The Lady, or the Tiger?

Chapter 12: Cat Got Your Tongue?

(Note to reader, some references in this chapter are to another story – Murdoch in the Jungle, particularly Chapter 10, The Law of the Jungle).

It is true, that the world can be an amazingly small place sometimes. Every now and then, coincidences boggle. And so it was for Catfrey and Schnozzy as they fought their inner panic, the local police having stopped their train on route to Chicago, now going from passenger to passenger. Every nerve stood on edge, fighting against the thought that they were looking for THEM! Their adrenalin-pumped brains rushed to explain it to themselves, Murdoch had already figured it out somehow! He had sent word ahead telling the locals on the train's route that two men had stolen the rare and priceless Pink Panther Diamond. They had photographs of Neil! They had a description of Schnozzy! What this pair could not have known was that the man in charge – the big, outstandingly ugly, brutish man ordering all his underlings about, was the same man, Flannel Bull, who Murdoch and his little sidekick, Constable Crabtree, had had a run in with just two years earlier. Their paths had crossed during Murdoch and Crabtree's one and only stop as undercover hobos at a "jungle," as the now published book by Upton Sinclair was titled, after the hobo name for a safe meeting place. How could Neil and Schnozzy have known that this depraved policeman had a history of abusing his power, that he hunted good-looking men, for there were no outward clues that Flannel Bull was what the hobos call a 'wolf,' wanting to devour and conquer the tender meat of a 'sheep,' preferring his prey to be both helpless and incredibly handsome? Hence, Flannel Bull's previous predatory sexual interests in a man like Murdoch, at least Murdoch as he had been when undercover in the jungle, an eye-catching, down-on-his-luck vagrant caught in Flannel Bull's trap.

It would be the same problem with Neil – these two thieves on the run just didn't know it yet. The only thing that had saved Murdoch back then was the revolting Flannel Bull's preference for boys over adult men. It was unfortunate, however, that the way events had unfolded for Murdoch in that jungle two years prior had left him feeling a lifetime's worth of guilt and shame, for in the end a teenage boy had been taken in his place, cursed to suffer the sickening fate of enduring the nightmare instead of him. And now, history was about to repeat itself, ironically for the same reason that both Murdoch and Catfrey had been so entangled in their web of jealousy from the night of that dance so recently, with the detective's wife. It was uncommon, these two men's attractiveness, both William Murdoch and Neil Catfrey standing out so clearly from the rest of the men in a crowd. Neil's and Schnozzy's situation only differed from Murdoch's and Crabtree's in that they did not know the real reason for Flannel Bull's interests, with no hobo friends to warn them of the man's dangerous proclivities, and because here on the train the malevolent policeman was unable to make his true predatory intentions obvious to onlookers as he had been free to do in the hobo-infested jungle. It had been different two winters earlier… in the jungle – in the old barn, that night. There, then, the audience had only added to the stimulation, Flannel Bull wholly aware that all those hobo men, each one powerless to stop him, watched on, saw, as his big, burly hands explored his captive's rippled bare-skinned flesh, the entrapped man's exceptional curves and edges so exposed and vulnerable for all to see. Even a big crowd of men had been totally helpless to stop him, as was the lovely man in his grasp, for Flannel Bull's men had the captive's little friend on the ground with a gun to his head, and he had promised most assuredly that the other half of this dynamic duo would have been shot right before his quarry's big, brown, beautiful eyes, should he resist.

) (

Butterflies fluttered nauseatingly in William's stomach, reminding him of how he used to feel, for so many delightful years, when encountering her large morgue door. Back then he would have spent much too much time working to find an excuse to go see her. He still felt the same way, sometimes. But these disturbing symptoms right now, they pointed to a less lovely cause for his butterflies than his head-over-heels untold love. They were caused by an unspoken angst. And try as he might, his mind would not let it go – his awful dreams from last night, hovering in the shadows distinctly hidden from his memory, and then, the worst of it, his rejection of Julia's advances in bed this morning. What was wrong with him?

Turning the page, he pushed himself forward, exhaling the pent-up pressures through his pursed lips, giving the door a bigger shove than was required. He had heard it dimly through the closed door, the cheery music playing on her phonograph, but he had not noticed it until he had fully stepped into her world. His hat in hand he paused and let the memory play out, of the first time he had heard it playing. He remembered such warmth flooding his chest then, as he had seen her phonograph spinning at the entrance to the morgue theater… "Three little maids from school are we. Pert as a schoolgirl well can be. Filled to the brim with girlish glee," the high-pitched song reverberated in his brain. It had served as further evidence at the time that this woman was truly remarkable. But, as if the other shoe had just dropped, the delightful memory was abruptly replaced. Again, the disconcerting memory re-spurted, souring his face with its bad taste, seeing it in his mind all over again, remembering himself turning away, sliding out from underneath her, rejecting that warm and aroused and delectably sexy, sexy woman, whom he loved more than he would ever be able to fully say, coldly just getting up out of their bed and leaving her there, being wholly unable to say anything at all to offer her an explanation.

"Detective!" she greeted him from across the other side of the morgue center floor from the small set of steps by her desk. Her uncomfortable straightening of her skirts signaled, unintentionally, that she was most definitely still feeling bothered. She waited for him to cross to her, his nod before he arrived, tense.

"Doctor," he responded in kind. Arriving near to her, standing below her at the bottom of the steps, Romeo to her Juliet, his breath just suddenly taken, gone, for a second. Her look into him covered a breadth and depth that tugged at his every recess, so attuned, searching for what, for why. Her expression told that she remained tender from what had happened between them this morning. The realization hurt him so badly, to have behaved in a way that had caused her pain and worry. His regret forced a quick wrinkle at both corners of his mouth, apologetic its message.

He would retreat into the case, his usual default when the intimate, the personal, became intolerable. He reached into his inside jacket pocket. "There was a note," he began to explain, unfolding the paper, "left anonymously for me at the station…"

"Oh," she responded, stepping down to his level, her eyes drawn toward the note in his hand.

William handed it to her to read. He found it difficult to wait as he watched her eyes zigzagging back and forth over the handwritten words.

It reminded Julia of notes William had written to her, love notes… But it had the added aspect of ominously speaking of profound danger…

My Beautiful Lady,

Make a display of touching the fake with your exquisite bare hands. Be certain that others see you do so. Watch, my most beautiful lady, beware the wily and cunning tiger, the one that hunts, the tiger in the 4th house, the one that watches over the zoo, for his stealthy stripes render him camouflaged in the tall grass. Then come, my love, to our room. Meet me, my beautiful lady, where we planned. I will wait forever, my love, forever.

Your Handsome Cat,

NANCY

She hesitated a moment, having finished the note but gathering her thoughts. He would notice she had stopped reading. A part of her wondered if he would manage to hold his patience. Her blue eyes rose to meet his. As she started to verbalize her conclusions, she ended up giggling at herself, for she felt a bit ashamed that the first thing she was about to say was so very obvious, "Well, it's clearly not meant for you…" He was certainly no one's 'Beautiful Lady," she reasoned out the rest of it…

"No. No," William pinched his lips together and nodded, unable or unwilling to address the potential humor. Full speed ahead, he started sharing his theories. "I think it's from Neil Catfrey," William informed. The tension, the excitement of the chase building, William's chest heaved with his more hurried breaths. There was a pull to his eyes.

Julia's eyes dropped back to the note. "I see," she said thoughtfully, "It is signed 'Your Handsome Cat.' That could be Catfrey, I suppose. But what about this 'Nancy,' William?" Her eyes glanced into his briefly, then back to the words. "And the 'tiger'… You think it's you, because of the 4th house…" She felt his nod in her periphery.

"And because I am watching over the zoo, the Riverdale Zoo, exactly as it says the tiger does, to catch the home-invasion robber, and to help the French protect the Pink Panther Diamond," he rushed to explain.

"Hmm," she considered aloud, in her thoughts adding other reasons, that William Murdoch was the smartest man she had ever known, thus fitting with the note's descriptions of this tiger's 'wiliness and cunning,' and as a detective, he most certainly 'hunted' thieves and murderers and all ilk of badguys… All of these thoughts occurring while her brain was in such a hurry to figure out who the 'beautiful lady' was that the note was intended for, and at the same time racing down so many other avenues – whoever the woman was, she would not have received the note as its sender, this 'Nancy,' had expected. And intriguingly, there was this 'fake' the note referred to – did it mean the Pink Panther Diamond – had it already been stolen!? And on a more distant side-note, would such a reserved man as William Murdoch even be able to consider that a woman might write a love letter to another woman? And if that is the case, then would this 'Nancy' be likely to refer to herself as 'handsome?' And, if it is from Neil Catfrey, why would he sign it 'Nancy?' Julia's thoughts seemed infinite.

William interrupted, "Julia, there really is no doubt Catfrey wrote it – it has his fingermarks on it," he assured.

That clinched it, she acknowledged directly, "Well that seems convincing…"

He leaned closer, and Julia felt a familiar and wonderful humming surge inside of her, being with him again on an adventure, William's enthusiasm thrilling her so. "You see the signature…" he pointed.

"Yes," she answered, sensing herself hanging on his words. He amazed her sometimes, she anticipated he was about to do it again. With such deciphering, her attention honed in on the printed word 'NANCY' at the bottom.

William continued, "That's why I'm here actually. I suspect it has been added… And if I'm right then the ink used for writing 'NANCY' is not the same ink as the rest of note…"

She felt the pieces in her brain hurrying to shift, to align, to connect.

"I wondered if you had a solvent…" he began to ask.

"Of course!" Julia exclaimed, "For a chromatography test."

"Yes," he smiled. Together was always so much better than alone.

William followed Julia about, reminding Julia of a puppy in some rather adorable ways, while she buzzed around setting up the test, explaining his reasoning aloud, his hands active, Julia "Mm-hmming" here and there as he spoke.

"I believe the 'fake' that the note speaks of is a forgery of the Pink Panther Diamond. And the intended recipient of the note must have touched the fake when switching it for the real diamond, leaving her fingermarks on it. And, whoever this woman is, Neil Catfrey has reason to believe the Constabulary would have her fingermarks on file. Thus, his advice to provide an explanation for the presence of her marks on the fake by making a show of touching the diamond under the eyes of witnesses – in a sense providing an alibi for herself in the diamond's theft. Unfortunately, Inspector Guillaume has insisted we do nothing to raise suspicions in the matter…"

Imagining, knowing, that William had just frowned in his presentation of the facts, even though her eyes were focused down on the beaker, and the alcohol and the chromatography paper, tickled Julia delightfully bringing a wise smile to her face.

But then she considered the strangeness of the French Inspector's request and Julia interrupted him. "Why would Marcel do that?" she wondered. She thought, with an alerting flash, that she saw William flinch, grimace so very faintly, when she referred to the French Inspector as 'Marcel.'

She had finished setting up the chromatography test, with each ink sample from the note represented as a small dot at the bottom of the chromatography paper, including all the samples from each letter of the word 'NANCY,' as William had insisted. The series of dots floated just above the surface level of the solvent, the chromatography paper hanging from a stand placed above the beaker. William and Julia each sat on a stool in front of the test, reminding themselves that the test would take a few minutes and to be patient.

The momentary silence seemed unfitting. Her potent question about Marcel Guillaume's motives to block William from checking to see if the Pink Panther Diamond had been stolen, to determine if it had been replaced with a fake bearing a fingermark implicating Catfrey's accomplice in stealing it being so obviously tantamount to France's interests left just hanging in the air. Odd, the way they were both also so keenly aware that the pause was due to something other than that that William wanted to avoid bringing up with her. The longer they sat there staring at the chromatography test, watching the unnoticeably changing ink dots spread upward into their anticipated variant streams of colors, the more stressful his finally bringing up the uncomfortable topic became. Eventually coming to the point that William found it necessary to both swallow, and clear his throat, before he spoke.

"I think it's Sally Pendr… Hubbard," having started, he intended to rush forward to avoid her questions, her suspicions, her worries, from having a chance to grow, hoping to distract her. "I think the note was intended for her. As you know she's in Toronto, married now to a French Barron, she's friends with the owner of the diamond…" William exhaled, the two of them turning to look at each other. He added, explaining further, "Guillaume believes that if we inspect the diamond to see if it has been traded for a fake, and to check for fingermarks, it will alert Sally…" William frowned. He took a deep breath, "He wants to set her up to lead us to Catfrey, and to recover the real diamond, assuming I'm right about all this."

"There is a certain logic to Marcel's argument," Julia pressed. It flashed again, across his face, she was more certain of it this time, William's aversive reaction to her mentioning Marcel. She considered bringing up what had happened this morning… "Is everything alright William?" she asked before thinking it through.

"Sally got away last time. I don't want her to get away again, is all," he offered with another frown. "Besides, I can arrest her for suspicion of the crimes that she committed back…" William almost said it – stopped himself. He had almost said that it was at the same time in their lives that Julia had left him to go to Buffalo, the same time that she told him she was sterile, the same time that she had wholly and completely broken his heart. His eyes darted away. He sighed, brought himself back, and went on, "The last time she was here, she masterminded the building and selling of a weapon that could kill thousands and thousands of innocent people…"

Julia remembered, filling the name of the weapon in in her head, "The microwave deathray – Tesla had helped William on the case." She, too, had had the long-ago ache stir in her heart with remembering the time all this had happened. Her arm twitched with her thought, her wish, to reach out to him, to comfort him, to say she was so very, very sorry for hurting him so badly, back then… to bare her soul to him, again. It never ceased to amaze her how poignant such an old hurt could be…

William had gone on, "Two men were killed, James Pendrick's fortune, stolen. Not to mention that she shot him right in front of me…" William's voice rose as the significance of Sally's betrayal registered within him, his shock, still to this day, that he had misjudged her so. "And I still suspect she was the one behind the theft of that Rembrandt…"

Julia sighed, her compassion for him deepening. It was rare that a case of his went unsolved. That Rembrandt theft still bothered him after all these years, she noted. Besides, William had clearly been attracted to this particular woman, back before she had left him for Buffalo. It had always remained unsaid between them, but she suspected William has always felt that he had been duped by Sally Pendrick's charms. Perhaps he was being led astray by his attraction to her again?! Perhaps the note was not even written to Sally Pendrick at all!?

"William," the lift in her voice signaled she was changing direction, "Why do you assume the 'beautiful lady' the note was written for, admittedly from Neil Catfrey, that seems obvious, yes… but the woman he was working with… Could it not be someone else?" Her brain screamed it at her with a jolt – "that beautiful veterinarian! Of course! Why not her?"

"William…"

There was the slightest hint of teasing… or could it just be a jealous suspicion, with his way she said his name…

"Perhaps it was this Dr. Mouse… Was that her name? The woman who Angelique said was so gorgeous… the one who was upset about having to dye the lioness pink?"

His quick correction…

"Dr. Elizabeth Mole…"

alerted Julia on some levels, made her think that the woman had been too close at hand on her husband's mind… that this attractive woman doctor had gotten his attention much more than she would have liked.

William and Julia held their gaze, long enough for them to bare to each other that they were worried, long enough to remember who they were to each other, and to let a deeper feeling of safety rise up to the surface.

William stepped closer, his eyes never drifting away, not even for the briefest of moments. A deep breath, somehow reassuring them both. "When I interrogated Catfrey…" he ducked down and looked up at her through his lashes, as if inspecting her reaction, then went on, "He told me that he and Sally had… were… lovers." In William's head he was debating about whether to go so far as to tell Julia about what Catfrey had told him about the painting of Sally in the nude, the one she had teased him about so mercilessly back when it hung on his office wall, giggling and emphasizing the red triangle between the naked woman's legs, calling him "obtuse" for thinking it was the Canadian Shield… It still had a potency to it, knowing that Sally had only ever wanted Catfrey and himself to possess the painting…

He needed to clear his throat. "Remember James Pendrick called for me last night and left a message with you for me about a missing item…"

Julia nodded.

"It was to tell me that the painting… the painting Sally gave me back then…" he halted.

Julia's look stunned him, stalled him mid-sentence, mid-thought. The look so wise, seeming to know absolutely everything. And with that, a wanting to tease him about it all, and at the same time to tell him that everything was alright.

Knowing they were alone in the morgue, Julia reached up and cupped his cheek.

There was his admitting-it mouth wrinkle. Amazing how it melted her heart.

"Is that what's been bothering you, William… knowing Sally Pendrick is back in Toronto?" she asked him. "It would explain a few things," she told herself. Instantly she felt a familiar, disturbing, upsurge of jealousy pumping through her veins. My God, she hated this emotion. Strongly, she outright overruled it, flung it away. Yet, her subconscious bounced it back up at her, tossing her the flashback of William rejecting her seduction this morning. Meeting the challenge head on, bravely, Julia faced the trouble, asking him, "You were… well, you were not quite yourself this morning…" their subliminal code for not being interested in making love, "Is this why?"

As usual with such questions, he didn't know! And his lack of being able to answer her sent him into a panic. He stood there, stuck, feet seemingly glued to the floor, contending with an inner fight, tackling the feeling of wanting, with every fiber of his being, to run away, to hide, and having it be counterbalanced against his love for Julia, his trust in her, his wholehearted trust in them, really.

He swallowed.

More brow rubbing, Julia observed.

William's eyes grew so beautifully dark as he tried to read the effect his words would have on her, to see if she would judge him, if she would be hurt. And his heart pounded so in his chest. "I have been… It is not like it would be with someone I had not…"

My, another swallow.

"… To learn of her presence here, and then Catfrey drew parallels, and, well, with the history, with how dangerous she had turned out to be, and um, well, with…" he said, finding words, as so often happened when he knew he needed them most, failing him once again. He pleaded, with his eyes, in his mind and in his heart, that she know what he meant, that she be able to see that he was grappling with his own embarrassment as much as with anything else, and that she would not feel challenged by his ever having been swayed by any woman other than herself, that he would not have to explain, that he would not have to convince her that Sally was no threat to them.

Thinking it best to get back to the case, Julia asked, "And you think she's working with Neil Catfrey… what, to steal the Pink Panther Diamond with him?"

Relief overflowed through him, somehow lightening him, freeing him from the leaded density of fear and releasing an unseen, but subconsciously sensed, aura of steam.

William's eyebrow shot up. "No, worse than that, Julia. I think they already have, but Guillaume won't let me prove it. He's called in Meyers…"

"I see," Julia said, "A matter of national security, I'm sure," she joked knowingly.

"I don't believe I have much time until Meyers arrives and stops the whole thing. He might even pull us off of the robbery case as well, if Guillaume convinces him we'll frighten Sally off investigating it," he laid out all his concerns.

"More evidence never hurts," she called her mind to task. Julia lifted the chromatography paper with the series of dots of ink samples from the note out of the liquid solvent in the beaker. The doctor and the detective examined it intensely, both intrigued by the possibilities to be revealed by the stripes of varying amounts of differing colors, pretty streaks of rainbowed pastels of pink and blue and green and yellow that had each risen up from one of the ink dots at the bottom.

"William," her tone alerted him there was something important, "The text of the note, even the 'NC' of the 'NANCY' signature, are all from the same pen, but not the 'NA' before the 'NC' nor the 'Y' after it. They were written with different ink. It was originally signed 'NC' as you had suspected! This is even more proof that you are right!" They shared one of those elated smiles that titillated them both, vibrated their souls, heightened their certainty that they were meant to be together. It was lovely, the temporary gliding of it.

"Well then, detective," Julia said assuredly, "I'd say, that with the results of this new evidence in, and Catfrey's fingermarks on the note, and your interrogation telling that the he and Sally have had, perhaps are still even engaged in, a romantic relationship… it makes sense to bring Sally in for questioning. Just, well, it may be best right now to stick to the other matters, the ones not related to the French diamond specifically, before Meyers has had a chance to stop you. You, husband, are quite an expert at interrogating suspects. She may well slip up, give you some unintended clue?" the lift in her voice at the end turning the statement into a question.

He wrinkled his face doubtfully in reaction to her words.

But then, suddenly decided, William nodded. "Good," he declared simply. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. "Thank you, Julia. Talking with you always seems to help," he said.

"Yes, we make a good team," her smile glowed.

"Indeed," he agreed. He turned to go.

About to part, nothing of significance having been resolved between them on the other matter, the unspoken, personal one, disappointment and worry began to spill in, to replace all those warm feelings inside. Abruptly though, hope… anticipation, vibrated to a breathtaking pause, for William had halted in his tracks. She heard him, watched his shoulders rise with his preparatory breath. He turned back to her, his glance into her eyes revealing his pinched lips, and she noticed that, subtly, there at the corner of his mouth, was the admitting-it, apologetic, wrinkle. He stepped back to her, held her eyes, and then… she felt it, down low, next to her thigh, out of plain sight. He touched the back of his hand to hers, so tenderly. William seeking connection, his eyes, that secretive touch, told her of his longing to be wholly WITH her. She thought to herself that it was so much like one of those moments between them she would always remember, like when they were standing in the street pretending to be looking in the display window, or talking out in the open in the stationhouse bullpen with his little, nearly secret, touch hidden out of sight, down at their sides, the promise between them, now however, something other than her being married to another man, instead some unidentifiable trouble, the cause for the division.

"I'm sorry… um, about…" all he said.

Julia's brain reasoned it out with the brief silence, William unable to finish. He would have no reason to regret one of the occasional times that one or the other of them turned down the seductions of the other – it was the WAY he had turned her down, practically running away from her advances… Brave though, his bringing it up so directly…

Her eyes warmed as she exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath. "Do you think… Is something wrong?" she asked

"No," his answer came too quickly, "I had had a dream, is all."

"Well, not a sexy one I presume," she joked, regretting risking making him feel uncomfortable, but also wanting to note that their tendency to each have such highly arousing dreams just before waking in the morning was often the stimulus for the delicious lovemaking that tended to follow.

"No," a chuckle. "But I... I can't remember it," he said, developing a frown.

Julia's heart strings tweaked, for William struggled so to better stay in touch with his feelings – she believed he tried so hard for her. His disappointment in himself only serving to make her love him even more.

"William," the tone of her voice reached deep into him, into his heart, into his soul, into the place sequestered inside of himself that trusted, and, with that touch, came pain along with the healing and the care and the warmth, a burning ache for those heartbreaking times in his life when his trust had been betrayed, "If there is something wrong, whatever it is, we will figure it out…" She took his hand in hers, "Have faith."

He chuckled, a sparkly twinkle firing in his eyes with his smile, "So, I see Church IS helping you…"

Now it was Julia's turn to shine that admitting-it, corner-of-the-mouth wrinkle on him. "I suppose," she gave, and tilted herself into his arms. They held each other softly, waited just a moment for their breaths to align unbeknownst to them… safe and secure and solid once more.

Julia's lips hovered and tingled above his ear. "Now, go get 'em tiger," she whispered, then softly kissed his cheek, then slipped her fingers up his arms to hold his strong shoulders. They shared a nod, a smile.

Homburg to head, a winsome bow, and he was off.

Julia turned back to clean up after the chromatography test. She would add these results to the file she had started on the robbery case, thinking the two cases might be linked, both involving the theft of jewels. She started to hum aloud, the structure of the morgue improving the quality of the notes – much like William's stand-up bath – 'shower,' she so loved the word, like you're bathing out in a lovely warm downpour…

Her mind back to her work, she thought, "Even though there was no body in these cases, no postmortem results to record, there was much of the work involved in such investigations that constituted forensic work." So often now, she helped him with crimes beyond mere murders. Like waves rippling through the sea, intermittently the crest is reached, and what one can see shifts, poised, suspended there before it drops back down, and her thoughts returned back to their conversation. It truly was something she would likely not have said before… "Have faith," she nodded in agreement with herself.

"Perhaps a different record on the phonograph," she interjected.

Then, sitting at her desk, the music soothing in the air, she found herself reflecting on attending Mass at his Catholic Church once more. She found a pride, perhaps more a self-satisfaction, in going with William on Sundays. It had been less oppressive than she had expected. In some ways it felt like psychotherapy – calling on one to engage in self-reflection, particularly in Confession, at least with Father Clemmons it felt that way. Although, he is likely a much more modern Catholic priest than most, for that she felt lucky, for herself but even more so for William. And there was the element of human connection. For someone like William, who had difficulty knowing himself and connecting with others, she could see better now how it was that the Church would bring profound meaning to his life.

The record reached the end, its repetitive bumping against the edge calling her to move on. She had a class to lecture later. Unsure whether she would see William, Julia would go out to lunch without him. So much softer now, the impact when the memory of him turning away from her this morning re-played. They would work it out, she was certain of it.

) (

Pedaling his bicycle, enjoying the chill of the breeze, William rode back to the stationhouse from the flower shop, bouquet of yellow and orange roses safely secured in the rack. He had chosen those two specific colors to meld the love and devotion of their marriage with the profound passion of their lovemaking, at least usually, and except for his strange reaction this morning. It was his plan to leave them secretly for Julia in the morgue. She would discover them waiting for her at her desk. He had seen her head out to lunch, and all the morgue attendants had left early – no postmortems on the schedule. Having a key to the morgue, it wouldn't really be as much sneaking in as taking advantage of the fact that the place was empty…

His mind, as was common, wandered back to the case. He had called Guillaume, found out from the French Inspector that the owner of the Pink Panther Diamond and Sally Charon were expected to meet for lunch together at the zoo. He had decided it would be best to retrieve her for questioning himself, rather than to send a constable. After all, he had previous connections with her – it would likely raise less suspicions this way. He had not informed Guillaume of his intentions. He would take a carriage to the zoo, hoping to be there by the time their lunch had finished, and then pull Sally aside, ask her to go with him quietly, figuring she would prefer it that way as well. He clamped his lips together to himself, accepting that he would have to tread lightly. Even if she confessed to the crimes he would be asking her about, he knew full well he would have a battle on his hands with Meyers about actually arresting her. He sighed to himself, standing on the pedals to confront the lifting of the hill… "Julia was right, there was a logic to Guillaume's plan to use Sally to find Catfrey and the diamond…"

Whack – the flash of the memory from this morning hit. Such a skin-crawling sensation when he had felt her body from behind him, her hot breath in his ear, her hands, somehow strangely too small, riding all over his chest… Unacceptable, to feel that way about Julia, he shoved it away – HARD.

"So many questions about Catfrey's note. Who left it for me?" he wondered. "And why would Catfrey send such a note to Sally at all, why not just meet her?" the questions badgered. The note said that the 4th house was the place where the tiger who was supposedly after Sally was housed – that had to be Stationhouse #4, didn't it? Then William remembered Catfrey's interrogation, maybe the man had thought he had revealed too much, having told about his being Sally's lover, and Sally wanting to share her shockingly seductive painting only with two men in all the world, each of them… "Implying that I had had a similar relationship with Sally. Most assuredly, I DID NOT!" William's jaw clenched tight, his anger showing itself. The fury was taken out on his bicycle, his pedaling now a frenzy.

)

William rested the bike against the side of the morgue. Roses in hand, he turned the key in the lock, grateful that its having been engaged indicated his stealth would likely be successful. It would take the romance out of his gesture if she caught him. He warned himself, "She could be back any moment." His detective mind enjoyed being on the other side of a crime, sort of. "Not all break-ins are to take something," he reminded himself as he located a vase for the flowers, "Sometimes the culprit leaves something that wasn't there in the first place rather than takes…"

WHAM

With such a wallop, his mind was flung into that special dimension that his brain sometimes found – defying time and space, it soared, tentacled down web strands, making connection after connection after connection, SAW so much. He would never know why or how he had figured out, but he did, with a panic and a rage all at once. Catfrey had snuck a listening device into his office, or… "Oh, that's it!" it yelled at him, "THE HOUSE! He's hidden a listening device in our house! It would explain so much – how Catfrey knew to warn Sally, and how he had known it would be best for him not to go to her in person, that we would be on the lookout for him. He must have overheard us talking about the case! That's probably why he showed up to be questioned exactly when he did. I thought it had been so odd, the way the man walked into the Stationhouse the very morning after I had told Julia that I was going to bring Alan Clegg in to help find him… that I suspected he was an American. Catfrey had been so smug – like, somehow, he held all the cards…"

Another strand in his brain tangented off, working to determine the means Catfrey had used to get the listening device implanted into their home. "Maybe the night the scrutiny camera took that photograph… he thought, immediately followed by self-reproach – "So stupid not to develop the picture it had taken!" A part of him defended, reminded of the rush at the time, the pressure from all around, the awful headlines in the newspapers, rendering it a priority to set the booby-trap up at the Body Farm as soon as possible, to catch the Body Dumper killer.

William reached up and rubbed his brow, Julia's flowers now in the vase. It was so frustrating, another case unsolved. That Body Dumper case, at their own, now quite controversial, body farm, would be the only one so far this year that he had not been able to 'close' as Julia liked to say. Quickly, the pleasant flicker of the old memory played in his mind as he headed across the morgue to make his escape, the two of them stepping down into the morgue theater together, Julia admiring her own new terminology for solving a case – "case closed," he heard her announce it again in his head. "Well, not this one, it seemed," he scowled at himself. And now he might be forced to fail on the Home-Break-In robberies as well, if Guillaume got Terrence Meyers to do his bidding.

And with that, he was back to the Pink Panther Diamond case again in his head, reworking the same problem, "Maybe it was this Schnozzy character, working in cahoots with Catfrey, who planted the listening device. The 'click' sound of the key in the lock, re-locking it to assure Julia would not be suspicious when she returned to the morgue, and then it hit him – "Of course! Catfrey didn't need to break-in to get the device into the house!" The sting of the discovery compounded the hurt of the memories of that anguishing night at the Ball as they re-ran through his mind, William's heart wrenching with agony and stomach-turning jealousy while re-seeing Julia wiggling and giggling her flirtations at Catfrey, dancing with him, her gorgeous blue gown flowing along with their graceful movements, her blue-sequined purse dangling right there on her wrist the whole time. Catfrey could have dropped the device into her purse at any time, maybe even while the two of them were whirling and twirling about as they danced… Brutally, William's fists clenched rigidly remembering Catfrey dipping her back, wholly inflamed by the sight of Julia lying underneath the other man, horizontal under him, in HIS arms, her glossy blue eyes held to his… she had looked so, so, astoundingly beautiful…

Such force, the jealousy, the fury, it nauseated him. Unconsciously, he soothed himself, rubbing his fretted brow. A sigh. "The device is relatively heavy," his more rational mind took back control, imagining the listening device being dropped, falling into Julia's purse, as he mounted back up on his bicycle, "It would most certainly have sunk down to the bottom under all the other items. Julia must not have noticed it… with our fighting afterwards." William turned towards their home rather than the stationhouse, making haste.

)

His bicycle dropped against the front porch, up the front steps, in the front door, no announcement, just running up the stairs. Eloise, out of the corner of his eye, he called out the explanation, "I have to check something," he said, breathless, from roused emotion as much as from physical effort.

William's brain chanted, "Blue purse. Blue purse," but his eyes caught sight of their bed. Now made, Eloise had tidied. And the disturbing memory invaded again – he had been asleep, lying on his side, facing away from her. Her subtle movements behind him, and then he had felt her hand touch, her fingers cupping around the bulge of his shoulder muscle, her hand, so small in comparison to his brawny build. Sickening, her humid breath in his ear. And then she had rolled him… (It reminded him of that first dream he had ever had of the two of them lying in bed together. Her touch, her request, had been so delicious in that dream). "Why not this one?" (He had dreamt, back then, that he had confessed his love for her, despite knowing of her abortion, and despite his courting Enid. It had felt wonderful to lie with her so intimately in that dream), but now, now the same gesture from her, with him half-asleep and half-awake, this morning, and all he had felt was revolted. This morning, he had acquiesced, turned to her. He had let her roll him onto his back, even though it had felt to be against his will, but – "Why let her do it if you did not want to?!" his self-loathing screamed its reprimand. Then, so suddenly, she had been on top of him, and all over him, and he had felt so very disgusting.

All of a sudden, William realized where he was, found himself staring at their bed – lost, humiliated, confused. "Damn it, William!" he hammered himself. "The purse!"

Julia's closet. "Professor Fessenden said that Schnozzy purchased six devices…" So many purses. "The blue one! Closest to the front… Of course, logical – she used it last."

Julia's blue-sequined purse shoved down on the mattress, opened up in a rush, William's brain reasoned, "It would look like the ones in Madame Banner's and Madame Hubbard's purses…"

Out of the blue, the devious device was exposed. William held it out in his hand, right there in front of his very own eyes. It was true! The whirlwind of emotions pumping through him threatened collapse – he was absolutely furious, jaw clamped so tight the pressure of it itched his teeth in his gums, him raging to himself that he didn't care if they snapped right out of his mouth. He'd kill him… his last thought accompanying the fantasy, or was it a memory – from time he punched Darcy, of his fist pounding into the man's face, Catfrey's teeth cracking with the sheer force, his neck snapping into a spin as he fell to the ground… before William heard his own self-coaching talking him down. "The listening device's receiver had to be within 5 blocks…"

Wham

The thought cut with its interruption, "He'd have heard everything – our lovemaking! Our fights. The baby coming in in the morning. Not just when we talked about the cases." William tried to ground once more, pull back. "I'll get George to check every building in the radius…" And then, William remembered the abandoned old mansion! "Oh, that's it," he told himself, "Catfrey'll be there!" Most assuredly, he would send George to check there first. He made the call from the house, then caught a cab to hurry to the zoo to intercept Sally. Things were happening quickly now.

) (

Inspector Brackenreid's office was crowded. All men, Julia teaching her class at University, Terrence Meyers and Inspector Guillaume shared the sofa. Meyers was stinking up the place with his cigar, and yet, William actually found Guillaume's and Clegg's little pasty cigarettes even more irritating. William had reluctantly taken a seat in one of the chairs in front of the Inspector's desk, Clegg the other… that is until Thurston Howell, the First, as the man insisted on being called, had dragged Alderman Lamb down to the stationhouse.

During the introductions, William had found himself wondering if this Alderman Lamb was related to the Detective Lamb he had had convicted for taking the law into his own hands and murdering three men and chopping them up and disposing of their bodies in blocks of cement all those years ago. His answer would come rather quickly, for Howell and Lamb were there to stop William's investigation into the Pink Panther Diamond theft, and Alderman Lamb used his son's case as proof, claiming that, "this detective of yours is a stickler for the law… so much so that he had my son sent to jail for setting things right!"

Upon the two men's arrival, the Inspector had barked out into the bullpen for a constable to bring in another chair, and now William stood alone, both literally and metaphorically, while Howell pompously demanded of each and every man present that they agree that there would be no interruptions to his and his wife's – "Lovey's" – party schedule.

William was dumbfounded when it was determined, unanimously, that he would have to stop his investigation, that he would stop his interrogation of Sally, that he would not even be permitted to check the famous French diamond. All despite the fact that he had evidence – good, sound evidence, from the note Catfrey had intended to send to Sally, that the diamond being guarded at Alderman Lamb's Riverdale Zoo was a fake, and that Neil Catfrey, and his accomplice Schnozzy, had already stolen it, with Sally's help, and further that her fingermark would even be found as proof on the fake at this very moment.

Under pressure from Guillaume, Meyers had pressed him about his interrogation of Sally Hubbard – the one he had been conducting before he had been summoned into the Inspector's office. Now it seemed he would be forced into letting her go. It was infuriating. Meyers had asked if Sally had confessed to any of the older crimes William had brought her in for questioning on – killing Tesla's assistant with the microwave deathray, and attempting to sell the deadly weapon to Turkey, and even using the deathray machine to try to kill himself and Meyers and Crabtree and Tesla in a barn as part of a dastardly trick. It had only been William's quick thinking at the time, instructing them all to dive and submerge themselves in some water troughs, that had kept Sally from accomplishing her plan. He remembered, he almost even told them but had stopped himself, that the deathray had magnetized his badge, re-feeling the ache of the memory of his badge clicking to Julia's pendant when she kissed him goodbye before leaving him to go to Buffalo.

Even William's discovery of Catfrey's planted listening device – the device itself linking the Pink Panther Diamond case to the home-invasion robbery case because it was the same type of listening device they had found in the victims' purses after they had been robbed, and now William had found one of these same devises in his own home. All that argument had accomplished was that now his working on the robbery investigation had been put up on the chopping block as well.

There had been a glimmer of hope when George had hurried in, his excited knocking signaling to William that they had found Catfrey's hideout. He had been right, the listening device receiver had been found hidden in his neighborhood's abandoned old mansion, in a secret, "safe room," George had called it. William had managed to hold his tongue while George rambled on and on about finding it because of his remembering Beaton Manor – and the secret passageways the detective had discovered there, but the Inspector had not held his patience, snapping at George to get on with it. They had found equipment used to make the fake Pink Panther Diamond – a glassblowing oven, pink coating sheets, and Catfrey's drawings along with photographs of the real diamond's panther-shaped flaw inside of it, all providing solid proof it had been stolen and replaced with a high-quality fake… and that it had been done, and therefore had been stolen by, Neil Catfrey and Sally, and probably this Schnozzy as well.

Inside William's head he debated about revealing what he knew about Catfrey and Sally's romantic relationship – about mentioning the portrait of Sally and how Catfrey had been trying to steal it from James Pendrick because Sally wanted him to have it – just as she had wanted William to have it all those years ago, deciding it was not necessary because the note spoke clearly of Catfrey's and Sally' love. But then George added more. Besides telling them all that Catfrey and Schnozzy had been seen boarding a train to Chicago… steaming William into wringing his fists for he was forced to hold back on his pursuit, and they were most assuredly getting away with the diamond, George added that the two men had had with them a large trunk and a large package that was most likely a painting…

"Of course he did," William thought to himself sarcastically, remembering Julia giving him Pendrick's message that the ITEM he had asked about WAS missing, at the time the distraction helping to deflect some of his discomfort for having forgotten about Marcel and Angelique Guillaume's visit. William accepted his powerlessness and let it go, a rub to the brow and a sigh all he had to cope. Guillaume had argued for intentionally letting the thieves believe they had accomplished their theft, and then following Sally to get to the diamond back, and its thieves, all in one swoop. He had no choice, it seemed, in the face of Guillaume's logic. He told himself to be grateful that he still had the home-invasion robbery case when all was said and done.

) (

Julia heard him come in, from upstairs in their bed. She snuggled a little deeper into the mattress. She would let him come to her.

Not long, the house closed up for the night, William rounded the corner of their stairs, comforted by the fact that their bedroom door was opened, a warm, low light glowing into the dark hallway. He glanced in as he passed by their door on his way to kiss William Jr., Julia was in bed, he noticed.

The toddler seemed to sleep through anything these days, he thought gratefully, admiring their son, stroking his hair, dark like his, curly like hers.

His footsteps in the hallway again, and Julia sat up in the bed, waited.

Their eyes met from across the room. "Julia," he greeted, giving her a slight nod.

"William," she answered, tossing the covers aside and standing to approach him. "I suppose much has happened with the case?" she asked, as well as told, for he would know she had seen her purse on the bed… and that she would have figured out about the listening device, and besides all that, he was quite late.

She darted her eyes over to her vanity, his eyes followed. The blue-sequined purse rested there.

"Mm," he answered her, his admitting-it face telling her she was right on all accounts.

"Would you like some dinner?" she asked. "Eloise made your favorite potatoes – au gratin?"

She watched the potato news change his mind with a smile.

He took a deep breath and decided, "Tempting, but I think I'm too tired."

Now standing close enough to touch him, she noticed he had taken off his jacket and she rode her fingers up his vest, over the smooth, sleek metal of his badge, to his tie. As she spoke to him her eyes remained focused down on her undoing of his attire. "I suggest I warm you up a plate and bring it up, while you shower. You'll sleep better washed and fed," she offered, adding with a playful whisper, "husband."

"I knew there was a reason I married you," he smiled at her, placing his hands over hers to stop her advances.

"Good," she nodded and headed off to do the tasks.

)

Julia had the plate of food waiting for him at the vanity when he emerged from the bathroom ready for bed. "Oh good," she said as he came over to her, "I see Eloise changed to your red pajamas. We'll need the blue pajama top for your Halloween costume. Only a day away now," she added, jumping her eyes wide to show her excitement about it all.

His look, attempting to mirror her enthusiasm, weak, though he was quite glad that they had worked out his, and hers, nearly topless display.

He sat and began to eat.

Julia collected the purse to return it to her closet.

"You figured it out?" he said, "Catfrey…" he paused thinking that was enough.

"Yes," she replied.

William sighed and then thought aloud, "Catfrey didn't break-in directly… he never had to actually enter our home. It's infuriating to think it – but we BROUGHT him in."

There had been the risk of it, that Julia would feel responsible. He heard it in her voice as she corrected him…

"I brought him in, William, not you," she told. She considered dredging it all up again, apologizing to William for her immature flirting, especially now that they were aware that it had cost them not only the personal pain, but intrusion into their home as well. It might have been her use of the word 'intrusion' in her mind, but suddenly Julia had an uneasy feeling, then a memory – she remembered that odd day, back a month or so ago when she found the baby's window opened while he was napping. It had been too cold. She didn't think William would have left it opened. It bothered her then… Could it have been evidence of an actual intrusion? Unnecessary now, now that they knew HOW it was that Catfrey had gotten in. With that, she brushed it aside.

William's mind must have traveled an entirely different path, for when he spoke again it was to argue against Julia's self-reproach about it being her flirting that had allowed Catfrey to sneak the listening device into their home. He reached out for her hand, his smile warm when she gave it to him. "Julia, I told you this before, but I don't believe Neil Catfrey was faking his attraction to you. And we already worked out your reasons," he said with such solid certainty it reassured her. Then William continued making his point, "You know full well that both Madame Banner and Madame Hubble had similar listening devices planted in their purses at similar big events… hmm?" he asked for her nod. "And even though Catfrey may not be the robber, you can bet the robber didn't have to flirt, and dance, and dip…" William found it irresistible NOT to add the most egregious part of the whole affair to his list, "… either of these ladies in order to get the listening device into their purses." William paused again, insisting she was with him.

She nodded. In other circumstances she might have giggled at the thought of someone as handsome as Neil Catfrey dipping the extremely plump, short, old, Madame Banner back on the dance floor, but she was feeling the slightest sting from William's mentioning of that particular event, so the urge failed to arise.

The softest exhale through William's nostrils before he went on revealed his thoughts, "Good." That part was settled. "There are many different ways that Catfrey could have gotten that device into your purse," William reasoned it out, "He just preferred THAT way – because of you," William rested his case with a winsome smile.

Julia's smile in return told it had worked. She rocked and swayed, flirting with him now, subtly, "Thank you, William," she said.

She let go of his hand to let him finish eating and leaned back against the wall between the vanity and the bedroom door, crossing her arms across her chest. Curiosity returned to the forefront of her mind, prompting her to ask, "So, what did you find? Why are you so late?"

William filled her in, telling her about the hide-out in the old mansion with the glassblowing machinery Catfrey, or maybe his accomplice Schnozzy, had used to make the fake Pink Panther Diamond, and the listening device receiver. And that there were witnesses who saw the two men board a train for Chicago. He complained about Inspector Guillaume and Meyers and the Inspector, and even Alan Clegg and Alderman Lamb all supporting Thurston Howell's wishes not to even check to see if the diamond currently under guard at the Riverdale Zoo is actually the Pink Panther Diamond or the replica the note from Catfrey to Sally spoke of.

"And what of Sally Pendrick… I mean Hubbard?" Julia asked, trying not to appear too intrigued.

A flash of memory of his interrogation played in his mind, Sally slyly suggesting, "Detective, you can't really prove the device you 'caught' me with was deadly, a microwave killer as you claim," and him knowing – to the point of it making his blood fume, that she was feigning blond ditziness. Arms wide with disbelief, he had replied, "It cooked a man's organs from the inside out, according to our coroner. And it magnetized my badge!" Sally had held her eyes, blue and pretty, to his firmly when she answered, "You can't prove it was the same device," she suddenly was so smug. "Not so dumb after all," he remembered sarcastically thinking in his head. "Besides detective," Sally had tried to wiggle away, to change the subject, "It was you who killed Karnaki…" So quickly he had corrected, "No!" almost yelling it with his anger, then calming, "I simply reflected the deathray back at him. The amount of destruction, his being practically evaporated, only further proves it was the weapon I'm claiming it was," he had clenched his teeth with the assertion. Casually, the woman had said, "So you say. I deny all of it."

"William?" Julia pushed, his hesitation too long.

"Oh," he turned his attention back to his nearly finished dinner, "She denied everything. And Inspector Guillaume insisted Meyers stop me from arresting her – on any charge, so she could be used to lead him to the real diamond. I'm pretty much off that case. They'll likely follow her to Catfrey in Chicago."

"So, they all believe you about it all, though… that Catfrey and Sally worked together and already have replaced the real diamond with a fake – that it was them who stole the diamond?" she stepped away from the wall, hopeful, interested.

"Yes," he answered, "But Sally is to be left alone." She watched him frown. "She'll get away again," he grumbled.

"Have they at least agreed to allow you to continue your investigation into the robberies – Halloween is only a day away… the Howell's big bash?" she suddenly worried. "Certainly, they'll allow it. You have devised a whole plan – you have undercover constabulary members to watch out for the robber when he plants a listening device into someone's purse, and you narrowed down potential targets, and found places within the 5-mile radius where the robber could listen in to know when the couple will be heading home. It's your best chance to catch him!"

William nodded, thinking to take it as the bright side. He pinched his lips together, admitting he had wanted more and answered, "They have."

Julia leaned back against the wall. "Well, there's that at least," she mumbled. Her mind returned to the purse. It was such a creepy feeling, being overheard in such a clandestine way, living your day to day life and the whole time someone was listening in on you without you having a clue. With a whack the realization hit her, "He would have heard everything! When we made love!"

"William," the pleading in her voice, in her eyes, dire. "Catfrey heard…" her eyes darted over to their bed.

William had figured she would get there eventually, just as he had. He watched the awareness cover her face. Her gaze came back to him, gaping. Her brain registered it inside her head, "William seems so calm." And then her logical mind grasped the whole situation, "Of course, he has already gone through all of this, earlier," and she understood.

"We have no choice now but to accept it," he said to her with his characteristic corner-of-the-mouth wrinkle. He hoped it would soothe her. Earlier, maybe because William was a man, soon after first being embarrassed in thinking that Neil Catfrey and his little sidekick Schnozzy had overheard them during their rather robust and passionate – and frequent – lovemaking, he had come out of it in the end feeling chest-puffing proud. Thus, there was a good reason that William sounded outright cocky when he said to her, "I suspect our friend Catfrey got quite an earful…" and then such a sly expression appeared on his face, giving Julia the slightest moment to prepare, "Like that parrot at the hotel…" and William Henry Murdoch proceeded to imitate the parrot imitating Julia's cries and gasps when in the throes of lovemaking, "Oh William! Don't stop, William! William! Please… Please, William."

Mortified, absolutely mortified all over again, Julia's face went an odd blank. Petrified panic in her own inner voice, she thought, "The entire Windsor House Hotel had probably heard us - ME, if not actually when we were doing it, then that loudmouthed parrot when it cawed it out over and over again like a broken record, and everybody thought it was ME…"

Fortunately, Julia Ogden was by nature good-humored, and a part of her couldn't help but agree that it was quite funny. And William's face held no judgment, and there was that air of pride in him too. She remembered it from back when they first discovered what the parrot had been doing, explaining all those noise complaints. It won her over. "It is somewhat," she conceded with a chuckle, her yielding freeing William to wholeheartedly laugh, dominoing their laughter into side-hugging hysterics. "Remember the clerk…" she folded over holding her belly…

Through his own laughter William imitated the man's snobby delivery of his telltale question perfectly, "Your name is William, is it not sir?"

"Tears glistening her eyes, Julia rushed to blurt out, "And then he read us the Noise Complaint…" and now Julia herself took fun in imitating herself as the clerk had imitated the parrot imitating her, "Oh… Oh, William! William, please, please. Oh." It truly had been uproariously funny, and the couple now enjoyed the hearty shared laugh.

Exhausted, red-faced, the joyful wave passed.

"You know, I don't think I ever told you this," William said and then pushed his chair back and came to her, now more serious. Grasping one of her tempting curls between his fingers, he said, "When George and I were undercover as hoboes on the train – to Winnipeg, well, Chicago really, he told me that he HAD heard the parrot doing its routine of you… remember that morning, when he told us about the talking parrot in the suite below ours…"

"Oh dear," Julia exclaimed.

William stepped close to her and whispered, "I think he was impressed," erupting Julia into a melty happiness with William's secret delight with the whole matter.

Whispering back, she said into his ear, "As he should be, detective." William brushed one of her curls back from her face as he soaked in the marvelous feelings of his love for this wondrous woman for that one dangling second. But then, it was just the way he was, his attention went back to the case.

Back to his seat at the vanity to continue eating, William told her, "I have been trying to remember what things we said here in the bedroom since we got home from the Ball that night," he began the conversation anew.

Giggling first, she complimented, "So, you know everything then… being William Henry Murdoch." He did have an uncanny memory, after all. She giggled even harder when he lifted an eyebrow at her, with his frown, to scold.

It quieted between them, and Julia, too, started to rerun their conversations in her head. She started at the beginning, as is logical. "First, I had my purse with the device in it when we left the Ball, and Catfrey left before us, so he could have been at the old mansion listening when we came home…

"Catfrey would have heard us that night – after… after I had behaved so horridly!" She panicked, for she had hurt William badly, and they had argued.

Mid-chew, William answered with his mouth full, hurried to reassure her, "Much of it would have been out of earshot from the purse I think," remembering her coming to him downstairs in his workroom while he worked ludicrously hard at lifting his weights. It was fortunate, he thought, that he did not actually remember the exact conversation between them that had happened before that – while in their bedroom, for it would have smacked of precisely what Julia was worrying about having Catfrey eavesdrop on. It replayed in William's rapid mind…

Julia had the purse with her when she followed him up to their bedroom. Catfrey would probably have heard him bumping things about as he gathered up what items he needed to spend the night on the couch. Then he would have overheard their whole conversation, Julia asking, "Is it because I danced with Neil Catfrey?" and him asserting, "You did more than dance, and you know it Julia." Catfrey would have been feeling quite impressed with himself, William figured, working as much to fly through the whole memory as he was to shake it off. Julia told him she had done it, flirted so blatantly with the other man, because she wanted him to feel jealous, and he had found that to be unbelievable, he remembered, yelling at her, "Why!? Why would you do that?" before he started slamming items into his pile for the couch. Then, feeling completely defeated, he remembered he had told the room – and with a sting he realized it was actually Catfrey, rather than the room, who had been listening, "All I felt was not good enough, utterly inadequate, insecure… and furious, Julia." And that would have been it. After that, he had left the bedroom and she had followed him downstairs right after. William remembered that much later that night they had talked it through downstairs in his workroom, and then had made love in the shower. Julia could be noisy, but he figured the shower was too far out of earshot of the listening device hidden in Julia's purse for Catfrey to hear her, William's memory so keen that he even remembered that she had left it on her vanity.

It had all happened so quickly, and all that likely showed on the outside of the whole mind-trip was William's sigh as he accepted it once more. And there was a subtle tightness in his jaw as he concluded that it was likely Catfrey's overhearing those painful words between himself and his wife that had rendered the man feeling so superior the next day when he had come in for questioning.

As William refocused on the here and now, became aware that Julia was waiting for him. "Remember," he encouraged, "We talked downstairs in my workroom. We worked it all out. We even…"

William watched her body change as she remembered they had made love.

Relieved, Julia interrupted, "In the shower… Yes, it was lovely. I remember." The pause was brief before she asked, "Do you think he heard us…"

"Your purse was out here," he quieted, "Not that time," he assured, and then gave her his admitting-it wrinkled corner of the mouth look, for Catfrey had most definitely overheard them making love an enormous amount of other times. William watched as there was an alluring change in her. "Perhaps…" and he suddenly realized that all the times this had happened to her – and to him, it must have appeared like that to the other one of them, "…she's having a fantasy… perhaps the shower, something else…" Sweetly, and a little embarrassed, he remembered his first fantasy, "The lung water!" he panicked for himself all those years ago, now realizing, "She probably knew!"

All this making love talk tempted Julia to imagine making love now. She envisioned seducing him, straddling him there in her vanity chair, kissing him and squishing her body against him. Moving her body over his, into his, and touching him… everywhere. She looked to his plate. He was nearly finished eating. "William," she said…

And his every cell was alerted, for her tone was most definitely lusty. He swallowed, darted those gorgeous eyes of his to check her intentions in her face.

Marvelous, he was stunned.

She took the fork from his hand, placed it at the edge of his plate, and then slid the plate away. William pushed back his chair with her unspoken request.

Oh, she relished the feeling of his eyes on her, his chest beginning to heave, as she feigned ignoring him. She gathered up the hem of her nightgown, wrinkling it higher and higher, raising it, revealing her long, willowy legs.

There was a sound, nearly silent, William's breath stolen at the sight, naked, all the way up, her thighs so white and creamy, and that lush mound of fuzzy hair at the crown.

Julia glanced back behind herself into the vanity mirror, saw William's eyes follow hers, become focused on her reflection, down lower, where his most primal urges forced him to look. And then she teased him so mercilessly, slowly raising the white, cottony fabric upward. William's pupils becoming pools of black as in the mirror her pair of luscious mounds of rounded flesh poked out from under the backside of the cloth. With a grace, her back arched tight, she lifted her leg to straddle him, fully aware of the rush of cool air reaching her exposed most private place, as the spreading of her legs around him caught the rest of the hem of the nightgown and lifted it up to her hips.

She had nothing on! – the shot, the lightning bolt, straight to his groin, every drop of his blood racing to that one spot, the scrumptious screaming in it crazing him, for he had caught a glimpse of her, so delicious… And he wanted her, with a fury that burned through him making him feel… so… strong and dizzyingly wild. He wanted her, so urgently, ON him, that lush, steamy woman, sexy and warm, ON him.

As she settled down on his lap, he sensed, his skin so ready, her humid heat just above him… only the thin, thin, cloth of his pajama bottoms in the way. The scent of her, her soft, squashy body pressing against him. Flailing, William tried desperately to regain his composure. He forced himself to find words, to speak.

"Nothing on under your nightgown?" he swallowed and scratched out the question, his raspy degree of arousal blatant, bringing a curve to the edges of Julia's lips.

"I would have thought with your sharp detective's mind you would have noticed. Rarely, do I wear more than this to bed these days," she informed him, her breath now in his ear, so intimate, so close. Julia's fingers scratched into his hair, tingled and seductively caught and glanced over his ears. "Knowing you, detective, that is probably how you seem to know… that time of the month." Finally, her mouth on him, tasting him, loving him, tugging him into her whirlwind.

Somehow, he had managed it, William had mustered a solidness that would allow him to resist, to milk and exploit all there could be out of the experience, to extend the tension, the pull, the lovely, lovely pressure, between them. And thus, he had achieved an air of cockiness as he teased her, "Oh doctor, there are so very many ways I know when it is that time of the month…" It would be the listing of them that would tweak her, irk her, and he reveled in the showing them off, "Your amorous mood, delightfully ravenous, really…"

A part of her wanted to shove him for the brash remark, but he was right. And she was feeling that way right this second, and all she wanted to do was touch him…

"Your crabby mood… and your heightened sense of smell… I'd say, Wednesday, or perhaps Thursday," he bragged.

Annoyingly, he was correct in his prediction, of course. "Perhaps," was all she gave on the topic.

Reaching down in her lustful explorations of his body, Julia arrived at the convenience flap in his pajamas. Oh, she could have some fun with this. William had become magnificently aroused. She was surprised he hadn't burst out of it already, she nearly giggled. Mischievous at heart, she would play with him. "William," she fought hard not to giggle, "You seem to have a hole in your pajamas."

She took in that glorious look of him, William's jaw locking tight, the sheer handsomeness of him completely overwhelming when he gets like this, highly intense, about to pounce. Oh, she was killing him and she knew it, and he was fighting the fall with all his might. She pushed back a bit, to be able to see 'the hole.' "Oh…" she said, or groaned, he would never be quite sure for his brain had become soup, "I quite like it."

Absolute yielding, giving in, collapsing of every stitch of resolve, when she reached in and took him in hand. He was simply gone.

"Yes, I most definitely like it," she said as she utterly rocked his world, rubbing and squeezing, and she herself felt a magnificent hot weakening begin to flow, torrenting, through her body as he grew enticingly more and more ready.

They both knew it, they were too close to the point of unbearable resistance. They would have to…

It took just the tiniest of noises to tumble them. Julia's womb had throbbed so tight with an uncontrollable wrench that the agony of it escaped as a moan, barely audible, almost just a breath, or a whimper, but it flung them over the edge. The tempo exploded into a flurry – hands, mouths, tongues, hearts pounding, breaths hot and gushing. His hands so rough on her hips lifting her, pulling her close to his stomach, bringing her inline. The rupture, the breach, surely so luscious neither of them would survive its sweetness.

Closer to her, nearer and nearer, higher, further, filling her. And then the pumping, her from above, him from below, pushing them, pulling them, closer and closer, again, again, again.

"William," Julia cried out his name, "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Oh he gave her everything, pounding and ramming, but not close enough. He wanted more.

Whoosh, William swept her off her feet – up – so fast – so high – and then the spin. Julia clung to him with all her might. THUD, Julia's back banged against the wall by their bedroom door. Not a moment for her to grasp what had happened, where she was, what he was doing to her, William thundered making love to her wildly, savagely, sending her flying, so high, each thrust getting closer, closer…

"William," she gasped, so desperate, "It's… It's going to be… It's… It's… so…"

He raced towards her most precious spot, everything in all the world falling to the wayside with his urgency, his excruciating need, to add his inertia to hers, to reach the ultimate crescendo as one "Almost there…" he stormed, with absolutely everything he had, to her.

"William," the way she said it… pure euphoria, the first humungous wave hovering, just about to sweep her up. It tugged him to implosion, so delicious.

"Julia," William scratched out with one of his last exerted grunts, with his forward, deepening, thrust, harmonized with her gushing exhale, perfectly synchronized, he pumped only a few more precious times, with each of them Julia's gasped and groaned breaths, just… a… few… times… more, each thrust longer, slower, praying for the lusciousness to never, never end, please, please, just one more drop…

Tears in her eyes, she barely whispered, "You feel so gooood."

And he kissed her, her ear, her neck, her cheek, her ear again. "I love you, Julia," his rough voice somehow inside of her as much as out.

Her brain the only part of her able to answer him in her head, responded, "Such a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful man."

The rushed swirling, impossible to tell for it was all around, in and out, up and down, now and forever, before it passed, all the while the couple remaining bonded, waiting, together.

Noticing a dampness in William's short, black hair as her fingers fiddled and caressed through it, thinking it was sweat, Julia reminded herself that he had showered, that thought linking to remembering that he had worked late, and then to remembering the case – the cases, and then, with a deeper vibration of importance, his strange turning away, his outright avoidance of making love this morning, and the thought crossed her mind that maybe whatever was bothering him this morning was resolved, but the psychotherapist in her knew, knew that it was not…

She would bathe him in her admiring of his sexual prowess, however, for he had been magnificent. "Oh my, William, that was incredibly good," she declared with a few nuzzled kisses along the edges of his ear. Julia was wholly satisfied to bask there, her heart glowing with love for him.

William chuckled, and, voice still dry and somewhat out of breath, he joked, "I suppose I was not TOO TIRED after all." He considered trumpeting his success at overcoming whatever sexual block he had had this morning as well, but immediately decided it would be best not to jinx it, so held his tongue.

"You are more than tired now, though," she gave him a mischievous nudge, the first step in separating after their intense lovemaking. She took a deep breath, "You did well to take my doctorly advice, detective. Washed and fed, and now thoroughly loved…" her hand tenderly cupped his cheek, "you will sleep better. Even more so, because your wife, Mr. Murdoch, intends to love you even more…" She pushed him back another step. Through the fuzzy softness of his pajama top she ran her hands up his ribs, over his pectoral muscles, caught the little poking-up of his nipples through the material, thinking to herself as she did so, that he was a prime specimen of manliness. "Take off your top…"

Zing – William felt that creepy intrusion, a chilled cold sweat, threatening once again…

"You are going to get a massage," Julia had gone on, "It will be a sort of Ishinpō in reverse," she softly giggled.

"Oh… No, Julia. That's alright…" William started to protest.

"William," she took a firm hold of his shoulders and shook him playfully, bringing his beautiful chocolate eyes to hers, "I want to make you feel good. Please, just let me take care of you."

"I already feel good," he gave with a smile, her charm winning him over, the unnerving feelings dissipated, his warm satisfaction and thorough physical exhaustion setting in.

"And you will feel even better…" Julia continued to insist, walking over to his side of their bed and pulling down the covers for him. "Here," she said, "What a delightful way to fall asleep, with your lovely, and experienced wife rubbing all the tension and soreness out of those hunky, strong muscles, knowing exactly the best spots to focus on, all those origins and insertions…"

William had given in. Truth be told, it sounded great. He unbuttoned his pajama top as he walked over to the bed.

"Let's start with you lying on your back," she instructed. After William lay down, Julia turned out the light. It would be easier for him to fall asleep with it off. Besides, she knew anatomy better than just about anyone else, and even more so, she knew William's anatomy by heart. She certainly did not need the light. Julia straddled herself across his stomach and began.

Wise, and now well trained, thanks to William, in the art of Ishinpō, she started with her touch on his head, stroked down his hair, so lovingly, firm and also seemingly soaking up the feel of him, highly attentive, then spread her fingers wider over his scalp and increased the pressure to massage the tension out of his head, mending the soreness out of that forehead that he himself rubbed so often, then softer again to go squeeze and stroke his ears, down his cheeks, and his jawline, to his chin… a momentary lifting away before a gentle sweeping excursion up his pectoral muscles to ride up to the big chest muscles' origins under the bottom of his clavicles. Once she had reached the beginning of the strong muscles, she reversed direction, pressing in with more force, and her expert fingers nudged the tenseness out along their entire length of those bulging muscles, eliciting a delicious moan from him. He could not see it, but my goodness did his obvious pleasure make her smile. After a few more, deeper and deeper, rubs of pectorals, she started with his hunky trapezius muscles up on the top of each of his clavicles. Searching the muscles' origins, Julia tucked her fingers in under the back of his neck, slipped in just at the base of his hairline at the back of his neck…

"Mmm," he moaned out the pleasure…

As she rubbed down the tight, tense muscles from where they began at the base of his skull out to his shoulders.

William's voice was scratchy as he told her, "That left one's been stabbing at me all day."

"Mmm," she answered him in the darkness, leaning in and giving him a sweet kiss at his ear. Under her breath she told him what came to her mind, "It's your old injury, the meat-hook wound."

Careful not to change the quality of her massaging, not wanting to stir-up his own memories of the past trauma, her brain flashed her the image of her first seeing that injury, the morning after it had happened, the two of them together in the laundry cupboard. At the time she had not known it had been caused by something as horrific as his hanging from a meat-hook, naked and gagged and wrapped in burlap after being bonked on the head and chloroformed… Her mind dug deeper, thinking of what it must have been like for him, "to become conscious to that excruciating pain, in the cold and the pitch black and the stench of the slaughterhouse, one among many in a line of pig carcasses dangling from the ceiling, helplessly hanging there waiting for the morning to come and the machine to be switched on and then to be sliced in half by a huge rotary saw…" She shoved the thoughts away, took a deep breath, all the while keeping up the smooth massaging. Another deep breath. To comfort herself, her mind reminded that he was here with her, safe and sound, he had come home back then, they had ended up huddled together in the laundry room after she had discovered his reeking suit in the laundry bag. He had a cut on his lip, and she knew there was more, had asked him to show her. He had been to the hospital, so it had been stitched up, thus she never saw the wound at its worst. "It must have been so awful," her last thought on the matter.

Done with his trapezius muscles, time for the deltoids.

Not another word was spoken between them. Julia had made it so far as rubbing out his upper arms, first his deltoids, then his biceps, before his deep, slow breathing affirmed her suspicions that William had fallen asleep. One more kiss, and she slipped herself down next to him, tucked under the covers, pushed her pillow to its comfortable spot, and then offered herself to sleep as well.

Smokiness in the air, for the cold's so bitter that the breath makes fog, and the dankness, the odors, so rank and dense that sounds are amplified, and oddly slowed. Something about it not right, the surety of it rendering dizziness, panic, shamefully vulnerable. Being watched – I can feel it – so many eyes, wide, aimed at me. From behind, a sickening warmth, rhythmical putridity of the breaths. Those shiny black boots, on the dirt-floor behind me. I'll fight! So many of them! Stabbing pain atop of shoulder – you're weak, injured… Perhaps best not to… Hands on me – too large, not real. Can't be happening! Feeling through my clothes to my body. Disgusting – vile. That voice, snakelike, venomous…

"Take off your shirt."

I am certain I will not. The loudest noise I've ever heard – the gun cocking. "George!" the terror so extreme I'm unaware if I said it in my head or screamed it out loud, all I can see is the barrel shoved into the feathery blackness of his hair. Buttons William – undo the buttons. Hurry. Skin so cold. What's stopping me from getting it off…? Sleeves, undo the sleeves…

Vomitous, he's… what the hell is he… squeezing and rubbing at my muscles, on my chest, on my stomach, his breath so vilely hot in my ear, so disgusting I'll puke. His body hard against my backside. Nothing I can do. Helpless. Helpless.

Suddenly, he flees, and then so quickly, he's under me. Finally I can release my rage. Wild, knuckle-cracking sweetness each time my fist lands on his face.

"All right! All right!" it's James Gillies voice calling the truce. "You got me. Stop hitting me. You won."

No need any longer for me to be the brute, so out of breath from the anger and the fear.

Puzzling as he says it to me, and there's a smirk, and I don't understand

"This is it for us. Doesn't that make you just a little bit sad?

No.

Not even a teensy bit?

I'm certain it does not. I'm glad it's over.

"Come now, Detective. You and I share something. Something special. I'll miss you. You know that."

HIS LIPS ON MINE! Argh! He's kissing me! Get off me. Ugh.

He's going to escape… He's getting away! So strange, could it be Sally now?

Distracted, pulled away, enabling the escape for certain, a whisper smothered in foul cigarette stink – Guillaume… "Au début Mr. Murdoch, je pensais qu'il avait ta femme, but now it seems the cat has your tongue."

What cat? Such a spin to look fast enough. Nausea instantly, GIANT, the pink-dyed lion, out of its cage, loose, wild, free, escaped. We'll have to catch it – so dangerous! The giant lion is tossing something back and forth between its humungous paws, playing with it… What is it? My God, look at those razor-sharp claws – inches long… It's some sort of meat, looks like a tongue – MY TONGUE!Going to bite it!

The CRUNCH so piercingly disgusting inside my head.

NO! NO! Devastating, the sound of my own voice, muted screams, sounds, noises, unidentifiable except for the anguish, volume without meaning, no words.

Can't speak without a tongue – no tongue!

The sobbing shook and shook and shook.

Julia was nudging him, shaking him softly. "William. William honey, wake up," she urged.

I'm in bed with her, cold sweat, so sick in the stomach, William became awake to where he was, to the present moment, to the fact that all that had just happened was not real. He felt his own face wrinkled up with distaste and pain, remaining so close to the experiences he had had just before.

"You had a bad dream," she told him as he himself realized it. "You're safe. Everything's alright, hmm?" she reassured him, her hand cupping his head, her voice so close in the dark.

He took a breath, she heard it was deeper, he was there with her. "Shh," she shushed him, rubbing tenderly into his hair, "Shh." But then she surprised herself, for she advised him, guided him, "Try to remember it," she coached him to chase after the dream. And with that Julia found herself wondering at herself, arriving at the memory of him being aversive to her sexual advances the morning before, and remembering her decision that whatever was bothering him had yet to be resolved.

William's memory was powerful and quick, and he would do anything for Julia. Running backwards, he caught flashes…

*The pink lion had my tongue, I couldn't speak.

*Guillaume had been the one to tell me.

*I had been chasing someone and caught them – beating them ruthlessly… Gillies, the man had turned into Gillies.

*Who was it before that? he tried to remember. Oh, this part was fleeting.

*In a barn… In danger, many men had captured us. George with a gun to his head… And then William remembered – HE KNEW! The repugnance of it so insufferable he rejected it with a jolt. Sat up in bed, swung his feet to the floor. Intolerable to stay there where it had just happened. So badly, he did not want to remember it. The cold air on his dampened skin, and with it an abrupt emergency to having his shirt off. In a tizzy he hunted his pajama top in the dark.

Julia threw off the covers and climbed over the mattress to jump up next to him. "Hey," she encouraged, but her mind was racing. He was obviously upset. She clicked on the light, the red pajama top suddenly in sight, he grabbed it. There was immense pressure to help him, to ease it all for him.

Standing now, so quickly, in such a rush, he shoved his arm into the first sleeve. Julia reached out to help, holding the other side of the pajama top up and out to make it easier, faster, for him to get his other arm in the sleeve. She straightened out the front sections and hurried to begin buttoning it for him. She tried to mirror calming down for him, took a deep breath, but impatient herself, said, "Breathe William." She caught his eyes, so gorgeous and distraught, the look tugged at her heart.

She made herself breathe again. Finished with his buttons, then she cupped his cheeks in her hands. She told him, her own voice impressing herself with its strength and its warmth, as her thumbs soothed across his cheeks, "We'll figure it out, William. It will be alright, whatever it is. Hot chocolate…" she smiled, still feeling her heart thundering against her chest, "You know it can cure anything, hmm?" she asked him.

Wonderfully warm, the float for a second, when he smiled back and nodded. Trying, William was trying. He took the wished for deep breath.

)

William and Julia talked it all through down in the kitchen after his nightmare – over two warm, sweet cups of hot chocolate. There were layers and layers and layers to his dream, circling, spiraling in deeper and deeper. He had been troubled by Guillaume, and all the other men blocking his investigation into Sally and Catfrey and their likely stealing of the Pink Panther Diamond. He had been forced to let them get away, had been in a sense 'silenced,' and it had triggered memories that had shown up in his dream of many other times when badguys had gotten away, Gillies and Sally particularly, and now Catfrey, and Sally for a second time. But there was another badguy that had returned to haunt William, another evil character that had gotten away, and this one had violated William so badly that the emotional scar still ached and tormented him – Flannel Bull, the wretched American policeman who had corrupted his men into helping him obtain male victims for his own sexual perversions, William having been one, George's life the ransom used to ensure William's lack of resistance.

It was Guillaume, in the dream – linking all these things in a way, particularly William's past traumatic victimization with the present Pink Panther Diamond case. Julia had figured it out, so hidden from William that he likely would not have grasped it – but it was Guillaume. In the dream Guillaume had spoken in French, and Julia had asked William to think back to their conversation upstairs in the bedroom after Marcel and Angelique had left that night that he had forgotten to tell her he had invited them. Even in her asking William about it, Julia using Marcel's first name in her question, she remembered noticing William flinching whenever she had called Inspector Guillaume 'Marcel' when they first addressed his reluctance and avoidance of making love with her that next morning, giving her even more evidence that her suspicions were right. William remembered, not unsurprisingly, the conversation to its minutest details.

Julia started in the middle of his nightmare, aware that the hardest part of the dream was in the beginning, she planned to start where he could handle it and take him to the easier to accept ending, thus, building him up first. She knew William Murdoch, discovery, any discovery, intrigued him. It was one of the main things about him she fell in love with. She had found she loved him even more when the discovery he ventured on with her was self-discovery, for it was a much more rich and potent journey than those that were more intellectual, and he was ripe for it now.

She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip, catching his chocolaty eyes over its rim. "William," her tone signaled the start, "Gillies was in your dream…"

He nodded, answering her, "James Gillies, on the train tracks that night after he escaped from the train to Kingston and I caught him…"

Julia waited, wanting him to say it out loud, her anticipation prevalent on her face, indicating and pushing him – there was more.

"When he kissed me…" William gave with his voice weakening, scratching with the stress of the truth of it.

"And it distracted you, hmm, his kissing you like that?" she pointed the direction.

William nodded, his face glued to hers.

"Gillies took advantage of that, of your shock and disgust, to escape?" she added, taking another sip.

"Yes," William's mouth wrinkled at a corner, admitting it. Needing the warm chocolate to soothe his discomfort, William too took a sip.

Julia's expression grew pensive, the change drawing him, tugging at his curiosity. "What distracted you, after Gillies kissed you in your dream, and you were about to chase after him?" she wondered, knowing exactly where the question would lead him, right to the keystone, the connecting point.

"Guillaume…" he whispered, his tone confused and somewhat dazed, "In French," he added. He looked to her, thinking he had given enough. She saw worry cross his face upon recognizing that she expected more.

"What did he say, exactly, in the dream?" she guided him. With his memory, she anticipated that this would be an exact quote.

A quick nod, he answered, "Au début Mr. Murdoch, je pensais qu'il avait ta femme, but now it seems the cat has your tongue."

"And what does that mean – in English?" she wanted to be sure.

"At first Mr. Murdoch, I thought he had your wife…" he interpreted, then finishing up the English part to complete the thought, "but now it seems the cat has your tongue."

"Who do you think 'the cat' was William?" Julia's interest magnified his own natural drive to discover, in this case, to discover more about himself.

"Catfrey," his answer was quick.

"Because Catfrey's name has the word 'CAT' in it, and because Neil Catfrey had your wife, at the Ball?" she offered, amazed there was still a rawness to it.

"Yes," his answer was simple and direct.

This part would be more tricky, she knew. Her hesitation alerted William to its significance, before she asked, "And, who else had you worried about recently, who else did you think might have 'had your wife?' Think back to our conversation that night, before you… Remember, you told me that you had had a bad dream, when we talked in the morgue, um, about your turning away from my seductions the morning after Marcel and Angelique's visit." She honed the search, "Anything in our conversation that night?" She zoomed in further, "Perhaps something in French?"

"Risqué!" the word hit his brain with a whack. "I had thought Marcel had been too risqué!" he remembered aloud, his tone brightening with the solution. Quick though, William Murdoch's brain, and with Julia merely nodding, figured out that their ultimate shared discovery had not yet been reached… The next remembered words out of his mouth before he was aware of their presence, "Ménage à trois…" Rapidly, his brain worked the puzzle, "Julia was right, there were French words in our discussion, but what was her point? Why were these words in French so important?" William's eyes widened with his discovery, finding a solution always such a prize for him, even when it resulted in finding a troubling jigsaw piece. "Guillaume… both that night and in my dream," he said it under his breath, the awareness still just above a secret.

Julia would elaborate, say what he could not, take the puzzle piece and press it into place more solidly. She explained, "You worried that Marcel had enticed me into having a ménage à trois with him and Angelique…"

William nodded. It was true.

"And then later, he stood in the way of your of calling Sally Pendrick and Catfrey out on their crimes… by convincing the Inspector and Meyers and even Alan Clegg to block your investigation. In a sense William, Marcel Guillaume had taken your tongue away from you. Do you see? And so, Guillaume had, at first, gotten your wife, and then he had gotten your tongue… as, of course, Catfrey had also done, first me at the Ball and then escaping with the diamond and you unable to stop it because of Guillaume."

He nodded, lighter and more absorbed at the same time, "Astounding, so much in a dream."

Julia's smile trumpeted the marvels of psychotherapy and her happiness with its ability to enlighten once more, especially when it helped enlighten this man who she loved so much.

"Yes, William, it truly is," she agreed.

She took a deep breath. They had gone from the center of the dream to its end, outward. It was time now, to go from its center to the beginning, inward, into the monster's lair. "There's much more really," she hinted at the danger, "I used some French words too, after your own 'risqué' and 'ménage à trois,' that night. Do you remember…" very well knowing that he did, "what I suggested, about Marcel's thoughts on you during our conversation that night?"

William's expression changed as the words re-appeared in his mind, "a ménage à quatre!" with a rip of torment, unreasonable that it would confound and hurt so much…

Julia would wait him out, insist that he be the one to say it.

"You said… um, that Marcel was more interested in a ménage à quatre, because he was intrigued by me," William bravely explained.

"And how did that make you feel?" came the typical psychiatrist's question.

A deep breath, he would try. "Bothered… Disgusting, and shocked, and…" Oh my, this one surprised him, "betrayed," he replied.

"And did it remind you…" her eyes deepened into his, not to examine him or to pierce into him, but rather to cover him and support him, to promise him that it would be alright, that he would not be alone. She went on, "of any other times, times that were similar in some ways – a man making sexual advances?"

"Gillies," William answered quickly, "When he kissed me."

"Yes," Julia agreed. "Not surprising," she thought to herself, "he went for the easier memory, the one he had already encountered consciously, his instincts still guarding against disturbing the lower, more sensitive wound.

"Any others. Any other times, a man… sexually… handled you?" Julia went on, her choice of her words precise, targeted. Her voice vibrated with a tone both more assuring and calming as she dug, "Perhaps Marcel's interests reminded you of a time that affected you on a much more painful level? Wasn't there someone before James Gillies – in your dream, in that strange way dreams can defy logic? Wasn't there someone else, first, who changed into Gillies?"

She watched William swallow, her heart aching for him, such a lure in his eyes, pleading. Julia's focus became strong, her love for him, her confidence in knowing the way to help, the only true way, driving her strength. Her mind added fuel to the fire, and she said it to him, predicting it might push him through his defenses, "Yes, Marcel's sexual interest in you reminded you of James Gillies' disturbing kiss, and that showed up tonight in your dream," she gave, grounding him on what had been accomplished, then adding more, "And do you remember that night Marcel and Angelique visited, that all night long, from once you had joined us until they left, I remember it was incessantly, Marcel and Angelique pressured you to show them your Halloween costume? And you sensed it, William – I know you did, they each wanted to see you in your costume as much as they did precisely because they knew the King Neptune costume would be revealing – that you would be shirtless, William, and they would be able to see your body…"

There was the nausea again, so sickening, in his core. William's face clenched with the bad taste in his mouth and the sickening stirrings of his helplessness percolated a cold sweaty chill up the back of his neck, tingling and numbing his scalp, like all the blood was draining out of him somehow.

There was a mystery and magic, almost, to Julia's support then. She lowered her voice, in volume and in pitch, leaned closer from around the corner of their kitchen table to him. Her presence, her trust in him, and her faith in his trust in her, forceful, fierce, in the face of adversity. William's beautiful eyes holding to hers, as if for dear life, she went on, "Marcel's sexual interest in you had triggered memories of times men had made sexual advances to you, unwanted sexual advances. It happened with Gillies, did I not?"

He nodded, his dark, brown, beautiful eyes never dropping away, the honesty between them poignant.

She would venture to the darkest place now, she already saw he was so close, but found himself at a loss. "And one such time was when you had had the misfortune to cross paths with that power-abusing American policeman…"

"Flannel Bull," with such repugnance of the feel of the name in his mouth, William named him.

"Yes," she gave, a sense of relief, for he had gotten there now. "He was in your dream?" she coached him forward.

"He was," William accepted it, bearable somehow now, "Those were his boots behind me, him touching my body, him telling me to take off my shirt…" It poked, remembering the man's voice in his ear. William's expression grew more desperate, "His men who restrained me… who threatened to shoot George in the head."

"And while that was happening, you felt…" she led.

"Furious," William's jaws and fists clenched.

"Because you were made to feel…" a bit more…

"Helpless, Julia," and there were those telltale pools glistening in his eyes, "I felt helpless, unable to fight, unable to protect myself, or George." She nodded, he was not alone. "I was so ashamed…" the nausea peaking, perhaps he couldn't…

Her blue eyes promised it would be alright and he shoved with all his might. "Why was I so stupid?" his self-reprimanded battering exploded. "Such an idiot to get us into that situation…"

She would stop the fall. "William, you did nothing to cause that. You could not have known such a thing would happen, that such a horrible man would show up. Only he is to blame, him and his men who went along. Surely you see that?"

"But, I risked George…" he pleaded his most guilty part.

"As I remember, George insisted on going with you on this undercover hobo trip to Winnipeg, to help you solve the case. He wanted to go with you, to share in your exciting undercover plan. You did not risk George. George risked himself, through loyalty and love and devotion to you, William, and to the job… He would have had it no other way. And I for one was glad of it," she held firm, remembering her own terror at William going undercover as a homeless vagrant, a hobo, to ride the trains in search of a vicious killer, someone in the treacherous meatpacking industry, and matters had been made only worse after William had had such a horrific experience, nearly costing him his life, at the slaughterhouse, his being slung up on a meat-hook on a ceiling hoist, set to be sliced in half like a pig carcass.

A deep breath, she changed her tactic. "What Flannel Bull did to you hurt you terribly, William. Such an injury heals, yet each time the wound is re-opened it cuts with a sting, but each time the sting is less. This thing with Marcel, it reopened that wound. But you're stronger for it. Does it feel that way to you?" she asked him sincerely.

"It did," he heard his own voice in his head, and it emboldened him. He nodded.

"Good," she smiled, and heard herself exhale, breathing easier. The sound prompted her to wrinkle a corner of her mouth at him, to admit to him that it had been hard… hard for her too.

And that acknowledgement only warmed him more, settled and soothed his soul more profoundly. William had known it from the first moment he had met her, he would never be alone again.

"Good," he nodded to her.

The cups were empty, yet the couple remained in the coziness of the kitchen for a time. Julia moved her chair closer to the corner, slipped her fingers into his hair. Minds wandered. Soon, she asked him, curious, "Were there no other times, William… when a man made sexual advances towards you?"

His memory sharp, a time popped to mind instantly. He took her hand and brought it down onto the table to hold their clasped hands between them. Julia's fingers rubbed and cherished the feeling of his wedding ring. William told her about the time he went undercover, dressed in a ridiculous velvet suit, complete with a pansy and an 'Oscar Wilde' hat… So sweet to his ears, Julia's giggle, as he retold the story. "It was on that case that you yelled at me so adamantly, about why God would give us such urges if he didn't want us to act on them…"

"Yes, and you said it was to test their resolve," she remembered her anger, now finding it was so highly peppered with love and a dose of humor.

He took a deep breath, for he had struggled at the time. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, melting her, and went on, "I did, find myself in such a situation as you wondered about," he admitted. "A man there found me attractive…"

Julia's brain piped in, "Every man there found you attractive, William!"

William braved the details, telling, "At one point he put his hand on my knee. Of course, I was horrified…"

"Of course," Julia said, her voice ringing with the superiority she could sometimes feel.

William decided to ignore it and went on, "He said I was shaking. He got so excited…" William remembered the panic he had felt, "Said to me that he could tell I had never done this before…"

"I see," Julia still sounded judgmental. "And did you end up getting what you wanted from the man?" she asked.

A wave of guilt wafted through him, seeing a flash in his mind of the innocent man with a black eye from the Inspector's abuse. William's face wrinkled, showing her his regret. "Yes," he answered, "In the end."

Julia leaned back a bit into her chair and commented, "So detective, you are willing to use your sexual attractiveness to men to your advantage, it seems. Interesting however, not so with women…"

William frowned, tickling Julia sufficiently that she had to repress her giggle.

"Why do you think that is?" she pushed him.

He was willing, willing to consider it, after he decided that she was right, and when he thought about it, it was odd, that he had been willing to use his good-looks in that instance, but not so in others. "Perhaps it's because it could not possibly be true with men… my being interested, but it could be possible…" he found he needed to clear his throat, then went on, "My being interested with a woman." Endearing, he gave her his admitting-it wrinkle.

"I see," she responded.

A brief lull, and Julia noted to herself that William seemed better now.

His mind had gone the same way.

"Thank you, Julia," he said, bringing them back to the subject of his dream and his having been troubled.

"You feel better?" she asked, wanting to intensify their connection.

"I do," he answered, taking her hand in both of his. "But I must admit, I don't wholly understand why?" he wondered.

Her answer was straightforward, "Because you were doing it backwards" she said.

Curious, he questioned, "Backwards?"

"Yes," she leaned closer, her voice lowered, for she would reveal the secret, "The saying is to 'forgive and forget,' William, but you were trying to 'forget and forgive.' It can't possibly work that way."

"Wise," he glowed, "You never cease to amaze me, Julia," he vowed.

"Nor you I," she returned. Julia tilted to him and kissed him. "Bed?" she suggested.

"Good," he said, standing and helping her up. There was such a lightness in him, he noticed the weight of his burden gone now.

As they walked up the stairs, William planned out the next day. His speech was rapid, bubbly and energetic with his newfound buoyancy. Arm in arm he told her that he wanted to check the booby-trap up at the Body Farm, or at the very least place a phone call to Jake and check in with him about it. And he intended to go full steam ahead on the home-invasion robbery case. A major focus would be finding possible locations the robber could be using as his hideout for the listening device receiver. They would have to hurry, for the Howell's party was only a day away now. Oh, and he was pleased with the various decorative devices he had put together for their Halloween party. He had made quite a few various machines that would beam kaleidoscopes of glowing fishes of all sorts across their walls and another that would randomly send up a series of bubbles. Proudly, he told her that they would enhance the sea décor she had planned to go with their King Neptune, Queen Salacia and Prince Triton costumes. She interjected that his pop-up monster was going to be the highlight of every guest's and every Trick-or-Treater's Halloween alike. Excitedly, William added, changing the subject once more, that he had been thinking, and, even though he was officially off the Pink Panther Diamond case, he intended to have a constable specifically keep an eye on Sally at Thurston Howell 's, and his wife, Lovey Howell's Howell-oween Bash, for most assuredly, from there, Sally would sneak away to take her leave of Toronto and go to Catfrey. And then he arrived at something that had been niggling at him in the back of his mind for a while now. "Still, I find myself wondering, why hasn't Neil Catfrey tried to contact Sally – there have been no phone calls or passed notes. Catfrey would have no way of knowing that Sally never received the note that was left for me. Wouldn't he have tried to let her know he had made the train after leaving in such a rush to get away?"

William clicked off the lamp, for they were in bed now.

In the darkness, Julia teased him, hinting that his vibrant enthusiasm and ceaseless chatter were keeping her from sleep, "I see the cat most assuredly no longer has your tongue, detective," and then he wallowed so deliciously in her hug. "Goodnight, William," she whispered, and then kissed him.

"Goodnight, Julia," he whispered back. "Sweet dreams," he added, thinking to himself that thanks to her, his would be. He tucked her into her place, her head nestled down on his chest. Perhaps he would massage her for a bit, he thought… His last thought, before his own cathartic exhaustion soaked and drenched into each and every one of his cells and dropped him off to sleep right behind her.

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