Detective Murdoch was holding court in his office at the end of a long day of slogging through information, interviews and papers, looking for anything that even vaguely resembled evidence.
"Gentlemen, what do we know? We have a window for time of death as between one o'clock and five o'clock, which Dr. Ogden may be able to refine a bit further; but keep in mind the time of the assault may not be the time of death. The victim was beaten there in the alley and his valuables were stolen before five o'clock; that is if one rather incurious pawn-broker gave us the correct time. They were pawned a few blocks away by an unknown, non-descript man, but, oddly enough, Mr. Snow's money has not turned up."
Several of the constables chuckled at their detective's dry but deliberate levity, and he let them laugh to reduce the tension and disappointment of the investigation before continuing. "Constable Stanton has completed looking at fingermarks—no matches." He checked one box off his blackboard with a chalk swoop. "Constable Brightman found several men with assault-robbery convictions which involved beating a man, a subset of them associated with the soap-works neighborhood. None of them has panned out so far as suspects." He marked off another box. "The calling cards the victim had in his wallet included his tailor, a gentlemen's club and several for charitable organizations in the Toronto area—the Knights of St. George soup kitchen is the only one even marginally associated with the crime scene." He looked at the remaining empty boxes. "We still have no idea why he was in that area and if it was related to his work as a journalist or merely happenstance. The only lead we had was a guess that Mr. Snow was investigating prostitution—and that was going to provide some rationale for the victim's presence in that neighborhood."
Henry gave his summary for the men who broadcast Norris Snow's photograph on the docks and the streets where women sold themselves and George managed to report, without editorial comment, on the various brothels, particularly Mme. Le Chabanais' house where Mr. Snow appears to have been a garden variety customer. None of it was particularly illuminating and William did not wish to speculate in public whether or not Mr. Snow might have used Mme. Le Chabanais' premises for another kind of assignation. "So far we have only a strong motive—robbery, and we are weak in the other necessary areas."
Jackson was the one who put the real question out there. "So what is our next move, detective? Seems like this is all a dead end."
"I tend to agree. We need to ask other station houses if there are any recent cases like this in their precincts—that is data that will not yet be found in constabulary reports. Put in a call this evening so we can have information by the morning. Other people must have used that alleyway, that gate across it would not stop anyone, as evidenced by its regular use as s short cut—find them. It is possible the robber is just laying low, so set up informants. Dr. Ogden will have more results this evening, so hopefully that will narrow time of death further and give us more trace evidence." He looked over the men crowded into his office. "We convene tomorrow after inspection. There are calling hours for Mr. Snow before his funeral, and I'd like the constabulary to be represented. Until then, good night, gentlemen, and thank you." William motioned to George to hold back. "I want you to investigate Mr. Snow's time in Chicago. You are a writer and somewhat familiar with that world—see what you can come up with. See if he stole from any other writers and learn all you can about why he left town."
"You have a hunch, sir?"
"No George. Just following all possible leads."
Truth be told, William was somewhat conflicted when he walked into the morgue at half past six to get the final autopsy results and to take Julia home for the night. Being in the brothels and listening to the theater of ego that was undoubtedly performed by the ladies there had been somewhat amusing and yet arousing at the same time, tempered with the knowledge that many of them were there not necessarily by choice but due to circumstance, which was disconcerting.
However, seeing of some of the furniture in these establishments had also been exciting to say the least. As he'd stood in one boudoir, he couldn't help but stare at a piece of furniture known as a Siege D'amour or a 'love-machine' and find it most intriguing. It allowed the woman or man to take some very unusual positions and allowed for some angles of connection William had not considered possible. Of course he and Julia had used a particular table a few times for a change of pace, but William had truly never considered a specific piece of furniture used especially for such a purpose before and he found that he could not stop thinking about it. He debated telling Julia about it…he suspected she would find such a thing titillating, but he was also concerned about whether or not such things were too depraved and led to dark places. At least such scandalous thoughts are of my wife now, he rationalized to himself. Is it truly depravity to desire such a rendezvous with your wife?
Seeing her sitting at her desk, pulling at her corset in discomfort while stretching her muscles made William smile as his mind continued on his previous train of thought. As soon as they arrived back in their suite, he would personally remove the offending garment and belatedly offer the previously promised neck and shoulder massage. He'd already contacted the hotel and had arranged for Chicken Kiev to be served again tonight precisely at 7:30. He'd also stopped at a small apothecary and picked up a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham's Herbal Compound that was currently tucked away in his breast pocket. A quick sniff had reminded him of the absinthe that he'd long ago enjoyed with Julia, most likely due to the licorice inside.
Hearing his footfall and immediately recognizing who it was, Julia turned around and smiled back at him. "Good evening, Detective. I don't suppose you're here to offer that massage you forgot about last night by any chance, are you?"
"Oh, that's not the only thing I haven't forgotten about, Doctor. I've come to listen to your findings on what caused the death of Mr. Snow and then escort you home, where you shall receive your massage along with other things that were mentioned last night," William replied, running his hands along her shoulders and down her arms. He smiled again feeling her tense for a moment before leaning back into him, enjoying the sound of her breath as it hitched.
"Well, we shall not tarry any longer than necessary, then," she replied, standing up and walking over to the cooler where his body was to begin her verbal report. "Norris Snow was a well-nourished thirty one year old man who had no particular health concerns other than a massive cold at the time of his death."
"We found cold remedy bottles in his effects. He had several in fact," William mentioned. "It seems that despite writing about these remedies in the States, he still consumed them."
"Yes," Julia continued, pulling the sheet back farther. "As you can see, Mr. Snow was badly beaten. The backs of his arms show the defensive wounds one would expect from such an action, and the undersides of his arms do not show such bruising, consistent with a defensive posture. But I do not think he was beaten with fists—he was most likely slammed against the wall and kicked. The head wound was the most serious and would have stunned him—and of course they do tend to bleed so freely." Julia showed William the cleaned scalp wound—it was a ragged tear in the flesh, certainly the source of all the blood at the scene. "But that did not in fact kill him. However, if you'll note the large bruise on his right arm here alongside his vein, you'll notice that it does not fit the pattern of the rest of the injuries," she explained.
"I see. That bruise does stand out as strange. But I'm assuming that there's more than just an odd mark?" he asked.
"There is," she continued. Grabbing a magnifying glass from her worktable, she handed it to him. "You will recall his coat and shirt were half pulled off—initially I assumed someone was trying to steal his clothing. If you look closely at the bruise, you'll see a puncture mark right where the vein is," she instructed. "Most medical injections are subcutaneous not intravenous. This mark led me to test his blood and find that there was a potentially lethal dose of heroin in his system. That, I believe was the method of murder, a syringe being the weapon."
William asked for clarification. "Isn't heroin usually taken internally? But this is an injection. Are you sure it was not self-administered? Or that he was not a habitué?"
"Quite sure. In the first place, Mr. Snow was apparently right handed—you can see where the ink stains are on his right hand, on the fingers, here." Julia uncovered the hand and showed the evidence to her husband. "There are no other injection marks on his body. I imagine that finding a vein was a mistake—but not one Mr. Snow made."
"So, how did someone accomplish this?" He frowned, trying to think through the implications. Use of opium or abuse of heroin for that matter, could certainly be a vice, but this was the first piece of evidence to indicate drugs played a part in the reporter's death. Just how many vices was this man looking into—and for work or pleasure?
Julia reached for a folder and opened it. "It was not just heroin I found in his system. Initial toxicology reveals exposure to arsenic, strychnine and cyanide as well as alcohol. Possibly in one of the horrid patent medicines he might have taken for his cold. Indeed, some people never learn, eh?"
"Or someone trying to poison him?" William asked suspiciously.
Julia paused. "Interesting thought, detective. Miss James and my students will do a more detailed analysis of his tissues and stomach contents and have the results for you tomorrow. I might even be able to match it to the exact recipe of the medicine. As for the proximate cause of death, I suspect that someone beat him soundly and then took advantage of his debilitated state to administer a fatal amount of heroin, hoping perhaps to make it look like he did it to himself and overdosed by mistake. They made an error when they got the wrong arm."
"Do you think all of this happened in the alley? If so, then this has to be premeditated to bring some heroin along…." William's quizzical expression telegraphed his doubt.
Julia merely shrugged her shoulders. "I cannot imagine that he was beaten someplace else and then deposited there—too much blood at the scene. Cause of death is my area. Manner of death is yours, detective…thankfully not mine."
"Any further ideas about time of death?" he asked hopefully.
"His digestive track was unrevealing. If I take liver temperature and blood coagulation into consideration and how rapidly a heroin overdose could kill someone, I can only narrow the time of death down to a two-hour window: three o'clock to 5 o'clock. I'm sorry, but that is the best I can do. I do believe he was beaten and then injected and left to die. The assault could have happened earlier."
He took out his notebook and wrote a few lines. "I see. Thank you for trying. I will need to have the men reexamine the area around the crime scene to look for the syringe." William sighed. "Well, I suppose that narrows my suspect list. I'm not looking for some nameless street thug then. An enemy, a rival, a lover, even his landlady…"
"I'd say those are all excellent candidates to consider," Julia agreed. "In fact, the combination of arsenic, strychnine and cyanide would be perfect for a genteel method of poisoning someone in their tea—they just did not get the combination quite right, and heroin is readily available."
Laughing softly at the mental image of some innocent eggshell tea cups containing a deadly brew, he shook his head. "Very good, Doctor. You are second to none," he pronounced as he kissed her.
"In more ways than one, I hope, Detective," she replied with a flirtatious look as he pulled back to look at her.
"Oh, I'm sure of it," he assured her. "May I help you put things away?" he asked, gesturing around the room, in hopes of departing that much sooner. After the disappointment of last night, he was determined to enjoy a bit of romance this evening and he was eager to start the plans that involved her taking a hot bath as soon as they returned home, and the promised massage before dinner arrived.
As soon as they arrived home, William wasted no time in starting a hot bath with a liberal dose of Julia's favorite calla lily scented bath oil before stepping back into their bedroom to assist with the removal of her corset; one of his favorite tasks. Dropping it to the floor, William ran his palms up and down her bare back, pressing his thumbs into her spine the way he knew she enjoyed. Moaning in pleasure, Julia leaned back into his embrace as he finished undressing her. Thinking that she was about to be led to their bed, Julia was surprised to be led to the bathroom instead, and rather than getting in with her, he removed his jacket and cuff links, and rolled up his sleeves. Kneeling outside the tub, William proceeded to wash her with a cloth.
Taking his time dragging the cloth over her limbs, he massaged each one as he went. "So tell me, have you decided what the topic of tomorrow's lecture will be at the Medical College?"
"I have indeed. I've decided that I will be speaking on patent medicines, the threat they pose, and how to treat potential cases of dependency—or illness caused by the very medicines that are supposed to cure an ailment. I'll also be addressing how to convince our patients to avoid them. I'd like to start a campaign to get them abolished outright, but even I am concerned that may be more on my plate than I can handle," she admitted with a laugh.
"Are you feeling all right? I'm just concerned because I've never heard Julia Ogden back down from a just cause before…" he trailed off with a wag of his eyebrows and she splashed water at him in return.
"I do have to leave something for others to do," she countered as she pulled his head down for a kiss.
"Selfless as always," he laughed as he helped her out of the tub.
Later, after she had received her promised shoulder massage and they were at dinner finally enjoying the Chicken Kiev (uninterrupted this time), Julia sipped her wine and reveled in the playful nature their conversation had taken when as was usual, dinner conversation turned back to work.
"So, you're aware of how I spent my day. Where did the investigation take you?" she asked.
"Mr. Snow's editor believed he was working on an exposé about vice in Toronto, which I initially thought might be prostitution since it was one piece of evidence in his possession that held any clues as to where his interests lay. The evidence you developed about heroin in his system is now another one of those 'vice' angles I need to explore."
"You say he was robbed of a week's pay, had money in the bank and all his papers are missing. There is more than one kind of vice, William. Perhaps gambling? Money and evidence of possible gambling debts, both gone?" Julia added.
William groaned at the thought of yet another avenue to explore. "I suppose that is for tomorrow. I cannot decide if the lack of notes and papers is causally related to his death or merely a distraction. I suppose I must consider a co-worker may be involved with removing his work or story notes. Today the men did a rather, um… in-depth canvass of prostitution, and except for some vague recollections and one bordello whose, er…workers definitely remembered him." He decided not to elaborate.
"And….What did you find?" she asked as she moved closer, her curiosity sparked. I will not let him stop now!
"Not much, I'm afraid. The information we gathered today points to Mr. Snow having a certain fascination with prostitution. He made the, um… acquaintance of several women."
Julia smirked. "I see. For his personal needs or his journalistic needs?"
"Unclear. But it is curious. It seems his notes, if he took any, are all missing. Not just any notes on vices—any notes at all. I haven't found them in his boarding house, or in his office. All of his work has simply vanished."
"Could his editor or a co-worked have absconded with them?" Julia asked.
"That is a good point—they would have access to his papers, and perhaps there is a motive in there—whether or not they are directly involved in the death—it may be an opportunistic act. I am also investigating if perhaps he did not actually write his articles but stole the work of others, or if his troubles in Chicago followed him to Toronto vs. his death being related to any encounters in our city." William explained.
"But tell me, what did you…encounter at the houses of ill repute? Any soiled doves that I need to be wary of?" she asked with a glint in her eye.
"Julia," his voice warned, his countenance slightly scolding. He did not care to discuss with his wife how suggestive many of the ladies had been. But her excited expression informed him that he'd failed in dissuading her from such a topic.
"You were propositioned! I knew it!" she exclaimed. "How? Where? Who? I want to know!" Her excitement was palpable.
"Julia, cataloguing them all will not matter. I said no each time, so it is a moot point. I did not nor will I ever entertain such an encounter, so there is no need…" he began before she interrupted.
"Cataloguing? As in more than once?" she asked before noticing his pained facial expression. He clearly had not enjoyed the attention he'd received-or he was uncomfortably ambivalent about whatever his feelings were. "I'm sorry, William. It just amuses me to hear that these women were in pursuit of you. Not so much that they were, because you are still a fine physical specimen, but how you reacted to it. I am relieved that you did not entertain their offers," she finished.
"A fine physical specimen? Really?" he asked, feigning incredulousness.
"Mmm, yes indeed. Did you know that the first time you met Ruby that is how she referred to you? Of course I agreed and I had to make it perfectly clear to her that I would not tolerate her interest in you… but alas, that is a different story," she explained.
Blushing again, he looked down and resumed his meal.
"Oh, William. Surely you know that you are most attractive, and that this is noticed by other women," she clarified as his gaze remained upon his plate.
"Julia," he exhaled in exasperation. He clearly did not enjoy his physical attributes being the topic of other women's conversations. Well then, imagine how women feel almost every day?
"Very well, William. Besides the previous, what other encounters or observations did you have, my handsome husband?" she asked winking at him. If he has a problem with his own wife telling him how attractive she finds him, we have a serious issue.
But this time, an eye roll and a smile accompanied his blush as he shook his head. "Well, I didn't learn as much as much as I had hoped about the Mr. Snow's activities, but let's say that it was still something of an arousing adventure," he said, looking up at her through his eyelashes and thinking about the sights and sounds of the afternoon.
Julia smiled as her understanding dawned. Raising her eyebrows, she finished her wine and reached for the bottle to refill her glass when William placed his hand over hers to stop her.
"I have a surprise," he explained, pulling the bottle he'd purchased earlier out of his jacket pocket.
"For your evening aperitif, milady, may I present to you a fine bottle of Miss Lydia Pinkham's Vegetable Compound?" he asked, holding the bottle as a maître d would at a fine restaurant.
Julia tossed her head back and pealed with laughter. It was a sound William loved to hear, and better yet, he loved being the man to elicit it from her.
"Really, William? I can't believe you actually purchased a bottle of this concoction," she commented once she caught her breath.
"I believe we said something about an experiment last night, Doctor, did we not?" he asked with a sly smile.
"I believe we did, Detective. I'm not sure which data you were thinking about collecting, but I must insist we both partake and record that as well. All in the name of science, of course," she added with a smile.
Laughing, he nodded his head. "Of course," he replied, pouring the recommended dose into two glasses.
"Although if you do become pregnant William, I suppose we will have to issue a testimonial of our own, won't we?" she asked with a mischievous twinkle to her eye.
"Julia! You are outrageous!"
"And you wouldn't have it any other way, Mr. Murdoch."