Even though the Star Room was not yet open, Julia knew enough about Nina to tell the doorman that she was a friend of her brother Sam's and that she was visiting from out of town. Though he looked at her dubiously, he agreed to let her in, and she soon found Nina herself.
When Nina looked at her quizzically, Julia remembered that she was in disguise, took off her glasses and quickly remembered that since she was indoors, she needed to remove her hat.
My disguise must be better than I thought.
"Miss Bloom, Nina. It's me, Julia Ogden," she quietly whispered, not wanting her cover to be blown. The young woman looked at her strangely for a moment and then her eyes widened as she realized that the boy standing in front of her was Dr. Ogden herself.
"Dr. Ogden! But you're missing! What's going on?" she excitedly asked until Julia reminded her to lower her voice.
"I was. It's a long story and I promise I'll explain it all to you one day, but I escaped. The same people who killed Lydia were going to kill me as well, but thankfully, I was prepared. I've been in hiding the past couple of days so I don't know what's going on. Can you tell me anything about George or the other constables?" Julia immediately wondered.
Nina's eyes began tearing up, and she shook her head. "No, all I know is that George was apparently wounded and that one of them died, but I don't know which one. Even then, this is all rumor I've gleaned from patrons and the other dancers here."
Looking around to make sure that they were alone, Julia nodded her head in sympathy, She too would like to know the truth one way or another. Hopefully George was not the dead constable.
"Miss Bloom, I know I'm about to ask a lot, but, I need to…" Julia began, but Nina interrupted her.
"No need to ask, I want to help, and please do call me Nina. If George is still alive, I want to know. If he's dead…" she paused, clearly upset before continuing. "I want justice for him and Lydia. In fact, I've already volunteered to be the girl who jumps out of the cake later tonight at the Bacchus Club. I'm going to play naïve and dumb, but I'm going to listen, I'm going to spy, I'm going to get information; but I need to know who else I can trust," the young woman hurriedly explained.
"That is a very clever idea, but are you sure you want to go so far? These men are very dangerous." Julia was mindful of how risky all of this business was and if she tried to forget her throat reminded her, painfully.
Nina crossed her arms over her body. "Lydia was my friend, and George is….," she faltered briefly again for a moment. "George is a fine man, and I'd like to make him proud of me, if I could."
Julia recalled Margaret Brackenreid's actions out of love for her husband, and made a calculated guess that Nina's motivation was not only justice. "Well, in addition to us three, I don't know anyone currently at the Constabulary who is trustworthy other than Detective Llewellyn Watts, or so William believes. However, Alderman William Peyton Hubbard is certainly beyond Mr. Graham's corruption in my estimation and probably the only one I can swear to right now," Julia offered. She got uncomfortable for a minute at the thought of roping more people into their plight, especially knowing how dangerous it all was. She had been irritated with William for sharing names with Meyers. This is different, isn't it?
She looked around at the dressing room, full of costumes and brightened, a wild idea forming.
"Nina, might I ask a small favor? I've had an inspiration…"
William trekked several blocks over to a brick tenement building off Terauley near Wellington. This area of Toronto was devastated by the fire and was coming back piecemeal. On the way, he moved through throngs of people and conveyances on the street and a stew of languages (and smells) in the air with no one paying him the slightest bit of attention. His week on the run included sleeping in a flop house and an occasional doorway along these streets, so he moved effortlessly towards his destination.
The building he sought was just outside the area of the fire's destruction. After walking up four flights of hot narrow dark stairs he knocked on a grimy door. He heard a shuffling sound and then the door opened, ushering him into a cramped room under a sloping roofline. One small window admitted weak light. The usual upright bearing of his host was the only thing in the room that reminded William of Percival Giles' former self—the rest was in shabby ruins, along with Giles' face and the gnarled hand he offered in greeting.
"Good evening detective. I see you received my message." Giles still spoke in precise, clipped words but the power behind them was diminished. "May I offer you some tea? I was about to take my supper."
William hid his astonishment. "Yes sir, thank you sir," not daring to ask what had transpired since he'd last seen Giles, he took a seat at a small table while the man poured some hot liquid into a clean cup. On the table was bread and jam, which William declined, knowing it was the likely the only food the ex-officer had to eat today.
Giles began without preamble. "The wages of sin, detective," gesturing to his surroundings and including himself without a trace of self-pity. "Jeffrey Davis was a corrupt policeman, who was very clever in hiding his malfeasance, but not always clever enough. My predecessor turned a blind eye, perhaps, but when I was Chief Constable, I was on to him and was prepared to clean house of him but I never got the opportunity as my own career unraveled." He also said this without any inflection, merely sipped his tea. "My credibility, of course, was shattered when I was convicted. No one was inclined to listen to what I had discovered about him and Station House No. 5. Davis quickly took the opportunity to clean up behind himself- even if I could have persuaded someone to go after him, the proof I had against him was gone. I was quite pleased when you and Inspector Brackenreid took him down with new evidence. To find him again installed as Chief Constable goes against everything I have ever believed in." Giles offered a crooked smile. "And to accuse you of murder—well, it has been done before," he joked.
William nodded. "Then you might be pleased to know that Davis is out of circulation at the moment…I cannot give you the details as it would endanger you."
"Danger?" Giles barked a laugh. "Duty. Honour. Loyalty. That is what I care about, detective." He leaned forward over the tiny table's surface. "I assume that Mr. Graham was the one who resurrected Davis and got him appointed back to Chief Constable." Giles took a bit of bread. "You will need to take Davis down to disprove the charges against you."
"Your instincts are on target, sir. For now Davis is out of the picture, and as eager as I am to clear my name, the real enemy is Robert Graham. I am told Mr. Graham holds the secrets of most of the elite in the city. Do you have any information that could be helpful?"
Giles smiled grimly. "Davis was always a bully, forever exploiting weaknesses in others. Mr. Graham is not the only one who enjoys wielding leverage. Davis kept files on his enemies, and even more information on his friends. I assume Davis helped Graham with the permits for his Melinda Street project— and that money was exchanged in the process. Therefore, Davis has information on Graham as well as his own insurance policy, as it were. Follow the money trail, get Davis' files and you have Graham."
William waited. Giles hardly called him all the way over here to state the obvious.
"Jeffrey Davis never could resist keeping the keys to his secrets close to him, so he could gloat about the power he held in his hands." Giles's eyes actually twinkled. "And that is not a metaphor. I don't imagine he has changed his ways over the years, becoming complacent and ever more arrogant. Where ever he is, find him and get his actual set of keys and find what they unlock. Everything you need will be there."
Percival Giles's insights about Jeffrey Davis were helpful as well as disturbing. William had no idea that corruption had taken such deep roots into the constabulary but the speed with which he built a case against him for Miss Hall's murder and dismantled Station House No. 4 should have been proof enough. Hoping that Davis was still insensible in some isolated room in the bowels of the asylum and still in possession of his keys was tantalizing—the proof that might turn everything back to rights so close and yet so far.
William spent about an hour with Giles and another forty minutes walking back to the Prince Albert with it coming on full dark in the city as he moved up the final block, chewing vigorously on the pipe he was not used to having between his teeth. He purchased a loaf of bread and some fruit for their dinner from a grocer who was closing up shop, and he was looking forward to seeing Julia to formulate a plan for getting those keys.
William let himself into their hotel expecting Julia to already be there since the Star Room was nearby. The room was empty and William tried to tamp down his worry that something had gone wrong. By eight fifteen he'd asked at the desk again for any messages, the clerk making some comment about a young man alone in the big city getting lost.
By eight-thirty William's anxiety was such that he was about to head over to the Star Room himself, when the door opened and a voice rushed an apology. "I am so sorry I am late, father. I lost track of the time…" Letting the passerby in the hallway see the tableau of a disgruntled patriarch glowering at his wayward son.
Closing the door behind her, Julia rushed to kiss her husband. "Oh, the look on your face! It is priceless. I really am sorry, William," she whispered, quickly kissing his brow as he pulled her to him in relief. "Do you have any word on George and the other men?"
William shook his head. "No. I hope to know more tomorrow. And your letter did not make the late edition of the paper—I checked. Tomorrow perhaps. The good news is that we might have a way to put pressure on Mr. Graham." He explained what Giles had told him. "What happened to Davis' effects when you took him to the hospital? Perhaps we can retrieve them tonight."
"We took everything out of his pockets, and I left it all in a locker. It can wait." She smiled at his consternation. "We have something better to do. I have a way into the Bacchus Club and we have to hurry."
When she told him her and Nina's plan, he erupted. "No! Absolutely not."
"Shhh! It's perfect. We get into the club in the most natural way – by being invited, and have a reason to be in the various rooms. I'm a bit old to be jumping out of cakes myself, so Miss Bloom will do that. But perhaps not too old to act as a hostess and distract the men while trying to glean some information myself." Julia tried her most persuasive smile. "Miss Bloom will help me with a wig, a change of clothes, and perhaps some cosmetics. You can be the delivery man with the cake," she added, "so between the three of us, we can get the recording devices and gather even more evidence."
"Julia! I cannot allow it, and you should not have encouraged Miss Bloom either," he hissed, scared of the idea and furious with her for considering it. "It is too dangerous."
Julia's eyes blazed and she shook herself out of his grasp. "William! Youare the one who put me in danger in the first place," her anger flared and she spit that out without thinking. Oh, god. Too late to take it back, she realized when he recoiled as if she slapped him. "Do you have a better way?" she challenged. "Mr. Graham, Franklin Williams, Chief Davis…they may not believe the average person's life is worth much—they treat people so callously and casually. But you don't, William. You thought Mr. Dobbs death deserved an answer. You tried to help Lydia Hall. Miss Bloom is doing this with us or without us…do you want to let her down?" she snapped. She saw that rocked him.
"No. Of course not…." William felt battered and groaned inwardly.
"It will be all right. You will be there to protect us and collect the recordings while we serve as a distraction. We'll have a poke around and leave before anyone is the wiser. Together, William. We make a very good team- you know this. But we have to hurry. The party has already started and the pièce de résistance is scheduled for ten o'clock sharp. The wagon will pick us up in forty-five minutes."
