They had put Jimmy behind bars for his questionable actions but also for his own good. As soon as he regained consciousness he had screamed and cursed at them for a full ten minutes. Eventually the loud noises subsided and only faint sobbing could be heard instead.
George had stared at the holding cell door the entire time, looking as though he was experiencing the same pain and mental anguish his friend was. Several times the acting detective had tried to go in there to speak with him, but every time he had tried, either Murdoch or Brackenreid had held him back. They told him that Jimmy needed to get it all out of his system before there was any chance of having a reasonable conversation with him.
The policemen still needed to re-acquire the documents that Jimmy had hidden. They had done a cursory search before hurriedly leaving the Indian reservation but had been unable to find them. Apparently Jimmy had had slightly more common sense than Murdoch had first thought.
Once the sobbing had dissipated too, the three coppers entered the holding cell area. Jimmy was sitting on the floor and would not look at any of them.
"I know how he feels," muttered Beckett as they passed by.
Taking turns, they tried to get his attention. All their efforts were for naught.
Brackenreid lost his patience, opened the cell door and bodily grabbed Jimmy up, demanding to know what he had done with the documents. Jimmy would not respond. His eyes had glazed over and he seemed to be almost catatonic.
"Sir," said Murdoch calmly, "that isn't going to work. He's too far gone."
"Like hell he is!" snarled the inspector, cocking his fist.
"Sir!" exclaimed George. "Please leave him be!"
"I'm sure we can discover the location of the documents without Jimmy's help."
"Goddamn it! Fine!" he barked, tossing Jimmy onto the bed. Brackenreid slammed the door shut and said, "Well then, Murdoch, let's hear these brilliant ideas."
After hours of searching and still not uncovering their location, it was time to take another crack at Jimmy. The men were beyond tired and George felt like a zombie, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. George asked if he could speak with Jimmy alone, reasoning that maybe Jimmy would be more receptive to a friend...assuming he still counted George as one. It was worth a try, so they left them alone (and went to go have a nap before the day shift arrived).
Jimmy appeared to be more with it again because he had moved from his sprawled position on the bed and was back sitting on the floor. This time he was facing the other holding cell and seemed to be paying attention to a softly speaking Curtis, who had pushed her bed aside and was squatting on the floor, so that she could maintain eye contact with Jimmy.
George approached them apprehensively, (fiddling with his helmet all the while) but also appreciative of Curtis' efforts. Though he assumed she was attempting to break through to him more for herself and her own vengeance than for anything else.
"How goes it?"
She glanced up at him. "Poorly I'm afraid." She stood up and moved towards the front of her cage. "I've been speaking to him for the past hour and all I've managed to do is get him to look at me. He still has yet to say a single word."
"Listen Jimmy," he said after opening the cell door and sitting down beside him, "I know you're probably still very hurt and angry right now but if you think about it, I mean really think about, we acted no differently than you did. We only did what we thought was right. The Black Hand don't make deals with people. They only use them. There is no give and take. You must know that. Whatever they promised you...the freedom to be with your wife again...unfettered from their restraints...deep down you must know that was all simply a lie. You must have known that they would have just killed you once they had gotten what they wanted."
A disturbing thought came to George then. "You did know, didn't you? You wanted them to kill you."
For the first time Jimmy made eye contact. "Not exactly, George."
"What do you mean?" asked a puzzled George.
Jimmy sighed. He next spoke in an emotionless, droning narration. "I was led to believe that they had faked Wendy's death five years ago...they had left a letter by a pool of blood, saying that they had taken her hostage. If I told anyone, they would kill her. If I didn't become a double agent for them, they would kill her. I discreetly had the blood tested and it was proven to be bovine. For five years I have helped tip them off when the police or The Pinkertons were getting suspicious of their actions. I was forced to do...other things that I'm not proud of.
"Recently I had come to the conclusion that they would continue to string me along forever if I let them. So I decided to take the situation into my own hands and began plotting against them. I had intended to simply...take out however many I could but that would have accomplished nothing. I abandoned that idea and when those documents were found, I came up with a new plan.
"Using the information I gleaned from one of their henchmen, I contacted another one of them who could in turn contact someone higher up, who in turn would contact their leader, Mancini. Next I hid the documents. Then I lay in wait at our old house. If they hadn't killed Wendy by then, they would bring her along and make the trade. In that case, we would have left together and then I would have informed them of the location of the documents. If Wendy...was already dead...then I wouldn't tell them the location and I would have gotten to see her anyway." He broke down, crying again, hugging George fiercely. "I'm so tired of being strong, George. I just couldn't do it anymore."
The acting detective was devastated by his friends account of events but he did his best not to let it show. It was Jimmy's turn to give in to his emotions, and George's duty to keep Jimmy sane.
"I know Jimmy," he said patting his back, "I know. We'll bring those responsible to justice. I promise."
Jimmy pulled away from him and wiped his face clean with the back of his sleeve. "I've buried the documents in an unmarked location. I will give you the exact coordinates now." George had yet to respond. "You might want to get a pen out."
With the documents in hand again, they immediately began bringing in those with their names on them. They had to coordinate with the other station houses because there were so many culprits and because station four's men were in need of some serious rest. While George slept for twelve hours straight, the constabulary was hard at work, hopefully putting together a case so strong, so monumental, that The Black Hand would be erased from Toronto's history forevermore.
When George next awoke, it was dark once more and his daughter was sound asleep. After giving her a kiss on the forehead, he headed to the parlour room, half expecting to find Curtis back there, telling silly stories to his wife. George physically shook his head to clear his groggy thoughts.
"Ah, you're awake," said Ruby off to the side in a high backed chair. He walked a few paces to get her in sight better. She put her book down and continued, "I was starting to think you had died."
George cringed at her bad joke.
Her smile faltered and she held out a hand that he took. "I'm sorry, George. That was very insensitive of me. I know you've had a trying time of things lately."
"You do?"
"Yes, of course, it's been all over the paper."
He glanced at the latest Gazette edition on the table in front of her. Her name was listed as the author of the groundbreaking article. This simply served to make him even more confused.
"How did you-"
"I was a reporter long before I met you, George. I do still have other sources and ways of obtaining information."
"Speaking of..." said George slowly, sitting down across from her. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time." She seemed vaguely intrigued. "I don't know how else to say this so I'll speak plainly." He paused for a second and avoided her gaze at all costs. "I regret to inform you that-"
"You've gone and lost most of our money."
George gaped at her and she smiled faintly.
"How did you-"
"Like I said, George, I have my ways."
Suddenly something dawned on him. "So that's why you were ignoring me! Isn't it? Not because I didn't tell you about the fire!"
She nodded once.
Again George was puzzled. "But then why did you forgive me so easily?" He scrutinized her blank expression for a second. "Or have you?"
Ruby heaved herself up and took a spot beside him on the sofa. She took his hand again.
"I would be lying if I said I wasn't still a bit mad at you, after all,"- she gestured towards the grand hall,- "I'm accustomed to a certain level of luxury. It's all I've ever known. And now you've put that into jeopardy with your stock market nonsense." He was going to speak but she raised a hand to stop him. "Yes, I know that is how you obtained your fortune in the first place, but seriously, George, you should have called it quits ages ago. You had amassed far more wealth than I had inherited. I never thought you capable of such greed."
He removed his hand from hers. "It wasn't greed that made me keep playing the market."
"Then what?" she replied, apparently surprised that her assessment was incorrect.
"I was doing it for the children. I was trying to make sure their futures would be secure forever. I never wanted them to want for anything...ever." He hung his head and sighed. "And now I've gone and done just that."
She placed a hand to his face and he closed his eyes leaning into her touch. "I don't believe that for a second. And neither should you. You can still fix this. And you don't even need to go back to the stock markets."
"But how?"
"I seem to recall a certain someone going on and on about an idea he's had for the past ten years."
Incredulously, "The canned meat? Really, Ruby? You would be okay with investing most of our remaining fortune in that?"
"I have faith in you, George. You'll come through for your family. You have to." She smirked, "Or I'll leave you."
"Ruby."
"I'm just kidding of course."
They shared a look and then a few kisses. She yawned and then said she was tired so he helped her up from her seat and over to the elevator he had installed the first time Ruby had gotten pregnant and complained about all the stairs. Once she was encased within their sheets, he got dressed in his constables uniform and headed down to the station.
Though it was after nine, the precinct was bustling with activity, constables were escorting people all over the place and none of them were too happy judging by all the racket they were producing. George didn't see the inspector or detective amongst the masses so he checked the interview room. Sure enough, both of them were in there, one to play the good cop, the other the reverse. The man they were currently talking to was not an Italian and likely not part of The Black Hand. He was just some sweating, overweight toff by the looks of things. George flashed back to a provocative photograph and made the connection.
Brackenreid pulled out his black gloves and the man literally squealed and started spilling his guts. George had been to the abattoir enough times to be vividly reminded of a stuck pig. He hadn't eaten anything since awakening and was glad since the image made him sick to his stomach.
Things were more or less wrapped up there so he decided to head to the holding cell area, but before he got half way, he saw that same Italian from the restaurant being brought in by two constables. They were not touching him at all, most likely because the man had already acquired himself a lawyer.
The fat toff was led out by a constable at the same point that the Italian was brought into the the side hallway. He cowed at the sight and tried to make himself smaller, as if that was possible. The Italian didn't even spare one look at him.
George moved back to the observation window, keenly interested in the following proceedings.
The lawyer spoke first, "My client has nothing to say to you. And unless you provide some solid evidence against him, right this instant, we will be leaving."
Brackenreid slammed some papers onto the table. The lawyer took one look at them, became vaguely startled, gave his client the smallest of accusatory glances and then morphed into his slimy self again.
"So he's had several dealings with local businessmen, so what?"
"We have witnesses claiming these deals were acquired under extreme duress," said Murdoch. "Threatening of families, threatening of self, broken bones...you get the picture. We also know that he was involved in multiple murders."
"Murder? Now hold on a minute, that is quite the leap! Have you any proof of such claims?"
"Indeed we do," continued Murdoch, nodding. "Admittedly, they are not tied to these deals, but I assure you the claims are just as valid. We have in our custody two witnesses who have personally suffered at the hand of Mr. Mancini."
Mancini? thought George confusedly, I thought he was an old man?
Then it dawned on him. Oh, he must be the son.
Mancini's eyes flashed towards Murdoch's for a second.
"That's right, sunshine, we've got you."
Murdoch smiled and gestured to the documents on the table. "These, as well as many others, were stolen from you on the night of April 19th. Shortly after that, Toronto experienced a devastating fire. It is our belief that your client was responsible for this destruction, in an attempt to re-acquire them, knowing that they would do even more damage to himself if they ended up in the wrong hands. A man was killed as a result of this fire." Mancini smiled but said nothing. "Furthermore, there is another who had his wife unjustly taken from him. She was supposedly kidnapped five years ago at the behest of your client, in an effort to obtain the favours of a troublesome detective within The Pinkerton agency." Murdoch shared a look with Mancini who was still pleasantly smiling. George wanted to go in there and knock him upside the head, a sentiment the inspector seemed to be sharing, judging by his sour expression. "We both know that you have not held her hostage for all this time."
The lawyer spoke again. "I fail to see the evidence you claimed to have. So far all you have done is given me wild theories and conjectures. Unless your witnesses saw my client physically kill these people, I'm afraid that you have nothing on him. Therefore, we will be going."
He half stood up to leave and Brackenreid barked at him. "Sit down! You'll leave when I say so!"
George knew that this was going to go on for a long time, a very long time, so instead of standing through the tedious back and forth, he made his way to the holding cells.
There had been an overflow of suspects in the last half day and as a result, Jimmy and Curtis had been moved into the same cell and five other gentlemen had been crammed into the other. The former pair saw him enter and stood up as he approached.
"How are you two faring?"
"Better," they both said almost simultaneously. They shared an appreciative smile.
"I'm glad to hear it," he replied, smiling back.
"I can't tell you how thrilled I am that The Black Hand is finally getting their just desserts. Alex would be harassing the gentlemen next door to us, but well, I'm more refined than that."
He nodded once. After hesitating a second he said, "Listen Jimmy-"
"It's all right, George, I know what you're going to say." His friend grimaced. "I lost her a long time ago. Deep down I always knew that but just couldn't accept it."
Curtis put a hand to his shoulder and he put his on top of hers.
"But now that I know for sure, I really can move on with my life." He smirked. "Well, after I'm released from jail in ten years."
George blanched at that comment. "I don't think-"
"I've told them everything, George. Every low down thing I ever did for The Black Hand."
"Jimmy," he said cautiously, almost timidly, "did you ever-"
"No, I never killed anyone." He closed his eyes in a pained way. "But I came close a few times."
There was an awkward lull and then since George didn't know what to say to that, he simply left.
A few days later, when things had calmed down some, Murdoch got to talking to his boss, in an effort to try and clear the air between them. It took a lot of finagling but eventually Brackenreid came around to his way of thinking, that he could on occasion be a little harsh with his men and he would try to watch his tongue a bit more from now on. Once that was over and done with, they discussed the case some more.
"Do you know what the TNT was for, Murdoch?"
"Not definitively, sir, but I have my suspicions based on the little their men have said. I believe they were planning to use it for high impact bullets."
"Bullets?" said Brackenreid surprised.
"The TNT can be melted down and poured into them, in place of gunpowder. Upon contact, these bullets are devastating."
Brackenreid chuckled. "I wasn't aware that regular bullets needed to be improved upon."
"Well, sir, as you know, they were buying up property all over the city, trying to get a monopoly in order to rule it with an iron fist. Whoever they couldn't blackmail into signing over the property needed to be bought outright. Killing them would have done them no good because they needed the bill of sale for it to be official. So, they needed funding and the easiest way to procure a lot of money in a pinch is to steal it from armoured waggons. Those kind of bullets would have pierced right through the armour, making this task simpler still."
Brackenreid whistled lowly. "Bloody hell. That would have been a blood bath."
"Indeed, sir. Which is fortunate that they were stopped beforehand."
"Too bad we didn't manage to prevent them from starting the fire as well."
Murdoch gave him a look. "Actually, sir, I don't believe that they did, nor do I believe it would have been beneficial to have prevented the fire."
"What the bloody hell do you mean?" he asked incredulously.
"We've interviewed dozens of men, none of them claim to have anything to do with starting it." Brackenreid opened his mouth to interject but Murdoch just continued, "I believe them. At this point, they have no reason to lie. Besides, I never did find any evidence of foul play."
"So you think it was all just a big accident? That the fire chief was right all along?"
"Oh it was no accident, sir." Again, his boss tried to say something and again he didn't allow it. "I believe it was an act of divine providence, designed to help us uncover all of this and put a stop to The Black Hand's plans for Toronto."
"You don't really believe that do you, Murdoch?"
"Indeed I do, sir."
"Well then, God sure has a round about way of helping."
Murdoch smiled. "Yes, but the important point is that he is."
I can believe that again.
Until next time, my fellow Murdochians...