3/02/07

THE BUTCHER

Chapter 7

It was quite late when Mrs. McGregor ushered Catherine and Jim into Gil's study. The entomologist was sitting in his favorite leather wing-chair in front of the fireplace, nursing a snifter of brandy and brooding into the flames before him. He looked up as Catherine slid gracefully into the matching chair beside him and Jim dragged over the wooden chair from behind the desk. Both of the new arrivals looked exhausted.

"Any luck?" Gil asked, after he had offered them both drinks, which they had refused.

"Well, I had several dances with a gentleman by the name of Franklin Bauer tonight. Do you know him?" Catherine asked.

"Hmm, the name sounds vaguely familiar. What about him?"

"Well, it seems that he attended medical school for two years before his father died unexpectedly and he was forced to take over the family business. He seemed quite frustrated about having to give up his dream of becoming a doctor."

"Frustrated enough to kill?"

The red-head frowned slightly and shrugged.

"What about the cufflink angle? Bauer doesn't start with a 'D'," Gil pointed out.

"No, but I did learn that his mother's maiden name was Delancy. The cufflink could have been a family heirloom from her side of the family."

Gil cocked his head slightly to one side, considering this.

"It's weak, I know..." Catherine admitted.

"No more weak than the other names we've come up with so far," Gil said, gesturing toward the blackboard in the far corner of the room. There were only three names written on it and all were tenuous suspects at best.

"Did you and Nick have any better luck?" Jim asked.

"No, we didn't get anything."

"Where is our intrepid Ranger, by the way?"

"He already went to bed. I think he danced with every unmarried woman at the party, at least once. He was exhausted."

"I told you he'd be popular," Catherine said. "And how did you do?"

"Oh, well, you know Mrs. Carmichael, the self-proclaimed match-maker of New York society? She was at the party tonight and she told me that it was now going to be her life's work to find me a 'good woman'."

"Well, that should be interesting," Catherine said, smiling maliciously, and the three fell silent.

"Do you think we've got the wrong idea and we're just wasting our time?" Jim asked after a long moment.

"God, I hope not," Gil said quietly.

Along with Nick, the three had been attending parties for the past three weeks and had only four names to show for their efforts. Four names which were most likely going to lead them nowhere. And in the three weeks that they'd been looking, two more women had been brutally murdered.

"So, what's next?" Jim asked.

"Well, Nick and I are attending an engagement party tomorrow night."

"Engagement parties are good. They tend to draw in pretty good crowds of well-wishers," Catherine commented.

"That's what I'm hoping."

"So, who's the lucky couple?" Jim asked.

"Charles Weston, the son of James and Helen Weston, is the young man. I don't know who the girl is, apparently someone from out of state. But hopefully we can learn something there. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

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The smell of fear and desperation hung heavy over the ballroom room, like stale perfume. Oh, yes, there was nothing like an engagement announcement to strike fear into the hearts of every unwed girl and her mother. Another eligible bachelor had been plucked from the ever shrinking pool of potential candidates. Nick fancied he could actually see the anxiety written on the faces of the young women who circulated around the party like small packs of hunting wolves.

Snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, the Texan melted back into the shadows of a nearby window alcove. He had been a favorite target of those hunting packs all evening. After all, he was new blood, an untried commodity. It hadn't taken long for the word to spread that a new bachelor was in the city. He had danced more these past three weeks than he had in his entire life and he was growing tired of making small talk with vapid, shallow females, whose sole purpose in life was to find a good husband and give him fat babies. After spending so much time recently in the company of Sara and Catherine, and even Mrs. McGregor, Nick had learned the value of a woman who could think for herself and wasn't afraid to speak her mind.

He found himself thinking of Kristy. She hadn't been afraid to speak her mind either, and although she'd had far less education and training than either Sara or Catherine, Kristy had had a fire and a passion for life that easily matched both of those women.

Quickly pushing those unproductive thoughts aside, Nick reflected that this current situation was really no different than it would have been back home in Texas. Most of the females there had the same goals as these women. It was just that the outward trappings would have been different. The party would most likely have been held in someone's barn rather than a ballroom and there would have been far more gingham and flannel than satin and fine wool.

"So, are you hiding from the desperate females, too?" a low voice asked, from Nick's right, echoing his own thoughts.

The Texan turned to find a tall young man, a few years older than himself, standing nearby. He too was holding a glass of champagne and was gazing out at the dance floor with an expression of mild disgust. He had medium brown hair and dark, languid eyes. His classic, even features made him handsome, if a bit unremarkable.

"Yes," Nick replied, with a slight chuckle. "I was beginning to feel rather like a treed raccoon."

"An apropos analogy," the other man said, chuckling as well. "So, I gather that you hunt?"

"Some, when I have the time," Nick said truthfully.

"Ah, I, myself, am an avid hunter. I tell you, there's nothing like a good stalk and pursuit to get the blood pumping and remind oneself of how truly alive you are, don't you agree?"

The man turned to face Nick and the Texan saw a brief spark of something dark and hungry in the lazy eyes, before it was quickly suppressed. The man flashed a toothsome smile and extended his right hand.

"I'm Archer Dansforth, by the way," he said.

"Oh, uh, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dansforth," Nick said, automatically extending his own hand, still a bit shaken by his glimpse of... whatever. "I'm Nicholas Stokes."

"Yes, actually I already knew your name. We don't get too many new faces around here and, well, people talk. But please, let's not stand on formalities. Call me Archer."

"Thank you, call me Nick."

"Nick..." the man repeated. He was still smiling, but there was something about the way he pronounced the name that sent a slight shiver down the Texan's spine.

"Uh, are you associated with the bride or the groom?" Nick asked, forcing his mind back to the conversation.

"The groom. Charles and I were very close."

"Were? You're not any longer, uh, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, it's nothing like that, really, no falling out or anything. Charles and I were hunting partners, but now that he's getting married, I'm sure he won't have time for that any more. Once a woman domesticates a man, he's just never quite the same, is he?" Dansforth said, a note of contempt creeping into his words.

Abruptly the man's attitude seemed to change, to brighten, as though he had thrown aside a particularly unpleasant thought. "So, Nick, I understand you're from Texas?" he asked.

"Uh, yes, from the Dallas area."

"Dallas, really? Charles and I were just in the Dallas area a few months ago, to hunt buffalo. In fact, that's where Charles met Blythe. She's from Texas as well, you know."

"Really? No, no, I wasn't aware of that," Nick mumbled distractedly, his head spinning with all this new information.

"Oh, yes, I believe her family is in cattle as well. Perhaps you kn... Ah, speak of the devil, here comes the happy couple now."

Nick turned in the direction Dansforth was indicating with his raised glass, to see an attractive couple moving towards them. The man was about the same age as Dansforth, but shorter, with sandy brown hair and a narrow, matching mustache and fashionably long sideburns. The girl appeared to be barely out of her teens, but was rather tall, almost of a height with her fiancé, with a pretty, broad-cheeked face. Her dark hair was drawn over one shoulder in a cascade of tight ringlets and a spray of tiny, seed pearls. The dark mauve of her gown complemented her hair nicely and brought color to her porcelain complexion.

"Archer, there you are. We've been looking all over for you," Weston said as he and his fiancée drew close. "But who's this?" Weston asked coolly, his gaze sweeping over Nick.

"Oh, this is Nicholas Stokes. Nick, this is my good friend Charles Weston, the groom to be."

As Nick extended his right hand toward Weston, he was acutely aware of Dansforth's hand lightly touching the small of his back. It was a gesture of possession, one a man might make to his wife or fiancée. It was generally not a gesture a man would make to another man, particularly one he had only just met. Nick was also aware of Weston's eyes taking note of this gesture as well. The grip of the hand that was shaking Nick's abruptly grew painfully tight before it was released.

"Mr. Stokes, may I present my fiancée, Miss Blythe Howard," Weston said with a frosty smile.

Nick turned his attention to the girl, who smiled at him serenely, obviously blissfully unaware of the growing tensions between the three men. Blythe indeed, Nick thought, with wry amusement.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Stokes," Blythe said, her accent indicating the Deep South as apposed to the southwestern frontier. A Texas accent was slightly different from a true southern accent, more drawl, less twang. "The ladies have been all a-twitter about you. Now I see why."

She played the part of the coquettish Southern Belle to perfection as well and Nick wondered if she'd been educated in Georgia. It would make sense. There weren't too many proper girls' finishing schools in Texas.

"So, I understand that you are also from the great state of Texas," Miss Howard continued. "Isn't it a small world? To think, that in such a big city as New York, two lost souls from Texas should encounter each other here tonight. Where abouts in Texas are you from?"

"Uh, the Dallas area."

"Hmm, my family is from the Houston area, but I recently spent some time in Dallas visiting with friends. That's where I met Charles, in fact. But I seem to recall there was a judge in Dallas, by the name of Stokes. Are you related to him?"

"Uh, yes, he's a cousin of my father's."

"Ah, I see. It's always nice to have one's family close by," Miss Howard said, blindly accepting Nick's weak explanation. Clearly the girl wasn't accustomed to using her pretty, little head much.

Unfortunately the same could not be said for her fiancé.

"So, I understand you're staying with Mr. Grissom. What is your relationship with him?" Weston asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The question was innocent enough, but Nick sensed there was actually more than one question being asked. He was beginning to grow very uncomfortable with this entire situation. He was not someone who was accustomed to this sort of fencing with words, particularly when he wasn't entirely sure what exactly was going on. Nick was far more accustomed to dealing with people who were fairly forthright and direct in both their manners and actions. Clearly the relationship between Charles Weston and Archer Dansforth was more complicated than it appeared and somehow Nick was being drawn into the middle of it and he definitely didn't like it.

"Uh, Mr. Grissom is a friend of the family," Nick said, sticking to the previously agreed upon story and the one that both he and Gil had been using for the past three weeks. "Our mothers attended finishing school together in California."

"Really? That seems a bit odd. Mr. Grissom is quite a bit older than you. I would think your mothers would be of a different age as well," Weston said.

"Well, I am the youngest of seven. My older brother is very close to Mr. Grissom's age."

"Ah, I see," Weston mumbled, sounding rather disappointed that he hadn't been able to catch Nick in a lie.

"Ah, the band is playing a waltz," Nick said, seizing upon any excuse to get away from this tense and awkward situation. "I'm afraid I promised Miss Martin that I would dance the next waltz with her. If you will excuse me, it would be terribly rude of me to stand her up. But it was a pleasure meeting all of you and I wish the two of you the best of luck on your coming nuptials."

The Texan tried very hard to keep his retreat slow and dignified. All he really wanted to do was run away, very far and very fast. Instead, he went in search of Grissom. Eventually Nick found the older man, ensconced in his own window alcove on the opposite side of the ballroom. He was doing much the same thing that Nick had been, sipping champagne and watching the crowds. Nick moved to stand beside him.

"I think I just found our butcher," he said quietly.

"What? Who?"

"Archer Dansforth."

"Dansforth..." Gil repeated the name, musing. "No, that can't be right. I know Archer Dansforth. He's one of the worst of High Society. His wealth is all inherited and he's never worked a day in his life. He spends all of his time indulging himself in sport and other useless pastimes. Killing someone would require entirely too much effort for him. Besides, he's had no medical training. Hell, he's had no training at all."

"No, but his sport of choice is hunting," Nick said. "We just had a little conversation where he told me how much he loves 'the stalk'. In fact, he and his very good friend Charles Weston, the groom to be, just recently returned from a hunting trip to Texas, which is where Weston met his new fiancée. Do also note that the future Mrs. Weston is a tall, pretty, brunette. Gil, like a doctor, a hunter would also know how to skin a corpse quickly and efficiently."

Gil slowly turned to look at the young Texan, his eyes wide. "My God..." he breathed.

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"My theory is that Dansforth and Weston were, uh... lovers," Nick said, a bit uncomfortably. It was the next day and he was addressing the assembled team in Gil's study. Despite the fact that Sara and Catherine themselves spoke openly about the subject of homosexuality, he was still uncomfortable mentioning it in front of them. Frankly, he didn't like talking about it at all, but a man didn't spend as much time on the cattle trails as Nick had without at least having heard about such activities.

"They went to Texas to hunt buffalo," he continued. "While they were there, Weston met Blythe Howard. He proposed to her. My guess is that this is what ignited Dansforth's rage. This is a man who has had everything simply handed to him his entire life. He is not accustomed to not getting his way. I also don't think he ever learned how to share. But he can't kill Miss Howard without drawing too much attention. So instead, he kills 'whores' who resemble her. I suspect this also allows him to vent his rage over and over. He would only be able to kill Miss Howard once."

"But why would Weston marry Miss Howard if he's in love with Dansforth?" Greg asked.

"Well, he can't marry Dansforth," Catherine pointed out. "And a man of Weston's social position would be expected to marry eventually. Otherwise people would start to talk. Miss Howard comes from a good, wealthy family. Financially speaking, it's a very good match. People in society have been marrying for money and position for generations. Archer Dansforth might be financially secure enough to turn his back on society's expectations and live in possible scandal, but I don't think Weston is."

"No, he isn't," Gil confirmed. "I made some discreet enquiries at the party after Nick told me his theory. Weston's family has taken some serious financial hits recently. Their business is hurting. Miss Howard is an only child. She, or more importantly, her husband, stands to inherit all of her father's considerable wealth when he dies. And from what I understand, Mr. Howard is not in good health. I think this was an opportunity that was simply too good for Weston to pass up. Unfortunately, I believe Dansforth saw it as a betrayal."

"Good work, both of you!" Jim said. "I like this theory. Dansforth is definitely a viable suspect. Unfortunately we have absolutely no hard proof with which to confront him."

"No, we don't," Gil admitted. "And therein lays the problem."

"The Dansforths are one of the wealthiest, most influential families in the state of New York. We're going to need some solid evidence if we're going to try to make any murder charges hold up in court."

"Yes, we're definitely going to need much more than what we have right now," Gil agreed.

"What do you suggest?" Catherine asked. "We've been waiting for the killer to give us something definitive to go on for weeks."

"I think we should have someone follow Dansforth. Perhaps we can get lucky and catch him in the act, preferably before he finishes it."

"That's an excellent idea, but I can't justify assigning any of my boys in blue without a hell of a lot more evidence," Jim said.

"Well then, we'll just have to do it ourselves."

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For the next couple of days, the members of the team took turns watching and following Archer Dansforth. It wasn't a difficult task, since Dansforth rarely left his family's townhouse on the Upper East Side. It was also easy for the team to keep the large house under surveillance as it faced Central Park. The team members would simply watch from the ample cover of the park.

They had observed Dansforth come outside to smoke his cigars on several occasions, but that was all. They collected a few of the stubs which he had left on the sidewalk and found them to be the same brand as the stub Gil had found beside Stephanie Watson's body, Hoja de Oro. Unfortunately this didn't help them much, as the tobacconist Gil and Jim had spoken to earlier had already indicated that is was not an unusual brand, particularly for an upscale part of the city.

It was early on the afternoon of the third day of this surveillance that found Gil and Catherine on watch duty. They were seated on a bench just inside the park, facing the Dansforth house. For all appearances they were simply another handsome couple out enjoying the late autumn colors and unusually mild weather.

They had only been on watch for about an hour, but in that time they had observed a great deal of activity in and around the elegant townhouse. There were servants coming and going from the carriage house, at the rear of the townhouse, carrying boxes and trunks. But, so far, there had been no sign of Archer Dansforth all day. Nick and Warrick, who had had the previous watch, had reported that Cynthia Dansforth, Archer's mother, had left very early that morning, but the two young men had not spotted the elusive, younger Mr. Dansforth either. As Gil and Catherine sat watching all the activity around the house, the red-head was forced to stifle a yawn behind one gloved hand.

"Are you bored already?" Gil asked, with a slight smile.

"I'm extremely bored," Catherine said with a sigh of frustration. "This is so tedious. I certainly don't wish for another girl to be harmed, but I have to admit, I wish the man would do something. We've been watching him for three days now. You don't suppose he knows that we're out here, do you?"

This was a thought that had occurred to Gil as well, but one he had refused to voice. "He always seems so supremely oblivious to the world around him," the scientist observed. "He doesn't appear to have noticed us."

"That doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's a good actor. You know, Gil, he may be just toying with us. Maybe he's been sneaking out the back servants' entrance all along."

Gil contemplated this for a moment. "No, there've been no other murders since we started watching him... Besides, I don't even want to consider the idea that this 'butcher' could be smarter than all of us."

As they had been speaking a black, horse-drawn hansom cab had pulled up to the curb just in front of the bench where the couple was sitting. Now, a tall, plump-ish woman in a gray tweed suit climbed down from the cab. As the small carriage moved on and the woman prepared to cross the street, she happened to glance over at the couple on the bench.

"Mr. Grissom?" she called out, stepping closer.

Gil looked up to find Cynthia Dansforth standing in front of him. She was a handsome woman, with hair gone prematurely white and the mild, complacent, blue eyes of one who has never known a day of worry in her life.

"Why, Mrs. Dansforth," Gil said, getting quickly to his feet and affecting an attitude of surprise. "What an unexpected delight this is, bumping into you."

"Unexpected? Nonsense, I live right over there! You know that, you silly man!" The woman said playfully, gesturing to the townhouse on the other side of the street.

"Oh, why, yes, you do! I'd forgotten that. It's been a while since I've been to your lovely home."

"And whose fault is that?" Mrs. Dansforth said, with mock severity. Turning to Catherine, who had risen to her feet as well, Cynthia said, "Why, it's... Mrs. Willows, isn't it? How nice to see you again. We met at Sam Braun's annual dinner party, last spring, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was, and it's very kind of you to remember me," Catherine said, with a slight curtsy to the older woman.

"Mmm, yes," Mrs. Dansforth murmured, her expression somewhat cool. She quickly turned her attention back to Gil. "Mr. Grissom, you really do need to sell that house of yours by Washington Square Park and come and live here near all of us. Then we could see you all the time. It's been such a lovely change having you attending our parties again, as you used to do when your mother was alive. We've missed you terribly and, really, isn't it time you settled down and married a decent, young woman?"

"Uh, yes, well..."

"Oh, you must come to our country house this weekend! We're having guests up for a long weekend of hunting and sport. You know, allow people the chance to get out of the city for a few days. Our country home is upstate, in the Adirondacks. We've invited several people already, including a few unattached young ladies... Oh, speaking of unattached, you must bring along your charming, young friend, Mr. Stokes!

"Oh, such a delightful, young man! I know Archer was very impressed with him, thought he was quite a decent companion. And you know how high my son's standards are... Oh, and you must come along as well, Mrs. Willows," Mrs. Dansforth added, almost as an afterthought, perhaps belatedly realizing that it would be rude to invite Gil in front of Catherine and not include her in the invitation.

Seeing that the woman had finally paused in her speech long enough to draw a breath, Gil quickly cut in with his answer. "Yes, Mrs. Willows and I would love to come to your country house. And I think I can safely accept for Mr. Stokes as well. I'm quite sure he'd also be delighted to come along."

"Excellent! We'll be expecting the three of you on Thursday. I'll send Anthony over with instructions on how to get there, right away. Oh, this is going to be a lovely weekend. I can hardly wait! Oh, I must be off, but I'll see you on Thursday!"

Once Mrs. Dansforth was across the street and well out of earshot, Catherine began a scornful, mocking imitation of the woman's rather high voice. "'Isn't it time you settled down and married a decent, young woman'... Arrogant cow..." the red-head grumbled.

Gil looked at his companion in confusion. He hadn't seen any reason why Catherine should have been offended by that comment. Seeing his confusion, she elaborated.

"We were sitting here, alone, together. For all that woman knew, you and I were here for an assignation. But I'm sure someone like Cynthia Dansforth wouldn't consider me a 'decent' young woman..."

Gil sighed and shook his head, amazed at the many ways in which women wounded each other with words. "That's not important, Catherine. What matters is that we've all been invited to their country estate."

"Yes, why did you accept that invitation? What are you up to, Gil?"

"Well, I would presume if the elder Dansforths are going to their country house, Archer will be going with them. It would be customary. One wouldn't want to leave an unmarried young man, alone and unsupervised, in the city. Think of the trouble he could get into...

"And if Archer is going to be upstate, we should be there as well. At least this way we can keep an eye on him without having to sneak around."

"Alright, I can see that," Catherine said. "But what about the rest of the team? They weren't invited."

"Don't worry, I think I know how we can bring all of them along as well. Come along, let's head back to my house and tell the others. I really don't think Dansforth will be going anywhere with both of his parents right there. We'll continue to watch the house at night, but this seems to be a waste of our time and we have some planning to do."

Flagging down a passing cab, the two headed back downtown. After dropping Catherine off at her house, with instructions to come for dinner, Gil continued on to his own home. He dispatched Greg to Police Headquarters, with a dinner invitation for Jim as well. And when the team gathered for dinner in the formal dining room later that evening, Gil informed them of his plan for the upcoming weekend.

"As this little trip is going to last for more than one night, it would be expected that the guests would bring along a servant of their own," Gil said. "I mean, a gentleman does not travel without his valet."

"But you don't employ a valet," Jim pointed out.

"For this weekend I'll have one, Warrick. And Greg can act as Nick's valet."

"Oh, and I can act as Catherine's maid!" Sara said quickly, before anyone could even suggest that she remain behind.

"Very good," Gil said, smiling smugly. "It's all settled then."

"But what about me?" Jim asked, in an exaggeratedly hurt tone. "Who do I get to play?"

"I'm sorry, Jim, but I just couldn't come up with a role for you. You're too well known as a police officer. I'm afraid you'll have to wait in the wings this time."

The captain sighed dramatically. "Ah, yes, it's the story of my life... I'll let the local law enforcement know that I'm going to be in the area for a few days and to possibly expect some trouble."

"Good idea," the scientist said. He turned to address the group at large. "I suggest we all start packing."

To be continued...

A/N: Yes, once again, I apologize for taking so long, but well, life happens. : D