Chapter 10
Thursday October 16
Brackenreid was in a difficult mood by the time William arrived for his 8 am work-day. He had no idea what the problem was, but there was definitely a shift in the air.
By mid-morning on Thursday, the detective stood at his worktable, sorting through the box of evidence George and he gathered from the scene of the 2 men's deaths yesterday. There wasn't much. He was most interested in small metal scrap pieces that he sent the constable back again to find by using a large magnet to separate the items from the fire's debris. He took out each one and examined it closely with his magnifying glasses and eventually some of them with a jeweler's loop to get the most detail possible. He used his alternative light source just in case. He compared these materials to the ones he obtained from the July fire. When he was finished he placed the items back in the evidence box and set them aside to work out his next move.
He already had Dr Grace's preliminary results on the inks and set up a meeting with a source who could shed additional light and hopefully interpret the findings. He called Constable Crabtree into his office.
"Sir, what can I do for you?" Crabtree asked.
"George, I would like you to send a telegram for me, discretely." He looked over across the bull pen at the inspector through the glass partitions. The detective dug in his pockets for some money and handed it to the other man along with a note. "Here is the address and here is what I am looking for. Can you ask for the response to be delivered to me at the Windsor House Hotel?"
"Of course sir. Glad to help," Crabtree said and left out of one of the office doors and the inspector came in through the other.
"Murdoch, how are you doing with this case? Any suspects?" Brackenreid gestured to the evidence box.
"No, sir, not at this time. No one has reported any men missing, no one saw the fire start and we do not know the identity of the men, so motive is hard to determine. I do not believe they were vagrants, however…they appear to have been deliberately killed and the fire was set to dispose of the evidence and the bodies. Simple Kerosene was the accelerant. Dr Grace and I believe they are recent immigrants and may have been skilled craftsmen, but we have noting definitive." William looked away as he knew he was withholding information, but did not want to approach the inspector until he had more proof.
"Any motive for the fire other than to dispose of the bodies?"
"I am checking into that, but so far, no. I have an appointment later his afternoon to consult on the trace evidence
Dr Grace obtained… " William was deliberately vague, but his superior did not seem to notice.
William attempted to talk one more time with the inspector about Eva Pierce, but did not even get the man's attention.
Instead, Brackenreid shifted back to the Diana White murder, and asked Constable Crabtree to bring in the evidence in that case. Brackenreid explained what might have been muddying the waters about the investigation and eventually Dr Grace confirmed gunshot residue on a piece of evidence that led to the killer.
William reminded the inspector of his appointments and left the station house, expecting to be back by 5:00 pm or so.
He checked out with the desk sergeant, took his bicycle and sped off to his first stop with his tailor.
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"Alors, Monsieur Henri, comment allez-vous?" asked William loudly as he came through the door of the cluttered, cedar-smelling fitting room in back of the tailor's shop. The noise from the construction next door was deafening, and he gestured to the proprietor about the din. Toronto's building boom halted for no one and nothing.
M. Henri appeared to take no notice of the noise, ushering his client deeper into the room, "Personne ne peut rien faire, alors pourquoi se plandre?" He shrugged and unstrung his measuring tape as William shed his clothing. William agreed that complaining would do no good. They chatted pleasantly in French about inconsequentials, as a way to deflect from the intimate nature of the measurements.
There is only so much a man can hide from his tailor, William grimaced. M. Henri's neat, quick hands completed measurements and the tailor looked over the top of his glasses up at the detective, appeared to hesitate and then gave the bad news. "Désolé, monsieur, vos mesures ont change."
"Je suppose que ce est la vérité." William was aware he had been putting on some weight. His excuse to himself was a long recuperation after being shot this year (still recuperating in fact), eating richer food than he was used to at the hotel, and spending time with Julia rather than out riding his bicycle—all of which advanced his waistline. He sighed and gestured to M. Henri. "Mais dans vos mains des miracles…?"
"Oui, bien sûr," M. Henri, smiled at his client. He noted with pleasure how immaculately the detective kept his wardrobe, as if he appreciated the artistry that went into making the suits. M. Henri made the detective's jackets with pockets to his specifications and made sure the lines were impeccable, but he was looking forward to sewing these new evening clothes in the latest style without any work-related extras. As for the weight change, mariage rend gros et heureux, he thought, but was too discrete to do more than nod.
"Avez-vous entendu parler de votre fils?" asked William. He knew the tailor sent money home for the boy's care.
"Il est bien, merci," M. Henri responded. "Ses poumons sont de mieux en mieux." William was glad, Consumption was a difficult illness and he sympathized with the man.
They agreed on fabrics and the price. With some trepidation, William paid his bill in full, counting out (and he hoped without betraying any wincing to M. Henri) the nearly two and a half week's wages for the entire outfit of coat, trousers, waistcoat and 2 shirts, suspenders and 2 ties, and a full set of new undergarments. Anything for Julia. He replaced his misgivings with a besotted grin. This suit will be worth it. I am going to the New Year's Ball this year and dance with my wife! He knew that M. Henri would be exchanging some of the money for francs and sending cash to family in Lyon for his son, and felt good again about paying the bill upfront.
M. Henri assured him it all would be ready within the month, and sent him on his way with a cheery "Merci." William considered his waist and decided he would have to lose weight soon-it was much less expensive than new suits.
He was spontaneously inspired to get Julia a gift and believed he could easily add that detour to his day. As he crossed town to go to his next appointment, William also decided he would call Julia and ask her a question before she left work. He wondered how her meeting went and what she was up to, at that very moment.