"You have a beautiful country, George," Maura said, looking out the window at the passing landscape.

"Why thank you," he replied with a grin. "I mean, it's not my country, of course, but I understand the sentiment. Your country must be amazing as well. The mountains and the lakes and such."

"You've never been?" she asked.

"No. Oh, I've been to Buffalo on occasion, but I don't imagine that compares to the vast landscape of the west."

Maura gave the compliment some thought. "It can be very beautiful at times, yes. You should visit sometime."

His eyes widened. "Oh, well… really? I dare say I'd be sorely tempted to take you up on the offer; if you're sincere, of course."

"Does she come across as someone who would lie to you, George?" Jane asked. She was slumped back in her seat, arms crossed, hat pulled down and eyes closed.

"N-no, not at all. I'm sorry if I made you think that, Dr. Isles. I mean, Maura."

She leaned across and briefly rested her hand on his arm. "We would love to have you."

He beamed at the invitation, and they were still talking about their respective countries when the train pulled into the station.

"You two should think about writing a travel book together," Jane said as she stood and stretched.

"That's brilliant," he replied. Latching onto the idea, he snapped his fingers. "We could call it a 'travelogue'. Like a 'monologue' but about places to visit."

"Sure." She shook her head at his imagination. "Anyway, I've got the address."

"Right!" He tapped his hat as if to remind himself of the nature of their visit. "I'll get a carriage."

Maura squeezed Jane's arm when the young constable was out of earshot. "He's adorable."

"He's sleeping on the porch with the dog if he visits." Her quip was given a slap on the shoulder in reply.

"I've hired a Hansom," he said, returning to the pair. "It will be a tight fit with three, but we'll get there in much better time." He stood to the side and held out his hand to lead the way. "After you, ladies."

…..

If the surroundings and camaraderie nearly made them forget the reason for their trip, the stricken look on Olive Blakemore's face was a stark reminder.

"Oh no," she wailed, and would have fallen to her knees had Jane not caught her.

Gently guiding her back into the house, Jane settled her on the couch and knelt at her knees. A silent look to George received a nod in return, and he exited the room to find the kitchen. Maura pulled a nearby chair closer and took the woman's hands in hers.

"I knew as soon as I saw you step out of the carriage," she choked out. "I knew it was bad news. My little girl!" She gratefully took Jane's handkerchief.

"Can you tell us the last time you spoke to Virginia?" Jane asked.

The mother shook her head in disbelief. "We spoke every day. It's the only reason we have a telephone. We had to save our money to afford the cost, but it was important that we didn't lose touch. I was worried about her being alone in a big city."

"Was she having a hard time living in Toronto?"

"No. She loved it. You have to understand, Sheriff, Etobicoke is lovely, but all the young people want to go somewhere bigger. Once she was accepted into the nursing school, I knew I had to let her go. I was so proud of her." A sob caught in her throat and a second wave of grief rushed over her.

George appeared with a cup of tea. "I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Blakemore. I took the liberty-"

She waved away his apology. "That was very kind of you..."

"Constable Crabtree, ma'am," he said, hearing her unspoken question. "I've from the Toronto Constabulary."

The cup rattled in the saucer as she took it from him. "Thank you." She focused on the dark drink before asking, "What happened?"

George and Jane shared a look, and he let Jane take the lead.

"We're following some leads now," she said, "but it appears to be an overdose of laudanum."

Olive looked as if she had been slapped. "Laudanum? Virginia? I don't believe it."

Maura squeezed her arm with warm reassurance. "We suspect it was given to her without her knowledge."

"I don't understand. Are you saying she was murdered?"

"That's what we're working to find out," Jane said. "I've met the detective on the case; he's very good at his job."

"You trust him?"

It was a testament to the ties that bind small communities that someone with the thinnest of connections to Beybeck would trust the assurance of a near stranger. Jane nodded, understanding the faith the woman was putting in her.

"I do."

"Detective William Murdoch," George said. "He's a fine man and has a very keen mind. You couldn't ask for someone better, Mrs. Blakemore. If I may take your number, I'll give you his. I know he would be more than happy to keep you abreast of things."

She rested the cup and saucer on the table, and dried her eyes again. "Thank you. To both of you. I know Ruth can be… difficult at times, and Beybeck is such a long way. You don't even know me, and yet, here you are."

Jane sat beside her. Without admitting she had never heard of the woman before Mrs. Murphy's request, she asked, "How did you end up in Canada?"

The woman smiled for the first time. "We were born in Jefferson City."

"Missouri?" Maura asked.

"Yes. Wyoming wasn't even a state then. We grew up and Ruth got married."

Jane nodded. "She's the oldest?"

"The middle, actually," Olive replied. "We had an older brother. Timothy. Consumption took him when Ruth was only 6. I was just a baby." Her eyes glazed with wistful nostalgia. "She always protected me. I think it hurt her very much when I met John and we moved up to Canada. But love is love."

"How did you two meet?" George asked.

"He was a miner."

Jane nodded. "Came to Wyoming for the gold?"

Smiling at the memory, Olive replied, "Yes. Had a bit of luck."

"Well, he met you, didn't he?"

Olive blushed at Jane's remark. "I meant with the gold, but yes, I suppose he did. He died in a mining accident in Bancroft 2 years ago."

The room became sombre at the thought of the woman losing both her husband and her daughter. George shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Blakemore."

She sighed and lifted her chin almost defiantly against the fates. "Ruth would say it's God's will." Her clenched jaw showed them what she thought of her sister's sentiment.

Bringing the topic back to their visit, Jane asked, "Did Virginia talk about anyone she'd met? Friends? A suitor?"

Olive shook her head. "No. She had a school mate or two, of course, but she was a shy girl. Kept to herself. The irony is, on more than one occasion, I told her she needed to get out with friends, explore the city. I didn't want her to stay cooped up with her nose in her books. She was young; I wanted her to enjoy it." The realization that she referred to her daughter in the past tense brought a fresh onslaught of tears. "My girl. My beautiful girl."

The three visitors looked at each other, uncertain what to do. It was George who rescued the moment.

"Is there anyone I can call to come over, Mrs. Blakemore? A neighbour or a friend?"

Composing herself once more, she pressed her lips together and nodded. "Mrs. Primbrook lives across the street. She's a dear old woman."

"Let me fetch her," George offered.

Taking that as their cue, Jane and Maura stood.

"I'm sorry we had to meet this way," Jane said. "I wish it had been under better circumstances."

Olive got to her feet. "I can't thank you enough, Sheriff. Ruth was right - you have a kind heart."

If the compliment took her by surprise, she didn't show it. "Your sister's family, which means you're family."

"What… what happens now?"

"Dr. Ogden will see to it that Virginia is sent home," Maura said. "No doubt she'll contact the local pathologist; they'll give you whatever help you need."

"And you two?"

"Our train doesn't leave Toronto until the end of the week," Jane replied. Anticipating the next question, she said, "Unfortunately, we don't have any jurisdiction here, so I don't think we'll be allowed to work on the case."

Olive frowned. "Surely this Detective Murdoch wouldn't say no to another set of eyes? You're looking for a killer!"

The mother's voice skirted the edge of shrill, and Jane touched her arm. "He seems like a reasonable man. I promise you, we will do everything we can to find out what happened to Virginia."

"Oh, Olive!" An octogenarian entered the room, arms held out for the grieving mother. "You poor girl. Let me make you lunch." She looked at George and nodded.

He nodded in kind. "I've left Detective Murdoch's information with Mrs. Primbrook," he told Olive, "and she's given me yours. I will personally ensure you are kept informed."

Olive sniffed and reached out to squeeze his hand. "You've been too kind. All of you."

"Come now, Olive. We'll have a bite to eat and then a nice lie down."

The trio stood outside and took a moment to bask in the noon sun. Taking her hat off, Jane wiped her brow and squinted into the sky.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" she asked no one in particular, though George was the first to respond.

"In what way do you mean?"

"This," she said, gesturing to the sky and the trees and the flowers that surrounded the modest yet clearly loved home. "There's a woman inside who's lost her husband and daughter in the span of two years. But life just goes on."

"I suppose you're right," he said sadly.

She adjusted her hat and sighed. "The best we can do is find out what happened to Virginia."

Maura linked her arm with Jane's. "Then I say we get to it."

…..

He stood facing the chalkboard, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Standing in the doorway, Jane wondered if that was his idea of 'casual', for while he wasn't wearing his Homburg, his tie was tightly knotted and his hair in place. Her low snicker caught his attention.

"Oh!" he said. "Sheriff Rizzoli."

She glowered at the title but said nothing of it. Instead, she informed him, "George is giving Dr. Ogden Olive Blakemore's information so they can get the body back to Etobicoke."

"Ah, I see. And Dr. Isles?"

"She went with George."

"He has taken a shine to her."

There was something in his tone that spoke of something more, and Jane wondered how much he knew. "She's an honest person; she won't lead him to think anything that's not there."

He tipped his head. "I never presumed otherwise."

She pointed her chin towards the blackboard. "Victim comparisons?"

"Yes," he said, "though there doesn't appear to be much to compare beyond their ages. Elizabeth Turnbull, the victim we first encountered, was a brunette and a seamstress. Virginia Blakemore, of course, was neither. We're still trying to piece together Elizabeth's life, but she doesn't seem to have any family."

"Similar to Virginia," Jane noted, "at least in the idea that her family wasn't immediately close by."

He considered the thought. "That may be something to keep in mind."

Jane pointed at the word 'woman?' that had been circled. "You're thinking the killer might not be a man?"

"It's something to consider. While Dr. Ogden suggests the age and gender of the victims might indicate a male killer, the manner of their death falls more in line with the psychological file of a woman."

"Yeah, but what does a pathologist know about psychiatry?"

He spun around. "While she may lack a degree in the field, Julia's intelligence is above reproach."

Jane smirked. "Loosen your tie there, Charlie. I was just testing a theory. 'Julia', huh?"

He lifted his chin in a valiant attempt to ignore what his outburst revealed. "Perhaps you should look into the field of psychology yourself, Sheriff."

"You do that just to annoy me, don't you?" When a neutral gaze was the reply, her smirk grew into a grin. "I thought so. Anyway, I think Julia could be onto something. Laudanum is a bloodless death. Easy enough to administer without raising suspicions, and easy to get. What else have you found out today?" Seeing his raised eyebrow, she looked away. "Yeah, sorry. I know it's not my place. Just habit."

"I think it's more than that; you have a connection to the victim, no matter how tenuous. It's perfectly understandable that you'd want to take part in the case."

"But it's a matter of jurisdiction."

"Yes. The law won't allow me to let you talk to witnesses or suspects. However, there's nothing that says you can't go over the information that's found. I can't see anything wrong with getting an additional opinion."

"You might regret that, William."

At her use of his Christian name, he inhaled a long breath through his nose and deadpanned, "I just might."

…..

"What will you do now, Constable?" Julia asked after taking Olive Blakemore's information.

"I suspect Detective Murdoch will have me tracking down background information on some lead or another. Most likely the people who had access to the house in the off-hours. What about you, Maura?"

"I suppose I'll save Detective Murdoch from Jane, and then…" her voice trailed off.

Julia caught the uncertainty. "You know, before you and George arrived, I thought about going over the old files on the Padgett murders. Perhaps you'd like to look over them with me?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea," George praised. "I can't imagine anything would get past the keen eye of you two doctors. That is, of course, if you want to stay."

"I'd love to," Maura replied. "Thank you, Julia. And thank you, George. You made a difficult morning much easier."

He touched his constable's hat. "My pleasure. I'll inform the sheriff of your whereabouts if she asks."

On an empty autopsy table, Julia laid out the file, separating pictures from notes, testimonies from reports. Once everything was spread out, she stepped back to look at the results.

"My first choice is the coroner's report," she said. "William deals with the external evidence - the suspects, the witnesses, the physical evidence - whereas I much prefer what the internal tells me."

"It's what's inside that often leads to the rest," Maura replied.

"Yes. Besides, we all have our unique strengths. The detective isn't keen on lurking too far beneath the surface."

"Squeamish?"

"You could say so, yes."

"So is Jane. Anything beyond a small cut and she runs for the hills." The two shared a laugh, then Maura said, "What are you looking for in the autopsy report?"

"I don't know," Julia admitted. "Perhaps something that looks out of place or something that's missing. It's always been my understanding that the family was killed through a combination of blunt force trauma and internal damage caused by stabbing."

She picked up the report. It only took a handful of seconds before Maura realized something was wrong.

"What is it?"

Julia flipped back and forth between pages. "The official cause of death was as I suspected: blunt force trauma coupled with stabbing. But the coroner's report lists respiratory depression in three of the victims, as well as symptoms of hypoxia in four others."

"Suffocation?" Maura asked.

"Possibly, but the attendants make no note of bruising around the nose or throat and according to the investigating detective's report, there wasn't anything suspicious at the crime scene. They were all murdered in their beds, but there's no mention of pillows or sheets being anywhere other than where they should be." She rattled off the facts, almost to herself. Examining one of the crime scene photos, she said, "Nothing looks out of the ordinary."

"So what would cause signs of respiratory depression and hypoxia outside of strangulation or choking?"

Julia ran through a mental list. "Any number of respiratory diseases: emphysema, pneumonia, bronchitis."

"Anemic hypoxia," Maura added.

"Cyanide poisoning."

As one, they looked at each other.

"Laudanum!"

The severity of their discovery wasn't lost on either woman. "But the coroner ruled it blunt force trauma and," she looked at the report, "'a multiple succession of stabs to the lower abdomen and chest'. He made no mention of laudanum."

Julia bent over to get a better look at the photo. Walking to her desk with a determined stride, she picked up her magnifying glass and returned to the table. Maura watched quietly as she went about re-examining the photo. A slight smile revealed her success.

Holding out the glass to Maura, she said, "Tell me what you see."

Without being given any further clue, Maura tentatively began skimming the photo. It all seemed to be in order, and she was just about to ask Julia what she was supposed to find when it became very clear.

"Stab wounds," Maura whispered.

"Yes," Julia replied with an edge of victory in her voice. "Or in this case, the absence thereof. And the knife that they claim was the murder weapon isn't in the picture."

"Where did they find it?"

"They claimed to have found it on the floor beside the father."

Maura didn't have to look at the photo again to know it wasn't there. "It was put there after the murders?"

"I do believe so, yes. The question is, why?"

…..