-Chapter Three-

William and Julia were alone in the third floor billiard room with its large hearth on the back wall to warm it in winter and windows which cooled it in summertime with a nice cross breeze. Over the mantle was a realistic image which William took to be of a younger Endeavour Taggert, long before the years and facial hair overtook him. The artist showed a confident man with steely eyes, firm jaw, and the mere suggestion of humour with a crease in his cheek. The picture was remarkable for not being in the style of a stone-faced patriarch so popular in portraiture. He saw a slight yellow patina colour had surfaced the portrait and seeped into the wall paper and ceiling; tobacco smoke was William's assessment. Otherwise the room was pleasingly proportioned and well-lit for play. The rest of the space was decorated with pictures of outdoor scenes, horses and family pictures, as was the entire third floor lobby, in what Julia referred to, rather pointedly, as a 'masculine style' with Merit Taggert's similarly decorated private library-office located in the room right next door. William was uneasy with her critique. I am male and it is certainly not to my taste. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the hideously large deer head on display by the Taggert front door. I wonder if Julia is giving me a message about the décor in our new home? Or a message about my taste? He hoped not…

Prudence Carter had gone back to her guests and Arthur Percy Sherwood accompanied her outside vowing to keep an eye on her, after firmly locking the basement door, and pocketing the key himself. "…Detective," Sherwood sounded harried. "We must keep this whole business in secrecy and we need to act quickly. Your government is counting on you. I will station a man by the telephone to alert us immediately of any developments from my operatives that might prove useful."

William remained annoyed by Commissioner Sherman's resistance to conducting interviews…and slightly smug he was able to turn the man to his will and let Julia and Mrs. Carter have a circumspect conversation with the cook about what refreshments were served when. That interview brought them an additional piece of information that would have been helpful if only found out sooner. Julia is certainly pleased with herself for coming up with it, he smiled to himself. As well she should be.

The dumbwaiter door by the billiard-stick rack was open so that William and Julia had no trouble at all recognizing indistinct conversations and metal-pot clanging sounds from the kitchen echoing up the long shaft. "If we can hear that noise, then it is fair to think the cook could have heard voices originating up in this room," William said as he examined the service box. He was distracted for a second by the mechanism: Mr. Taggert must have had the Hamilton Otis Elevator Company design a miniaturized electrical lift system-fascinating! He was suddenly disappointed that his own proposed home only had one floor….Although we will have a basement…. He was only pulled away from his meditation on the matter by Julia responding to him.

"William? I said I think so as well. Cook heard male and female voices coming from this room, raised in argument. It is too bad she could not tell exactly whose voices they were. Dennie was right as well: the cook knew exactly when the trays of shortbreads went out and when they came back. We now have a one hour window for the time of death instead of two, assuming Caleb was alive when Cook heard the argument and if Caleb did not sneak anything from the kitchen to eat early, or pocket them for later." She paused. "Although I found no crumbs anywhere on his person or his clothing…"

"Also assuming that one of the voices she heard was in fact Caleb Burke's. We have to definitively place him up here." William was at a long fruitwood credenza, turning liquor bottles to the light for a better view of the labels. The smell of tobacco permeated the room and he found it mildly nauseating. "Pimm's No. 3," he announced to her, before placing it back on a tray next to other bottles. Used drinking glasses were collected in a basin, one of which smelled like lemonade and alcohol. He offered it to Julia to sniff, and she agreed. "Well, this circumstantially points to him being up here recently. We can check it for fingermarks to be certain."

Reaching into her pocket, Julia presented the card of impressions she took from the corpse. "I may not be as good as George Crabtree, but…" She felt a little as if she was a student bringing an apple to the teacher.

A smile of pleasure lit his face. "Julia! Excellent." He got out a small brush from his pocket and chose a little chalk dust. "Here, let me show you how this works. Now, we are improvising after all…" He felt some of the tension between them dispel by working this way together.

"Oh, my, William! I do enjoy it when you improvise…" she just had to tease him about their most recent intimacy, and was rewarded by bright pink spots blooming on William's cheeks.

Sharing a smile, they bent their heads closely to the task, becoming totally engrossed. Fingermark-identification was one of those things Julia knew about in theory but had actually never personally done as it was outside of her area. She was comfortable within her psychological expertise and knew, without unwarranted pride, she excelled in forensic autopsy and pathology. However, even though her husband discussed his cases with her in detail, William's day-to-day collecting and examination of evidence was not something they shared in, unlike chemistry for which they both possessed nearly equivalent knowledge and skills.

Julia always knew William's other talents complemented or amplified hers in reciprocal fashion, which was why they made a good team over the years. With a small part of her mind she observed his movements. This case is allowing me to see William as he manages an investigation each step of the way… But it is ever so much more engaging to do each aspect with him as it happens. It gives me a whole new perspective on how he works a case; more than that… how his marvelous mind works!

She found fingermark-enhancing was a little like using a paintbrush on canvas- there are certain brush strokes to use to achieve a desired effect. Just like painting, she discovered it takes the correct brush and the correct medium to produce good results; and it was harder than it looked. He patiently showed her just the right way to brush the dust on potential fingermarks, and made a running commentary on the pros and cons of substances used to raise the marks while she manipulated the brush and chalk. He then explained how to compare the marks on the glass to those on the card.

"Put this piece of dark cloth in the glass for contrast. Good. Now, look for the largest mark at about ninety to forty-five degrees to the long axis of the glass, as that should be the thumb. We do not know if Mr. Burke was right or left-handed, but since ninety percent of people are right-handed, start by comparing that mark to the right thumb impression on the card…"

Julia moved the card around until she found the right size and shape, then examined it using William's magnifier. When the patterns' matched she chirruped, "Got it!" and showed William what she'd discovered. This is actually fun! she exulted. Why does George carp so much about fingermark duty?

William double checked and found himself in agreement with her. "Yes, you do! Well done," he told her. "As good as George," then hugged her, smiling to himself.

She looked so happy it was difficult to give her the bad news. "Unfortunately all that means is that he had a drink up here—look how many other glasses there are. There is no telling exactly when the drinking occurred and I think these have been overlooked for more than a day." William set the glass and fingermark card aside and secured the whole basin as evidence. "No. We need more that connects him to this room, today. I am most comfortable when we have three pieces of circumstantial evidence." He rubbed his forehead then started erasing the large chalk board to use for laying out his investigation.

Julia was buoyed by her success with fingermarks, so she smiled at her husband's frustration. "Cheer up, William! We already guessed he was up here on the third floor and most likely in this room. Stomach contents, the voices coming from this room and the time of the shortbreads being served: now we have a much better time line. That eliminated almost one hundred more people who arrived well-after the biscuits were taken away and the argument occurred."

"One hundred-three," William said as he wrote the number on the board, "leaving eighty-seven. That is still too many. We need a way to pare it down further, have another variable to use…" Another eight-beat chime drifted up in the quiet house. Another hour gone, William sighed inwardly, so he said, "And we are running out of time." Speaking of which, more than anything, William told himself, the timing of this death could not be by chance. It niggled at the back of his brain uncomfortably.

He pointed to the paintings on either side of the chalk board. "I see the Taggert family's love for horses is on display. This was why I was schedule to interview his father on the horse-racing case in Toronto. There are questions about horses and gambling interests that he may have insight into…"

Julia exhaled exasperatedly. "That is Endeavour Taggert's passion William: stallions for breeding- be it horses or human, and whether they conform to the expected standards of the breed."

He was not certain what to make of her comment so just stared at his data in hopes it would jar his brain. No new insights are coming to me. He grimaced and put the chalk down to come over to where Julia was looking out a window down onto the lawn as the assembled guests listened to Mrs. Hoodless.

"The ladies look like flowers in a garden, all those colours in their dresses…" Julia told him as she opened the window wider for more air. Flower beds ringed the clipped lawn, and they could see swaths of lavender in the sun with tall white lilies, ferns and other greenery shaded by arching trees. The whole effect was a unique restful suite of cool tones, blues, green and whites; not a single red rose, or the red geraniums so common in most gardens.

Julia told him that Mrs. Carter did all the work herself rather than have a gardener, as a way to 'vent frustration in a lady-like manner.' He appreciated the sentiment-physical activity as a method of blowing off agitation, much the way he took his wheel and rode it hard, or used to, when he was disturbed by something. I like Julia's friend the more I learn about her, he recognized.

"All the men are nearly dressed alike," William commented on the scene below. He looked at his own attire; it was more modern in cut than what Inspector Brackenreid affected and which most of the men in the garden wore, yet similar enough in colour palette. The only distinguishment differentiating the men's grey or black suits was the colour of tie, waistcoat or vest. He had selected his own best summer weight suit for the occasion of interviewing Mr. Taggert today, including a dark green silk tie Julia presented to him for his most recent birthday along with his new subscriptions. He admitted to himself it was difficult to tell one of his own suits from another in the morning in low light as he got dressed…

"Which one of them down there pushed Caleb Burke over the railing and to his death?" Julia asked under her breath. "I was hoping we could eliminate half of the remainder of the list…" she pointed to the list of names they were working from.

He was surprised. "Half?"

"Yes. I was hoping we could eliminate either then men or the women after Cook said she heard voices through the dumbwaiter. I was disappointed she heard male and female voices." She squinted at the scene beneath the window, and considered the psychological state of the killer. If it was a paid assassin or someone with political motives, rather than nervous about what he had done, one would think he (or she) would be pleased—calm and proud possibly. What happens as time passes? Does that certitude fade and self-preservation—wanting to get away with it- change their demeanor? Can I tell by body language who might be a suspect? She strained her eyes on the crowded lawn. I must explore this idea a little further. "What possible motive did someone in that audience have?" she said to herself as much as to her husband.

William sighed. "Not love or money...?" He nodded out the window. "Julia, I am intrigued, what exactly is supposed to be accomplished by this event today? I cannot understand why a killer would choose this venue for their political statement, as Commissioner Sherwood believes."

"It is odd." Julia came away from the widow and studied the portrait over the mantel. "Could it be about tobacco? Mr. Taggert is a friend of Mr. William Macdonald, both being in the tobacco business. Mr. Macdonald has been instrumental in persuading Mr. Taggert to spend some of his wealth on civic beneficence, which is how this all started." Julia's eyes brightened. "William, didn't Mr. Sherwood allude to threats to the government and Prime Minister Laurier specifically? According to Dennie the Liberal Party is supporting tobacco interests and tobacco money is supporting the Liberal Party in return. Could that be the connection between Mr. Taggert and a political action?"

"Julia! You appear to be extremely well-informed. Mr. Sherwood could have mentioned this," William grumbled. "But what about the event itself?"

"It is to raise money for women and children's health needs," Julia answered. "More specifically to prevent deaths associated with childbearing. There is an extraordinarily high maternal death rate, anywhere from nine women per thousand and above, as well as infant mortality of 100 to as high as 300 infant deaths per thousand, even in this day and age. That is unacceptable. What is not so clear cut is how to address that."

"What is the controversy about? Could that have something to do with Mr. Burke's demise?" William looked at his chalk board to see if there was room for another column.

Julia shook her head. "I don't see how, even though passions run very high on the subject. The death of Mrs. Hoodless' own young son prompted her to become a strong advocate for the betterment of new mothers to prevent them from needlessly losing their children due to ignorance. She wants women to be taught more about modern, hygienic methods to care for their families, which I consider to be a noble cause, especially among the poor and disenfranchised. I have heard her speak before—she is passionate, articulate and very persuasive. I recall one of her quotes: "Is it of greater importance that a farmer should know more about the scientific care of his sheep and cattle than a farmer's wife should know how to care for her family?"

"She has a good point," was his only comment.

"To that end, Mrs. Hoodless just helped found an Institute for domestic hygiene studies for women in Guelph, named for Mr. Macdonald. Mr. Taggert, who personally chose Mrs. Hoodless as our speaker by the way, also believes, as unfortunately does she, that women are domestic creatures, unfit for anything but hearth and home—not business and certainly not politics or the vote! Mrs. Brackenreid, for instance, is a devotee of this point of view that women participate in political life through the agency of their husbands." Julia's tone made it clear what she thought of that. "Of course, Mrs. Hoodless is not herself confined to the home, considering her high public profile and influence. Slightly hypocritical if you ask me." She glanced at William to make sure he heard her frustration. "I will not ascribe Mr. Taggert's more repressive views to Mrs. Hoodless, but you get the point."

"I take it there is another side to the argument?" William prompted.

"Of course. It is part of what Dennie and I have in common—not that we believe there is too much focus on the children, because there is not nearly enough; but the belief that there is so little attention on the welfare of the mothers. The branch of medicine with the least prestige is that concerning the care of women. When a woman is pregnant and there is a difficulty with the birth, almost all the efforts are towards saving the child…at the expense of the mother. The child becomes worth more than the woman, William, for the sake of the father's bloodlines!" She felt her ire rise and took a breath to calm down before she made a blanket statement disparaging all men, remembering the kind, wonderful man who was with her at the movement. "It is only recently that there have been some new ideas that help both women and their babies get though the birthing process. Dennie and I are hoping to convince donors to give money towards that end by founding a maternity hospital that provides the most advanced surgical training in these techniques for doctors and the best in care for women." Julia stopped suddenly and looked away.

"A noble cause, I'm sure." William understood completely Julia was passionate about this issue, but there seemed to be more. He waited and touched her hand. "Julia? What are you thinking?"

Julia straightened up and frowned, feeling unaccountably nervous having this discussion with William. "Female fertility, William. A blessing and a curse. Dennie's father had four wives, three of them plus his own mother were lost to complications with childbirth. She compares it to the way tobacco exhausts the earth, how the seeds steal nutrients from the earth as they grow to how pregnancy and childbirth exhaust women…I certainly have seen that, which is why I support contraception as well. According to Dennie her father was going to get married again just before he died, trying for a son I suppose after age sixty!." She leaned against him for a moment, lost in her head. "I think what my own pregnancy, and now being infertile has cost…"

William knew the subject of children was still tender. He held her for a minute until her emotion passed, then chuckled with deliberately hooded eyes. "Besides, I could be the one who is infertile as well, Julia. Half the time it is the male's problem, is it not? And considering how often…" She was so close to him and so beautiful…the spark of lust flamed and he was inevitably drawn to her lips…

She swatted him good naturedly and sniffed, glad the moment of insecurity subsided swiftly. "Yes, William. I would have been pregnant long, long ago!" She righted herself and restored her skirts. "Back to work, Detective. Yes, well. I cannot imagine how the death of Mr. Burke could affect anything about raising money for maternal and infant medical care."

Work, yes… William squeezed her hand before letting go, then picked up his chalk, enjoying a bit of the arousal he always felt around his wife. The major problem I can see in working a case with her is that I am as interested in the evidence as I am in her, and we both end up as physically aroused as we are intellectually. He hid the colour rushing up his neck. Well, that is not really a problem anymore…

He grinned at her and looked up from under his lashes. "Agreed, Doctor. Mr. Sherwood is determined that the motive is a threat to national security, but I am still having trouble making the connection; however, you might be on to something about the tobacco angle. He seems to think there is someone down there whose motive is to press on some fissure in the government, to gain or disrupt power." He went back to the chalk board and finished his gridlines, adding more data to each box.

"Not the usual, more pedestrian motives we are used to working with, eh?" Julia came over to watch the chalk board be transformed into an analogy of William's mind; at least this is the way she saw it. Her mind, she knew, was organized into more discrete loci; William's was more layered and overlapping-always working, making connections and extrapolations, always… 'on.' She supposed that was why he was so good at unique problem-solving. He is more than capable of expanding on a single hypothesis into a comprehensive solution, so watching him do this is fascinating; it reminds me what was so attractive about him from the beginning. She was thoroughly relishing the role of co-detective on this case and told him so.

"I am rather enjoying the opportunity as well. In all our years together, we have never worked a case with just the two of us, or with such minimal equipment." He grinned again, thinking of Julia as a pseudo Constable Crabtree. Except I never felt the urge to kiss George! "I will remind you that I always believed you'd make a good police officer…"

"As to that, I know we are supposed to work on the timeline William, but I wanted to go over the trace evidence I found." Julia brought out folded papers from her pocket and laid them on the green-felt billiard table. "I have small amounts of blue-green dust, red dust and pollen which I found on his hands and on his clothing." She produced the scrapings. William examined them under the electric lighting then brought them to the window to get a better view of each sample under the magnifying glass he fished from his jacket. When that was insufficient, he exchanged that for a jeweler's loupe from another pocket, then asked her to evaluate them as well.

"It seems to me pollen is easily explained—the garden is filled with flowers, lilies in particular. As for the red dust, it is consistent with the red Potsdam sandstone with which the house is constructed." He examined his own hand. "I have some on my fingers from the window sill."

"Well," she said, pointing back to the billiard table. "We can compare the blue-green dust to the cue chalk I see here. " She picked up a cube of material wrapped in paper. "I understand it helps put spin on the ball."

"Yes. The physics of billiards are exceptionally intriguing. The conservation of linear momentum expresses the fact that a body in motion retains its total momentum, which of course is the product of mass times vector velocity, unless an external force is applied to it, not to mention the geometry…" He looked at her and stopped when he noticed she was smiling in that particular way she has that signaled he was going off on a tangent. He coughed and changed direction… Much like a cue ball being acted on by an outside force, he laughed to himself. "Er, yes, silica and corundum with a binder of some sort. Julia, did you find talc on him or his hands?" William tapped the tray of white powder.

"No. None at all. Is that significant?" she asked.

He wiped his hands on a handkerchief and disappeared it back in to his jacket pocket. "Perhaps. If he was actually playing billiards with someone he likely would have used this talc to smooth his hands on the stick and it is so fine I imagine it would be impossible not to get some on one's clothing." He pointed to a smudge of white on Julia's skirt from when she was examining the glass for fingermarks and a blue-ish mark from the cue chalk, while she, in turn, tried and failed to find any on his dark clothing. She gave him an irritated look when he just shrugged at the lack of white, or-any-other-coulour mess on his still immaculate suit, while her outfit was getting more disordered by the hour. She was half-temped to even the score before recalling the seriousness of the situation, to refocus on what William was saying.

He went on with his thoughts. "All-in-all, I think we have enough circumstantial evidence that Mr. Burke was actually in the room, with someone today. And I am guessing that 'someone' killed him because that encounter is the tail end of the possible time of death." He took another circuit around the billiard table, then came back to stand in front of the chalk board. "Why here and why now?"

"I have been thinking about that as well, William. If it was a planned murder, then the killer would have had to lure him up here for the express purpose of murdering him. Perhaps by offering a bored young man a game of chance?"

"Mr. Taggert did say he was fond of spending time in this room, with Miss Charity Taggert, I believe? I wish we knew more about Mr. Burke's habits. It is infuriating not to be able to interview anyone for information!" William scowled at his chalk board and at the boxes he could not fill in with data.

Poor William, she mused. He looks like a caged lion…a grumpy one at that. She wanted to offer him something to help distract him, and decided now was a good time to share gossip. "Well, it is hear-say, of course, but Dennie described him to me as bright, socially adept...the word she used was charming…with exceptionally shrewd business instincts even though the instincts were untrained. Her grandfather had her teaching him accounting and showing him how their factory was set up to get efficient production. He was not good at the day-to-day grind and minutia of business, however. She knew he was fond of gambling—cards, billiards," she motioned across the room. "And horses."

"So you think he could have been persuaded to come up here for a game?" William looked thoughtful.

"Yes. Or at least brought up here on a pretext of some kind, especially since the third floor and this room are isolated."

"Julia, that makes sense because you want to kill someone with privacy in mind and up here is fairly private…"

"But, William. Pushing someone over a railing seems to my mind to be more spontaneous…and, er…not at all private, come to think of it." The exchange of ideas flowed between them, building a kind of energy they both felt. Julia noticed William's eyes shone.

He speculated, moving as he talked. "Unless, as was the case, it was planned for no one to be around to hear the commotion. Perhaps pushing him over the railing was a manoeuver so it could be disguised as an accident?"

"If it was discovered, in mid-act so to speak, the person could plead that case?" she asked excitedly.

William gestured broadly, more questions percolating upwards. "Conversely, there was another murder method available but the assassin improvised when the opportunity presented itself? Hitting that newel post seems to have been a chancy thing—certainly not anticipated, do you think?" William did a quick formula in his head. "Julia, do you think he would have lived if he had merely fallen through to the bottom?"

"I have seen people survive long falls, William. You, in fact…" She recalled his fall from a building several years ago, other deaths by falling she attended over the years, as well as patients who survived. "However, if you add in the stairs, the angle of the fall and the odds of a spinal cord or head injury…No. I calculate only the slimmest chance of survival."

"So in either case, the intent was to kill. After all, security was only watching the perimeter." William considered that an error the Dominion Police were going to have to answer for. My instincts tell me this scheme to appoint me Special Investigator is going to provide a convenient scapegoat or distraction from the real security failure. Inspector Brackenreid is unfortunately all too correct—it will be my hide. He decided that error was going on his mental list of questions for Mr. Sherman.

Julia started thinking out loud. "Getting Mr. Burke up here while everyone was out of the house and the service staff was busy was perfect timing, brilliant in fact. Perhaps the killer slipped in right as everyone left—say right at noon and laid in wait. Then, on the way out there is a servants' staircase so the killer did not have to go down and out the front staircase, which is why there was no smearing of the blood spatter." Julia was disturbed at how easy it was. "Or, all they had to do is fade out of the crowd for precious few minutes and then fade right back in. A man and a woman were heard arguing. Was that Mr. Burke and a woman? A different man and woman? Two people, male and female, confronting Mr. Burke? And why, for Heaven's sake, Mr. Burke specifically and why now?"

"Exactly." William thought Julia had a very good grasp on the permutations. Why indeed? We keep coming back to motive, as much as Commissioner Sherwood dislikes that.

They both heard the clock chime again. William was less and less charmed by having the time constantly marked in this way, discovering it was actually quite irritating. "I think we have many more questions for Mr. Sherwood. He may be satisfied with a shorter list of suspects, but I am not. I also want to know what he knows and hopefully his operatives have reported back to him about any credible threats." He looked at his work on the chalk board. 'Means' was a given. The 'Opportunity' heading was much, much too crowded. 'Motive' was topped off with 'National security threat' followed by his and Julia's speculations about alternatives: Horse racing/gambling related to Mr. Endeavour Taggert? Tobacco/Politics/Liberal Party? Fundraising? Personal to Mr. Burke?

"I also have this." From her other pocket she drew out a long gold chain and placed it on the green felt. "He had no other possessions on him. Just this."

William picked it up. "Hmmm. A watch chain with cigar-cutter, but no watch? How odd." He turned over the two coins anchoring the end of the chain which customarily held a timepiece. He took his magnifier out again. "A British Gold sovereign dated 1840, and an 1873 United States Trade dollar. What strange mementoes."

"Well…he was American, William." They shared a moment of humour and understanding about the inexplicable ways of their neighbours to the south.

He looked again at his chalk notes. "And that does bring us back to tobacco, international business interests…"

Julia added: "Politics…"

Together they said: "And Mr. Burke."

# # #

"…And, lastly, we wish to search Mr. Burke's room in Myrtle House." William and Julia had Mr. Sherwood cornered by a lilac tree under planted with nicotiana, with a list of questions and demands, far enough away so as not to be overheard by the rest of the people who were universally enthralled by Mrs. Hoodless' stem-winder of a speech. "You may be satisfied with only eighty-seven suspects or witnesses; I am not. Dr. Ogden and I will share our findings, but I must ask you to level with me, with us, Commissioner Sherwood. Like it or not I am your Special Investigator, and this is my investigation and there is still time left on the clock!" William worked long and hard on how to approach Sherwood, and having noticed he approved of what Inspector Brackenreid would have called 'cheek,' decided to channel the inspector's persona in hopes of getting what he needed. He was tired of Sherwood's elliptical answers; therefore he waited while glaring directly in the man's face.

Sherwood spent a long time staring back. This time William saw the cunning, flat black eyes looking out from Sherwood's face, the predatory gaze he expected from a subtle spy. William recognized Sherwood was not angry at the challenge, he was calculating on a whole other level. Julia reminded me not to bury myself in the part, but… William knew it was supremely important not to be the first to back down, so he continued to wait. And wait.

Sherwood blinked.

"Detective, doctor. What I am about to tell you is top secret. Top. Secret," he intoned in a stern voice. Sherwood did not get the reaction he expected. Citizens who are confronted with the possibility of learning deep, dark, dangerous secrets are usually either frightened or excitedly intrigued-or an unhealthy combination of both-which he was often able to turn to his advantage. These two did not do more than look slightly annoyed. Well, I can't have that…

"We have been inundated recently with signs of domestic and international unrest, targeted on bringing down the government, by fracturing our current political parties from within. If all the major parties are in disarray, then untold mischief can occur in a power vacuum. One such line of attack is on Prime Minister Laurier himself. If what I am about to tell you reaches outside the three of us—whether or not I can prove it was you who leaked the information—I will have you taken away for treason so fast it will be like the earth opened up and swallowed you. Detective, are you sure you really want to go further?" Sherwood turned to Julia, but directed his words to William. "Even if you want to risk it, is it fair to her? More to the point: are you absolutely sure you want to risk your wife's life by having her a party to this?"

William felt a chill shoot through him and gooseflesh pop on his body. This man is a totally different animal from Terrance Meyers. He automatically turned to physically shield Julia. "Doctor, I think you'd better…."

"Go on, Mr. Sherwood," she said. Her heart drummed in her chest. William's hand was squeezing her arm so tightly she yelped. "William, stop that!" she hissed, wincing.

"Julia," he whispered desperately, "I refuse to put you in any danger! Haven't we just been through enough?" The urge to grab her again was nearly overwhelming.

His eyes were large and slightly wild, and she saw he was pleading with her to be sensible. "William! This is what we asked for. I refuse to back down now. Besides, I don't plan to betray my country, do you?"

He ground his teeth and held her angry blue eyes with his. "Of course not! That is not the point…" We are going to extricate ourselves right now; I will find another way, he implored in his head. Just follow my lead on this Julia…He hoped she understood his unspoken message, then he realized: The question is if she will agree….

Julia turned from William to look directly at Sherwood. "If the Dominion Police have a change of heart, they can come get us at any time, is that not correct?" She held William's arm until he stopped staring at her, so they could both look at the Commissioner. When is William going to accept we are in this together? she thought stubbornly. Always together! "Please answer the question, Mr. Sherwood."