Murdoch in the Jungle

by Romantic Nerd

In 1904 Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree investigate a murder involving the the meat-packing industry. Undercover as hobos, they encounter Upton Sinclair who is researching his novel, "The Jungle." Sinclair helps them with their investigation and to learn how to survive in this, dark, depressing and soul-torturing world of the early twentieth century JUNGLE.

7. Chapter 7: Persevering

Murdoch in the Jungle_6_Persevering

Glad to be on time, William opened the door to the stationhouse. He counted his blessings that Ruby had still been in her bedroom when he and Julia had come down for breakfast – after what had been a lively morning of lovemaking. At least he did not have to deal with her brash teasing, although it was possible Julia still would have to later, after Ruby arose. "Perhaps she didn't overhear us," he thought, hoping his sister-in-law had slept deeply after her long travels from New York City, not to mention a healthy dose of wine – and besides, Julia had made an effort to diminish her… declarations.

He made a note to himself to ride his bicycle home tonight, despite the pain he felt from Julia's injections of penicillin into his buttocks, and the dreaded sling. He missed the exercise, and the time to think. His wheel remained in the constabulary stable, where the men had brought it after retrieving it at Davies Slaughterhouse the night he and Jackson had been attacked and hung up on meat-hooks. "Was that really only two nights ago?" he marveled. Of course, the sling on his arm indicated that the healing time had been quite brief. A smile trickled across his face, however, for he had almost talked Julia out of making him wear it today. "Tomorrow," he thought.

No messages, he headed across the bullpen. "You must have been here quite early again, George," he greeted, "Very dedicated," he added with a nod. George Crabtree had always gone above and beyond the call of duty, but William had noticed he was pouring even more of himself into his work than usual as of late. He wondered if it wasn't a reflection on the younger man's loneliness. Crabtree's romantic history, William knew, had come complete with quite a few stings, losing Dr. Emily Grace and then Edna Brooks. Even his relationship with Nina Bloom seemed to have petered out.

"Yes sir," George replied, "Although I must say, I take it rather personally when our detective and one of our constables get strung up like a side of beef. I very much want to see these men caught."

"As do I, George, and it was pork, not beef," William corrected, his mind replaying the image of seeing the pig carcass destined for the whirring saw blade, even the smell of being surrounded by dead hogs penetrated into his psyche.

George tried to lighten the mood with a joke, claiming, "That's why they call it 'Hogtown' after all." At least the comment earned him a polite smile.

Lifting the death report William had left the night before from his desk, George moved on, "To that order sir, I see you have gotten somewhere in identifying Ieva's husband… So unfortunate that he was already dead, though I remember you had speculated that it would have been terribly painful for the man to have been alive only to find out that his wife had been killed and that his son had died as well."

Clamping his lips together and nodding, for he had imagined all too well how such a discovery would have felt if it were news about Julia and their child, he asked, "Have you contacted Stationhouse 5 yet George?"

"I did sir… right before you walked in. Their man at the desk took the message. I wasn't sure whether to leave it for their inspector or for the detective… I left it for Inspector Sanford," George said, now following the detective into his office and helping him deal with his coat while he was hampered by the cumbersome sling.

"That's fine George… Uh, I meant to ask you George, did you see a green carpet or maybe a rug in Mulligan's office… when you went with him to get the list of workers that night?" William asked.

"Well…" George paused, working to remember, "There was definitely a rug right inside of his door. The rest of the office had a wood floor, much like yours… Um, I know the color of the rug was dark. It was the middle of the night, so the lighting wasn't very good…"

It flashed inside of William stealing part of his attention, unable to be certain which hit him first, the sickening nausea, or the memory, of leaning down to pick the manager's lock, in the dark shadows of the inner area of Davies Slaughterhouse, and then being startled by their assailants. "I dreamt about this last night…"his thought replacing the memory…

His arms held wide apart, George had continued and was now demonstrating the approximate dimensions of the rug inside the manager's office door, continuing, "…the office was opened before we got there – I believe the Inspector had made his phone calls to the manager and the owner from Mulligan's office. He might remember the rug..."

"Yes, I'll ask him. I see he is not in yet? William noticed.

An expression of disappointment took George's face as he realized, "Oh… That's right. There is a meeting of all of the Inspectors this morning. It means Inspector Sanford won't be in until later to get the message I left over at Stationhouse #5. Do you want me to call over there and have them give the message to Detective Dermott?"

William took a seat and answered, "No, that's alright George. Dermott would likely need to ask his inspector before he sent us the file anyway. How about the fingermarks we collected yesterday – any matches to the marks on Ieva's locket or the garbage-pail lid?"

"Higgins and I started yesterday, no matches yet. We still have about half of the men's fingermarks to go through," George replied.

"And have you checked Mulligan and Davies?" the detective inquired.

"No," George responded, I'll make sure we check their marks first thing. You seem particularly interested in Mulligan, sir. Can I ask why?"

William frowned. George was perceptive, and he had to admit that he was suspicious of the man, but he also knew he had very little reason to be. "Not much, George," he replied. "We know the killer was most likely a large man from the stab wound, it was a dull weapon – I thinking something like a letter-opener, and Mulligan is large. Also, we know Ieva asked for directions to Davies Slaughterhouse, and she was wrapped up in a burlap sheet that matched the ones Jackson and I were wrapped in… And we know her husband wrote her that he was coming into a big sum of money – and now we know that he was dead soon after that letter…

"So you think she would have gone to the manager about her missing husband and his expectation of this big windfall," George checked, "And Mulligan, being the man she would likely have contacted at Davies, killed her… What? – so she wouldn't go to the police. Or sir! Perhaps she was bribing Mulligan – asking for money to keep quiet?"

"Perhaps George. Nothing but speculation right now I'm afraid," William said.

Later, after the Inspector had arrived, William learned that the Inspector did remember the rug at Mulligan's office door, and that it was green – or at least he was fairly sure it was green. While they were speaking in the Inspector's office, Brackenreid got a call from Inspector Sanford over at Stationhouse #5. Sanford said that there would be no point in sending over Baltavesky's file because the death was ruled an accident. When pressed, Sanford held his ground – no file! William was furious, the Inspector had to admit that he was rather perturbed as well. William decided to go under him, so to speak. He would call Detective Dermott himself – speak to him detective to detective… And their coroner as well. He planned to have Julia make that call.

On his way back to his office, Higgins informed the detective that none of the men they had questioned from Davies Slaughterhouse had fingermarks that matched the marks on the victim's locket or the garbage-pail lid. William reached up to rub his brow. His headache was now becoming distracting. "Thank you Higgins," he answered, his frustration apparent, "Did you and George finish checking the marks of Davies and Mulligan?"

"Uh… yes si…"

"Where is George?" the detective interrupted.

Higgins squirmed uncomfortably, but answered quickly, "He said he had an idea… I believe it was about the case, sir. He asked me to inform you of our findings with the fingermarks."

William worked to manage his conflicting feelings. It annoyed him that the man would go off on his own chasing down a possible clue, but at the same time, he himself kept coming up empty handed, and he felt a surge of hope that maybe George was on to something. "Is that all he said?" he asked.

That's it sir… But whatever it was, he seemed to think of it right after we discovered that none of the fingermarks matched those of the killer," Higgins said.

"Thanks Henry," William replied and went into his office. He called Julia and asked her to call Dr. Reynolds over at Stationhouse #5 and ask him about the autopsy on Adomas Baltavesky. Deciding to take some action on his own before he called Detective Dermott, he called Higgins in.

"Henry, let's see if we can find out what train Baltavesky's body was found on last summer. Check the records," he instructed, "The death report is probably still on George's desk."

"Right away, sir," the young constable replied.

George had noticed that, not only did the men on the list the Davies manager had provided not come up with a match to the killer – but he also remembered that Constable Hogan had said none of the men they questioned yesterday was the one he thought had recognized the photographs of the victims when he asked on Saturday. Perhaps the killer and the man Hogan questioned were the same man?! And perhaps Mulligan had left his name off of his list of men working when the detective and Jackson were attacked on purpose! As George felt somewhat responsible for that list, for the detective had asked him to accompany the manager to his office to get it, he wanted to ask Mulligan if he had forgotten to include anyone that had been working that day. He parked his bicycle next to the pigpens and headed directly up to the manager's office. The door to Mulligan's office was open after George went up the stairs. Hearing Mulligan's voice, he observed that the man was on the phone once he stood at the threshold.

Mulligan signaled for him to come in, and as he stood there, constable helmet in hand, he noticed the letter-opener that Detective Murdoch had suspected might be the weapon on Mulligan's desk. His heart skipped a beat; he wanted to get it! He considered pinching it, hiding it in his helmet. "Impossible without Mulligan noticing," he thought. Mulligan said good-bye to the caller. George suspected it was his wife by their conversation.

"Constable Crabtree, right?" Mulligan said in greeting.

"Very good, sir," George replied. "I know you are busy. I just had a few questions… about the li…"

There was a knock at the door behind him. It was uncanny how the man had approached without making a sound.

"Mr. Mulligan, there is an emergency, sir. Seems some pigs escaped," the man's subversive voice stated plainly. George decided that the man had been one of the men they had questioned and that they had his fingermarks, though he could not remember the worker's name.

Making haste, Mulligan called out, seemingly already down the stairs, "I'll be right back constable."

George was immediately planning his theft, and still he noticed he overheard the manager ask for a rifle. Already slipping the letter-opener into his helmet, George considered his reaction to the thought at the pigs being shot for their escape, considering it inhumane and overdone. Yet, he acknowledged how crazy the thought was, for the creatures were on their way to being slaughtered anyway. Quickly, he looked around while alone. There was no sign of a green rug. As a matter of fact, there was a different rug than he had seen that night, currently in the place of the other, just inside of the door. He lifted it to examine the wood floor under it. There was no sign of blood there. "Perhaps if the detective used his ultra-violet light," he wondered. He heard Mulligan bark an order to everyone to get back to work, somewhat relieved that he had never heard a shot fired.

Mulligan explained that it was Davies policy to shoot escaped pigs to minimize the chance that they would hurt someone as they tended to be frantic and crazed upon escape. Fortunately, the men had been able to herd the hogs into an empty pen before he got down there. Returning to his seat, the phone rang again. "Just a minute, constable," he asked, picking up the receiver. He told the caller he would call back. "What did you want to ask me?" he inquired.

Getting right to the point, hoping to escape with his stolen bounty, George said, "I just wondered if you might have left someone off of the list you gave us?" He watched carefully, looking for deception, deciding he could not be sure either way.

After a moment to think, leafing through his rosters in one of his drawers, Mulligan claimed he was certain the list was complete. "But, perhaps I should see it once more just in case?" he asked. George handed him the list and he looked it over. "It looks good constable. Is there anything else, as you can see, I'm a very busy man," he asked, handing the list back to George.

George entertained the thought of asking if the rug was new, but decided against it, not wanting to tip the man off to the detective's suspicions. "No. You have been quite helpful. Thank you. I'll take my leave," George answered.

"Have a good day, Constable Crabtree," Mulligan said. He clearly would wait until George left to make his return phone call. Thus George left the premises harboring a feeling that something was going on.

He intended to check the garbage bins for any evidence that the rug had been disposed of. He stashed the letter-opener into his inside pocket. But just then, "Holy moly! There it is! The exact same rug! It is green…" George's thoughts trumpeted through his brain, his feet already running after the garbage wagon. The garbage collector had just dumped a bin, with the green rug in it, into his refuse wagon! "Oi, you there… Stop. Toronto Constabulary!" George shouted across the Davies lot.

His yelling was for naught, the men seemed not to hear him and climbed into the wagon and headed away. "Bike! Get the bike!" he screamed to himself in his head, the sound of his own strained breathing making it impossible for him to hear anything else. George took up chase. Although he soon lost sight of the refuse wagon, figuring they were headed for the dump, he arrived at the refuse pile only moments after they had dumped the load and were pulling back out for another load. The rug was in the pile!

George walked into station with the green rug and the letter-opener, and the claim from Mulligan that the list he had given the Constabulary was complete. Higgins greeted him, lifting his nose up out of one of many rather large books of the train schedules for 1904. Looking at the detective's door, Higgins told George that he had been missed.

Detective Murdoch was on the phone. George found his desire to show off his booty irresistible, knocking on the closed door. He gave the detective a smile through the side window and waved. William signaled for him to come in.

"Thank you Julia," William said into the phone, "I will wait to hear from you before I call over to Detective Dermott… Yes, that's true, many more ways…" William glanced up at George. Puzzlement overtook his face, as he noticed that George was hiding something behind his back. "As do I," he said into the phone, before he hung up.

"What have you George?" he asked immediately.

"Well sir, I went over to Davies Slaughterhouse…"

"George," William interjected, sounding both exasperated and concerned, "You know we have been trying to investigate potentially dangerous places with fellow officers along. And after what happened to Jackson and myself there, Davies Slaughterhouse definitely qualifies as a potentially dangerous place – just ask my wife," he added dropping his eyes to the exasperating sling on his arm. He couldn't help it though; jubilation was seeping into him, for it was obvious, George had a break in the case!

"Of course, you're right sir…" George said, pausing and watching as the detective's eyes honed in on whatever pieces of the rug could be viewed from behind him.

"The rug!" William declared with a gigantic smile on his face, providing George with the reward he so wished for.

"Yes sir," George answered, pulling the small Persian-styled rug out into the open. William rushed to clear a place on the worktable, hampered in his progress by the sling. "I went to question Mulligan about the list of workers he complied for us," George said, "And I spotted this being dumped from a bin at Davies into the town refuse wagon… I had to chase them all the way to the dump – but it was there, right in the pile with lots of other items clearly from Davies Slaughterhouse. I noted the relative locations of the items and put them aside as evidence with the dump manager for us to retrieve later," George explained as the detective had finally cleared off sufficient space and he laid the rug out on the worktable. "There was a bunch of brown paper packaging that had been sent to Davies' address on top of this rug, and under it there were three or four roll center tubes from the burlap used at Davies – I saw large rolls of burlap just like them at Davies Slaughterhouse when I went to retrieve the burlap sheets you and Jackson had been wrapped in that night, sir," he said.

While William examined the top of the mostly green-colored rug, immediately noticing that the fibers would likely match those Miss James had collected from their victim's nasal passages and mouth, he instructed, "We will need to determine the burlap roll manufacturer's name and obtain evidence that they sold those burlap rolls to Davies – Have the lads check for serial numbers on the rolls in the pile with this rug at the dump and see if they have records that those particular rolls were sold to Davies Slaughterhouse."

With no visible signs of blood on the top of the rug, George helped William in turning it over to assess the bottom. George already knew what they would find! "Oh, look at that!" William declared excitedly. Much of one of the corners of the brown, matted underside of the rug had a visible reddish-brown stain. "Likely blood!" William continued, "I'll take this over to Miss James right away." He began to roll the rug up, adding, "She can test to see whether or not it is blood, and then if it is animal or human blood."

Interrupting him, a sly smile on his face, George said, "There's more detective." He pulled the letter-opener out of his inside pocket, lifting it proudly into the air. Glee filled his constable-heart as Detective Murdoch's eyes practically bugged out of his head!

"George, the letter-opener too!" William shrieked. William's mind darted down multiple paths, "Where in the pile was it?" and, "That looks like it will be a perfect match!" and, "I wonder if it will have Mulligan's fingermarks?!" It was this last choice that made it to his lips, "George, before we have Miss James check to see if it matches the mold taken from the wound, let's test it for fingermarks." Grateful that they had already collected Mulligan's fingermarks, his brain hollered, "If it has Mulligan's fingermarks on it, we've got him!"

Importantly, Of course, George already knew it would have Mulligan's fingermarks on it – for he had taken the letter-opener from the man's desk. It was his decision, right there and then, not to say what came to his mind – that the letter-opener would have Mulligan's marks on it because it clearly was Mulligan's letter-opener – it would be this decision that George would soon come to regret. On some level, he understood that the detective did not know the exact means he had gone through in obtaining this particular piece of evidence, and further, that the detective had incorrectly assumed the letter-opener was with the rug in the pile at the dump… But the detective was so excited…

William had George get the fingermarks from the letter-opener while he stopped in to share the newfound evidence with the Inspector before he took the items over to the morgue. Immediately, the Inspector identified the rug as matching the one he had seen the night William and Jackson had been abducted at Davies Slaughterhouse.

Crabtree knocked and stepped in, "A match, sirs," he said.

"Looks like you've got him, detective," the Inspector declared.

"Not yet, sir," William said through his smile, "But things are panning out. I'll head over to the morgue… See if the letter-opener matches the wound the weapon made in our victim, and check the stain on the rug to see if it is human blood, and the fibers compared to those collected from the victim too. Oh, and Inspector, we probably have two victims here. We're going to need Stationhouse #5's file," he added, rug now tucked under his good arm. William was feeling optimistic that Inspector Sanford from Stationhouse #5 would surrender the husband's file, now that they had evidence that implicated the manager at Davies Slaughterhouse in the murder of Adomas Baltavesky's wife.

Knowing Julia would refuse to discuss the juicier, personal… sexual matters Ruby so wanted to ask about while Eloise could overhear, she had accepted the light talk she and her sister shared over lunch. But now, they were alone. She had accompanied Julia down into their, "lab-room," and Julia was showing it off. Truth be told, Ruby could not care less about the details – for example, Julia was currently describing William's latest plan to create a refrigerated room where she could store and work with materials that needed to stay cold, even a corpse! My God, the way her sister's face lit up when she talked about her husband's ideas. There was no doubt the man was brilliant, and he found inspiration from almost anywhere – right now from his work on this meatpacking case and the refrigerated packing rooms they use – but Ruby so wished she could be spared all the minutiae. Now her sister was going on and on about some, "pencil something," and how it can help fight infection…

Julia removed a bunch of petri dishes out of the icebox. "This is the Penicillium glaucum that I have been growing, to use to make the medication I am currently treating William with – for the laceration on his shoulder…"

"So that's why he's wearing a sling," Ruby thought.

Julia worked to prepare the next few injections, the salve to apply topically, as well as to make the pills William would take, while Ruby looked on. "As you likely already ascertained, William is… impatient, with being treated, so I am really using an exaggerated regiment consisting not only directly treating the wound, and oral treatment, but also intramuscular inj…"

Ruby interrupted, "So Jules, was your wedding night the first time you and William made love?"

Taken aback by the question, reminding herself that she shouldn't be – this is Ruby after all – Julia's mouth hung open momentarily before she forced herself to close it and decided she saw no harm in answering. "Well," Julia said, "It depends." A sly smile snuck onto Julia's face, for she knew such an answer would drive her sister crazy.

"Oh my God, Jules! What do you mean by that?" she asked. Ruby's blue eyes twinkled with excitement and she leaned closer.

"Well, it depends on whether or not you mean was our wedding night the first time we shared having orgasms, or if you mean is that the first time we had sexual intercourse," Julia answered, failing in not blushing as she did so, even though she had managed to keep her terminology rather clinical.

"Oh, now that is quite intriguing," Ruby said, her voice filled with the mystery and captivation of it all.

Julia yielded to her desire to giggle. "You mean because it implies that the two events did not occur at the same time, on our wedding night?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh, it definitely implies that!" Ruby agreed, "But, was it that… you had intercourse on your wedding night – and one or neither of you had an orgasm… At least not until some later time, OR… was it that… Well, what does it mean, exactly?" she wondered aloud.

Finding she could not say it while looking at her sister, Julia dropped her eyes, pretending to be paying attention to the penicillin in the petri dishes, and said, her voice scratchy and wavering, betraying her stress with this degree of detail and revelation of their intimacy, "Um, well… William and I had a little trouble waiting for our wedding night…"

"Oh my God, this is amazing!" Ruby's mind screamed with glee. "Go on," she greedily insisted, hoping with all her might that her sister wouldn't lose her nerve.

Inside of Julia's head, it was all there, and it was so exquisitely beautiful – their history. The early signs of their attraction for each other, William's being jealous of Isaac, the blue liquid shooting up the tube of his "truthilizer," his asking her to the Dinosaur Ball, and their dance lessons together, and him as her "Greek God" after she stabbed Orville, and then their first kiss – that sumptuous, heart-pounding, womb-throbbing first time with the absinthe and the picnic, and then so much more going forward, all the way to the night they spent together in her father's lake-house…. And… could she really tell Ruby about all of this?

Ruby had been watching closely, as Julia's face betrayed her excitement and love with whatever she had been remembering, but now Ruby sensed hesitation, and it sent her heart racing. Fortunately, being a reporter, she knew exactly how to get what she wanted… "Jules, tell me about your first kiss… And not some quick peck, I mean your fist real, racy, yummy kiss," she asked. Julia lifted her blue eyes to meet Ruby's and Ruby saw how truly beautiful her sister could be. There was a powerful warmth in those eyes.

A smile slipped onto Julia's face. "He asked me to dinner," she started with a tiny giggle. "A picnic in the park, with peanut-butter and jelly…" Julia's eyes grew more intense, "And a bottle of absinthe," she added with her eyebrow raised.

"William Murdoch… brought absinthe!?" Ruby declared.

"He did," she answered. "We both drank too much. And I remember he said he was disappointed…" Julia paused and looked her in the eye, "Are you sure you want this much detail?" she asked.

Ruby nodded her head vigorously, with a gigantic grin.

Julia carried a tray with the collected penicillin to the sink where she would add water to make the solution for the injections and the salve and the pills. "William said he was disappointed because he hadn't seen any Green Ferries, and I, um, I guess it was really me who initiated it," she reflected. "Well, I slid my fingers around the back of his neck, into his hair, and I told him we couldn't have him being disappointed, and then… he leaned towards me, and… my God, did my insides flip over Ruby. I don't think I have ever felt anything like that. And our lips touched for the first time… And I was gone," Julia shook her head, "Completely gone, so madly in love with him that I couldn't breathe…"

Ruby waited, knowing her sister was enjoying the memory. However, she grew impatient and exclaimed, "Did you two have intercourse… In the park!?"

Julia chuckled, "Almost," she replied.

"Oh my God!" Ruby declared, "That's amazing!"

"I asked him if he had any… protection, any prophylactics. I have to say, I was pretty sure he wouldn't. The man is Catholic aft…"

"And stuffy," Ruby interjected.

Julia wrinkled a corner of her mouth, a gesture she had picked up from William, showing that she had to admit that what Ruby had said was true. "Yes…" she acquiesced, "So we didn't actually make love that night." Julia had prepared the solution of penicillin she would use for William's injections, but now paused to shake the solution before she would put it in the icebox. "You know, I'm sure it must have made him wonder… when later I would tell him I was sterile. I mean, why would I say we needed a prophylactic if I couldn't have a child? He likely lived for quite a while with that question," she said.

"Mm," Ruby agreed.

"He finally got his answer, after father died, and we spent the night together in his lake-house," Julia said, looking back to Ruby. She would now make the salve and the pills.

"She hasn't told about their orgasms and their intercourse yet," Ruby reminded herself gleefully, her eyes glued to her sister.

Julia explained, "I told him about my specific gynecological condition, and that I could get pregnant, but that neither the baby nor myself would be able to survive childbirth…" Julia checked to see if Ruby understood – if she remembered that after her abortion Julia had been left with a scarred cervix that would not be able to dilate sufficiently to allow an infant to fit through to be born. "Do you remember?" she asked.

Ruby nodded, "You mean about your cervix being scarred?" she asked.

Julia nodded and went back to work on the penicillin pills. "We wanted to wake up together, but he also wanted to wait to make love until when were married, so we agreed to "sleep" in the same bed," she said. An embarrassed smile crept onto her face.

"I suppose that didn't work?" Ruby guessed.

Julia took a deep breath, "No… It got very… close. Well, in the end, we… uh…" Julia realized how much what they had done back then was like their Plan C now. She decided to blurt it out, "We pleasured each other."

"I see," Ruby said, "So, the orgasms… but not the intercourse."

Mm-hmm," Julia said, nodding.

"So the intercourse was on your wedding night, then?" Ruby asked, "And…" and Ruby's face took on a terribly devilish grin, "I'm sure it was with orgasms then?"

"Oh it was… It most definitely was," Julia insisted. She had finished making the salve and the pills. The pills were possibly a little too large, but they would suffice.

Once they were back upstairs, Ruby thought to ask, "So Jules… How did you end up getting pregnant then? I mean, you and William were using prophylactics, weren't you?"

"Julia explained, "We did at first. But over time, well we slowly stopped… I let go of it. I mean I hadn't gotten pregnant the times we didn't use any… And the whole time I was with Darcy he had insisted we not use any… And I didn't get pregnant with him, so I just thought I really wasn't able to get pregnant anyway, so why bother with the prophylactics… I should have known, though, or at least, I shouldn't have been surprised. William and I make love… often, and it is really, really good," Julia's eyes grew wide exaggerating this point, then added, "As you know," reaching over and giving Ruby a playful shove, "Because I told you – and Emily Grace – about it the last time you visited… And you proceeded to tell William that I told you!" Julia's face had turned bright red all over again with the memory of it, of when William had come home from work and he had, "interrogated," the, "witnesses," to her guilt in the case of, "kissing and telling."

Julia considered making it clear that Ruby was not to tell William about their conversation today, but decided not to do so, for, knowing her sister, it would only make her more likely to tell. At that moment, the baby kicked and Julia gasped and placed her hand on her belly. Quickly she reached out and brought Ruby's hand to lie under hers, hoping it would happen again…

They waited, holding their breath, feeling nothing. "I guess not," Julia said. She sat on one of the sofas, and Ruby sat on the sofa across the coffee table from her. On the coffee table, Julia spotted a recent medical journal that Isaac had brought over for her. In detail, it described the surgical procedure he would perform on her to deliver the baby. "Ruby, would you like to know about the surgery – the transverse Cesarean section?" she asked.

Ruby sighed with the challenge of replying, she knew her sister, and if she said 'yes' then it would be an hour of details.

Handing the journal to Ruby, Julia said, "I have an idea… You skim through the article on the procedure Isaac… You remember my good friend Isaac Tash from Bishop University…"

Ruby nodded, "Is he going to do the surgery?!" Ruby exclaimed. She had always liked the man.

"Yes… you can look through the article while I make us some tea," Julia suggested. Julia heaved and hoed and finally lifted her pregnant body off of the couch.

Ruby read the captions under the diagrams, getting the gist, which basically was that instead of cutting the mother up-and-down to open the womb and remove the baby, the surgeon would cut sideways. This meant that none of the abdominal muscles needed to be cut, which meant less bleeding, which meant better survival of the mother.

When Julia returned, Ruby had the journal opened to the page with a diagram of the Pfannenstiel incision. This is a smile-shaped incision just at the top of the pubic bone. "So, Jules, you will have a scar like this?" she asked.

Taking her seat and then pouring the tea, Julia imagined the procedure, and with the thought she was reminded of the risks, and a chill shot down her spine. Her face went a little pale, and Ruby, being quite observant, noticed. "What is it Jules?" she asked, concern in her voice.

All of a sudden Julia was overwhelmed by the oddest feeling of fate and an almost mystical importance to the moment, not quite déjà vu, but similar in some way. William's worries from early on in her pregnancy, his reluctance to want to try to keep the baby, his fear that he would lose her, his insistence that, of all things, she should have an abortion, flooded over her. Her eyes met her sister's, dazed, her mouth agape. How could she explain the devastation and fear she felt, terrified she wouldn't be able to convince him to try, devastated by the thought of aborting the baby? Would Ruby think less of him, knowing that he had been willing to go against his faith, would she think that he did not love their child enough to try… Would she see his point, that he loved her so much, he couldn't imagine taking a chance at having her die trying to have their child?

Ruby's alarm grew exponentially as the moments passed. "Jules?" she asked again.

Julia frowned and took a sip of tea. A deep breath announcing that an answer was coming, she said, "Yes, if we are lucky, I will have a scar like that. I am far enough along now that there is no turning back anymore. William and I agreed to take the risks."

Ruby got up and came over to sit next to Julia on the couch. "It is very risky then?" she asked.

"I could bleed to death…"

But the article said these newer procedures stopped that?" Ruby insisted, wishing with all her heart to rid herself of the fear.

Julia glanced at the opened journal on the table, "They lower the risk of bleeding out significantly… But there is still a risk. And the bigger danger is dying from infection afterwards."

"I see," Ruby replied, the gravity of their decision sinking in. "It occurred to her then, that perhaps her sister had agreed to going through with the pregnancy, come what may, because William is Catholic and he would not have been able to live with his wife having an abortion, with her aborting his child. A pang of anger stirred…

Julia rushed to explain, "William and I are scientists… well, at least we tend to look at the world through the lens of science, and well," Julia took a deep breath working to calm herself, "we considered the odds – 85 percent survival rates – and we decided… to be honest, with much insistence from me, that we not abort the baby.

"You mean… William was the one who wanted you to have an abortion?" Ruby nearly shrieked. Julia nodded and Ruby added, "That's unbelievable."

Julia nodded again. She couldn't help it – the emotions of the memories of the intense discussions she and William had had about this were too great, and tears formed in her eyes. "I had almost given up hope in convincing him, but I wanted the baby so much…" Julia's voice squeaked as she explained, "I just couldn't believe fate gave us a chance – gave me the chance – to give him the one thing that had made me lose him in the past. And he had sacrificed being a father in order to have me – that he loved me that much… And now I could give it to him… And I just couldn't turn that away," Julia said, losing her breath with the feelings, fighting off the sobs.

Ruby leaned in close and held her. "And William did agree, to try…"

"I was so grateful when Isaac met with us and told us of the medical advances… I remember I nearly fainted with happiness, because I knew William would see then. And I knew we would try," she said, seeming to calm down with the memory of her relief.

"Jules, you are going to be such a good mother," Ruby said, tears in her eyes now as well. She took Julia's hands and declared, "Oh Jules, I love you so much."

Julia' red, blotchy, tear-stained face smiled, for Ruby was an annoying, sometimes astonishingly annoying, little sister, but she knew Ruby loved her beyond words, and she also knew that she loved her back, with all her heart. She opened her arms to Ruby, and they shared a hug, albeit not too tightly for Julia's pregnant belly was between them. "Me too," she whispered.

First, under the watchful, hungry, gaze of Detective Murdoch, Rebecca tested the letter-opener against the frozen Jello-mold of the victim's stab wound that Dr. Ogden had made last week. "They appear identical," her calm, clinical voice stated. Having already recorded the measurements of the wound, she moved on to measure the length and breadth of the dimensions of the letter-opener. "The measurements of the letter-opener and the mold of the weapon are the same detective," she noted.

"Good," William said with a bow.

His enthusiasm thrilled Rebecca. Truly, it made the man easily twice as handsome. "It's no wonder Dr. Ogden fell in love with him all those years ago while they worked together like this," she thought. His smile contagious, she felt her words through her own smile, "Shall I test the rug now?" she asked.

"Please," William answered eagerly. Knowing the blood tests would take a bit longer than comparing the fibers, he asked her to collect the fibers from the rug first. They too were a match! On to test the stain on the rug…

After determining that the stain did consist of blood, Rebecca discovered that she did not have the rabbit serum needed to run the test to determine whether or not the blood was human. William knew this particular test very well, having been the one to show it to Dr. Ogden himself many years ago. He had done some reading back then and had figured out that when human blood cells are placed in contact with rabbit serum, antibodies in the rabbit serum would interact with the human blood cells, making a visible line appear in the serum. It is a rather quick test, only taking a minute or two for the reaction to occur.

Wrinkles curled at the corner of his mouth in disappointment, he inhaled, and with a sigh, asked if she would be able to get some. She would have to make a call over to the University to see if they had any rabbit serum on hand. While William waited, at first distracted by the searing pain sitting on the small, wooden seat at the morgue workbench caused in his buttocks – for it was impossible to find a way to sit that did not align with the injection sites, he noticed that he was sitting in the exact same spot where he had first shown Julia this very test. It had been when his father had been accused of murder. He had been terribly stressed by the whole thing, and had been irritable with everyone, but probably most importantly, with Julia. His mind drifted to his, "very awkward apology," at the time, and how incredibly beautiful Julia had looked running the women's exercises right before he made his apology, and how his heart had pounded so in his chest, for he greatly wanted her to think well of him, and he had been so very embarrassingly rude. "If I only knew how many times I would end up apologizing to this woman," he thought. He chuckled to himself, thinking about how certain he was he would need to do so again, surely lots of times, and how still each and every time, his heart would thump and pound in his chest…

"We're in luck, detective. The University will send some rabbit serum over with a technician on his way home tonight. I'll be glad to wait for him," Miss James said.

William sighed, he would have to wait, but, "it could have been worse," he thought, as he put his hat on and tipped it at Miss James. "Thank you Miss James," he said, "Most likely not till tomorrow then," and took his leave.

Back in his office, Julia called. Excitedly, he told her about the new evidence in the case. It was looking like they would soon be able to arrest the murderer of Ieva Baltavesky. "But in many ways we have only just begun," William said into the phone. "It appears less and less likely that her husband died in an accident," he explained.

"Yes, that's why I called William," Julia said. "Dr. Reynolds is out of town – at a Conference I believe. He won't be back until tomorrow… And I didn't want to leave a message… about my questions about the body of Adomas Baltavesky… Uh, it seemed there was some discomfort with this whole inquiry over at Stationhouse 5 – right?" she asked.

She heard him sigh into the phone, unsure whether his disappointment was with the delay in getting information from the coroner about the man's death, or because of his frustration with the suspicious behavior of those at Stationhouse #5. "My, there was such a history there," she thought, "And somehow William always seems to end up in the middle of all of it." The conversation paused as they each remembered William investigating the killing of Stationhouse #5's Constable Cooper a long time ago, and how extremely angry those in the Constabulary became when William began to investigate a fellow copper, Constable Townsend, for the crime… And then there was the whole mess with bribery, and murder, and extortion with Chief Inspector Davis too…

Julia broke the quiet, asking, "Are you managing to survive with your sling, detective?"

William looked down at his own personal mini-stockade – he truly despised wearing it. Unconsciously reacting to the increase in tension, he reached up to rub his forehead. "Julia," he said, "I, uh… I am hoping…"

William did not finish his sentence, for the sound of the Inspector's bellow erupted in the air…

"Crabtree! Murdoch! My office! Now!" he commanded with a huff, following the outburst with a slam of his door.

"Oh my," William heard his wife's voice in the phone, "I guess you have to go."

William worked to steel himself, this did not sound good. "Yes… Er, I'll uh, see you tonight," he answered, hanging up the phone and making for the Inspector's office with haste.

The detective and Crabtree shared a look before they braved crossing the Inspector's threshold. William offered a shrug. George, however, appeared a bit pale, a consequence of his effort to control the nauseating panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Once inside, both men recognized the false calm of the Inspector's voice as he started, "I just got a call from the Chief Inspector…"

Murdoch and Crabtree instinctively stood taller, bracing for the blow.

"It seems that he received a call from one of the best Toff-lawyers Toronto has to offer…" he paused, his eyes burrowing and burning into Crabtree. "Seems that my detective may have come into some evidence illegally…

William looked at George. "George?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"Well sir… sirs… I er…" George squirmed only to be interrupted by the Inspector.

Murdoch didn't know! And there was no way the Inspector would let the little worm beat him to the chase! "Seems a certain Mr. Thaddeus Davies had called instructing his lawyer to call a judge and have our whole case thrown out!" the Inspector yelled, the octaves and volume rising exponentially as his sentence progressed. The Inspector pounded his hand down on his desk, and then he took a deep breath, his crimson face seeming to recover some, and continued, now eyeing the detective, waiting to see the pain grow on the man's face, "A constable from Stationhouse #4 paid Davies' manager a visit today… And after this constable left, this manager noticed that one of his personal possessions had been removed from Mr. Davies' private property!" he bellowed with another slam to the desk.

"Uh, uh, uh… Well, er, that's true sir," George admitted, now all eyes on him, "But only the letter-opener. I mean, I uh, the rug, well sirs, the rug was definitely not on Davies' property when I found it. I found it… it, it was in the dump sirs…" George said with his eyes darting from one superior to the other. "Uh, as I told the detective, I saw the rug being discarded with the trash into a refuse wagon and that very same wagon took it to the dump. That's where I found it," he finished.

Both the Inspector and George looked to William, who was dumbfounded with the Inspector's revelation. His jaw clenched, as he used every ounce of self-control he had, and certainly everyone knew that this particular man had a lot of it, to keep his mouth closed. Finding the pressure too great, he spun on his heel and left. The detective marched across the bullpen and the entire stationhouse watched as he, the most buttoned-down man they had all ever known, rammed his injured and slinged shoulder into his closed office door, missing the timing of his shove with the turning of the knob, thus landing a square, loud, thud on the door… before he finally turned the doorknob, flung the door open, causing it bang loudly against the wall, and then grabbed a hold of it from within his office to give it a thunderous slam. Mouths agape with the shock, everyone watched him bash his good fist into his worktable through the windows of his office, before he rushed to slap all the blinds down over the windows.

It seemed quite some time passed before anybody breathed.

The Inspector told Crabtree that it seemed that Davies did not know about the rug. There was some hope that it would be able to remain as evidence in the case. A trifle degree of relief seeped into George's heart. They decided to wait a little while for the detective to cool off before they gave him this news.

Now near the end of the day, the entire stationhouse noticed the detective's office door when it opened. The man emerging from inside no longer wore his sling. Approaching the center of the bullpen, William said, "Alright lads, let's go over what we have..."

Before everyone moved to surround and listen to the detective, all eyes, including those of the Inspector, glanced at the disgraced constable. The detective, however, refused to look at Crabtree. He proceeded, "The fingermarks on the letter-opener, which is most likely our murder weapon and we cannot use, do not match the fingermarks on the victim's locket and the bloody fingermark on the garbage-pail lid from behind the brothel where we found the body – but they do, however, match those of the manager at Davies Slaughterhouse, Liam Mulligan. Now," the detective hurried to add, "We know Mulligan is probably Ieva Baltavesky's killer – but this is evidence we cannot use…"

Once again, George felt all the world's eyes on him, and yet, this did not start the aversive, single-pitched sliding of the ringing in his ears, no, that happened because Detective Murdoch's eyes were not among them. He was being shunned, by the one man whose opinion of him he cared most about.

William went on, "I think there was another man, the man whose fingermarks will match those on the locket and the garbage-pail lid, who moved the body. We need to find this man."

There was much nodding.

William took a deep breath, working to remain calm, and switched to another aspect of the case. "Now men," he started, "We also likely have another victim involved in this crime – Ieva Baltavesky's husband, Adomas Baltavesky, was found dead on a train here in Toronto last summer. This is why Ieva Baltavesky came to Toronto from Winnipeg, she was looking for him. His death was ruled an accident, but we are trying to get the file from Stationhouse #5…"

"I'll put in a call to the Chief Inspector tomorrow," The Inspector said. "Right now I want to give him a little time," he added.

"Good," William answered. "Now, Higgins…"

Henry Higgins couldn't help it – his heart began to race. There was so much tension in the room, and the pressure was so high…

The detective had continued, "What did you find out about the train on which they found Adomas Baltavesky's body?"

Grabbing at the multitude of large books on his desk, causing a flutter and flurry of paper, Higgins replied nervously, "I, uh, well… It… Well, all I could find sir was that, um, well… It was not a passenger train," he finally blurted out.

Detective Murdoch's jaw grew tight, his eyes darkened as they honed in on Higgins and he leaned down towards the younger man, and he said, his voice betraying his frustration, "Not a passenger train…" then louder, "Not a passenger train," now with sarcasm, and an eyebrow raised, "Constable Higgins, that is what you have for me? That Baltavesky's body was found on… NOT a passenger train!" the detective finally shouted. But William was the one who saw stars, when he followed his outburst with a whack of the hand of his hurt arm on Higgins' desk! The pain shooting up to his shoulder pushed him over the edge of tolerance. "Bollocks!" he yelled, to audible gasps. And, oh my, his face turned red.

Too angry to be aware of his shame, William stepped back and took a deep breath and then pushed himself to lower his tone and continue. "Constable Hanley, what have you found…"

Higgins leaned over his desk towards George, "That's your fault," he whispered angrily. George could not deny it.

Hanley reported that there is one main factory that supplies most of the burlap to the businesses in Toronto, and that it is this same one that supplied the burlap to Davies Slaughterhouse.

Murdoch nodded and moved on, "And what about matching the specific burlap-roll tubes from the dump to those sold to Davies Slaughterhouse?" Constable Hanley shrugged and looked to the others. "Who has started on that?" the detective asked the men. The men looked to their neighbors and then back at the detective. No one said a word. "Lads, this won't do," William said, his teeth gritted in frustration. All eyes were fixed down on the floor. William gave the Inspector a look.

Unsure what to think, Brackenreid stepped forward and said, "Men, we need to step this up…" as Detective Murdoch sighed loudly and marched back into his office.

After most of the men had gone home for the night, the night shift coming on, Inspector Brackenreid knocked on Murdoch's door and opened it to step in. "So, me old' mucker, you didn't know Crabtree took the letter-opener from Davies' property then?" he got directly to the point.

"No," William said as he reached up to rub his strained forehead. Lifting his head from the notes on his desk, he frowned. With a sigh, he explained, "I assumed he had found it with the rug – in the dump… I should have asked," he added, willing to see his part in the whole mess.

"He's eager to please you, dingy bugger," the Inspector commented.

William nodded, joining the Inspector with a weak, half-hearted chuckle, for William was certainly anything but pleased, as his temper tantrum had blatantly shown, and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth in agreement.

"Go home, Murdoch," Brackenreid said, heading for the door, "We'll get this all sorted in the morning. I'll call Judge Peterson and do what I have to do to get that rug allowed as evidence in our case…"

"We'll need the refuse workers statements – that they took the rug from Davies to the dump," Murdoch started working on the case again.

"Don't forget, you have both myself and Constable Crabtree who can testify that we observed a rug exactly like the one found in the dump in Mulligan's office," the Inspector added.

"True," William agreed.

"Get home to your wife, Murdoch. Let the good doctor help you feel better. Tomorrow is another day," Brackenreid concluded.

"Good night, sir," William said in return.

On his way out, William observed out of the corner of his eye, that George still sat at his desk with his nose buried in Higgins' train records. George lifted his head, thinking to say good-night, but thought better of it and remained silent. William just walked on by.

& & & 7 & & & & & &

Free of his sling, irritated deeply with the case and the day, William stepped out into the dusky night. Proving that it was truly a horrible day, it was teeming down cold, December rain. "Is it stubbornness or determination?" he thought to himself as he walked to the constabulary stable to get his wheel despite the rain.

Upon arriving home, soaked, shivering, and covered in mud that had been splashed all over him while cycling in the flooded streets, William was beyond grumpy. Remembering the way Ruby had been all over him when he had walked in the door yesterday evening, he braced himself for the potential barrage, as he opened the door and felt a slight relief at being bathed in the cozy light and scent of Eloise's dinner, and in getting out of the rain. Barely having had time to remove his hat and unbutton his coat, Ruby quickly rounded the corner from the living room into the foyer to meet him. Julia waddled slowly behind.

Stopping in her tracks, Ruby declared, "How could you possibly get so wet from the cab to the house?"

Recognizing that what William really needed most was a dry towel, Julia headed down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom, answering for him while shaking her own head in disbelief, "He rode his bicycle."

Drilling him more, Ruby asked, "Why on Earth would you ride your bike home in this weather?"

Listening as she returned with the towel, Julia noticed that her husband gave no answer. Half expecting to see Ruby doting all over her husband like she had the night before, she was pleased to see her sister was keeping her hands to herself. Julia stepped up close to William, big, fluffy towel opened and inviting, and lifted it up to cover his head, and then she softly massaged his scalp, drying his hair.

"Oh, that feels so good," he thought, the sensations causing William to visibly relax and breathe in the crisp, warm smell of the clean towel, pleasing him even more.

"William, you're covered in mud," Julia said, realizing this was the reason Ruby had stayed clear.

His voice muffled, rose from under the towel, "Carriage drivers are not very mindful of cyclers, especially once it gets dark."

Julia pulled the towel back, revealing his face, their eyes meeting. Then she gently wiped his cheeks, rubbed the towel over his ears, and tucked it down to dry his neck. Remembering the wound on his shoulder, currently out of sight under his drenched clothing, she reminded herself to keep her touch clear. Suddenly, she noticed, admonishing him, "William Murdoch, you are supposed be wearing your sling."

His tone short, and his chocolate-brown eyes suddenly honed with anger, and his jaw clenched tight, he answered, "Well, Julia Ogden, you shouldn't treat me like a boy who is still in short trousers."

The jolt of the sting of his words stunning her, Julia stepped back. Before she could decide what to say in reply, she heard Ruby's voice abruptly state, "Then perhaps you should stop behaving like one, and be grateful you have a wife who loves you." Then, both further defending her sister, and insulting William, Ruby raised a critical eyebrow at Julia and added, "You would think a bright man such as your husband would appreciate having such a caring wife," as if William weren't even there.

All that William knew was that he wanted out of there – and he wanted out now! Their triad had never taken such a turn before, and especially after the day he had had, he needed for his home to be a place where he felt safe and loved and not on the defensive. His body went into high alert, immediately he found himself in, "fight or flight mode," as his brain remembered that the pack gangs up on a dog when he's down, and right now he knew he had best get up or get out. His muscles twitched and his instincts instructed him to turn around and go out the front door, only to imagine the dreadful weather on the other side of it… The next conscious thought he had was of his inner voice telling him not to slam the bedroom door behind him at the very moment that he felt the muscles in his arm push against it – hard, guaranteeing a slam. He was surprised he did not regret the bang a split second later when he heard it.

Julia and Ruby stood together, Julia with the wet, muddy-brown towel dangling in her hand, staring up the staircase. Julia's mind ran so many different directions at once that she ended up frozen in place. A memory emerged dominant, taking center stage of her attention, a memory of talking on the phone with William earlier, and hearing the Inspector yell in the background, commanding William and George to come into his office. Her heart sunk with a pang of remorse, yes, she knew it now – he had had a very bad day.

Ruby tried to appease the tension, checking to make sure that Julia was not upset with her for her role in what had just happened. "He can be quite testy," she said.

Julia was slower to respond than Ruby expected.

"Worried," Ruby thought of her sister.

"Not usually," Julia finally said, her voice far off and misty. "He must have had a very bad day at work," she offered.

Ruby considered asking if Julia wanted her to apologize… Although she really didn't think she had done anything wrong…

"He will probably take a shower – actually, a bath instead, I hope, so as not to get his stitches wet – or should I say, wetter," Julia thought to herself, re-seeing in her mind his soaked, shivering image. She sighed. Finally she turned to look at Ruby. "I think I will prepare the penicillin treatments he needs… So he can get it over with before dinner," she made her plans out loud. She headed downstairs leaving Ruby to figure out what to do to entertain herself until Eloise had dinner ready.

Steam floated in the air as Julia walked through their bedroom to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to relish the sight of him… before she would have to face the tension of trying to reconnect with him. He had taken a hot bath, and now stood bent over the bathroom sink washing his hair. "Too bad he covered up in the towel," she thought, recognizing that she would have particularly enjoyed this view if he were completely nude. "Oh how I wish he were butt-naked," she thought, then chuckling inside her head at her own joke before she stepped in boldly, walking behind him to stand on his other side.

He caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, instantly his heart rate soared. He really didn't want to fight with her. With a deep breath he tried to calm his nerves, noticing she held a tray of medicine – he recognized the vials of creamy-white penicillin – and the syringe! So quickly he felt the pain in his derriere. Half of him rushed to fight his panic and the other half felt relief, for her presentation suggested she would most likely be offering care rather than argument.

Imagining what would happen next, William cringed. The injection of the thick, cold penicillin had hurt quite badly the three other times she had administered them, and now it would be shoved into flesh that was already bruised and sore from previous injections – and there was this… intimacy and trust involved in having her do it to him, and… he just really didn't want to do it right now.

"Julia, I don't want to… not tonight," he complained. He went back to rinsing the soap out of his hair.

Speaking loud enough to be heard over the running water, but trying oh so hard to sound calm and objective, she said, "William, I know you understand that the regiment we are using is helping you heal faster, and better…" She followed her logic by playing the card she knew would work with him, because he was a scientist at heart, and because it was a line he had used on her, and it was associated with such a lovely memory, of their sharing absinthe during a picnic, and their first wonderful kiss. "It's all in the name of science, William," she reasoned, "We need to keep the treatments going for me to know whether or not the penicillin works."

Once again, William found himself with the urge to run away. He turned off the sink, grabbed a towel for his hair and hurried into the bedroom, Julia on his heels. Giving in, he took a seat at her vanity and sighed deeply. "Julia," the injection sites are… very sore and bruised…"

"We can use a different muscle… the deltoid would work. And yours are quite large, from lifting weights," she suggested.

William sighed again, "Very well then," he acquiesced.

His shoulder muscle was very tight, the dense tissue providing a great deal of resistance to the entry of the thick solution. The sting of the spreading area as the fluid was forced into his flesh had locked his face in a rigid position. Julia realized he was holding his breath. "Try to relax William," Julia coached, "it will loosen the muscle. I am using a needle with a very wide circumference, but still…" Julia groaned, "I uh… It is quite a struggle pushing it in." Even using both hands on the syringe, Julia's muscles shook with her efforts. "William, I think I may need to inject the rest at another site," she worried.

He sighed again. She looked him in the eye. A curl dangled along her periphery, the way he so loved. "Let me," he said, reaching across and tucking his fingers under the bottom edge of the syringe. She removed her thumb from the top for his thumb to take its place, and he finished pushing the penicillin into his shoulder. He pulled the needle out and handed her the empty syringe.

She exhaled, sending the aforementioned curl into a dance. "Thank you," she said. He nodded. Warmth was there, between them. Next, she would apply the salve to the wound.

She leaned closer, the salve, the attention, felt good. Close enough now that he could smell her, he could feel her breath, his eyes settled on her belly, and his thoughts reminded of their baby on the way, and his spirits rose – he loved her so.

Clearing his throat first, William said, "I was curt with you earlier, Julia. I'm sorry."

"You were," she replied, matter-of-factly.

His eyes dropped down, although he could still see nothing else besides her belly anyway, and he sighed again. "She is mad," he thought, feeling a stir of worry in his gut.

She stepped back, at first sending his heart into a rush with anxiety. But she slipped her fingers under his chin, and lifted his face to bring his eyes to hers, and her eyes were such a beautiful gentle blue, and deep, and open, and heartwarming. "What I said to you was belittling, William." She took a deep breath, and dropped her head, and turned away. Now even farther away, she looked back into his eyes, but finding she was uncomfortable, she dropped her eyes down to the floor again and said, "I… I guess I thought you found it cute… when I call you by your full name… and kind of," she risked a glance, "scold you…" before she looked away once more.

William stood up and stepped close. "Sometimes I do, most times I do… Not this time though," he said with his mouth wrinkling up at a corner, indicating he felt it to be an admission, that he had been annoyed, and that he was inconsistent. He had learned, to push through his fear when they were wrapped up in a disagreement with each other, and it was tense between them. He knew to fight with all his might inside of himself to find the truth of whatever he felt, and to be brave enough to say it. "Trust the truth," he told himself.

"So, I'm sorry too, William, for not treating you like a grown man, who is capable of making his own decisions about matters such as whether or not to wear a sling," she nearly whispered.

A big burst of air escaped his nostrils, betraying his relief. "Good," he said with a bow.

Julia looked over at the medicine tray on her vanity. There was still the pill he would need to take. Her expression showing apology, she said, "After dinner, hmm?"

Taking a few steps towards the vanity, starting to prepare to get dressed, thus pulling off his towel, William leaned over the tray for a better look at the notably enormous pill. "More like for a horse than for a man," he stated, causing Julia to fold over into laughter. So quickly his eyes shot to hers, begging to understand what she thought was so funny.

Her eyes fixed down on his naked body, she struggled through her mischievous giggles and finally wondered aloud, "You or the pill?"

William's mind ran backwards – seeking to remember what had he just said? "Something about a horse… Oh!" he exclaimed with his beautiful brown eyes bugged wide, figuring out what she was referring to on his anatomy. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth to rebuke her, "Julia," he said cynically, an eyebrow raised at her, "Have you ever seen that part of a horse?" he asked incredulously. He approached her, making fierce contact with her body and pushing her back against the wall with an enticing thud.

Her insides surged, swirling into twists, delicious, dizzying twists, she wanted him so. Julia replied, her voice sultry with lust, "I have." He kissed her aggressively, and she felt him hard and demanding against her body, sending her into a tizzy of want. "William," she whispered. "William, please," she begged in her head as her womb flipped over.

He took a firm hold of her wrists and brought her arms up over her head, pinning her wrists to the wall with his good hand. "You do know, horses bite too," his voice sunk down into her brain, setting it into a tumultuous spin as she felt his teeth take her neck, and his hand explored her body. Oh, he sucked hard on her flesh, sure to leave a mark. Her knees grew so weak, she felt the floor rise upward, and she had to remind herself to breathe to avoid sliding down to the floor. "William, I want you inside of me. Please. Please… William…"

Sharply… there was a knock at the door… Startling them… William stepped back. Ruby's voice pierced the air, both William and Julia thinking that, knowing her, she had been listening in, "Eloise said to ask if she should hold off dinner?"

Having been so highly aroused by the power of their incoming, "thunderstorm," Julia just now remembered that he would not have penetrated her anyway, "only Plan C," she reminded herself, "only Plan C."

William, being more in control than his lover, answered Ruby through the bedroom door, "We need ten minutes," adding a cheerful, "Thank you Ruby."

He was feeling better! Everybody noticed happily.

While William dressed, Julia asked him what had happened at work, to account for his earlier grouchiness. She figured it was related to when the Inspector had hollered for him to come into his office with George. Threatening to be pulled back into his misery, William tried to downplay the exchange.

"Remember, I had told you about the evidence – the letter-opener that matched the Jello-mold you made of the stab wound and that had Mulligan's fingermarks on it – and the green rug George and the Inspector said was likely the one in Mulligan's office, with a human blood stain on it," he asked.

Julia nodded, "Yes, it was very strong evidence against Mulligan." She remembered, but didn't have time to finish her thought, that it was this green rug that William was looking for when he had gone up to Mulligan's office at Davies Slaughterhouse that awful night…

William went on, "Well, I had assumed George found both items in the dump…"

Interrupting, she asked, "He didn't?!" the severity of the situation started to sink in, "That's what the Inspector called you two in for?"

He paused in dressing, trousers now on and shirt selected, "Um-hmm," he nodded. His face showed it all, a mixture of fear and anger and disappointment.

"Oh William," she exclaimed, "What happened?"

"It turns out George had gone to question Mulligan about the list of workers that were there the day Jackson and I got attacked. He saw the letter-opener – I had told him I suspected Mulligan…" William raised a questioning eyebrow and tilted his head, "Because he would be strong enough to make the wound," he explained. "I told him I thought the weapon might have been a letter-opener…" He pulled on his shirt.

Julia couldn't help but remind herself to soak in one final look at her husband's exquisite chest before he covered it up.

Shocked Julia asked, "He took it – from the man's office?!"

William nodded. He added, "It was only on his way out, after taking the letter-opener, that George saw the refuse wagon and the rug."

Julia took a deep breath, "So, at least the rug should be allowed as evidence."

"Probably," William agreed, "But we won't be able to use the weapon at all," he said frowning. He was ready to go downstairs. He offered her his arm and said, "Mulligan must have told Davies, who called his lawyer, who called Judge Peterson…"

"Oh my, he's a prickly one," she warned.

"Mm," William agreed.

"You know William, George broke the rules, but his heart was in the right place… I'm sure he was upset about you being attacked so viciously. You could have died," she reminded.

Downstairs now, they headed for the delicious smells and the sounds of Ruby and Eloise laughing. William stopped her before they went into the kitchen. "I know," he said, his tone sincere, his wrinkled face suggesting apology, for he knew she had been frightened. He gave her a slow caress, topped off with a kiss.

Over dinner, Julia noticed William was, at times, deep in his own thoughts. She found herself catching his eye, sharing a smile. "He absolutely loves beef potpie. Hopefully it is serving to comfort him," she had thought, grateful to Eloise for having made it, and fate for coaxing her into making it tonight of all nights. "Oh William, I almost forgot. A package came for you," she said just as they were helping Eloise to clear the table.

Trying to keep his face relaxed so as not to give away his emotions, William worried that it might be booby-trapped. He reassured himself, "Ever since the meat-hook, you've been paranoid." He tried to remember if had had ordered anything, coming up blank. "Was there a sender's address?" he asked.

The package was in the foyer, under the table. He remembered the moment he saw it. "Oh, of course," he declared, his voice excited.

Julia knew the look. It always made her think she was getting to see what he would have been like when he was a little boy, so wondrous and enthused about one thing or another. She sighed, letting the warm feelings she had for him seep deeper into her.

"I ordered some coils – for the refrigeration in the cold room in your lab!" he explained. He turned to look at Julia and Ruby. "Would it be alright…"

Julia smiled and answered, "Oh, go ahead William." He gave her a quick hug, scooped up his package and headed downstairs.

"I guess it's just you and me again, sister," she said to Ruby, taking her arm. They sat in the living room talking. Eloise stopped in a while later to say she was heading home. Julia remembered the horrid weather and took pause.

"Eloise, it was rainy and cold and miserable when William came home. It is probably freezing into ice sheets by now. Let me get William to at least see you safely to a cab," she offered.

A few minutes later, everyone grouped together while William and Julia figured out what coat William could wear since his was still drenched, the phone rang.

"Hello. Murdoch-Ogden residence," Julia said, answering it. "Oh, Inspector," she said her eyes locking into William's with a degree of concern. "Yes… He's right here," she said as William had stepped to her side and she handed him the phone.

"Inspector," he said as everyone listened to his half of the conversation.

Inspector Brackenreid was not the type of man to sugarcoat things, so he came right out and said, "Davies is trying to take away George's badge."

Extreme concern in his expression and his voice, William replied, "Oh."

"Yours too I'm afraid me' old-mucker," the Inspector said, "We have a meeting tomorrow morning – eight a.m. in Peterson's office."

William reached up to rub his forehead. "Did you already call George?" he asked.

"Yes… Detective… He is, uh… the lad feels terribly about it," the Inspector added, surprising William with the compassion in his voice.

"Yes. I'm sure," William answered, a deep sigh indicating his stress. "You will be there too, sir?" he asked.

"With bells on," the gruff man answered into the phone, trying to sound optimistic.

"I'll be there. Thank you sir… Have a good night," he said. Placing the receiver back on the base, he looked at Julia. At that very moment he was quite glad he had told her about the problems with the case. He wouldn't have to say as much, with everyone listening. "It seems that Davies has gone on the offense…"

Julia reached up and stroked his injured shoulder. "He already had," she said, reminding him how dangerous this case was.

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, recognizing that she was right. He went on to explain that Judge Peterson was looking to get his and George's badges taken away, and that he had been summoned to the judge's office for a meeting tomorrow morning. He took Eloise out into the bitter streets and got her securely into a cab. Back at home he stopped in to tell Julia and Ruby that he didn't feel much like talking. He would be downstairs working on the refrigeration.

An hour or so later, Julia joined him in his workroom. She leaned against the doorframe and watched him working. Her mind slipped into a delightful memory, her eyes drifting to the wall behind him. In that wall there was a secret passageway. And back when this house was still under construction, she had dressed up in a sexy red outfit and hidden in there to surprise him on his birthday. It had been so lovely!

William had noticed her out of the corner of his eye. Without looking up he said, "Like what you see Mrs. Murdoch?"

"I do," she replied, "Very much I do."

She waited for him to look up, rewarded when he finally did. "My God, the man is handsome," she thought. She came in, took a seat on the stool next to his, and said, "I'm going to take a nice warm shower, then bed. Do you think you'll be long?"

Placing a large copper coil down on the worktable, he laid his hand out in front of her, inviting her to hold it, which she did. "No. I'll be right up," he answered. His fingers wrapped and caressed her hand, his attentions dwelling on her wedding rings.

Unsure how she knew exactly, Julia felt his request… to talk. She made an effort to keep the smile from growing on her face – her reaction to his discomfort with bringing up difficult topics of discussion. Something was on his mind, maybe more his chest. His eyes held hers – "so beautiful," she remarked to herself.

"What is it William?" she asked, instantly knowing the answer – it was George.

He let go of her hand and reached up rubbing his forehead. "I think I need to talk to George – before tomorrow morning…" he started.

She wondered, was it some detail, some fact he wanted to be clandestine about, that was important to the case… It seemed more personal, more emotional, though…

"I find I am still quite angry with him," he said, answering her unspoken question. William wrinkled his face at her.

She knew the man well. He was hoping not to say more. Julia almost giggled out loud at herself when she noticed that now she had reached up to rub her forehead. Truly this was going to be a little messy, for she believed she knew why William was struggling with being angry at George, and he wasn't going to like it. She took a deep breath, preparing like one does before they dive into a freezing cold lake. "Why are you angry with him?" she asked, sensing she was firmly in psychiatrist mode.

"His irresponsible actions will likely cost us solving this case, and may cost him his badge – and me mine– although I doubt it. My job will be safe once it is made clear that I did not know about him taking the evidence illegally," he said, pausing to look at her, receiving her nod. He went on, "I just don't understand why he did it," he insisted, his hands wide, questioning the skies.

"Already there," she thought. This was the crux of it. William had also been willing to take such risks, and though he would not likely admit that it was taking those risks that exactly got him into trouble, setting himself, and Jackson it turns out as well, up for being attacked, he would still have to admit that he himself had planned to do something against the rules on this case too. "Why do you think it bothers you so much that George was willing to take such risks?" she asked.

His response was quick, "Well, how will I trust him not to do it again?" he asked.

Julia squirmed a little. "William, can you identify with him. I mean do you think you would ev…"

She saw his face change! He remembered – he had it now! Suddenly he looked away. "Shame," Julia thought. He got up, walked to the other side of the room, his fists clenching. He was fighting anger – she was pretty sure that this time it was at himself. She worried, briefly, that he might end up angry with her – once he remembered, maybe he already did, that he had told her what he was doing when he was upstairs in the dark at Davies Slaughterhouse that fateful night. William kept his back to her and leaned on one arm against the wall. She heard him sigh.

"You are right, Julia. I am being a hypocrite, blaming George for doing the same thing I did when I…" he said, turning around to face her. He walked closer, wrinkled a corner of his mouth like is so customary for him to do. He cleared his throat and continued, "When I was picking Mulligan's office lock – trying to get into his office to see if he had a green rug that would match the fibers in Ieva Baltavesky's nose and mouth."

She gave him a slight bow.

"I'm sorry I took that risk Julia… particularly sorry to you," he said, sitting back down next to her.

She waited, curious as to whether he would ask himself why he did it.

His head down, he said, "I had identified too personally with the victim – and her husband," he nodded to himself. "You know, this morning George said to me that he took it personally," William looked up, caught her eye, "he used those same words, said he 'took it personally,' that Jackson and I had been attacked and hung up on meat-hooks to meet our makers at the end of a saw blade."

Standing, preparing to go, she cupped his cheek and said, "Perhaps it would do George good to know you understand?"

Prompting her to break into a smile, he curled a corner of his mouth. William took a deep breath, "I'll call him," he said, "then I'll be right up." She kissed him and took her leave.

Julia's heart was pounding wildly as she recovered from the second "scattered thunderstorm" he had showered on her after they had gotten into bed. He crawled back up to lie over her and say into her ear that he loved her. That he always had, and that he always would. After a time, he rolled over onto his back and she pulled her leg up over him, draping him with her body. She listened to the rumble his voice made in her ear when she rested her head on his chest. The sound always soothed her – like she knew she was where she was supposed to be and everything was as it should be. This right here, this was home.

"As Plan C goes, tonight was … wonderful," he said.

"But…" she asked.

She felt his fingers pinch one of her curls, twirl it as he said, "But… well," he paused and brought his hand down to cover her belly. He held it still, anticipating, hoping to feel a sign of his child inside of her. "I guess another thing I look forward to, after the baby is born… besides seeing him or her…" he sighed, battling with whether or not what he wanted to say would make him seem too selfish. "I must say, I am very much looking forward to, after baby is born – making love more deeply, together." He squeezed her tight, "I miss it," he said, and she knew he was wrinkling his mouth, and she smiled. He felt it, against his skin.

"As do I, William… But then, of course, even afterwards there will be a wait – there is the little matter of the surgery to recover from," Julia reminded.

Her words sent a chill down his spine, for somehow he had managed to forget the danger she would be in, he had pushed the peril away and had been living life day to day with the assumption that she would be there, that their child would be there, and that the biggest danger was that he would not, that he would get killed. "Yes… Yes, of course," he rushed to reply, working to hide his reaction.

Later, he awoke from a bad dream. He had not had a 'losing Julia' dream for awhile, and he acknowledged to himself that he was quite upset. "Hot chocolate should help," he thought. He slipped his naked body out from under the blankets carefully, listening to Julia's breathing. She was still asleep. He put on his pajama bottoms and went downstairs.

As he sat at the kitchen table, sipping on the warm treat and reflecting on his thoughts, he heard her at the entryway. Their eyes met across the room. She was so beautiful, in just her robe, her hair down.

She walked to the stove and, finding there was enough for her to have a cup, she poured herself one. "You were expecting me?" she asked.

Watching, certain he couldn't possibly love her more, he answered, "No… just made too much."

She sat where her place was, around the corner from him at the little table. Lifting the cup to her lips, her eyes reached for his over the brim, "The case?" she asked.

He sighed. His voice was scratchy, from lack of speaking, "No, well sort of in some ways, but only in ways that have to do with…" he sighed again, "only in that I find I do so identify with the victims – and…"

Noticing that he had said victims rather than victim, she knew, stating it plainly, "Us then."

He nodded and wrinkled the corner of his mouth admitting it.

She leaned over closer to him, slid her fingers into his hair, then her thumb across his cheek, admiring the feel his stubble stirred in her insides. She tilted her head, inviting his kiss.

"What is it William?" she asked tenderly once the kiss broke off.

He told her, that he had managed to forget… that she would have to go through surgery for the birth. She understood, and helped him see, that it was not really that he forgotten as much as that he had suppressed the thoughts, that he had not let himself think about it. It was not a new worry, but it was a big worry. He told her that he really couldn't bear the thought of losing her – that he had had a nightmare.

"Come closer," she said, and he moved his chair around the corner. "William, we made a decision." She took his hand and brought it on to her belly. "We decided it was worth the risk. We are blessed to be smart people… To know to focus on controlling the things we can, and trusting…" she leaned close, kissed his ear, and whispered, "Trusting your God, William, or fate, or even just chance, for everything to be alright in the end." She felt him kiss her hair, her ear. "We have no choice now but to go forward, hmm?" she asked softly. "Try to stay connected to what's happening right here and right now instead of worrying about what will happen in the future… Be with me, love me," she said.

He pulled back, a little bit, "I have this… sick, awful feeling in my stomach… and it just won't go away," he told her.

"Well now," Julia thought, "I think I have an idea of what to do about that." She stood, as usual with a little struggle, and a hand from him, while he looked on, wondering if he should stand as well. "Make room for me?" she suggested, standing in front of him.

He pushed his chair back and she straddled him, sitting in his lap. Her robe was pushed open, albeit for the tiny area right at the sash, and… the fact that she lacked bloomers did not escape his memory, the thought preoccupying his brain, which was quickly swirling into a lustful soup.

Breathing grew hurried, heavy, humid. Mouths made that heavenly sound, when they kiss and change to a new spot, and kiss again. Succulent and delicious, they tasted each other, sucked on each other, cherished each other. Her insides flipped and such exquisite, enticing moans melted into the steamy air around them as his hands seized her breasts, and his mouth took her gorgeous, supple flesh. He lifted her onto her own chair and kneeled in front of her, ready to rock her world. But…

She stopped him. They went upstairs, so Ruby wouldn't walk in on them. Oh, and it worked; the sick feeling in his gut was gone, replaced by scrumptious lust and the joy of being so wonderfully in love. He would persevere, as would she, and they would be blessed, they both knew it, if they persevered together.