed the scene to get focused. The building in question was surrounded by a rope to keep people at least a block away. A few onlookers with nothing better to do were already assembled to see the spectacle of a large building being brought down by explosion. Across the street, a knot of workmen milled around a wagon, being berated by a tall man dressed in frock coat and high hat. William was annoyed that Julia and the morgue wagon somehow got to the location before his own cab did, wondering what route they took.

"George, bring the camera equipment, will you?" William pushed his way under the rope to Constable Burke who was keeping order. "What have you, constable?"

"Sir. This building is being torn down to renovate the entire block. That is the developer over there, a Mister Oliver Fordhook, haranguing the work crew. He and one of the current owners, Mr. Angus Longmeadow, have expressed to me the urgency of taking care of our business. " Burke waved a beckoning hand over towards the wagon. "Early this morning Mr. Cobb, the demolition foreman and Mr. Blanken the night watchman performed a final walk through of the structure and discovered a body. It is lying on the second floor and looks to me like the man fell through from the third floor."

"Do we have any identification?"

"No sir…er you'll see why when you get there."

"Who is tending to the body?" William asked, counting the officers on the street and frowning. He saw Julia and her attendants were being blocked from getting any closer.

"No one a' th' moment." William turned to see a stocky man speaking in a lilting brogue. "I canna allow it. I'm the engineer here. T' whole building has been set with dynamite; 'tis not safe."

William opened his jacket to show his badge. "Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary. And you are?"

"Andrew Cobb," he offered his hand with his name. "I set the explosives m'self. Me' boys and I have strategically weakened the building so it will come down on itself with not so much as a wee stone fallin' outside the sidewalk."

"Mr. Cobb, the constabulary must be allowed to proceed with our investigation," William replied, introducing Julia as the city coroner as she steamed over, having broken through the lines.

The engineer frowned at the idea of a woman entering the building. "I understand, detective, ma'am, but the whole structural integrity has been undermined, the walls and support beams weakened. On top of that we have several hundred pounds of dynamite in there. Only the smallest number of people should be risked for the shortest time possible." Cobb was adamant, only very reluctantly allowing William, George and the stretcher-bearers to fetch the body.

Julia was equally stubborn about being allowed to see the body in situ. "Mr. Cobb, since we are wasting precious minutes arguing, I must insist that I be allowed to do my job!"

William was half-certain the standoff was not going to be resolved in the engineers favour (William's vast experience with his wife being what it was), when Cobb exhaled roughly and threw his hands up. "If you're a-goin' in there it'll be with me."

Cobb was careful and precise in guiding Julia and her attendants to the body and then William and George up to the third floor where the presumed accident occurred, as evidenced by a gaping hole in the floor which sagged under its own weight, then down one flight to where the man lay. George positioned the camera for photographs before anything was moved. "Looks to me like the poor sod stepped wrong and the floor gave way underneath, bringing a weakened joist down with him."

William examined what he could see. The victim was face down, debris littered over him and his entire skull was crushed by a huge, squared off timber, making William suspicious that identification by facial features was going to be impossible.

"Can you lift that beam off him?" Julia requested.

After taking photographs, George and both morgue attendants heaved the beam completely aside. The victim's head was obliterated, completely detached from the spine. His clothing was not new, but serviceable and suited for milder weather with the jacket wrapped tightly underneath him as if he had been protecting himself from the cold. William did not wish to turn the body over, so he investigated the trouser pockets he had access to, coming up with a few coins, but no papers.

William apologized to Mr. Cobb about the gruesome sight, then asked for the man's help. "Do you know who he is? Perhaps you recognize his clothing, or his hair or build? He seems to be dressed as a workman. Are you missing anyone in your crew?"

"Nay. All me' men are accounted for. The landlord evicted the last of the tenants just yesterday and we had to shake a few squatters out of the building while we were workin' on her." He peered at the human-sized mess at his feet. "His boots is old but sturdy, that red jacket is something… I don' recognize him, but meh'be one of the laddies does, or Blanken." Cobb pulled a watch out of his pocket and scanned the room. "I'd suggest you move along now. This'll all be rubble by nine forty-five as our permit to hold up the trolley expires at ten, sharp."

William turned to his wife, examining the wooden beam and other construction material carefully. "May I have your observations, doctor?"

"Of course, detective. Our victim appears, at first glance, to have died from massive blunt force trauma," she stated the obvious as she looked up into the hole above her, then knelt next to the prone man. "The fall might not have killed him unless he broke his neck, but I'd say that beam did the job for sure. He would have died instantly." She made a face, poking at the body. "It's odd, though," she said. "He's cold and pliable. I suppose it could have gotten frigid here last night, which is why, presumably, he tried to take shelter in here; that would mean he's been dead only a few hours."

"Which makes sense, since this building has been regularly patrolled, according to the engineer." William acknowledged George snapping the shutter on another camera angle. "Thank you, constable."

Julia bent down again to move the man's limbs, pulling his clothing up to expose his arm and get a better look at the skin. "I will give a closer examination at the morgue then I will let you know my findings."

Standing, she looked at the shell of a building around her. "May I take the body now, and collect the skull fragments?"

"Yes, thank you. Please check his clothing and effects for any indication of identity or where he's from. I will finish the interviews and look at the rest of the physical evidence. George, after you complete those photographs, get a final one of the body, one of the, um…head before it is picked up. I will send Henry up to help the attendants get all the pieces."

She put a hand on her hip. "Perhaps a wide, flat shovel…?"

William grimaced quickly before covering with a cough. "Of course, doctor."

Julia offered a knowing grin then took her husband aside. "William, I understand all your evidence is going to vanish with a bang. Too bad I have to go, I'd love to see it come down….it's sounds quite thrilling!"

William admitted as much himself, checking his watch. "Unfortunately, we don't have much time. Mr. Cobb, the demolitions engineer, is quite proud of how the building was prepared for demolition and promises it will be quite the event. 'Better than Dominion Day' Mr. Cobb promised."

-.-.-.-.-.-.

While Julia supervised the corpse's removal, William made his way down to the street where a larger crowd had gathered behind the ropes. He asked Henry and another constable to begin taking statements from potential witnesses. William approached Mr. Blanken who was in consultation with two men, the developer Mr. Fordhook and another man he took to be the new owner, Angus Longmeadow. William introduced himself, receiving an elaborate earful of complaint, about which an enterprising journalist from The Gazette was scribbling notes. William absorbed the onslaught until it was clear it was going nowhere useful.

"Mr. Longmeadow, Mr. Fordhook! Gentlemen! As you say, there is only a very short window of time, so if you do not wish to have your permit run out, you will allow me my questions," William's logic got the two bickering men to stop talking long enough to ask about identifying the dead man. "Mr. Blanken, did you recognize the victim?"

"Of course not! He had no head!" As Blanken said that, Fordhook and Longmeadow both blanched.

"How about his clothing? He had a rather distinctive red shirt. I believe you encountered the occasional vagrant when performing your duties…or could it have been the man you evicted?" William consulted his notes, "Mr. Edgar Brown? I understand you were very familiar with him." Blanken seemed reluctant to talk in front of his bosses. "Tick-tock," William nudged. "Mr. Cobb told me about the sabotage, and booby-traps being set to delay the project."

Mr. Fordhook exploded. "And a damn lot of good the constabulary did arresting the perpetrators! I just know Brown's been behind the whole thing."

"He even got a solicitor to try and stop the eviction and demolition," Mr. Longmeadow spoke up. "Almost queered the deal, talking about his rights, if you can imagine! Well, my brother and I have a right to do whatever we want with our property. I was never so glad to be rid of a pestering lawyer."

"That shyster of his got us cornered into bringing this building down, today or never! Mr. Blanken, tell me that's Brown up there, snuck back in just to get my goat." Fordhook actually harrumphed. "When Brown's legal gambit did not work I always suspected he was the one who set the booby-traps. We had to have two constables remove him yesterday, detective, hollering and threatening the whole way. Blanken, was that bastard up there Brown, finally getting his comeuppance?"

"N…n…no sir. I don't think so," Blanken shook his head, explaining. "I didn't recognize him, detective, he did not seem familiar at all."

"I see. Gentlemen, If you don't mind, I'd like a list of the names of anyone who opposed this project, and of all those who were caught trespassing." William got another grunt from Fordhook. "Mr. Longmeadow, do you or your brother have any other information about the sabotage of this building, or who the victim might be?"

"No, detective, I do not. My brother, Ulrick, was the one who made our complaints to the Constabulary and represented us in court. As he also had the most contact with our solicitor, he may have more to add." Longmeadow looked uncomfortable. "Ulrick should be here for the demolition, I don't know why he is not here yet."

William paused for a moment, pulling together everything he'd heard so far, his mind doing the calculations. "Thank you, Mr. Longmeadow. I will speak with your brother later, if I may. Meanwhile, Mr. Blanken, may I talk with you a moment?"

William pulled the night watchman aside, dropping his voice so that they could not be overheard. "This building was prepared yesterday, and this morning the explosives were set, according to Mr. Cobb. You were supposed to secure the building, patrol inside and out to make sure there were no problems, no accidents and no trespassers." William got a series of head bobs in agreement, just as he hoped, setting up the next and most important question:

"Then, how is it that there was opportunity for someone to enter the building and have a great fall, all without you knowing about it?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..

"Sir! You must come here and see this!"

Constable Crabtree's excited call echoed up the stairwell to where William was finishing scouring the third floor for evidence. After securing Mr. Blanken's cooperation and placing him in the custody of Constable Burke, William returned to the building in a race against the clock to complete a physical examination of the scene before it all went down in a heap. He had the purported cause of death (blunt force trauma), and a window for time of death (from two to six in the morning, now that Mr. Blanken confessed to having a surprise assignation with his lady last night) leaving it more than possible for someone to have entered the building without being seen or heard. The manner of death (accident, misadventure or murder) was yet to be determined.

"If it is not evidence relevant to this investigation then I don't have the time, George, and neither do you!" William was immediately sorry he'd let his annoyance show. But really, at the moment George is so distracted as to be nearly useless as Henry, he thought uncharitably. William hated to be rushed so he was feeling irritable at having to take short cuts. He ground his teeth in memory: the last time he was in this sort of position there was a bomb about to go off on a ship in the middle of Lake Ontario.

Well… another explosion is going off, whether I am ready or not.

Brushing dust off his hands, William told himself that there was nothing more he was going to find there. Any germane foot prints or drag marks could not be sorted out from the effects of the demolition crew. He went downstairs to look more closely at the beam which pulverized the victim's skull. There was as much rubble here as anywhere, the workmen not being very gentle when they stripped the place of anything salvageable including the copper wires, windows, and fixtures. William used his magnifying glass: tool marks showed where the wood had been sawn through, but was there something else, anything else, to indicate the beam had been deliberately brought down to kill a man? Stepping carefully to avoid a puddle of gore, he reached out to turn a board over when George's voice startled him.

"Sir! You have to come down stairs and see what I found." George nearly tugged the detective's sleeve to get his attention.

"George! I must insist…"

"No, sir. I must insist. You are going to want to see this." George's chest was heaving from running up the stairs.

William exhaled in exasperation. "Have you taken care of this floor as I asked?"

"Yes sir! I have photographed every square inch of this place. And..." he forestalled the next objection, "the entire beam. There is no more evidence to be gathered from the scene. This whole building is coming down in 60 minutes. But I discovered Mr. Brown's rooms, sir; we have an hour and you have to appreciate them." Seeing a skeptical look on the detective's face, George gave his most tantalizing clue: "It looks like the lair of a mad genius."