Thunderstorms

by Romantic Nerd

Thunderstorms come sweeping though one's life from time to time. William and Julia must cope with a series of crises that threaten everything. They will need to solve multiple crimes and save their own necks under highly stressful situations. Fortunately they are incredibly strong when they work together.

10. Chapter 10

Thunderstorms – Continued

Chapter 10: Monday, August 11, 1913

Having finally drifted off to sleep after struggling with her emotions in the wake of her argument with her husband, Julia was awakened by knocking at the bedroom door. Barely conscious, she recognized it as their children asking to come in. Instinctively she reached for William to see if he was awakened as well, the feeling the cold sheet next to her reminding her about the pain of last night. A sadness seemed to seep down into her.

"Come in," she called out. The door burst open and their three young children flowed into the room, immediately crawling up into the bed with her. She received a kiss and a hug from each child before they settled into a cuddly mass, five-year old Chelsea on Julia's left, seven-year old Katie on her right, and eight-year old William Jr. next to Katie, propped up with an elbow on his Daddy's pillow.

"Are Daddy and you still fighting?" Katie asked, aware that this commonly explained his absence from this bed, that or he had to go to work early, or he had never made it home from work the night before.

Her mother attempted to comfort her, stroking her blond locks and said, "Yes, I'm afraid we are. He's down on the couch."

William Jr. rolled over onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head. "I don't like it when you and Dad fight," he stated.

Katie next to him said, "Me too."

Julia sighed and added, "Me three."

Little Chelsea, the last in line, rose up on her elbow to look at the others and excitedly claimed, "Me four!"

Julia squeezed her in a hug and said, "You are so smart. How old are you?"

"Five," the child proudly answered, holding up her hand to display all five extended fingers.

Julia added, "I think that if your Daddy were here he would say he doesn't like it when we fight either."

"If you don't like fighting, why do you do it," Katie asked.

Thinking about it for a moment before she responded, Julia shifted her position to sit up, leaning her back against the bed's headboard. The children joined her. "I'll bet you don't like fighting with your brother or sister, but you still do, right?" All three children nodded. "Well, it's kind of like that for your Daddy and me too. If you don't talk out your disagreements … and all relationships have disagreements, then whatever is bothering you only gets worse … until it kinds of explodes. So it's better to argue about problems than to pretend they aren't there," their mother explained. Julia knew this first-hand, as her mother and father tended not to fight, to hide their negative feelings from each other. She wasn't sure she ever actually saw them fight, but she knew they were unhappy, lonely really, even though the other one was always right there, at least until her mother died when she was twelve.

Julia took a deep breath and then pulled the children close for another hug, "Mmm, I love you so much," she said before she released the tension. "Now, I think your Daddy could use some hugs and kisses and to be told you love him too, hmm," she said, encouraging them to continue on their parent-greeting rounds.

Downstairs, Eloise had come in, quickly noticing the detective sleeping on the couch. She wasn't surprised, having witnessed much of the drama yesterday evening, but she felt a gloominess capture her heart. She had truly come to care deeply for this family, and she so hated to see them suffer. Their mother, his wife, had only recently been able to return home. With a sigh she headed into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Optimistically she told herself, "They'll work it out. They always do."

William was uncharacteristically sound asleep when the children came to him, having gotten up at four AM the day before, and then argued and tossed and turned nearly all night. Besides his thoughts about how unloved and misunderstood he felt, how angry he was, and even some of regret, he suffered with interminable insomnia once his mind focused on the case – Becoming convinced that a dirigible would fly over their house and drop a bomb, killing his family upstairs. The children were on top of him before he awoke.

"Good morning Daddy, Chelsea's little voice said in his ear as she burrowed in closer, lying next to him on the couch. Only a second later, William Jr. rolled down onto him from the back of the couch and Katie planted herself squarely on top of his chest.

"We love you Daddy," Katie said, trying to find a way to hug him even though the tight sheet wouldn't allow her arms access.

William worked his arms free from the sheet and wrapped them around Chelsea on one side and William Jr. on the other. He pulled them into a strong hug and said, "And I love you too – so much."

William Jr. said, "You know Dad, I think I'm getting too old for all this hugging…"

"Perhaps," his father replied.

"But not too old for this!" he exclaimed as he pulled William's pillow out from under his head and dashed off the couch.

"Me too," yelled Katie as she worked to pull at, and bundle up, the sheet on top of him.

"No you don't!" her father said as he scooped her up into a bout of rambunctious tickling. She screamed with glee, peppering it with lively giggles.

Katie handed off the sheet to Chelsea who bolted for the kitchen, calling out triumphantly, "I have your sheet Daddy!"

Eloise heard the ruckus as the children and their father began to roughhouse, the warm, playful sounds bringing a contagious smile to her face. The littlest, Chelsea ran past her to hide under the kitchen table. She clutched a curled up sheet in her arms and whispered, "Don't tell Daddy I'm here, alright?" Eloise nodded and pretended to be completely focused on cooking.

William charged into the kitchen, Katie tucked under his arm, arms and legs dangling and flopping about as he ran. He quickly spotted Chelsea under the table, causing her to release a high-pitched scream and bolt for the door, only to be scooped up and captured. Now holding two little girls, William set off to find his son – to regain the pillow. Chelsea screamed a little too close to his ear. "Sweetie, you're going to break my eardrum," he complained.

The child reached up and pulled at his ear. "You have a drum in there, Daddy?" she asked. Both William and Eloise burst into laughter. He placed both girls down at the foot of the stairs and said, "Now, you've been captured. Time to go up and brush your teeth."

"O.K. Daddy," Katie said, taking her little sister's hand. Briefly he watched them start up the stairs, dragging the sheet behind them.

William grumbled, loud enough for his son to likely hear, "Now, where is that son of mine." Taking hold of the downstairs bathroom doorknob, William knew he'd found his quarry as the doorknob would not turn as easily as it should. William Jr. was holding it on the other side of the door. Adding more force to the task, William turned and pulled hard enough on the doorknob to drag the young boy, who was riding the wave of the swaying door, out into the hallway. The child was swept up onto his father's shoulder to be carried with a fireman's-hold up the stairs.

Upstairs, Julia had gotten fairly far along on getting dressed for work, needing her corset and her stockings next. She had basked in the lovely, joyful sounds of her children playing with their Daddy. She heard his voice in the hall outside their bedroom, the special sound of it playing the one perfect note that seemed to ignite her soul. She didn't think it was possible to love someone more. She stood at their bedroom window, looking over the backyard. Her eyes found the spot in the grass where they had made love so passionately under the stars. A sigh escaped her lips as she remembered the argument.

William entered and closed the door behind him. Having not completely changed gears yet, he slowed, breathing heavily from the hearty play. She stood with her back to him, softly silhouetted by the light from the window. She didn't turn around; though he was sure she had heard him come in. He noticed that she looked beautiful. She waited, letting him set the mood.

He pulled his pajama top off over his head, thinking he had to hurry a bit. He said, "I need to talk to you about the case – catch you up on what happened yesterday."

She turned to face him, letting her back rest up against the wall and replied, "Yes, of course William … the case, or cases, in this case," giving in to a giggle at her own joke. Her smile settled as she recognized from the look on his face that her humor served only as a mere dalliance to him.

He went into the bathroom, tackling the typical morning undertakings of brushing his teeth and shaving. Through the toothbrush he said, loudly enough that she could hear from the other room – She had started putting on her stockings, "The Inspector's house was likely bombed … from a dirigible that flew overhead…"

"Oh my," she said, authentically startled by his statement. After a pause she asked, "Do you think they would want to …"

Mouth clear of toothpaste now, he stood up taller at the sink and finished for thought for her, "Yes, I think they might have other targets in mind as well … I worried about it all night, being alerted to every sound, thinking that we were in danger here." William turned for a moment, catching a glimpse of her extending her long leg, toes pointed, her rounded calf muscle taught, to be sheathed in her stocking. His body reacted, his breath seemingly stolen, his heart hurried, his groin heating up and rising. An intrusive image of Harry walking up behind her last night reminded him that he was angry at her; he turned back to the sink. Spreading shaving cream on his face, he was aware that she had not responded to his statement. Her silence suggested that the thought had roused fear in her. He moved on, "And I spotted Connor at the church … He saw me, recognized me. He ran and he got away. But I did get another clue – He arrived here from Ireland on a boat about four years ago… Maybe that will get us somewhere."

When he emerged from the bathroom, he saw that Julia had been wrestling to put on her corset by herself, a sure sign that they were not yet back to normal. She asked for his help. Sexual tension kept at bay, he performed the task. He had finished dressing, albeit for his tie, before her. Using her vanity mirror, standing behind her to secure the tie into place, he caught her eye. Their connection clicked for a moment, before he remembered he was angry and he turned away. He sighed and said, "I want to make sure the children don't see the newspaper. I think the whole bomb-loaded dirigible thing would frighten them." With that he headed downstairs.

"It frightens me," she thought.

As the family ate breakfast, a new and creative treat Eloise had prepared – Reuben sandwiches, there was little talking. It was not quite a 'walking-on-egg-shells' kind of tension, but no one could think of something to talk about other than the fact that William and Julia were still arguing. Thus all of the conversation focused on the newly discovered food.

The phone rang and Claire-Marie came to get the detective. When he returned he said to Julia, "A body has been found… The scene is said to be quite … gruesome."

"My bag is at the morgue," she replied.

"My murder-bag as well. We can stop by the station on the way," he suggested. He continued, "It is a woman … Perhaps unrelated to the other killings," he thought out loud.

"Perhaps," she answered.

Taking a deep breath, implying there was something else on his mind, William asked, "Julia, if, as you said, the murderer of Mr. Lynch would have had to put the clothes on the body after planting the poison knife-blade in his body…" She nodded 'yes,' encouraging him to go on. "Well, then would he not have possibly gotten his fingermarks on the buttons?" William finished, sounding excited and bright.

"Well yes, William. He might have," she agreed, "But, I believe all of the clothing has already been incinerated," she said, taking another bite.

He sighed, then fell into thought. "I would have to remove the excess soot somehow, but it could act to highlight the print if I can remove the soot from the rest of the surface and leave it on the fingermark. Then I might be able to use some sort of carbon-based fluorescent chemical that would stick to the carbon in the soot," his mind rushed to consider. "Julia, do you think that, if I could remove the soot not stuck to the fingermark … and then use a fluorescent carbon-based agent …" he wondered.

She nodded, swallowing her food, "Yes, yes it's possible. Zinc carbonate I think might do it!" she said excitedly.

"Good," he said.

Chelsea happily said, "Mommy and Daddy aren't fighting anymore."

Both parents looked at each other, regret on their faces. William blew out some air, trying to calm himself and replied, "No sweetie, your Mommy and I still haven't worked out this whole mess with your grandfather yet."

William Jr. asked, "But you are talking… you are not fighting … Everything seems fine."

Julia reached over and placed her hand on his arm and said, "Your father and I don't really ever fight about work, son. We might disagree about some theory or another for a crime, but we don't fight about such things." She took her hand back and sipped some coffee. Knowing they needed more of an explanation she said, "Relationships, really important ones, like being married, they are complicated. It's different than just working with someone."

In the carriage, William and Julia sat mostly in silence as they rode to the scene. William sighed. He had hoped that they would not have to deal with each other much at work today, making their strained relations less detectable by others. Further, he found it much more difficult to remain professional with her while feeling angry. Worse yet, having to interact with each other when they were trying to hold their unresolved problems at bay seemed to cause the problems to fester underneath the façade.

Their carriage pulled up to what appeared to be an abandoned house. No one was around. William thought to himself, "Odd. I wonder who called in the body?" He stepped out of the carriage first and reached in to get his murder-bag. Normally he would hold a hand out to assist Julia as she stepped out of the carriage, but he simply turned and walked away, leaving Julia to sigh before grasping the side of the carriage instead and dismounting. She rolled her eyes at the sight of the back of him and reached in for her bag. This was going to be tough.

The front door was open. They followed a trail of blood, lots of blood, on the floor to an upstairs room. The door was ajar. Peering through it, William guessed it might be a library as he saw bookshelves along the wall. He gave Julia a look, telling her to stay back, than he softly pushed against the door, slowly swinging it open. The scene was shockingly disturbing. Blood was everywhere. The body of a naked woman, at least she was probably naked, the body was so covered in blood that it was actually hard to be certain, laid belly up on a table in the center of the room. William took a step, crossing the threshold.

Julia reached out, blocking his chest with an arm. "Wait William," her voice whispered a warning. "Something is not right," she said. She offered an explanation, "There is way too much blood." William stepped back to stand next to her. She elaborated, "Easily twice as much blood than is in the human body. I think the scene has been staged."

William took a deep breath. In light of recent events, it was certainly a possibility. "A set-up," he added in a whisper. William discerningly studied the scene, looking with a more skeptical eye, honing in on anything that could signal potential danger. He spied a wire across the floor, low, near the ground. It ran from side wall to side wall across the room, just barely coming into contact with the legs of the table on which the body rested. He pointed the tripwire out to Julia. Then he removed one of his shoes. Protectively guiding her to stand behind him, he then tossed his shoe at the wire.

Gunfire spewed across the room. It sounded like rounds and rounds of gunfire. Wood splinters sprayed everywhere. The sound was nearly deafening. Instincts took over and William dove on top of Julia, throwing both of them to the ground. He stayed covering her, she on her stomach under him. He had shielded her, tucking her head under his shoulder and cradling the back of her head with his hand. It was now silent, with only the smell of the gunpowder in the air and the painful ringing in their ears to hint at the danger.

Julia didn't remember how she got to the floor. Her knee throbbed, having likely been the first part of her anatomy to break her fall …or theirs really – as William was on top of her.

William, still on high alert, made no effort at all to move. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

"Yes, William. I'm fine," she quietly answered. So many thoughts flew through her mind. They could have been killed. Their children would have been orphaned. And the man she loved was safe, his body pressed into hers, caringly sheltering her from the storm.

George flew into the hallway. "Sir, doctor," he said, clearly startled with his eyes whipping from here to there searching for the men with all those guns.

William said calmly, "It's alright George. It was a booby-trap. There is no one else here." William lifted himself off of Julia and offered her a hand to help her stand.

She felt the difference in his attitude, accepting his help, but the memory of their being in the midst of an argument registered in her brain, leading her to say, in a cold, professional voice, "Thank you detective."

William chose not to respond at all to her, noticing that George noticed that something was not right with the usually amorous couple. Yes, they often used professional terms to refer to each other, but they usually did so with flirtation floating close to the surface.

"Do you think it is safe now sir?" George asked, suspiciously eying the body, the room, the blood, and the splintered, hole-filled walls.

"Probably," William responded, "But staying alert is recommended." The detective was the first one to enter the room. The constable followed. Once the detective gave the all-clear, the coroner joined them.

The body was beaten and slashed beyond recognition, the facial bones completely collapsed in and mingling with the brain tissue. The hands had been removed. Julia said, "The addition of … an enormous amount of blood to the scene makes it difficult right now to make a good guess as to the cause of death. The brutal beating could have killed her, obviously, but she could also have already been dead before the body was battered." Julia stepped back and seemed to examine the body as a whole. She said, "She looks familiar to me in some way – Her frizzy red hair, and her small, frail frame. Do you recognize her?"

The detective took a deep breath and took in the features she had mentioned, then answered, "No, nothing specific enough that I can chase it down… But there's a good chance we've met her; possibly even arrested and charged her."

Julia looked sideways at him and asked, "Oh, why is that?"

"The killer removed her hands – He probably didn't want us to be able to use fingermarks to identify her," he answered.

"Of course," Julia agreed.

William had listened intently to her, but now left her to continue her work. He inspected the walls, trying to ascertain the mechanism that was set up to deliver such a massive barrage of bullets at the intended victim, or victims. He had uncomfortably already figured that the killer meant to kill him, or Julia, or both of them. Each side of the room was fitted with a row of nine guns. They were mounted on a long board and hidden behind a cover that was painted to appear to be books. Through the row of triggers, there was a long, flat metal rod that flipped over when the tripwire tightened, pulling the triggers and initiating the rounds of fire. The guns themselves appeared to have a spring that worked to re-cock them between each shot, allowing each gun to fire repeatedly for six times. In a matter of seconds, 108 bullets had blown across the room at just the right height to kill a person who was about average height. "Julia could still be the intended target, or one of them, as she was taller than most women" he thought.

Julia lifted her head to see that William had tilted his head to the side in that way he does when he sees things in his mind. "He's got something," she thought. "What is it Wi… detective?" she asked, choosing not to use his given name due to the current state of their relationship.

"The plans of the dirigible … I believe these guns were designed to be placed under the bottom of the dirigible, arming it. I think that this crime is linked to the others," he answered. He continued, "And I think that we might be on the target list as well."

Julia stood up, urgency in her stance, and said, "The children … Do you think they are safe?"

The detective answered, "I'll have an armed constable placed at our door."

"Yes," she said, the shock wearing off and the horror of the situation beginning to sink in.

The detective instructed George to find a phone and have an armed constable placed at their door immediately. He also told him to have someone from the stationhouse call his home and inform the housekeeper and the nanny that a constable was coming, for them to keep the children inside.

Before Julia headed back to the morgue with the body, they stood together for an uncomfortable pause. William battled between wanting to comfort her and holding steadfast to his anger at her. In the end he chose for neither, sticking to their professional roles. Somewhat aloofly he said, "Please let me know if you find anything significant doctor." He regretted his choice, for afterwards she stood before him, mouth opened, looking as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She'd managed to nod and then turn and go. Rubbing his forehead as he returned to George, conflicting emotions raged within him. He re-focused on his work with a sigh. He wanted the entire gun-firing mechanism brought back to the station. He would look for fingermarks and other clues from there. After checking the area for witnesses, and finding none, the detective and George headed back to the stationhouse.

Once William arrived he was called into the Inspector's office to meet the new detective in training, Detective Dorian Gulliver. He was a handsome young man, tall with red hair. He spoke with a strange accent; William figured it was due to the part of the USA he came from. The three men went to William's office and he used the blackboard to fill Detective Gulliver in on the crimes and what they knew so far. The Inspector also wanted to hear the recap: Flate was found dead first. He died as a result of an accident during a failed experiment testing a weapon on a small boat. He was an inventor who worked for the Aasen Corporation of America. Next, there was a man killed by a shot to the head, a Mr. Lynch. This man's body had been rigged with a poison intended to kill the coroner who performed the post-mortem, and sadly, Dr. Reynolds died as a result. Both Flate and Lynch had cotton fibers on their clothing and black ink on the bottoms of their shoes. Some plans for various weapons technologies were found in Flate's room, some of which match with two other recent crimes, the bombing of the Inspector's house and now the gunfire-trap that he and Dr. Ogden had just survived. This last crime involved the body of a woman who was so badly beaten they would likely not be able to identify her, but Dr. Ogden was performing the post-mortem now, and she was known to get phenomenal results. Finally, there is man who runs an illegal weapons business, with the first name of Connor, who may have abducted an American spy named Jane, and may be linked to the others by having black ink on the bottom of his shoes as well. He also may have visited a woman in prison a week or so ago.

Detective Murdoch asked Constable Clark how he had faired with searching the records of boats arriving from Ireland four years ago, for anyone with a first name of 'Connor.' The list of names was growing to be quite large as it seems that people, be they male or female, adult or child, commonly signed using only a first initial. There were hundreds of 'C's, and if they wanted to look into boats arriving 3 years ago or five years ago, it would triple the size of the list. Murdoch asked him to cross-reference their list from the boats with the list of people visiting women in the Don Jail over the past month. He also asked the constable to have someone retrieve the remains of what was collected and incinerated after the removal of the poisons from Mr. Lynch, informing him he was particularly interested in finding any of the man's buttons. He told him to have it delivered to the morgue to be sifted.

Murdoch explained to Gulliver that there was a shortage of constables to help with cases because many of them were standing guard, watching various neighborhoods for the approach of a dirigible, planning to warn people of the danger should the craft be sighted. Further, one man was stationed at Murdoch's house to protect his children now that an attempt had been made on his life this morning. He suggested that they go to look for Lynch's girlfriend, who reportedly worked in a restaurant near Victoria Park, themselves. He was hoping to get back quickly and work on checking for evidence on the gun-firing apparatus used for trap this morning's. The constables were still collecting it from the scene, so it seemed like a good time to do some fieldwork.

On the ride to Victoria Park, the two men got to know each other, but of course, as one of them was Detective Murdoch, they would mostly do this through discussing the case, or cases, he still was not certain. Detective Gulliver asked Murdoch if he had sent constables out to ask businesses that supply materials needed to make a bomb, like nitrogen-based compounds, who they are supplying. Murdoch thought it was a good idea and decided to put it on the over-full constable to-do list. The conversation died down and each man fell into their own thoughts. William's mind drifted to his argument with Julia. He saw her, heard her in his mind's eye – Her voice sharp with exasperation, demanding, "I can't make a mistake, huh William. I have to be perfect or I don't love you. Is that how it is? Well, that's too much pressure." He sighed, a low, deep, despair-soaked sigh.

Gulliver noticed Murdoch fiddling with his wedding ring. He asked, "Are you married detective," with eyes fixed on the ring.

William turned to meet Gulliver's eyes briefly, trying to hide his annoyance at the question, he replied, "Yes." Thinking he didn't want to talk about it, he asked, "And you?"

"Oh no. No sir, I'm not married. Don't think I ever will be… I prefer to be free to get to know as many girls as I would like. Nope, I don't want to be trapped… Um, not to say that you are trapped sir," the young detective responded.

"Great," William thought, "A real ladies man."

As they sat in silence for the next few moments before the carriage pulled up at the first restaurant they planned to try, Detective Gulliver thought, "But you surely are … trapped Detective Murdoch, not just a wife, but kids too. What a living hell that must be." (Murdoch wouldn't agree, but right now it would have been harder to see the bright side). They exited the carriage and began their search for Lynch's girlfriend.

Back at the stationhouse, after finding that William was not in his office, Julia stopped in to talk with the Inspector. She told him of her inkling that the dead victim on her morgue slab was none other than Felicity Dawes. She had needed to remind the Inspector that she was the woman Detective Murdoch most suspected of killing her fiancée with a pitchfork so many years earlier. The Inspector remembered the case and, with the help of Constable Crabtree, they determined that her fiancé at the time had been a man named Carl Rodriguez, and that the actual killer had been Isabel Webster. The Inspector had Crabtree start to search for the whereabouts of Dawes and Rodriguez. Julia thought that the trail would run dry quickly as she remembered that the couple had planned to move to Rodriguez's home country, Spain she thought. He also asked for Crabtree to determine whether or not Isabel Webster had been hung, and if not, then to find her current location.

As Julia turned to go, the Inspector said, "Oh, and doctor, I wanted to thank you again for your advice about the hotel."

Julia ducked her head and a puzzled look grew on her face, "Well of course Inspector, but whatever for?" she asked.

Now it was the Inspector who looked confused. "Didn't your husband tell you?" he wondered. Julia shook her head 'no.' "Oh … Well perhaps you didn't know then … That it was thanks to your advice about a romantic 'lunch," he said with a wink, "That Margaret and I are still alive."

Looking somewhat dazed, surprised that William hadn't told her about this, she replied, "Oh I see. Well then I'm certainly glad you thought it was a good idea."

It was the Inspector who wondered out loud, "I wonder why Murdoch didn't tell you?"

Of course, Julia knew the answer. William had come home to find she had invited Harry into their home, and then of course, they'd had the huge fight. She sighed, "I guess he had a lot on his mind," she answered, realizing as she heard herself that it revealed more of the strain she felt than she had hoped.

The Inspector's look betrayed that he had seen it too. He said, "Doctor, is everything alright … with you two?"

"Yes of course," Julia denied. "It's just that there are so many things coming at us from all sides, and we haven't really had a chance to …"

"Yes. I see. With Margaret and me too," he changed the subject.

"Oh my, I've been so distracted by the … attack on us this morning and everything, I forgot to ask. How is Margaret fairing?"

The Inspector walked over and poured himself a scotch. He offered her one. Oh how she wanted to take him up on his offer, but decided it would be for the best for her to decline. She had quite a bit of work still to complete on the post-mortem. He took a seat at his desk and said, "Margaret's a tough old bird... Really an amazing woman. We'll be alright. Thanks for asking."

Julia entertained telling him that they could stay in their guest suite. (William had designed a quarters for a live-in maid that now served as a guest suite because they decided to hire Eloise, who lived in her own home, instead). She had learned her lesson, however. She would consult with William before extending the offer. "You are very welcome Inspector," she said and then she took her leave.

Having had no luck finding Lynch's girlfriend, the two detectives rode back to the station with Murdoch using the time to inform Gulliver of as many pertinent facts to the case as possible. Once back at the station, the Inspector filled them in on Dr. Ogden's suspicions that the victim found this morning was Felicity Dawes.

Murdoch thought about the possibilities. He agreed the frizzy, red hair on the victim did appear to be to be similar to that of Miss Dawes, and her small, frail build as well. "And we would have her fingermarks on file, explaining why the killer cut off her hands," he said. It certainly seems possible. "Didn't Miss Dawes' caretaker confess to the murder?" he asked.

"Yes," the Inspector said. "A Miss Isabel Webster, but Crabtree found that she is still in prison at the Don Jail, serving a life sentence," he added.

William's mind flashed through some of the connections between the cases, imagining finding the black footprints in the visiting area of the Don Jail. "Perhaps Connor was visiting Miss Webster?" he thought. "Well, that might provide a connection between the illegal weapons business and this man Connor," he said, wrinkling his face in doubt, "Although it is a weak one." Being reminded of Connor, he asked, "Has Mr. Clegg been around. I would have thought he'd be all over me about trying to find his spy, Jane?"

"Not hide or hair of him," the Inspector replied.

"Hmm," William thought aloud. "Well, let's see if the constables find anything on Miss Dawes' whereabouts," he said. Then he went to his office to share some of his evidence-gathering techniques with the new detective in training as he examined the gun-firing apparatus. They came up empty again, concluding the murderer was a professional who knew how to avoid leaving evidence.

After their long and exciting day, Julia returned home before William. She played with the children in the downstairs playroom as time for dinner neared. Upon arriving home, William sent the constable guarding their house away, asking him to send the next constable at ten o'clock. The detective would keep an ear out until then. Once he closed the door he heard the children downstairs call out "Daddy!"– Then run upstairs to greet him. Julia followed, stopping to lean her shoulder up against the foyer wall as she watched the loving scene. There were hugs and kisses and some excited stories about playing with the neighbors, even though Claire-Marie made them play inside. William Jr. asked his father if they could build a tree-house. William thought it was a great idea. He looked up at Julia, prompting the children to turn and look at her as well.

"Are you still in a fight with Mommy?" Katie asked looking back at her father.

William lowered his gaze to meet the hopeful child, with the corner of his mouth wrinkled-up, offering an apology, he said, "Yes, we still are."

Julia crossed her arms in front of her and turned to leave the room, disappointed. William sighed.

Over dinner, William told the children he wanted to talk with their Mommy – to try to work things out. He asked if they could entertain themselves for a while, letting their parents have some time to talk. He teasingly suggested that William Jr. could read Cinderella to his little sisters, riling moaning and complaining from the boy, and sending all others into laughter. Julia suggested they choose another story from the books that were easier to read; one they hadn't read for a while. As the children read and played in the living-room, their mother and father sat together on the bench on the porch, talking. The children knew they could peek out the front window and see their parents, and they did so every so often while the adults talked.

Julia had very much wanted a glass of wine – It had been a stressful day, and this talk they were about to have promised to be challenging as well. She decided to abstain, as at least part of the problem was Harry's drinking. They sat as far apart on the bench as possible, William resting an elbow on the arm on one side of the bench, Julia sitting sideways, arm resting on the back of the bench, with her knees pulled up sideways in front of her and her back pressed against the other arm of the bench. She absolutely refused to speak first, thus she sat, waiting.

William rubbed his forehead, eyes fixed forward on the porch floor, and he began, "When you comforted William Jr., when he was crying in your arms the night you returned home…" William paused, wanting reassurance that she was with him.

"Yes," she said. The memory was very potent.

"You were able to help him identify his feelings," he continued.

"Yes," she agreed.

"As a boy, I didn't have that… At least not after my mother died… I think, when she was alive, she was able to help me in a similar way to … understand my emotions. I guess that getting that from her, well it could have served as a kind of foundation … But …" William paused and took a deep breath, "Well, you already know, I can't talk very well about my feelings."

Julia nodded, thinking, "To say the very least."

He sensed her judgment and said, "It's not that a I am intentionally keeping them from you – Not like I am completely aware of them but choose to hide them away – to keep them secret on purpose," he tried to explain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod. He went on, "It feels that they are hidden from me…" He turned slightly, his sideways glance quickly catching her eye. She detected the slightest smile on his face, perhaps he was happy with the feeling of being connected to her once again.

William sighed, took a deep breath, pushed himself to dig deeper, to risk exposing himself. His fingers found his brow once again; he tried to rub away the stress. His voice sounded far off when he said, "I am lost … have gotten somehow lost, in my emotions right now…" He sighed again; this next part was the hardest. He said, "I could use help finding my way out." Still, Julia just waited. Finally, he asked, "Do you think you could help?"

"Yes, yes I do," she answered slowly. Julia thought for a moment, calling up her psychiatry training. She asked him, "Can you identify any of the feelings you are experiencing William?" She saw him try.

He changed the focus of his eyes, still aimed at the floor, but with wider pupils, searching for clues in the dark, looking inside. "I feel alone … and a little scared," he said.

"And angry?" Julia asked.

"Yes, a little," he replied.

Back in the living-room, Katie asked William Jr. to wait. He stopped reading and watched as she cautiously snuck up to the living-room window and slowly, minimally, pushed an edge of the curtain aside.

"Are they kissing?" William Jr. asked.

"No," she answered sadly, "Still just talking." She returned to sit next to Chelsea and her big brother continued on reading from the book.

Julia shifted her position on the bench, pulling her legs up higher onto it. Her voice confidently and warmly explained, "William, emotions are accompanied by thoughts. And you have an excellent memory. If you can remember your thoughts, well then we can use them to get to the emotions." She waited for a moment.

William tried to find a thought, but it seemed all he had in his head was a swirly mess. With confusion, and possibly some defeat in his voice, he said, "But … I don't have any thoughts."

Julia responded, "That is because you feel like you are under a microscope right now. And you have your defenses up."

Seeing no reason to deny it, he wrinkled up a corner of his mouth and agreed, "Yes, I suppose that's true."

Julia's heart soared, filling with the warm, glowing feeling that brought her such delight. She so loved this man. The slightest gasp escaped from her chest as the strong reaction seemed to envelope her, them.

Once again, his eyes drifted to the side to find her as a smile grew on his face, "See, you can do it. You do know what I'm feeling," he said.

Julia ducked her chin down a little, trying to hold his eye, and replied, "Sometimes … possibly, but what we really need to do is more to see if you can rememberthe thoughts that you had when your emotions were not so controlled, like they are right now." Still holding her eye, turning his shoulders towards her, he nodded. She started, "What were you thinking when you slammed the door and walked down the path?"

A glimpse of discomfort, perhaps even fear, passed over his face; He quickly looked away, finding the floor again. Flashes of memory sparked through him – William Jr.'s shocked, hurt face accusing him as he said, "But Dad, we really liked him?"; Seeing Harry walk up behind Julia, already in his house, his house; Slamming the door, surprised by the loudness of the 'bang' and thinking, "Who does she Goddamn think she is!" Then remembering slamming the gate behind him as well, "Of course, Julia's always right – she's always the one who's right!… And now it's me who looks unreasonable!" running through his mind, fists curled, jaw clenched. For the briefest second he tried to imagine saying these things to her. Every cell in his body recoiled. He sighed deeply and said, "Julia, I was very angry … I don't think I want to find those thoughts."

"He probably doubts he could say them to me without hurting me," she figured. "William," she encouraged, "I know that when someone is angry, they think things that … can be very severe, extreme. And it's important to understand that such thoughts are temporary – they do not imply that that is how a person feels … permanently. They are reactions, simply normal reactions – usually to being … to feeling, hurt." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps it would be better to start with an emotion that may be more acceptable to him than his anger; It was me who said 'angry anyway," she thought. "He said earlier that he felt 'alone' and 'scared.' …One of those then – alone," she strategized. After taking a moment to remember how it felt to feel alone, she asked, the idea seeming to pop up from somewhere deep inside of her, "Did you ever cry William… when you were out walking… alone?"

Somewhat reluctant to answer, as crying is unmanly and weak, he coached himself that honesty always works best in these heart-to-heart talks with Julia. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"I think this will work!" she thought, "We'll need to find a way to specifically trigger a memory …connect it to something else he will remember." She asked him, "Can you remember where you were at the time … The park, King Street?" Giving him time to search, she paused.

He remembered it clearly. The rain had already drenched him through and through. Soaked, tired, hungry, and on the verge of sobbing, the taste of his tears dampened by the rainwater on his face, he walked up the hill of the path in the park, and came upon the place where they had shared their first kiss. Memories of that time, truly one of the best in his life, flowed through his mind, providing the fire that, deep within him, mixed with the painful emotions that pushed his current tears, surrounding him in a steaming cloud of confusion and turmoil. He fell to his knees, trying with all his might to hold his breath, knowing that upon breathing out, air would flow over the glowing coals in his heart, raising the heat, increasing the pain.

She could tell when he had found the memory – he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Stay with it William," she advised.

Troubled by the emotions he felt, sensing he would get choked up, he struggled with the conflict of wanting to fix the problem and wanting to avoid the aversion he felt bubbling up from deep inside of himself.

Julia pushed him to stay with the thought more than the emotion, she asked, "Where were you?"

With the raggedy shaking of the deep breath he took, she knew he was feeling pain. "I was in the park," William said, "on the path near where we had our picnic, with the absinthe."

"What were you thinking?" she pressed, leaning forward, intrigued and focused on the hunt.

William's forehead wrinkled in pain as he held his breath trying to avoid feeling it. He quickly reached up to his cheek, wiping away a tear. He remembered thinking, "She wouldn't have done that if she loved me; She can't love me; she never could have loved me." He glanced over at her, then away again before he said it out loud, with his voice strained, "I thought, "She wouldn't have done that if she loved me;she can't love me, she never could have loved me." He gave in to the need to breath, shakily sucking in air. Determined to get it out, he pushed on, "It felt like it had all been a mirage; that I had somehow tricked myself into believing it – a fool to believe I had ever been loved… And now I saw it, saw the truth – That I was alone; that I would always be completely alone." His crying intensified as he remembered what he had thought, what he had felt, reigniting the feelings within him once more.

"You felt unloved and unlovable," Julia's tender voice asked, prompting William to quietly tremble as his crying fell into soft sobs. He nodded and then leaned forward, crossing his arms in an effort to comfort himself with a hug.

Her training told her not to go to him, not to take him in her arms, not to kiss away his tears, not to hold him tight and rock with him. She stiffened slightly as she forced herself to stay back.

Back in the living-room, William Jr. finished the book he was reading to his sisters. This time it was he who went to the window to see if their parents were better yet. "Still not kissing," he whispered the report. He sighed and carefully returned the curtain to its place. He turned to them, his face showing worry and doubt like his father's does, by wrinkling at one side of the mouth. He quietly said, "It looks like Dad is crying." The little girls looked at each other as concern grew.

"Do you think Mommy said something bad to him?" Chelsea asked.

"Maybe," William Jr. replied. "I don't really know," he concluded. He took a deep breath and looked around. "What do you want to do now?" he asked.

Julia moved an inch closer to him, allowing her to speak even more softly when she said, "This is really important William … Do you remember any other time in your life that you felt this way?" Now she had to wait.

He went through the motions of running things through his mind, but he already knew the answer. Perhaps he was looking for something else to say that would not be as … devastating. As he opened his mouth to share the discovery with her, he was surprised to feel a glimmer of hope, a sort of wonder and awe, as if he'd found something very important. He sat up straighter to begin, "Yes. When I ran away, right after my mother's funeral, when my Dad told us …" A thought pumped through his mind, "Oh my God it hurt so much…" William thought as the ache, the agony, of the memory took hold of him, pulled him down to curl lower in his seat. He forced himself to breath, the sound of his tattered, desperate breath tugging strongly at Julia's heart strings, drawing a tear to her eye. He pushed to continue, "He said he was leaving … He was sending us away…" William wiped away more tears with the back of his hand and went on, "I ended up down by the lakeside where I'd found my mother's body. I thought, "I will never be loved again, I've lost everything…a motherless child, completely alone." I remember that I ran into the water and dropped to my knees in the exact spot, and I cried harder than I'd ever cried in my life. After a time, the sadness withdrew. My thoughts turned to my father. I thought, "He never loved me – just throwing me away. There must be something wrong with me – nothing but trash – a child only a mother could love'…" he said, seeming to crumple, "And now she was gone …"

Julia stayed with him, knowing he would need to cry a while; she would be there, strong and alert to watch over him at his weakest moment. Gradually the emotions passed, the tears stopped. William took a big breath, the shakiness was gone. He felt stronger, better.

Julia slid over to sit next to him now on the bench. "Having your father here, with the children, feeling betrayed by my having let him in," she tenderly explained, "all of those things were exasperated by the fact that I had been in prison, possibly for years, and your identification with William Jr., now the same age you were when your mother died … and this convergence of factors triggered your memories of that time … that time in your life that you felt similarly, unloved and unlovable … alone." She gave in to her urge to touch him, wiping his cheek, drying a tear. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, loved him so much that it hurt, but the words would ring untrue until he felt it himself.

He saw the tears in her eyes, showing him the way back to her. "She does know me. She does care about me… She does love me," he realized, remembered, saw clearly, with joy. He threw his arms around her, hugged her as if the world were collapsing around them. She kissed his ear, held him with all her might. Julia took a deep breath, the sound registering in his ear. They were going to be alright.

Katie looked out the window again. She turned to her brother and sister excitedly. "They are hugging!" she exclaimed in a whisper. They ran to the window wanting to see the good news for themselves.

"Yes!" William Jr. happily said. The children embraced and soundlessly hopped up and down together.

William pulled back from their embrace and looked Julia in the eye. She was so pleased, he looked happy, at ease. Elatedly he said, "You are amazing Julia! An amazing woman, not only a top-notch pathologist, but a psychiatrist too. I feel so much better. Thank you!"

She bowed to him slightly, "Good … And you are very welcome William," she said, her smile gleaming on her face. He took her head in his hands and kissed her, bliss floating in his heart. He felt her love for him, and when it mixed with his for her, the resulting flames were astonishing.

"Their kissing!" a little child voice joyfully whispered.

Julia broke off their kiss, dropping her chin down. She slid both hands up his stomach, then to ripple across his chest muscles and settle in on his tie. She could feel his eyes on her, feel his breathing change, growing hotter and stronger as it flowed over her face. Her index finger tucked into the gap of cloth at the top of the tie, firmly loosening it. Eyes remaining low, focused on her task, she said, "You look like you're still in your office." It was there, that magnetic, burning force between them, building the tension, calling their souls to warm alertness. A gentle breeze blew over them, enhancing some of Julia's untethered curls. His tie now loose, she pinched the first, and then the second buttons, freeing his skin to feel the caress of her breath. Still avoiding his eyes, with her voice low and raspy, she asked, "Are you going to kiss me?"

"Mm-hmm," he answered. William took one of her tantalizing curls in his fingers and said, "After I feel the strands of your hair slide past each other and listen for the crinkly sounds they make as they catch." His fingers lifted her chin. Their eyes meeting as she felt his hand touch her cheek, his thumb slide under and capture a fallen tear. His breath once more gently cascaded over her face as he asked, "You cried for me?"

"Yes," she answered, breathless. (Well-trained in psychological practice, Julia had been trained not to cry. She would eventually decide that it was alright that she had done so, for she is his wife, not his therapist. Although, she was not thinking about this now, she would reflect on it later in length. Now she was caught in his spell, her thoughts consumed by him and how she was reacting to him – to that delicious flutter inside of her).

Their eyes sparkled in the twilight as they danced in exploration of each other. She felt the slippery liquid of her tear smear across her lower lip as William's thumb marked the spot to receive his gaze, causing the pink skin to glisten in the dusk hues. His voice husky, the mere sound of its tone vibrating deep inside her brain, sending it into a slow, swirling spin, he said, "Now, I'm going to kiss you, although I must wait until I hear you breathe; it will be long." He tilted his head, decreased the distance between their lips, surging the powerful draw she felt pulling her to him.

Her breath had been taken. It was not until the thrill she felt as the fingers of his other hand pressed against her lower back, and began blooming upward, that she gasped. He pulled her to him, "So soft," she thought when their lips finally touched. His tongue teased her lips open, pressed in, the motion slow, but perpetually growing deeper. She moaned, basking him in her warm breath as the air escaped from her nostrils. Feeling dizzy, she reached for him, tempting him to moan as her fingers slid into his hair, her nails delightfully scratching across his scalp. Her mind rushed forward, imagination painting her view. He would lie on top of her, push inside of her, deeper and deeper inside of her. His rhythm would pump up into her, the beating pressure pushing her higher and higher, as if riding a swing, to that one place that only he could, to the place so high, so silent, the place where she could tilt ever so slightly and feel her insides flip over as gravity shifted, as she would floatingly fall over the edge into the ecstasy of their love. Julia's womb tightened deliciously in response. Oh, how she wished this kiss would never end. But she felt his tongue slide back, she felt the weight of his kiss lighten as he pulled back, only the skin of their lips sticking together before the stretch was too much, and her lips were free.

Space opened between them, giving room for Julia to slide her hands down across his shoulders, and trace the edge of his shirt collar, to find the third button. She popped it open and said, barely above a whisper, "Welcome home detective." William's heart soared with the longed-for embrace of her words.

The couple closed the front door behind them to be greeted by their children. "You're not fighting anymore," Katie called out, glee and excitement in her voice.

"No … We're not," Julia said. "How did you know?" she asked.

Chelsea bubbled, "We saw you kissing in the window!"

"You did, did you," her mother responded, her playful scolding prompting the child to quickly shake her head up and down while placing her stuffed bear's ear in her mouth.

Katie asked, "Will we be able to visit with Grandpa now?" William and Julia looked at each other. They had not actually discussed it. Julia turned back to look at Katie and said, as she squatted down closer to the child, "No sweetie …"

William Jr. threw his book to the floor with a startling 'slap.' He turned and ran into the living-room. The parents shared a look of concern.

"I'll take the girls into the kitchen," Julia said to William. Turning to look at the girls she said, "We'll make the hot chocolate." The two little ones hurried to take her hands.

William sighed and ducked his chin. He prepared for his talk with his son, then headed into the living-room. William Jr. sat on one of the couches, head staring down at the floor. William took a seat directly in front of him on the living-room table, providing closeness, the low height of the table nearly lining them up so their eyes could meet. William said, "Son, I know you came to like your grandfather very much…"

William Jr. interrupted, lifting his head to connect sight with his father, anger and disappointment on his face and said, "And he liked me!"

"Of course he did. And he won't stop liking you because I keep him away… But I have to keep him away," William explained.

William Jr.'s face softened, anger replaced with grief. "But why Daddy?" he asked.

William sighed. It would be hard, very hard to explain. "Because I don't trust him, son. Your grandfather doesn't mean to, but he hurts people. He does things … He gets drunk, and then he does things he shouldn't… And, William, I love you too much to let him hurt you." He lowered his head, his look asking his son if he understood.

The boy took a deep breath and pushed, "You always say that it's not his mistakes that make a man, but what he does to fix them that does… But you won't let him show if he fixed them."

William sighed again, giving in to the tension; he reached up and rubbed his forehead. He said, "Son, it's true a man could always change … And I suppose your grandfather could change too. But I can't, and I won't, blindly trust that he has. I cannot assume he has fixed his mistakes, changed his ways – He will have to prove he's changed, prove he's fixed his mistakes before I can trust him. It can't be done the other way around. I can't trust him and then find out if he's changed… Do you see?"

William Jr. dropped his chin. It hurt, but he did understand. He nodded his head and then sadly said, "Yes Daddy."

William took the boy in his arms, lifting him as he stood up, and pulled him into a hug. "Good," he said before he growled like a bear and squeezed his son tight. He slid the boy to the side under one arm and placed him on his back, with his son's arms wrapped around his Daddy's neck to ride 'piggy-back.' "Let's go see what's taking so long with that hot chocolate!" he declared, and then they playfully 'galloped' into the kitchen.

The family sat in the living-room while Julia read "The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu" to the children, the two older children at her sides on the couch; Chelsea sat in her father's lap on the reclining chair. As she read, she marveled at the irony that they were reading a story that centered around a master poisoner, considering her recent events dealing with poisons. Just under her consciousness lay the fear she felt having had herself and William nearly die today. In the wake of such a close call, Manchu's narrow escapes from impending doom were potent. She finished the very end of the story, Manchu seems to make it out of a deadly inferno alive, and closed the book.

Chelsea whispered, "Mommy, Daddy's sleeping."

Julia soaked in the sight; it was truly heart-warming. William's eyes closed, his long lashes adding to his beauty, he had wrapped his arm lovingly around the little child. Chelsea kept her head on her father's chest, not wanting to move, not wanting to wake him.

Julia whispered back, "Your Daddy had a long, tiring day…" She stood up and walked over to stand above them, reaching her arms down to take her daughter, she whispered, "Come here sweet pea." Chelsea in her arms, Julia took the children upstairs and got them into bed.

Later, as William still slept in the chair, she finally had her glass of wine. She sat with him for a while, reading a medical journal. Eventually he stirred.

"Mm," he moaned as he stretched, "I fell asleep."

Julia put her journal down, stood and walked over to him, reached out a hand and said, "Let's get you to bed Mr. Murdoch."

He shifted to make room for her and said, as he pulled her down to him, "Sit with me for a while Mrs. Murdoch."

Finding him irresistible, she acquiesced. She settled in, siting more next to him than on him, with her legs over his, resting her head down on his shoulder. With a sigh she said, "You are obviously very tired William, the last couple of days you've had very little sleep… And there is so much pressure on you – on us now. It's important to get some sleep, hmm?"

"Sounds wise," he replied. And yet, now comfortable, neither of them moved. He wanted to talk about the case, but paused to see if she brought up anything else that she wanted to talk about.

"How did your talk with William Jr. go?" she asked.

William took her hand, played with her wedding rings, and said, "Our son is quite a remarkable young man Julia. He argued his case well and understood why I needed to stick to my plan to keep Harry away from him – at least for now." He felt her nod against his body.

Julia moved her hand from under his and then slid it up his body to further loosen his tie. She said, "So, we are in agreement about keeping the children away from Harry …"

"Mm," he agreed.

His tie undone, she moved on to his shirt buttons, continuing she said, "And also about not giving him any money?"

William's hand tenderly massaged her knee, discovering the swollen injury from when he dropped her to the floor during the gunfire earlier today. He softly traced the outer boundaries of the wound. He turned to kiss her hair and said, "That's what I would prefer."

"Then that's what we will do," she said, giving him a squeeze. His shirt unbuttoned, she slid her hand under it to scratch and rub his chest muscles through his under shirt. He was sweaty, of course she was too; it was abnormally hot, even for August.

William's caressing of the bruise on her knee reminded Julia of the fact that they had nearly been killed earlier. She thought of the dirigible that could fly overhead and drop a bomb on them, or perhaps someone could slip poison into their food. She remembered that there would be a constable at their door twenty-four hours a day, although William had sent him away for a while, one would be returning soon. She tried to be strong, tried to deny it, but she was scared. Julia slid her hand out from under his shirt and covered William's hand with it. She asked, "Do you think we are safe?"

She felt his other hand move up to sweep her hair back and glide his fingers soothingly over her ear. He took his time to answer her, playing possible scenarios out in his mind first. He wanted with all of his heart to be able to reassure her, but he knew she would sense his insincerity. He released a big sigh, she already knew as a result of it that he was going to confirm her fears, and he said, "No, no I don't." She tried with all her might not to flinch, not to tense up and make him regret answering honestly. He took a deep breath and quickly tried to make the situation more tolerable, adding, "But we have taken some precautions now that we are aware of the danger … The Inspector has been very supportive about allowing us to have protection from the constables …"

Julia sat up and caught his eye, "Perhaps we should all flee to the lake-house," she suggested.

"I see the temptation to run away, Julia," he replied, "but we need to rely not only on defense – we very much need a strong offense as well. We must relentlessly pursue whoever is creating the threat."

Trusting William more than anyone else in the world, she accepted his point. Her eyes dropped as she tried to find solace in this very trust. A moment later, she lifted her eyes to meet his again and asked, "Then do you think we should enact our emergency plan for the children's safety. (After they had come into possession of the lake-house, the couple had formulated an emergency plan – the children, along with Claire-Marie to help look after them, would be sent to the lake-house housekeeper's home, just up the hill from the lake-house. They had figured that the lake-house itself could not serve as a sanctuary, for their ownership of it could be detected, but it would be very unlikely that someone would suspect the children had been holed-up at Judith's home).

William cupped her cheek. "Yes," he concurred, "the constable at the door may not be enough."

"And William, what about the back door?" Julia asked, with a tone of immediacy and worry detectable in her voice.

Nodding, he answered, "Mm-hmm, it needs to be better secured, and it may need some sort of an alarm as well. I'll work on it before I go to bed."

Feeling more settled, more in control, she planned for the next day, "I'll call Judith tomorrow to make sure she is still good with our agreement and able to take the children now and I'll talk to Claire-Marie."

"We can use the constabulary carriage so no one can determine where we have sent them. They should go in the midnight hours," William continued. They agreed not to tell the children until the plans were all worked out.

Julia rested her head back down on his shoulder and ran her fingers back and forth across his chest. "Do you think it's Eva Pearce?" she asked.

"It could be, but if you are right about the victim of today's ambush being Felicity Dawes then it is less likely. Although that brings up other problems, because Isabel Webster is really the only person with motive to kill her and to kill you, or possibly us, and she is in prison, I checked" William replied.

Julia sighed and said, "After what happened with James Gillies, I am doubtful about such reassurances. Could we check?"

William nodded, "I'll check into it tomorrow. There could be more than one perpetrator, or more than one plot. It's hard to tell … But it does seem that there are connections between all the crimes." William wrinkled his face showing his uncertainty and doubt, "The whole weapons thing seems more like it would be Sally Pendrick, or rather Sally Hubbard, who would be involved in it," he thought aloud with a sigh.

Julia lifted her head and kissed his neck, wanting to stir some romance, but she was deterred by the slippery, salty taste of his sweat-laden skin. "You need a shower detective," she whispered, using her finger to turn him to face her and then giving him a kiss on his lips. She took a deep breath and said with an alluring voice, "Me too… Shall we take one together?"

William wrinkled his face in apology and answered, "I think I'm too tired for that tonight."

She smiled comfortingly and said "Yes." William suggested that she take shower now while he fixed the backdoor and then he would take his shower after her.

William arrived upstairs a while later to find her clean and succulently naked, bent over the sink brushing her teeth. Seeing him pause at the door, Julia arched her back, wanting to further send him over the edge of desire. Her efforts were quite successful. The sight nearly brought him to his knees. Neither of them spoke, nor did their eyes meet. But their breathing was stunned, their lustful feelings stimulated. William moved to lean against the other wall, benefitting from an even better view of her enticing derrière, finding himself feeling dizzy and light-headed as he could now see the luscious pink treasure between the curvy cheeks of her buttocks. Julia remained in the seductive position even though she was finished brushing her teeth. Playfully swaying her hips, sending jolts of electricity directly to his groin, she watched his response in the mirror and teased, "But I thought you were too tired, no?

Needing to clear his throat first he replied, "No. Um … Not anymore."

Julia smiled. She stood up and turned to him, reveling in the power she felt when their eyes met. As she approached to slide her arms around his neck, she said, "So you have gotten a second wind then?"

William cleared his throat again and answered, "Well, that may not be the best way to describe it, as you took my breath away, but yes, sort of."

They decided to shower together after all. It seemed that Julia was in charge tonight. She handed him the bar of soap and William soaped up the front of Julia's body, his fingers fiercely exploring every inch of her. She watched his eyes grow wide with want as his hands kneaded, squeezed, tortured her breasts, weakening her knees and sharpening the fitful tugs of lust deep within her. She stepped closer to him, stopping before their bodies touched, tantalizingly surging their anticipation. He'd given her control, and so he waited for her to complete the touch. All she did was lean and then lift herself up on her toes to ensure her slippery skin would lusciously slide along his. His moan flipped her insides over, nearly breaking her determination to drive her husband over the edge.

She found the bar of soap again and placed it in his hand. He soaped up his hands once more before Julia took the bar back and placed it in the holder. His sudsy, strong hands roughly took her backside with demand. She heard his breathing firing through his nostrils. She knew his resolve was about to burst. "I want you William," she whispered enticingly into his ear to be rewarded by a blast of his steamy breath beating over her eardrum, setting her brain into a spin.

Julia turned around, bending her knees and then straightening them to feel the rock-hard evidence of his longing for her slide down the small of her back to come to press solidly between the cheeks of her buttocks. William's moan was abandoned, his desire for her now the only thing he could see. Julia leaned forward to find the hard, cold tile wall of the shower with her breasts and pushed her buttocks backwards into him, forcing him to take a step backwards, his heels pressed up against the side of the tub. She was sufficiently bent forward now to have lifted what he most wanted to touch to be in line with him, thus his tip was surrounded by her warm, pink opening. She called out, "Please William." He bent forward over her lowering his shoulders, uniting the skin of his muscular chest to the soapy, smooth skin on her back. His fingers grasped her hips demandingly, rendering her helpless, bringing her to gasp. And then she felt it, forcing her to yield. He surged up into her, deeper and deeper, with a rhythm that drove her wild. She moaned, undoing him. He began to thrust powerfully inside of her, twisting and taunting her insides with uncontrollable need. Once she heard him grunt with effort, she knew he had lost control. "Hurry William," she said, urging him on, wanting more than anything in the world right now for him to feel the ultimate pleasure. Rushing to catch up with him, she firmly rubbed her fingers against the knot of her flesh directly above where he drove so forcefully into her. Another grunt, and then another, he was pumping wildly inside of her with every ounce of strength he head. "Please – Deeper," she cried, feeling herself teetering over the abyss. His thrusts strongly deepened, the rhythm slowing as the power grew. She fell. Her insides sweetened as the taught edges of her being let go, and William's strong breath mixed with a moan in her ear.

He softened his tight, commanding grip on her hips to slide his arms around her belly, hugging her as they recovered. His hand slid up her belly to press and rest between her breasts which had been pressed flat against the wall. He brought her with him as he straightened up. As he stood behind her, his mouth found her ear, "I love you," he whispered. He turned her around and the swayed together under the shower, rinsing away the soap, hearts slowing, content.

If William was tired before, he was beyond exhausted now – Happy, satiated, but thoroughly exhausted. They dried off and Julia led him to the bed to lie naked on the cool sheets in the hot, sultry, dark bedroom. "William Henry Murdoch, I love you with all my heart and soul. Sleep," she whispered to her lover, her husband, her soul-mate.

Julia put on her robe and went downstairs to greet Constable Morris who stood guard at the front door. She explained that the family commonly drinks hot chocolate even on such hot evenings and asked if he would like one. Enthusiastically he replied that he did. She brought him a cup along with a slice of Eloise's Chocolate cake.

She quietly slipped in through their bedroom door. After she took her robe off and crawled into bed next to William, she heard the distinctive deep breathing of his sleep before she rolled over and allowed herself to yield to sleep's call and join him.

In the Don Jail visiting room, Cecily McKinnon sat across from her youngest brother, Sean Brogan. She was furious that Isabel's second attempt to kill Ogden, and they had hoped Murdoch as well, had failed miserably. The time until the planned escape was rapidly approaching, and the Constabulary were far from out of the way. She ordered the Murdoch children to be kidnapped and used as bait to kill the parents. She also told Sean to figure out another way to kill the Inspector, now that their use of the dirigible was known, and thus rendered completely useless. In the case of Inspector Brackenreid, it was more than wanting him out of the way; she wanted revenge – She wanted him dead.

Awakened in the midst of a thunderstorm, Julia was startled to find that the emotions the storm stirred in her were not the usual ones of excitement and awe – of feeling the preciousness of the moment drawing her to William – surging their love, and lust, for each other. No. Now it was fear and dread. Flashes of memory bolted through her mind with each lightning strike. She saw William's tree exploding at the lake-house. Then his lifeless body floating in the flooded hull of the sinking ship. Next, the man's body, so similar in shape and style of dress to William's, lying face-down in the grass near his church when William had been missing for over a week. Suddenly, Eva Pearce's eerie voice threatened, "Once I get out I'll show you who's the deluded one," with the dark, dank walls of the asylum ward echoing the danger. And then, Rose swinging the bat, Gillies closing the coffin lid, Orville pulling out his glimmering knife!...

But then it happened, with the memory of Orville. She remembered the moment she let herself fall in love with William. Her heart slowed as it warmed. They sat at her desk in the morgue, he with her for support as she had performed Orville's autopsy the day after he had tried to gut her. The freezer unit had turned on, creating a sound that sent her into a flashback of the creak of the floorboard as Orville had approached. She froze with terror. William had noticed, understood what was happening. He had said with such calmness, such tenderness, "It was just the freezer unit turning on. You are safe… Now, what was it you were writing about the liver," then reaching over to point at the place on her report. He had grounded her in the safety of where she was. He had had compassion and empathy, knowing why she was scared, aware of what she was feeling. "He knows how to take care of me," she had thought. Recognizing this had prompted her to let herself fall, to fall hopelessly head-over-heels in love with him. Now in the dark, only flickers of light from the storm so far off, she gazed upon that same man, so dedicated and loyal, so capable and charming. She only loved him more. She knew that with his care she would be alright. She heard William's voice in her head, "We need to rely not only on defense – we very much need a strong offense as well." She knew together they would handle what would come, she heard him tell her again, "Listen to me …Together we're stronger than anyone." She cuddled close to him and fell back into much needed sleep.

Thunder could be heard rumbling, growing, coming closer, seeming to originate from so many different directions. The wind was picking up, swirling up dust, making it hard to see, hard to hear. Lightning had already struck close by, leaving the alerting smell of ozone in the air. William and Julia were together now and could work as a team on both offense and defense. Yes, this makes them stronger than anyone, but what if their threat is from more than one person – What then?