Chapter 3
"They found some strange components on a workbench over there sir," Crabtree said pointing to the scarred and battered table.
Murdoch rose from beside the body and stepped over it to the table. There was very little blood, which was surprising considering the football size hole the victim had going through his chest.
George went back to watching the body, or Doctor Grace, Murdoch was pretty sure it was Emily Grace, but being able to see the floor and carpet through a body did have its own fascination.
"Where's the blood…and bits," George asked leaning closer, Emily bit back a smile and concentrated on examining the body.
"Bits?" she asked, knowing full well what he meant, teasing him was just irresistible.
"His insides, there's a dirty great hole where inside bits should be," he said his hands flaying about. Emily wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair.
"I can not be sure, but it looks as though something burnt a hole through him cauterizing the wound as it went." She said, then rose "I will have to examine the body more closely to be sure though. May I take him now Detective?" She looked over at Murdoch who nodded absently not looking up from sorting through the wires, diodes and tools on the table.
George gave Emily a saucy wink and she blushed just a little as she moved past him with a swish of her skirts.
Murdoch shook his head, every instinct he had was telling him this was important, something about the workbench was ringing loud alarm bells inside his head.
"What do you think he was building here Sir?" George asked, moving over to Murdoch.
"I have no idea George," Murdoch replied, he did not like the feeling that he was missing something important.
"Anything here that would have put that hole in the victim?" George persisted, while George's constant questions could drive even a saint to cursing, Murdoch had found that they helped him focus and often gave him an insight he might otherwise have missed, as it did now.
"No," he murmured drawing the word out, but he moved away from the table and over to where the body had been. He turned in a slow circle studying every foot of the room with an intense concentration.
George followed his gaze, trying to see what he must be seeing, to understand how his phenomenal brain worked and processed. He'd already learnt so much from this man, and yet he knew that it was a drop in the ocean compared to what he would still learn from him.
"Ah!" Murdoch pointed up, "take a look at that George," he said. George moved up beside him and looked up into the corner of the room, there was a deep wardrobe against the wall that cast the upper portion of the wall and the corner into darkness, but a dark burnt streak marred the white ceiling before the dark shadows swallowed it.
"You think whatever went through him is up there on top of that wardrobe," George asked.
Murdoch nodded absently already dragging a chair over to it, "tell Higgins to fetch a ladder," he ordered.
George did as bid. Higgins looked up at Murdoch standing on the chair and frowned, "What for, he's already up there?" he huffed.
George gave him a cool look, "he wants the ladder Henry, stop arguing and go fetch it."
"And get Doctor Grace back," Murdoch called down, "I think we have found the murder weapon," he lifted a round metallic disk, as he moved it something wet and slippery, slithered out and plopped down onto the ground.
George blinked at it a moment, "and the missing bits," he muttered.
Murdoch turned the metal disk around and around, there was something about it. It was spherical, with sharp jagged edges, the markings on it showed that something fast and incredibly powerful had driven it through the victim. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. His worktable in his office was covered with everything from Albert Langton's rooms, they had identified the victim, or at least the name he'd rented the room by.
The smell triggered a memory and he rushed to the cabinet with his chemical collection. Scratching through it, found what he needed and brought it and a test-tube back to the table. A few moments later he stormed into Brackenreid's office closing the door behind him.
"He was killed by an explosive," he said, Brackenreid looked up a frown on his face, "some kind of controlled personalized bomb, the chemical is Nitroglycerin based, but there are other ingredients that I don't recognize."
"So he was playing with a bomb and it killed him?" Brackenreid asked.
Murdoch shook his head, "I don't think so. The force came from outside his arms range, somewhere below him. I think he was murdered deliberately. Someone else was with him in that workshop and they built something," he took a deep breath, "something that can control the exact blast to within the confines of a foot size metal sphere."
Brackenreid poured himself a shot and shook his head, "find out who and what Murdoch, if you are right there is a murderer out there with the makings of a clever bomb."
Murdoch nodded left with George following him.
"No one heard anything sir," George stated, tired dusty and a little rumpled, Murdoch stood once again at the crime scene, looking around, his hat snapping against his leg the only indication that he shared the frustration, "the building is too close to that steel mill it seems to have covered any noise the killer might have made."
Murdoch turned and frowned at him, "impossible George, the explosion would have shaken the entire building, even with the noise from the mill there is no way that would have gone unnoticed," he snapped.
George shook his head, "there is a loud bang three times a day, when they drop the oar into the whatever," he waved his hand, "happened while we were there questioning the neighbors earlier, Higgins dove for the ground and I must say I was close behind him," he said, "it was loud enough that my ears are still ringing."
Murdoch's eyes narrowed, "go to the Mill, find out if they drop the oar at the same time every day," he said, "the killer must know exactly when the bang occurs for him to be able to time his explosion so perfectly."
George nodded and left, a very dusty and harried Higgins at his heel. When they returned an hour later it was with another dead end. The bang was on a strict daily schedule, anyone living in the vicinity would know it.
Murdoch spent that time questioning people in the neighboring buildings, trying to find any clues, any connections with the dead man. Not even the man's landlady knew anything about him. It was as if the man did not exist.
He was back in the office going over the evidence from the crime scene, a sense of impending doom creeping over him.
"I feel it my wifely duty to tell you that I always find your intense concentration incredibly arousing," Julia's voice lilted from the doorway. Murdoch's heart jumped along with every other part of his anatomy. He moved over to her, took her hand in his and gently yanked her into the room firmly closing the door behind her.
She was in his arms moments later, and he kissed her with the same intense thoroughness as he did everything, including loving his wife.
Julia melted against him, completely unable to resist him. When her back hit the door, Murdoch pulled back, touching his forehead to hers as they panted for breath.
"It is indeed," he murmured, "and I hope to soon enjoy another of your wifely duties," he said as he stepped back, a dark promise in his eyes. Julia gave him a bright smile,
"Of course, you can enjoy my beef stroganoff." She blandly informed him and Murdoch paled and stepped back even further.
"Mrs Kitching is off again?" his voice came out a little high pitched, the last meal Julia had cooked a terrifying memory of rubber chicken, that tasted like horse hooves and he still shuddered with nausea at the memory of slimy goo that was supposed to have been rice.
"I sent her home, the poor dear is not as young as she was, one of her daughters has come down with a cold and between caring for her own home, us and her daughter's six unruly children, she quite done in," she said as she followed him further into the room with a cool smile that told him he was not fooling her in the slightest.
"But I won't be cooking for you tonight," she said, and he tried not to look too happy about the small reprieve.
"You were called away so fast from my office I did not have the time to remind you that I'm leaving for Buffalo in the morning," she edged closer to him, sliding her hand over his chest, her lips just inches from his.
Murdoch's brain became a single track of thought, Julia, Julia on the desk, Julia's mouth under his and naked Julia.
It took a loud banging on the door, followed by George not so subtly looking at the floor with his hand covering his face, to snap him back into the here and now.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, whatever I am interrupting, not that I can see anything, or have seen anything," George called.
Julia snorted out a laugh and stepped back, Murdoch shook his head ever so slightly and dropped his hands from her waist.
"What is it George," he said and George peeked up and straightened.
"Doctor Grace has completed the autopsy," he said, "she's waiting for you at the morgue."
"Thank you," Murdoch sighed then grabbed Julia for another quick kiss before reluctantly stepping away from her.
"Duty calls," he muttered, not happy about the fact that he would not be able to spend the night making up for the night before.
"For us both," Julia sighed and Murdoch frowned at that, "it's only for one week William, don't pout so," Julia said then handed him his hat and straitened his tie. It was such a wifely thing to do that he was overcome with the need to wrap her in his arms and hold onto her with all his might.
Instead Murdoch took her hand and slipped it into the crook of his arm, then walked with her out of the precinct. He loved this too, loved the feel of her at his side, loved the cool brush of her skirts against his leg as she walked, the weight of her small hand on his arm, the smell of her, clean and crisp, jasmine and woman. Loved watching her hair gleaming with a light all of its own, tamed and pinned a crowing glory for a face that, even after so many years of looking at it, still made his heart stop.
"I think you should spend the night at your town house?" he said as they reached the street, Julia sighed but nodded.
"The train leaves dreadfully early, and I imagine you will not be spending much time away from work until this killer has been apprehended," She stated, "I heard the man was eviscerated?" It was sometimes very hard to remember that she was no longer in the thick of his investigations, the only part of her job at the morgue she missed.
"Yes, a very unusual circumstances, which I will tell you when you return," he replied, "I won't wake you when I come in," he sighed as he handed her into a carriage.
"You had better wake me William Murdoch, if only to say goodbye," she snapped, Murdoch gave her a smile, then stepped back and closed the door.
He watched the carriage disappear, and felt a heavy weight of sorrow settle on him like a wet wool blanket. He would not be waking her up that night, she needed her rest, the conferences she went to cost her time away from work, and it usually meant that she would have to work twice as hard and long when she came back. It worried him, she already looked pale and a little sad.
As she resisted the urge to turn and watch him out the back window, Julia realized that Murdoch's phenomenal brain was so focused on the case, he'd forgotten all about Darcy's visit. Which was just as well, she'd already decided not to accept. The thought of being without him for such a long time was impossible, but a very large part of her was disappointed.
Murdoch spent a futile two days trying to find some clue as to who Langton was, where he came from, anyone that knew him or had spoken to him, but he was met with a complete blank. He spent hours picking up and examining each item they had found at the man's rooms trying to figure out what he'd created, what he'd intended to used it for.
Dr. Grace confirmed that the metal disk had passed through his body, at such a speed it had caused a heated friction that cauterized as it went. The man had died literally in seconds.
They searched the flat, looking for any personal items and found nothing.
Langton hadn't even had clothing there, nothing in the closets, not even food in the small kitchen. Murdoch questioned the neighbors again, on both sides and above and below him. No one had spoken to the man, or seen more than a glimpse of him.
The building was filled with mostly immigrant workers, those who did not want to be noticed, and spent every waking moment working to eke out a living so they could send money to the folks back home.
Two days of nothing.
The nights for Murdoch were the worst, despite him staying until late and leaving in the early mornings, he hated being in their home alone. The house seemed hollow and devoid of life, as if it too pined for her. After he found himself standing at her closet with his face buried in her dresses breathing in her scent, he started sleeping on the couch in the Inspectors office.
On the third day of nothing, he walked into Brackenreid's office with a frustrated frown on his face and a feeling of impending doom heavy in his stomach.
"Sit down Murdoch, I have some news," Brackenreid said as he rose from his chair. Murdoch sat.
"On the case sir?" he asked, hope in his voice.
Brackeneid shook his head, "no, it's Serge Samuels," he said rising from behind his desk. Murdoch sat forward in his chair, "he should be dead by now, it's been nearly six months," he said.
"He's not, they had to delay the hanging when the gallows collapsed under them," he muttered, "made a bloody mess of the poor bugger they were trying to hang, the whole thing fell on him and crushed his scull," he shrugged and settled on the corner of the desk beside Murdoch.
"Serge? " Murdoch asked confused,
Brackenreid rolled his eyes and leant closer to him "Not 'im, some other bugger, pay attention! If it had been Samuel's we would not be having this conversation," he snarled.
"I'm sorry sir," Murdoch said, then "the cave in caused a lot of structural damage in the town," Murdoch murmured, his mind racing.
"Aye, and we'll be having things fall apart for a long time to come, but be that as it may, Samuel's barrister managed to find a sympathetic Judge, and his execution has been stayed until further notice," Brackenreid said.
"Further notice of what? The man is a murderer, that's not going to change," Murdoch snapped, fear sizzling up his spine, the man had kidnapped Julia and Murdoch felt even now that catching him had been too easy, it had almost been as if he'd wanted to be caught.
"I have no bloody idea, but I do know that the Judges nephew suffers with diabetes, so I imagine it will be until they can find a way to get Samuels out."
Murdoch rose too restless to stay seated, "or break him out of jail?" he paced the length of the room, "with a bomb perhaps?" the zinging turned into alarms.
"The kind of bomb that makes holes in people," Brackenreid said moving to grab his coat, "lets get over to the jail and make sure that does not happen," he hefted his walking stick and lead the way out.
"Sirs, the Men's prison just called, there's been an escape," George called to them as they strode across the room.
Murdoch's entire body went on full alert, "who?" he snarled.
George winced, "Serge Samuels," he said softly.
