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Chapter Two
What just happened? William could not believe his ears. When his mind finally got unstuck from the shock and began to race, he made his suddenly dry tongue answer, "Yes, yes sir!"
"You are on probation with me—so be prepared to start as you plan to continue. Take Constable Hodge here with you," Inspector Brackenreid ordered, trusting Hodge to look out after Stations House No. 4's interest. "Constable Blake is apparently on scene. And I'll make sure the morgue wagon and the coroner, I think it is Dr. Johnson today, are on the way."
His new boss reached into a desk drawer and retrieved an old, battered detective's badge and placed it in William's left hand. "I will get you a shiny new one when you earn it. I expect a proper job, Murdoch, and you are to proceed very carefully with this investigation. The Toronto Club is the elite of the city and they don't like their toes stepped on…"
"Yes sir, I understand." He hesitated, then reached out with his right hand while closing his other over the cold, uneven edges of the treasured detective's shield. "Thank you sir. I will show you that you can count on me." Inspector Brackenreid grasped his hand with a firm shake, sealing the deal.
He and Hodge moved rapidly to the stables, and William was about to get on his 'Safety' wheel when his companion stopped him. "What is that?" Hodge pointed to the bicycle and then shrugged his shoulders—there was only one 'bike' to be had. "Perhaps we need to take the carriage?"
Embarrassed, William climbed off, laughing nervously. "Sorry…old habit."
Once on their way west from Wilton Street, Hodge offered congratulations. "I think you'll get on well here, William. Show 'em what you're made of. Brackenreid's a good man and the lads at Station 4 will get themselves sorted out soon enough or our new inspector will bust their heads over it." Hodge smiled broadly at the thought. "What are your orders when we get there, sir?"
"Thank you. And it's still William, at least when it's just us." Sergeant Seymour and Constable Hodge were the first men of the constabulary who offered friendship when William joined the force, something for which he was endlessly grateful. While Seymour was a peer, Hodge was more like a kindly uncle, wise in the ways of Toronto policing. "When we get there, I want to see the whole scene, view the body, gather evidence, secure witness testimony…" William stopped himself when Hodge just smiled even wider. "Of course, you know this. I need your help getting to know the men. Inspector Brackenreid says there have been other break-ins at private clubs in your precinct. Is this the first assault or death?"
"As far as I know. Mostly petty thefts, more a nuisance than anything else." Hodge filled him in with what he knew and William used the trip to organize his thoughts and questions.
The Toronto Club's brand new brick and stone Renaissance Revival building rose impressively at the intersection of Wellington and York. William noted the street level windows leading to the cellar and the stone-arched main entryway. William had the driver pull up at the recessed double doors facing Wellington and climbed down. He gave Hodge a nod and the two of them rang the bell and waited, while examining the faces carved into each of the entrance's twin wooden surfaces-doors which remained stubbornly closed.
From behind them came a voice. "Around back. Hodge, who is this?" William spied a young constable whom he assumed was Blake.
Hodge answered. "Acting Detective William Murdoch, meet Constable Harold Blake. Murdoch's our new detective come over today from Station House No. 1 just this morning. Lead on." Having made introductions, the three officers went around to a side entrance where they were admitted by a tall, dour looking man in butler's livery.
"And whom are you supposed to be?" the servant asked in disapproving tones, looking William up and down.
"Sir. This is Mr. Wilson, the club's butler, who said he found the deceased when he came in to work this morning, then called the station house." Blake said quickly to divert from criticism of a fellow officer. "Mr. Wilson, this is Detective Murdoch. He will be conducting the investigation."
"You look remarkably like a constable," Mr. Wilson remarked.
William did not wish to appear weak by defending himself, nor correct his title to 'acting detective' at the moment. "Please show me the body," William asked directly, trying not to shrivel under the butler's hawkish gaze. At that moment he wished he'd pinned the new detective shield on his uniform, instead he took his helmet off as gesture towards looking less constable-like.
Mr. Wilson deigned to offer no further words, merely led the officers up a set of stairs to a long hallway, through a pantry and then a well-appointed kitchen, then finally down a second short corridor into a large central hall. A dead man was laying awkwardly face-up on the deep maroon plush carpet, spoiling the oh-so-carefully muted display of power, wealth and good taste that was the whole purpose of such a building.
Upon seeing the corpse, William automatically made his sign of the cross, causing the butler to erupt in alarm. "What do you think you are doing? We will have none of that superstition here!"
William felt immediately irritated and unaccountably embarrassed. He hoped he was not obviously red-faced, and cleared his throat loudly before taking command of the scene. "What can you tell me about finding Mr. Abbott's body and were you alone when you did so?" He was acutely aware that all of sudden he himself was the awkward center of attention-Blake and Hodge were looking at him as well, and he wanted to focus back on the crime.
"I found it odd that Mr. Abbott was not in the kitchen to greet me but I went on my usual morning rounds per protocol," Mr. Wilson answered after a long pause. "The hall clock chimed precisely the quarter hour as I walked through, so that would be eight-fifteen this morning. I let Cook and the scullery boy in when I arrived, and they remained in their place in the kitchen."
Getting the case underway was a relief – this he knew how to do, having learned as much as he could in the past five years, from whomever he could, about being a good police officer. William noted the time on the hall's great cherry-wood case clock appeared accurate, letting go of the implication of what 'place' the constabulary belonged in the grand scheme of things. "Were you aware there was a break-in before you found him?" William wanted to know.
"No. I surmised that quickly enough, detective, when I found him," Mr. Wilson said somewhat sarcastically, pointing to a broken window towards the rear of the hallway.
William ignored the jab—difficult interviews and witnesses were nothing new. "What was Mr. Abbott's role here at this establishment?"
Mr. Wilson remained stiff and unspeaking for a long minute - William thought he was going to outright refuse. "We are the only establishment that has staff on duty all night," the butler finally shared, "since we have rooms on the third floor for members to use for over-night accommodations. Mr. Abbott was our night porter, tending to guests needs should any arise, taking early deliveries etcetera. He's been with the club since its founding. He must have surprised a burglar and been killed for his trouble."
William heard the smallest bit of sadness creep into the butler's officious demeanor. Keeping his face as neutral as possible, he continued. "We are going to need to search the premises and get a list of what is missing. What rooms are these and what are they used for?" He pointed to the pocket doors on either side of the hall which he assumed led to lounges or meeting areas of some sort. "Are these door locked?"
"Yes, they are at all times. And before you ask, members have keys, myself and Mr. Abbott as night porter-no one else. But I must insist. You cannot search those rooms. They are off limits to anyone but members!" The butler sounded shocked at the idea of a lowly copper pawing through the club's valuables.
"Never the less, a search will be made," William insisted, finding it hard to believe that rule went un-violated. "When the coroner gets here we will have to assemble men for an inquest…"
"That is impossible! It is already worth my position that you three have entered as far as you have." The butler's composure was shredding even more.
William tried to sound reasonable. "I am sure any of your members who are barristers of solicitors can verify…"
"Oh-no gentleman here would so something as sordid as be involved in criminal cases, how appalling…"
"Surely you will allow a physician into your premises…?" William was not leaving much room for argument, but that did not satisfy Mr. Wilson until the detective pointed out how inappropriate it was to have such a tasteless disagreement directly over the dear departed Mr. Abbott's corpse.
William allowed the butler to stalk off, sending Hodge after him to take statements from the kitchen staff and start the process of gathering men for the inquest. "Constable Blake, it seems you did a yeoman's job at getting us in here in the first place. Thank you. You were first on the scene and your observations are valuable. What do you think of that broken window?" William saw that Blake perked up, obviously he was not used to being asked his opinion.
The constable answered eagerly. "I saw that there is glass inside on the floor as well as outside. It looks like someone broke the glass and then reached in to open the window." He hesitated before adding. "And look at where the glass is broken and where the latch is. No average man's arm is long enough to have reached through to that latch. I doubt this was the point of entry."
"Very good observation," William praised. "Did you move the body? Touch anything?" He had his notebook out sketching the scene and measuring the space with a folding wooden measuring rule.
"No, sir. Everything is just as I first saw it. Why?"
William got down on his hands and knees, looking at how the light was playing over the body and the carpet. He pulled some fibers up with a tweezer and placed them in a twist of paper. "Mr. Wilson says he did not touch Mr. Abbott either. Look at how he is positioned and the marks on Mr. Abbott's face which appear consistent with carpet fibre impressions-how did they get there if he fell face up? Also notice there are alterations in the nap of the carpet that align with the body, coming from the direction of that supposedly locked room." He stood up in one swift motion. "Constable Blake-this man has been moved."
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Blake led the way back to the kitchen where Mr. Wilson was blocking the tradesmen's entrance, insisting that while Dr. Johnson and his stretcher bearers may possibly come in, the citizens Constable Hodge assembled for the inquest most certainly cannot. William left the butler and both constables at it while he guided Dr. Arthur Johnson to the corpse.
The doctor was one of three part-time coroners the city contracted with and had crossed paths with William before. "Constable Murdoch. A little outside Station House No. 1's district, aren't you?" He placed his medical bag on the floor to removed his gloves, then touch and try to manipulate the corpse's limbs, neck and jaw. He checked the man's eyes, pressed on his belly and palpated his head. "I'd say he's been dead as long as twelve hours and as few as eight. Rigor has completely set in."
"So, roughly from ten pm last night until two in the morning. And the cause of death?" William prompted. The time frame matched his own guess.
"In other circumstances I might say heart attack by his age and the look of his face, but I am told there was a break-in so you are assuming an assault, a murder? And where is Detective Wyatt?" Dr. Johnson asked, apparently hoping to give his impressions directly to the man in charge and not deal with a lowly constable.
William gave a short smile. "I have been promoted to acting detective at Station 4, Dr. Johnson. This is my first case. And yes, for now, the assumption is that he died during the course of a crime, a robbery. Do you see any bruising from a fight? Signs of a struggle? What do you think about how rigor is fixed and lividity? I noticed his face appears to have some blood pooling does it not? And the marks on his face? Anything else you can tell me about the body or the death?"
"I will not speculate on any of that-have to get the man's clothing off for the autopsy," was all the doctor would say. William saw Dr. Johnson was obviously not impressed with the promotion, and as usual was not very forthcoming with details.
"He appears to have been moved," William pointed out. "More than what would have been necessary to check to see if he was alive."
"May I remind you the body is my purview, Murdoch. Now can we get on with the witnesses so I can go about my own business?" Dr. Johnson gestured for his Gladstone bag and William hefted it up to his hand.
"Thank you, doctor," William said politely, admiring the utility of such a travel case to carry tools of the medical profession. He wondered if a portmanteau like that would be useful for police work...
Making his way back to the kitchen in thought, William overheard Mr. Wilson speaking on a private telephone, naming a well-known judge in measured, sycophantic tones. The butler hung up the receiver just as William passed by. "I am advised to allow your inquest procedures in hopes you will be done before we serve the midday meal. Just get it over with!"
Finally, William thought, two difficult men in agreement. "Thank you. Mr. Wilson. When we are done, I will speak with you further."
William was impressed at how smoothly Hodge and Blake got the witnesses to look at the body and the window and the locked doors and back out on the street with instructions to show up at half past ten o'clock Monday morning for the official inquest. Blake left with Dr. Johnson and the body for the city morgue, while William and Hodge finished their questions.
He did not think questioning the butler would go as well. "Mr. Wilson, I must ask you if you are certain you found Mr. Abbott exactly as you showed Constable Blake and myself. You did not touch anything or move the body? Perhaps to see if he was merely injured or still alive?"
The butler's shoulders shot up. "Quite sure. One could not mistake him for being among the living."
"I see." William had been prepared for this, and was going to try some leverage. "Then I must ask you again for the names of the men who stayed here last night. One of them appears to have either been involved with this death or interfered with a corpse, since I do not believe Mr. Abbott was killed in that hallway." He was pleased to see the tension gathering in the butler's posture. "I am going to search this whole building and I am going to need the names of all the members who have keys, beginning with the ones who were here at closing last night." William was hoping that by making those threats he'd get a concession without needing a warrant in hand.
"I cannot, I will not surrender any list to you, because I do not have one. Only the member known as 'Number One' can do so." Mr. Wilson glowered under thick brows. "I have been advised to disallow any further intrusion into these matters until the club's counsel is present and you are chaperoned."
Been advised! Of course he would. A place like this was bound to be teeming with members admitted to the bar. William observed that despite his failed attempt at intimidating the butler, the man was swinging between outrage and terror at the idea of the constabulary having broad access to the building and its members. Apparently Inspector Brackenreid's concern about the privacy of powerful men was well founded. William used the leverage he had to squeeze out names and contact information for the three men who slept there the night before. The rest he was told he has to wait for.
"Thank you, Mr. Wilson. My men and I will be back." William liked the sound of saying 'my men' and was feeling confident in how he was managing this case so far: He had the body, evidence, witness statements, a short list of items which appeared to be missing from the club, an estimated time of death of between roughly when the club closed up for the night and two in the morning, and a theoretical motive of a robbery gone wrong.
He also had a substantial list of questions to get answers for: 1) What was the exact cause of death and was there a more refined time of death? 2) Where was the location of the actual crime scene? 3) Was there was more physical evidence proving the body was moved and regarding the robbery? 4) What would a fuller search of the building for additional missing items yield? 5) Why did Mr. Abbott have to die?
He used the club's own telephone to start the process of obtaining a warrant to search the building and get the names of members, since he was not getting anywhere on his own by being polite about it. Best of all, he'd even managed to get some dignity for Mr. Abbott by getting his body taken right out of the club's beautiful front doors rather than hauling him through the labyrinth of hallways to the back, even if Mr. Wilson refused to assist in the process.
William was feeling good about the pace of the investigation…and not even time for luncheon yet!