It took about half an hour for Murdoch to ride over to the boarding house where Marcel Charles was staying. The Detective recognized it from having payed a few visits to it on other cases. Just like any other time, there were a few of Toronto's seedier types at the entrance. Murdoch parked his bike and strolled over to one of them, "I'll pay you to keep an eye on thist bicycle," he said as he flashed his badge under his suit coat.
"Yeah, sure," the grizzled man grunted. Murdoch nodded sharply and pulled a dollar bill from his pocket. The loss in money was far less a loss of the bike. "No funny business," he warned as he handed the man the money. With a glance over his right shoulder he entered the boarding house to locate Marcel Charles.
The Detective made his way to the boarding house office and found the owner, "I'd like to speak with one of your boarders," the said again as he flashed his badge.
"Who's in trouble this time?" the tall thin man asked. He was wiry in his mannerisms. His face was stubbled with a day's growth of facial hair that matched his unkempt greying hair. His suit was ill-fitting as well.
Murdoch's eyebrows lifted, "Hopefully no-one," he forced a slight smile, having being tired of being asked the same question. "But I would like to talk to Marcel Charles about a matter," he then stated.
"Oh, him," the owner snorted. "Just got out of prison, that one," he wanted.
"Yes. I am aware of that," the Detective stated. "Now, please," he urged.
"Second floor," the owner merely pointed to the ceiling , indicating "up".
"Thank you," William stated as he turned to the stairs, which creaked with ever step-tread that was stepped on. The building was musty and grungy, and a state of disrepair. Murdoch was surprised that the town hand ordered the place to be fixed up or torn down. The Detective reached the second floor and looked into one of the large rooms. There were an number of men in this one, "Marcel Charles?" he asked. None of the men responded so he went to another large room and asked again, with the same results.
It was three times the charm when William found Marcel Charles in his room at his cot, "Mister Charles?" he approached.
Marcel looked up from the old worn bible he held, "Yes?"
Murdoch stopped in front of the man; he had a pensive look on his face. "I'm Detective William Murdoch," he introduced himself.
"What's wrong?" Charles was quick to ask, wondering if there was something wrong with his release from prison.
"Nothing. I hope," the Detective spoke calmly, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "I need to ask you a few questions," he then stated.
"Please, sit with me," Charles offered with a sweep of his right hand toward the other half of the cot. Murdoch nodded and slowly sat down. "What are your questions, Detective?"
"I don't mean to offend you, but this happened many years ago, at your trial," William began.
"Oh," Marcel paused, tilting his head sideways. "That is a long time ago," he then nodded. "A time I'm not proud of," he then looked down at his bible. "This saved me," he said as he looked back up to the Detective.
Murdoch nodded, "So I understand. But," he chose his words carefully, watching Marcel to see if there was any sign of a lie, "you threatened Inspector Brackenreid, with some very serious intentions."
Marcel frowned, "I recall," he looked down at the Holy book. "Those were horrible things for me to say, and I suspect that Thomas is worried," he looked back up to Murdoch.
William nodded, "Very much so," he said calmly.
"Oh dear," Marcel sighed. "Please tell him that I'm a changed man and there is no eye for an eye, anymore. He need not fear," he smiled slightly. "I've seen the ways of Our Lord," he firmly continued as he held up the Bible. "God has spoken to me, and has shone a light in my heart," he looked upwards. Murdoch's eyes followed before he looked back at Marcel. Slowly Charles looked back at the Detective, "Wish Thomas well for me. Tell him that I'm terribly sorry that he's been burdened with those words all these years," he gripped William's forearm for assurance.
Murdoch nodded, "I will," he smiled. Marcel released his hold and smiled.
The Detective stood up and adjusted his hat, "Thank you for your time," he extended his hand out, which Marcel slowly took. There was a slight shake, before the Detective tipped his hat and left the boarding house. He was relieved to see his bicycle was still there, and so was the man he gave the money to. With a smile and a nod, he hopped on and peddled off, back to Station House no. 4.
By the time he arrived at the station, he found Margaret Brackenreid in her husband's office, and clearly flustered over the situation. "Now Margaret, Murdoch's gone off to find the sod, and will report back," he assured his wife that they were looking into the matter.
Margaret pursed her lips and crossed her arms, "He should have been sentenced more time than ten years," she then huffed. Murdoch arrived just about the same time as the comment. He peeled off his hat, and held it in his hands, in front of his chest, "Mrs. Brackenreid," he smiled and quickly looked at his boss. The Inspector made a face, and then held his hands out to his side, "So, tell me," he urged.
Murdoch moved further into the Inspector's office, "Well, he seems quite sincere and expressed his sorrow in saying the things he did in the courtroom," William stated.
Brackenreid's face reddened, "What a load of bullocks!" he burst out. "That rat will find away, I bloody well know it!" Margaret's eyes dashed between the two men.
"Now, Inspector, I think you might be over reacting just a tad," William held up his right hand to calm his boss down.
"Over reacting? My life and family are at stake here!" the Englishman was irate now. "How can you tell me that Marcel Charles has changed? I knew what he was like, and there no way that son of a," Brackenreid stopped himself short, glancing at his wife who stood with her mouth hanging with the anticipation of the next word. "You know what I mean," he grumbled as he briskly walked back to his desk and sat down.
Murdoch moved to the desk, "Sir, I can only go on what I saw and what I heard. He seemed very sincere. He's found God," he stated again.
"Bully! I'll get Margaret to bake him a bloody apple pie and invite him over for dinner!" Brackenreid barked. Margaret rolled her eyes at the thought, "Oh Thomas," she sighed. Murdoch frowned, "We have to give him a change," he urged.
"Fine," Brackenreid flung his right hand out as if he'd given up.
"Thank you for looking into the matter, Detective," Margaret tried to smile. "I'll see you at dinner, Thomas," she looked over to her husband. Brackenreid was clearly exasperated as he sat with this chin resting on his balled up left fist. He just stared forward. Margaret walked to her husband and patted him on the right forearm, "Don't worry," she whispered. Thomas' eyes slowly shifted to meet her's, "That's easy for you to say, Margaret," he sighed sarcastically.
Making matters worse for the Inspector were Constables Crabtree and Higgins, who had just arrived back at the station house. George removed his helmet, placing it on his desk in the bull-pen. He strolled to the door of Brackenreid's office to find Mrs. Brackenreid just leaving. He acknowledged her as she passed by him.
Crabtree entered the room, wearing a perplexed look on his face. "How'd you make out, George?" Murdoch asked.
"Not very well, Sirs," Crabtree responded. "It's almost as if Darby O'Farrell just up and vanished! I know he couldn't have, but is sure seems that way," he stated matter-of-factually.
"Bloody hell," Brackenreid growled, his shoulders slumped.