Back to the Drawing Board

by Romantic Nerd

Jilliam and company in the pre-WWI world of intrigue, adventure, and espionage. Loosely based on Childers' novel Riddle of the Sands, William digs into why someone tried to kill him and enlists the help of friends along the way. M version.

13. 13: The Film

Back to the Drawing Board_13_

) (

Having only been home to Margaret to sleep for three or four hours, Inspector Brackenreid entered Stationhouse #4 with the morning Sun. Murdoch had been missing for nearly 24 hours now, and he knew that with each moment that passed his main man's odds of being found alive decreased. Crossing the bullpen towards Crabtree, who was still hunched over at his desk, he wondered if the constable had slept at all. The man seemed to be in exactly in the same spot he had left him in late last night, looking through photos of known criminals with the hope of recognizing the dead man on the good doctor's morgue slab. Crabtree had been optimistic that the fact that the man, falsely identified as Adam Trappe, had removed his fingermarks likely implied that the victim would be well known to the Constabulary. The Inspector put his package down on a neighboring desk, drawing the constable's attention.

Crabtree lifted his head and greeted, "Oh, good morning Inspector."

"Crabtree," Brackenreid replied, "Is Dr. Ogden in there?" he said, his blue eyes gesturing to the detective's door. He had noted that the door was closed and all the blinds were pulled down.

George stood and joined the Inspector in looking at the missing man's office. "Yes sir," he answered, "She's sleeping in the detective's reclining chair."

"You slept here too, bug-a-lugs?" the head of the stationhouse asked.

George suddenly grew a bit nervous. "Uh, yes… Yes sir. I hope it's alright. I slept on your couch… Um, it was just for a few hours sir. I didn't want to leave the doctor alone…"

Brackenreid gave the constable a pat on the back. "Good man," was all he said.

Relieved, George relaxed. His eyes back to the detective's closed door, his thoughts returned to Dr. Ogden on the other side of the door. "I heard her crying, I think, last night sir," he said quietly, sadly. George glanced over at the Inspector's face. The Englishman's face solemn, he too seemed to be contemplating the suffering of the woman inside. George explained further, "The doctor was… um, reluctant…" he took a deep breath and continued, "She said she had lots of memories associated with the chair, and I tell you sir, it just about broke my heart." George sighed. "I think she was remembering that night, you'll remember sir, when she and the detective spent the night there together, um, after they'd had a big row…

"The detective had punched Dr. Garland…" Brackenreid told, remembering.

George leaned closer to the Inspector and lowered his voice even more. "You know, Hodge had told me that they fought because the doctor figured Garland would never grant her a divorce after Murdoch had done something so stupid…"

The Inspector nodded, it seemed to be a reasonable concern…

"Supposedly, sir, detective Murdoch got quite angry about it… Even said that they wouldn't have had to worry about it if she hadn't married Garland in the first place…"

That seemed reasonable too…

A part of George seemed to be enjoying the gossip. He added, "And then she yelled at him for not choosing her… You see sir, I had given him Dr. Ogden's note – in time for him to stop the wedding, but… well then, well I don't know…" George sighed again, "Well, you know already… about what happened, after the wedding Constance Gardner had escaped and Murdoch was gone. I guess, well maybe the doctor figured he'd made his choice to live his life without her…" George finished with a shrug, unsure.

Cheerier, subconsciously pushing himself to hide what he knew about Murdoch and Constance Gardner, the Inspector said, "Well, it seems they had made up after, hmm?" he made a suggestive clicking sound, almost winked, and then bumped into Crabtree's shoulder.

A corner of Crabtree's mouth curled. He had always hoped that was what the detective and the doctor had been doing together in that reclining chair that night.

Brackenreid thought about the doctor, there in that chair now, and how such a memory would be painfully bittersweet in a moment like this. He sighed.

It was George who voiced it though, "I feel just awful, sir. Do you think we'll find him?"

Brackenreid fought against his doubt, exhaling sharply. "I think we're going to need Meyers, Crabtree. All this spy mumbo jumbo…" the Inspector shook his head, "There's just too much we don't know. I've been thinking about it. There's only one way I know to get in touch with Meyers, and that's through the Prime Minister. I've already decided. I'm going to call him… as soon as it's not quite so blasted early in the morning."

Changing the subject, Brackenreid rubbed his belly contentedly. "Speaking of which, constable, Margaret made extra breakfast – enough for you and the good doctor, I'm sure. Put on the kettle, heh?" he said, motioning over to Higgins' desk at the basket.

"That was very thoughtful of Mrs. Brackenreid. It smells delicious, sir. Err, but I believe that Dr. Ogden prefers coffee. Uh… I think I'll go get her some… after I start the tea, sir," he answered.

"Too bitter for my tastes," the Inspector said, making an unpleasant face.

"Well, on that you and the detective would agree, sir," the constable replied… and then it suddenly occurred to George that he might never see Detective Murdoch again, and the thought bothered him so he needed to push it aside.

"I'll get right to it, sir," he said, shifting into action, beginning the tea.

Over on the other side of the wall, Julia woke from a restless sleep. Thoroughly, all through her body, drowned into every cell, she felt the heaviness, the fear, the sense that there was something horribly, horribly, wrong, as if she were buried in an unspeakable darkness that smothered away her ability to breathe… Before she had determined where she was… Before she remembered… that William was gone.

Awareness, sunk deeper into her, and tears formed. She swallowed and fought to survive the onslaught of emotions, swallowed, and told herself to breathe, but, so certain the sting would destroy her, she held her breathe, until a dark dizziness threatened her balance and she gasped in the sharp air, and it burned the insides of her lungs all the way up to her throat, and she had to just tolerate it, praying the next breath would not hurt as badly… And it didn't, and her mind moved on to the next thought.

She was in his office. In his beautiful reclining chair. The one where they had laid together after a night of talking through that terrible fight, and the next morning William had been with her when she had had one of her sexy dreams, and she had had an orgasm… It was the first time he knew… intimately, of her intense passion, and how very strongly she desired him, for she had called out his name in her sleep – as she always did – the tendency so common that it had infuriated Darcy to the degree that he taken to sleeping in a separate room from her… She remembered her sweet teasing of him that morning, after waking in his arms, asking him, "How does it feel to know you are the man of my dreams, detective?" And how beautiful his luscious blush and his undeniable pride were when they got all mixed together… And she had fallen even more deeply in love with him right there and then.

She flashed a memory, of being in the chair with him while they shared heart-to-heart, William's big eyes, pooled with tears swelling behind those amazing lashes of his. It was only the second time she had seen him cry, previously only their final talk before she had left him for Buffalo had burned her soul so deeply. Julia pushed to remember what they had been talking about… what had hurt him so badly from back then that he told her while they shared their deepest truths – here in this very same chair. Oh, she remembered, it was when she had told him how much it had hurt her to see him with Enid Jones, here in this office – she remembered now, from the other side of the windows… And he had said, so quietly then, that it was like when he saw her with Darcy at the fair.

Oh, how she wanted to stop this crying. "Think of something else," her own advice came. Julia looked around his office, hoping to land on an object, something real, and present in the world right now, to ground on, to use to pull herself out of despair. The curtains at the sides of his backroom… And a flood of memories roared over her, memory after memory after memory… How matter-of-fact he had been about the horrendous stink in his office, and then how proudly he had showed her his rotting liver and his hatched pupae, that he used to discover that the body had been kept on ice and thus the victim had died 5 days sooner than originally believed… And then another flicker, and they were together in the secluded backroom, as he dropped a heavy hunk of clay in her hands back in his little nook of his office, and then he hunted for a particular book – by Wilhelm His – to tell her about a method of facial reconstruction she could use based on average flesh depths, and they were able to give a face to a skull.

Her eyes caught sight of William's drawing board. My God, so many times she had seen him there, at the board! When she and Darcy came to say goodbye, and then William suggested she stay. Oh, how she knew at that moment, her heart screaming for joy with the knowing that she would still be near him, she felt in her bones then, that she would never love another. So often, she would watch him from the door, admiring, lusting… loving. Tears welling again, she switched her gaze. Her eyes lingered on his worktable, and the memory played before her, clear as day, she saw it. She had burst wildly through that door right there, she remembered, she was wearing her blue dress… They were both so young, and so in love! Him, so handsome she could barely stand it. She had bought him a present – a bullet extractor. Boldly, she kissed him, then… Delicious, he was so hungry for her, the way he asked for more… after she had kissed him. Higgins had come in… Rumors had spread. And more tears had formed in her eyes again.

Like an electric bolt, Julia stood… needing to turn the page. She looked out his window. He could see her morgue from here… And she remembered it again, the sight from out in the street with Emily, late, after she and William had had their big fight, and she saw his light on in here, so very late, and her heart ached knowing he was in here hurting after such an upsetting, dreadful fight... And she knew, they had to make it right.

A deep breath. "He's out there somewhere," she encouraged herself that he was still alive. "You need to find him."

Madam Celeste's voice sounded in her head, ominous, making her prediction, "Julia Ogden will save this man, her one and only, predestined lover, William Murdoch, one more time before their lives are through. And she will save him from Air."

My God, she felt panic seeping in, "How can I save him if I'm on the ground? I don't see how…"

)

George was once again at his desk assessing photo after photo, sometimes the offender's file only having a sketch to offer, after returning from purchasing a cup of coffee for the doctor, for whenever she would wake, and one for himself as well. He was ravenous, and was working against the distraction of his recurring urge to devour Mrs. Brackenreid's gift of breakfast, forcing himself to wait for her. Thus, he was enormously grateful when he heard the detective's door open.

He jumped up and greeted, "Good morning doctor… Uh, Mrs. Brackenreid made us breakfast…"

The delectable aromas seemed to sink directly into Julia's salivary glands as his words registered, and she realized that she was starving, and she remembered she hadn't eaten since yesterday at breakfast. "My, it smells good," she responded. And a thought emerged and then drifted away, that maybe William hadn't eaten since then either…

"Oh, and doctor, your housekeeper dropped by," he rushed to say, lifting a suitcase from alongside his desk. "With a change of clothes…"

Oh," she asked, then wondered, "Did she put clothes in there for William as well?"

"Yes, err, she said for both of you," he answered.

Eloise thought William was here too… Julia answered her own thought, and the children thought so too…

Julia suggested they eat at William's worktable. It seemed each of them preferred to tread far away from the topic of how worried they each were about William Murdoch. The conversation lulled, and Julia found herself gazing over at William's blackboard. It was blank as could be, and it occurred to her, that if William were here working on this case, it would probably be quite crowded with clues categorized and arranged in a way to help think it all through.

Inspired by the thought, she jumped up and rushed to pick up a piece of chalk. She explained as she drew, "William would probably start with circles up at the top of the board – one for each case… And then he would put the clues from each case under them, and he would draw any connections, stating what each one was…" Her tone grew excited.

George got caught up in the wave. "Great idea Dr. Ogden," he declared. "But… I wonder…"

She stopped writing and turned to him, waiting.

"Well… I just think it might be four cases. Well, we have three dead bodies and the detective's abduction…"

Julia questioned his thinking. "But Meyers told us Mr. Wimmer, well the man with Wimmer's identification anyway, was William's captor. So, wouldn't they be part of the same case?" she asked.

George argued. "Not necessarily… connected certainly, uh, but there would be different clues involved. I mean somebody shot Wimmer in the heart, and if what Meyer's told us is true, then somebody had reason to kill Detective Murdoch's captor… In your husband's abduction case, we have fingermarks that were on his bike that did not match the man pretending to be Wimmer's…"

Indicating she agreed, Julia turned back to the board and erased the left bubble, replacing it with two smaller ones, creating a timeline at the top of the board of the four cases.

"I see," she grasped it now, "And the drug that was in William's blood… an alkaloid from the nightshade family is another clue from this case." Julia returned to organizing and recording clues on the board. Deciding it was worth writing, though she had not been able to identify it, she wrote, "sweet smell," under the bubble for William's abduction. Then she added, "Blood drained and naked… and then "returned wallet and hat," and "fingermarks on bike."

"You see doctor, there might end up being a connection," George offered, "If, perhaps, the dusty powder the detective found on the table of the man with the "Trappe" card in this last case ends up being similar to the drug used on the detective. We should be able to tell that. I left the sample to be analyzed at the University yesterday."

Julia remembered William handing George the powder and a cigarette butt rolled up in his handkerchief yesterday. Her tone changed, now sadder, more forlorn, she said, "Yes… Yes, that's right. William gave it to you." She swallowed back the swelling emotions for she now knew that William's captors were there at the time… And he knew it… And he was pretending everything was fine so she could get away, and George could get away… And he probably knew that he would be taken. She sighed and offered, "I could have the same man at the University who analyzed the drug in William's blood take a look at that sample too…" She took a deep breath, preparing to press on. "I'll call him as soon as I get back over to the morgue."

Suddenly the task of completing the clues on William's board seemed daunting. She was not want for doing such a thing often, but she decided to ask for help. "Um, George, do you think perhaps you and the Inspector could… finish, um…"

George rushed forward reaching for the chalk. "Of course, doctor. Of course. I'll go get the Inspector. His eyes transferred over to the suitcase that Eloise had brought over with fresh clothes. "You err, well…"

"Yes. Thank you George. I'll head over to the morgue to change and face the new day," Julia said, forcing a smile.

George reassured her, "Doctor, I'll come get you the moment we hear anything."

She lifted the suitcase and turned back to him. "Thank you George…" she sighed, began to leave, but then paused. Her eyes, sometimes so strikingly beautiful, touched the constable's. "Promise me George," she held, "Whether the news is good or bad…"

He felt the temptation. It would be there, if they heard bad news, not to want to tell her, thus he solemnly understood the challenge of her request. "I promise," he replied… And the doctor turned and left.

) (

Memories of William played, unavoidable it seems, in Julia's mind in the morgue as well. The sound of the big, morgue door slamming behind her, rammed her with memories of all the times she had heard it make that sound when William rushed in… The desk where she had imagined he ravaged her when she was about to marry Darcy… And where she wholeheartedly fell off the cliff, head over heels, completely, irreversibly, in love with him because he knew how to give her confidence, focus, and comfort after being traumatized by being attacked and then having to kill, with a pair of scissors, Harlen Orgill, aka Detective Scanlon… The worktable where they tested so many things together, from poisons – finding, in one case, that it was nicotine that turned blood black, and even in the case of William's own father, that blood could be determined to be human if you place a rabbit serum on it and it coagulates along the center to make a stripe…

Miss James pulled her out of her thoughts. "Doctor Ogden… Good morning," she greeted. Rebecca knew she should be careful, that the doctor was suffering terribly with the detective missing – likely taken… But her impulsivity won out and she asked, "Is there any news of the detective?"

"No," came the answer, followed by a shared look that sunk so deeply into Rebecca it brought tears to her eyes. Both women clamped their lips tight, accepting the emotion.

The doctor's voice choked up, she said, "Thank you for asking, Miss James." She took a deep breath, seemed to find in it strength, and turned her eyes to the victim on the morgue slab. "Miss James," her voice lifted, suggesting there was something important to do. "I'd like to re-dress the victim. At least his shirt and trousers," she requested.

"Intriguing doctor," the younger woman replied, "May I ask why?"

Readying to go step into the bathroom to change her clothes and freshen up, she said, "Well, we know from the bullet in the fake Mr. Trappe here, that the caliber of the gun used to kill this man matches with the caliber of the gun used to shoot the fake Mr. Wimmer through the heart as well, but… well, Detective Murdoch had noticed something quite special in that first case that I'm wondering if it will be here in this last case too… Um, the bullet hole in the clothing only lined up with the wound in the body if the man's hands were raised above his head… um, if he had been giving himself up to his killer when he was shot."

"Oh, I see," replied Miss James. The detective truly was amazing, she reminded herself.

Julia had a hunch, in instinct… But it had a hitch. If her intuition was right, and the same man was responsible for taking William BOTH times, then she suspected that the man killed in the trap to catch William this time would also have been giving himself up. The problem was that, according to Terence Meyers, the first dead man, Wimmer, WAS William's abductor, killed by Meyers' man while to trying to protect William. And it made sense that Meyers' man would want to abduct William now…

Troubled by the anomalies involved, Julia soon joined Miss James in testing her theory. It really was very difficult to dress a corpse alone… or even with help. Dressing complete, they made their observations with the man's arms down and with them up. The bullet hole in his shirt lined up with the wound in the body best when his hands were raised. With his hands at his sides, there was a two-inch discrepancy. "Not a guarantee," she told Rebecca, "But this evidence does suggest that the same killer murdered both men, and when they were giving themselves up to him.

The phone rang and Julia answered it. The results were in on her colleague's analysis of the powder William at found on the table where the fake Mr. Trappe's body was found, the sample Constable Crabtree had brought to the University looking to see if Mr. Trappe worked or attended school there. It was also an alkaloid. It was also from the nightshade family. It matched what he knew of the chemical properties of "devil's breath."

Julia's hairs stood on ends… "The same drug given to William!" He inner-voice screamed. She felt such a panic taking over as she pushed herself to listen to the man on the phone. "William is probably being drugged right now! Again! My God, WHY!?" inside her head. In her ear, "Effects would be much like alcohol, but with significantly lowered resistance to suggestion, almost tending one to hypnosis… And it has been reported to lead the victim to give away secrets they would normally never reveal…"

Julia's logical brain got a word in, reminding that the first time William was abducted, Meyers had set him up as a decoy for Rutherford as an expert on the half-life formulas for radioactive substances. The perpetrator would have used the drug to get William to tell him the formulas… But of course, William had no way of knowing them. The drug was a sort of truth serum!

Oh, how it plagued her, the little question just behind the realization… "What did they think William knew this time… and Pendrick too?"

She thanked the man and hung up. Having much to report, she would head over to share these things with the Inspector and George. She hurried to help Miss James undress the fake Mr. Trappe.

Suddenly, there was that familiar bang of the big morgue door, and Julia's jump to the conclusion that it was William nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Constable Crabtree greeted them, "Miss James. Doctor." Seeing the doctor's expression, he assumed she expected him to be bringing bad news, so he rushed, "Oh, don't worry Dr. Ogden… Err, it's just that Mr. Meyers showed up. I'd thought…"

Julia was already headed for the door.

) (

By the time Julia and George joined the two other men in Brackenreid's office it already reeked of Meyers' cigars… and it had been established that Mr. Meyers had been on his way to come to the stationhouse, having had already heard about Murdoch and Pendrick being missing, when he got the call from the Prime Minister. Standing as they came in, Meyers made it a point to tell Murdoch's wife, "The nation of Canada owes a great deal to your husband, Dr. Ogden. We will do everything in our power to assure he is found."

She nodded. It's quite hard to trust the spy, her emotions warned her.

Julia informed them about her two new findings, the first – the lining up of the bullet holes in the clothing and in the bodies – linking yesterday's murder, and with it the trap used to capture William, to the first murder of the fake Mr. Wimmer… the second, linking the drug used on William the first time he was taken, to the drug seemingly being processed by the man killed for yesterday's trap. "Oh," she remembered something else, "The type of gun used to shoot the first victim, the fake Mr. Wimmer, matched the type of gun used to shoot yesterday's victim, Mr. Trappe."

George asked the room, "Do you think it could be the Americans?"

All eyes turned to Meyers. He took a long draw on his cigar. Holding back, as spies are want to do, he would push to find out as much as possible about what these people knew, preferring to receive information than to give it. His exhale clouded the room. "What makes you say that Constable?" he asked.

Somehow, the Inspector just knew the constable's answer would be longwinded. He stood and went to the cupboard for a scotch.

"Well," George began, "As you will remember from when Alan Clegg was posing as the American Ambassador years ago, Clegg is known to be nearly addicted to those little pastel-colored candies called Necco Wafers…"

The Inspector gestured to Meyers, asking if he wanted a scotch, receiving a nod. Then the doctor.

Wanting to keep a clear head – William's life was on the line here, she declined.

Julia urged everyone to get back to the matter at hand. "Yes, constable. I remember it was Miss James who identified the candies I the stomach contents of one of Clegg's victims," she explained the connection.

His impatience beginning to stir, Brackenreid, grumbled, "Get on with it bug-a-lugs."

"Well, we found a Necco wrapper in the pocket of the man who was killed right after Detective Murdoch was abducted… err, that first time… The victim using the identity of Mr. Wimmer," George offered.

Julia decided to push Meyers on what he had said at the time, "The man you told us, Mr. Meyers, was William's abductor."

Meyers felt a twitch in his poker face. Working to cover, he spoke slowly, kept it simple. "Yes," was all he said. He could deflect. Another delay with the cigar…

Julia fought the urge to roll her eyes and sock the man…

Meyers changed the subject, "I had been suspicious of the Americans as well."

Julia leaned forward from where she was sitting on the couch, catching everyone's attention. "William always said he thought it was the Germans…"

Excitement and a bit of discomfort flooded through Meyers' veins. "Did Murdoch finally come to remember something from when he was abducted?" Meyers asked, sounding more eager than he had hoped.

She would not share with them that it was this very fact that was probably the one thing about the whole ordeal that bothered William the most – the not being able to remember anything about what had happened to him, and how such an experience leads one to dream up terrifying potential horrors for them to have gone through, knowing you would never really know. No, she would keep that between herself and the man she loved.

"No," she answered simply. Holding a pause, in that moment wishing she could ask Meyers for a cigar, she then explained, "No. It was because, as you, yourself, informed William, Mr. Meyers, when William was looking for the person who had supposedly killed Pendrick down in Panama, and you helped him identify the poison that had supposedly been used as being Polonium…" Julia needed a breath. She checked the room, making sure everyone was with her so far. "Well, you also told him that it was the Germans who had discovered Polonium and the German spies who were working with its radioactive properties, and of course, you also set William up, I remind you, Mr. Meyers, it was you who got my husband abducted and nearly killed… at least the first time…" Julia's teeth had suddenly become gritted tight and her jaw jutted into the air, and she seethed, having gotten off on a tangent.

"Dr. Ogden, I have apologized for that," Meyers reminded and appeased. "And I'm here to help now." The man exhaled. "Please doctor, go on," he requested, "You were connecting German use of radioactive Polonium to…"

Remembering that William was out there…that he needed to be found, Julia took a deep breath and pushed her anger aside. Looking at Meyers to answer his question, she said, "Well, whoever abducted William the first time, they did so because you wrote on, and distributed photographs of, William's blackboard in his office full of radioactive formulas!" she finished in a yell, standing, hands on hips.

The Inspector finished her point for her, "So the most likely spies interested in those formulas would have been the Germans."

"I see," Meyers responded calmly. "And…" Another annoying wait for him to suck on his cigar… "What does any of that have to do with connecting the Germans to this latest case?"

Unfortunately, Julia had always felt that this next part of William's idea was a bit weak, but she would offer it nonetheless. "There are two connections, and they are indirect, but, the man found dead in the pond at the golf course, from a fall, most likely out of an airplane, Mr. Schiergen, who I remind you Mr. Meyers, you also took that case from us…" Hairs up again, this time Julia calmed herself down and got back on track. "Well, Mr. Schiergen was from Germany. And though that's not much," she conceded before Meyers could complain, she added, "And William left us a clue before we left the crime scene yesterday, that links Schiergen's murder to that of the man killed in yesterday's trap…" She looked to George.

The constable cleared his throat and explained, "Detective Murdoch said Mr. Trappe's murder was like the man shot from a cannon – that's Schiergen, sir," he informed Mr. Meyers, "Because at first we thought Schiergen might have been a performer in a circus act as a human cannonball…"

Somehow suddenly feeling as if she were not completely in the room, Julia thought about how when William had said that to them yesterday, he must have known that his captors were listening in, probably knew that those same men had guns aimed at us poised to kill us, if he gave them away, and he still took the chance to say it, and he was brilliant enough to think up such a subtle, astonishing clue, under so much pressure, and she found she was so amazed with William Murdoch, and she loved him so, so much… and he had to be alive… and she had to save him, and she made herself… focus… back on what was happening in the room.

Meyers checked to make sure he understood, "So, the captors might be German because Schiergen was German, and Schiergen's murder has been connected by a clue from Murdoch to this latest murder and Murdoch's being captured again…"

"Yes, "Julia said, "And another thing, Schiergen likely took aerial photographs from planes, and he had some photographs in his flat, and William was working on creating a camera to use to get better aerial photographs… And he and Pendr…"

Meyers held up a hand, stopping her. "I know. I know. Murdoch and Pendrick went up in one of Pendrick's planes Sunday and made a drop… a drop that now you're telling me was photographed by Murdoch's special camera… that took pictures from the plane of this drop on the backyard of your house, Dr. Ogden. Yes, I know. It was reported to me…" another puff on his cigar, "That is minus the camera part. It could be why they were both taken, to find out about such useful military methods… cargo drops and aerial surveillance of enemy territories and such. It might explain why. And maybe it's the Americans and maybe it's the Germans…" He took a drink of scotch, sucked his lips to lengthen the pleasure of the flavor of the liquor. He shrugged and raised an eyebrow, "Even the Russians would want something like that," he reasoned aloud.

Feeling they were getting somewhere, but going around in circles, and not getting enough, they decided to take a break.

~!) (!~

The inside of the huge factory was insufferably hot. Known among the spies that used it as their Stalag 13, it provided the secret location needed to interrogate prisoners. The man in charge, Colonel Klink, sat in front of a fan, still, he had yielded to his need to cool off, having removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His second in command, Sargent Schultz, was a heavy man, so suffered even more so with the insufferable heat. He reported to his superior, red-faced and dripping in sweat.

"Herr Colonel," Schultz made an attempt to salute the man, an old habit from when they served in the army… stopping himself midway so as not to be berated. Both Klink and Schultz had served during the second Samoan Civil War, as recently as 1899, and Schultz often made the mistake of behaving as if they still served Germany in that capacity, instead of giving Colonel Klink the credit he deserved for becoming a superspy for his nation.

Colonel Klink gripped harder to his monocle so it would not fall out when he rolled his eyes at the dummkopf. "Has he gotten one of zem to identify ze location of ze secret Canadian airbase?"

Standing as tall as he could muster in the sweltering, stuffy environment, Schultz reported, "Both men vere stripped naked – though once again, after the truth serum vas given, it vas deemed necessary to allow the detective his hat to ease his incessant vhining about it…" Suddenly, Schultz panicked that he had digressed too far from the point. He rushed to get back to the report. "Ze truth serum vas given to both men…" he raised his voice proudly, for he had made Dr. Klemper do the interrogations exactly as ordered, "Vith each man kept separated from ze other. And, Herr Colonel," Schultz clicked his heels together and almost saluted again, dropping it into a cringe instead, then going on, "Both ze detective and ze entrepreneur admit to having seen ze airbase vhen zey flew together up in ze larger plane. Ze two men tell ze same story – seeing 8-9 planes clearly out in view, three buildings, one very large. Both say zat zey have no photographs of it, Herr Colonel."

Klink marveled at his bad luck, "So, only zose useless photographs zat vere on Murdoch! None of ze airbase!"

Cringing again, Schultz tried to push his volume up so as not to be seen as cowering, "Yes Colonel Klink, Herr Colonel!" and clicked his heels again.

Threatening violence, Klink invaded Schultz's space. His stinking breath stealing away what little air Schultz could get, he warned, "You tell Dr. Klemper zat ve need more zan some quaint pictures of Detective Murdoch's kiddies getting Christmas presents in June! I need to know where zat base is located! Ve need to destroy it in ze name of Germany!"

"Yes, Colonel," Schultz said, "But only after ve steal all zeir planes and zeir technology…"

"You dummkopf! Ve cannot steal all zeir planes and zeir technology if ve do not know vhere ze secret airbase is located!" Colonel Klink bellowed.

"Yes Colonel," Schultz quickly gave, hoping to avoid the man's wrath. Not knowing what to do next, Schultz said, "But Colonel, of ze finding of ze location, it seems zat both of our prisoners know NOTHING! NOTHING!"

Finally receiving the anticipated wallop, Schultz relaxed. "Have you a plan, Herr Colonel?" he asked sheepishly.

Stepping away, considering all of his options, it seemed that Klink had an idea…

"Vhich Canadian is more susceptible to ze truth serum?" Klink asked.

Oh, that was blatantly obvious. "Detective Murdoch, Herr Colonel," Schultz replied confidently. "Ze man becomes a fountain of his secrets once ze truth serum is administered… and quite horny too, Herr Colonel. He tells much about ze sexy things he does vith his vife," Schultz repressed a giggle.

"It vill be him zen," Klink said, turning his thoughts inward to solidify the intricate details of his new plan.

) (

In her husband's office, Julia had resumed working at William's blackboard, categorizing clues. She realized that the required focus of the task helped ease her suffering in worrying about William, and she felt she understood her husband a bit better through the experience. Giving her a measure of hope, there were still quite a few clues left to explore. She circled them on the board. There was the cigarette butt found in the fake Mr. Trappe's flat. And they needed to take the photograph of the fake Mr. Trappe to the University, because when George had gone the first time, he had searched based on the man's presumed name – Trappe, and without a picture. Julia was planning on suggesting that she go with George this time, because she knew many individuals at the University, and it might help move things along.

Also, William had followed a clue to an ad in a newspaper for a 'small, brave man,' when he was working on Schiergen's case. When he called the number he had gotten a secretary. He had not been able to follow up on it because Meyers had shown up and made them close the case. Julia paused, thinking to the next clue, "George is still trying to identify Trappe in the Constabulary records – good point… the man burning off his own fingerm…"

There was a knock at the open door. George had brought a rather odd-looking woman to the door. She was older, dressed like a gypsy, and Julia's mind arrived at the fact that the woman likely came from the circus at the same moment that George introduced her.

"Dr. Ogden, this is Lady Minerva – a fortune-teller from the circus," George said.

Julia placed the chalk down on the tray and dusted her hands off on her skirt as she approached. "Lady Minerva," she greeted, "It's nice to meet you. Uh… Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, glancing at George for a hint.

"Ah yes," Lady Minerva said, her eyes seeming to seep down into Julia's core. "You are the one – his match in every way."

Out of Julia's conscious control, Lady Minerva was able to read the look of doubt on her face.

The doctor's mind skeptically argued, "Could be merely deductions, based on the fact that I – a woman in the stationhouse, am alone and working in William's office…She's probably even seen pictures in the paper…"

Lady Minerva gestured, requesting to sit at William's worktable, receiving an open arm inviting her to do so. George took his leave – intent on listening in from his desk.

"Dr. Ogden," the fortune-teller started, "It is true that I have seen you and Detective Murdoch in the papers. I have even read about your Anniversary Party and Madam Celeste's readings of your horoscopes. I do not ask that you accept my powers, but all the same, I offer them. It is an aura around you… that tells me of your eternal connection with your husband. And, I ask you to consider, the cards knew, even before the detective himself had accepted it, who you were to him, did they not? Or did he not tell you?"

He had told her, and Julia could tell that Lady Minerva had read her reaction and so she already knew there would be no point in denying it.

Lady Minerva smiled, ever so slightly. "The cards told me that Detective Murdoch's life was in danger…"

Julia managed, just barely, to hold back a gasp, for nothing had been in the papers, and it stunned her that the woman knew…

Without hesitation, Lady Minerva's confidence in the accuracy of her statement apparent, the gypsy seer removed her Tarot deck from her bag. "I assume the detective is not here, so I ask you, Dr. Ogden, if you would like a reading?"

A high-pitched hum played in Julia's head, making it difficult to think. Her brain said no, but her heart said yes… She watched, seemingly frozen with indecision as Lady Minerva placed the deck on the worktable between them.

"You must touch the cards," she advised, pulling Julia out of being stuck.

Julia yielded, accepted the unbelievable, and cut the deck.

The first card laid down – the Chariot, upright. "This card represents your husband in this situation. This card is ruled by Cancer, his Sun Sign. It signifies the importance of his willpower and determination. This next card represents the elements he is encountering in this situation," she said. Lady Minerva turned the card over. It was the Tower, upright.

Julia's eyes widened with the sight of the image – a high tower, struck by lightning, toppling the crown from its top. Flames out of the windows, and people falling from it, head first, hurtling down through space towards the unseen ground below. Her chest seized up with dread… and mystery, so much like Madam Celeste's prediction, "William!" her head screamed – William… falling through the air.

The older woman's voice calm, she said, "Oh my, the same card I encountered earlier, spurring my coming here. It seems disaster has truly struck your husband."

Julia swallowed, working to push down her fear.

Lady Minerva's compassion stirred, she soothed, "Don't give up hope dear. Disasters can be overcome."

Julia raised her eyes off of the terrifying card, met those of the gypsy woman. There was a pleading there, behind Julia's strength.

Lady Minerva's eyes dropped back to the deck, to what was the only thing she knew could be relied on to help. "The next card will tell what factors are blocking success. She turned the card… The Fool, upside down. The first in the deck, it always held great importance whenever it appeared. "The card warns against the detective's foolishness. It will cause him great risk," she read.

Feeling suddenly more grounded, Julia protested, "William? The card warns against William's foolishness? But…" she shook her head, "He has none?"

"The card is upside down, suggesting that it is out of character for him. He will lose his self-control. It will put him in even graver danger," she foretold. Moving on, she placed her fingers at the edge of the next card, saying, "This card is his hope."

Julia gasped as it turned.

The Lovers! The lovers, upright.

Lady Minerva, too, reacted to the card. "Phenomenal!" she thought to herself.

Their eyes bolted together, meeting with the amazement.

Lady Minerva's voice, filled with awe, told, "Destiny made the match – only you can save him…"

And, in Julia's head, that hum was back…

"The hint the card gives is that Air is the element ruling the Lovers card…" the gypsy fortune-teller offered.

Her words sending a chill down Julia's spine, triggered by the magnetizing power of Madam Celeste's prediction as well. There was such urgency, and it fluttered about in Julia's gut, along with a formidable sense of self-doubt.

Breathy, Julia asked, "But how?" And she felt it in the back of her throat, swelling, threatening, the urge to cry, to crumble into helplessness.

"This next card tells of opportunity… All is not lost," Lady Minerva encouraged, her faith in the cards unfaltering. She had read the cards all her life. The detective had good fortune, at the core. She knew the card would give them a chance. She turned it… "Amazing!" her mind trumpeted.

Lady Minerva said, "The High Priestess, master of unconscious mind and inner voice. I do believe, my dear, this is you. And the card is upright. A sign that your intuition is trying to send you a message, and you must listen… I believe your husband's life depends on it."

The pressure of it overwhelming, Julia folded with need. "Lady Minerva… I… I wonder…" she tried to ask for more.

"I'm afraid the fortune is told as is," the woman said, beginning to pack-up the cards.

"But…" Julia panicked, "But I… How will I know? How will I recognize the message when it comes? What if I do not?"

Lady Minerva sighed. She would risk the extra step, less sure of its power. She removed all of the major arcana cards, then fanned the deck of minor arcana cards in her hands. "Take one," she said. Then she warned, remembering the High Priestess card in the woman's fortune, "Trust your intuition. Do not think… feel."

Julia moved her fingers above the cards. Then, they just took one. She turned it.

"The Nine of Cups, but reversed," Lady Minerva read.

"What does it mean?" Julia asked.

"Upright it means comfort… something as simple as enjoying some sweets – for me it would be hard candies, for you… But it is upside down. Here it suggests you will need to watch out for your own weaknesses, your own indulgences, the material things in the world that you can rely on to avoid seeing what you fear is there… such things ultimately keeping you from seeing the truth," came the card's final words.

Lady Minerva tucked the deck back in her bag and stood, telling, "But don't worry. You will know it… when the time comes."

Julia thanked her and the gypsy fortune-teller left to get back to the circus.

Julia turned back to William's board, haunted by the experience. Maybe it was pointless combing over these clues. Maybe she just needed to listen to her internal thoughts.

George knocked.

Julia nodded to him. "George," she invited.

"Lady Minerva is really quite something," he offered, "She… well her cards, knew I was a foundling. And that I would find my mother."

"I see," she replied.

"Yes," he went on. "Much before you and the detective helped me determine which of the two women really was her," he added.

Julia nodded. She found she wanted to keep it to herself somehow… as if the magic wouldn't work if she told. She turned back to the drawing board. Her eyes fell to the words she had written as the first clue this morning – 'sweet smell.' There was a tug.

George interrupted her thought. "I see you have circled the 'tie University colors and ring' as a clue under Trappe's murder. We have a photograph now…"

"Yes!" she remembered her earlier plans. "Yes George. We should see if anyone at the University recognizes him," she agreed.

Just then, the Inspector opened his office door, and with stress in his voice, he called them into his office. Expecting Meyers to be with him, George asked after the government's head spy.

"Mr. Meyers went to check in with the man he had had watching Pendrick. He said he would be back quickly," the Inspector explained. Then he held up a package. Having already opened the large envelope and laid out the contents on his desk, the first thing that caught the eye was a film on a reel. There was also a note.

Brackenreid had read the note before he called them in, so he had a good idea what would be on the film. Murdoch and Pendrick had been kidnapped. The kidnappers wanted some information – he did not yet know what about – to be delivered to the stated address and deposited in a particular opening in a brick wall there. The kidnappers demanded that it be kept out of the papers, and warned them not to follow the man picking up the information at the drop. There were to be no tricks or…

Thomas Brackenreid could not help himself, here he had to pause. He had to rouse his resolve, to rally up the nerve needed to make himself say it… to the man's wife…

"Or Detective Murdoch dies sooner," he finished.

All eyes turned to Julia. Truth be told, a part of her was not surprised. She had felt that William's life was on the line this whole time. She looked down at the film reel on the Inspector's desk.

Brackenreid took her signal. "Crabtree, set up that bloody film projector of Murdoch's," he ordered. Such a creepy feeling in his veins, knowing they were about to watch a film in which Murdoch's life was threatened. Would he be beaten? Would he plead for help? Would Dr. Ogden see these excruciating things… on this film?

George rushed off to the detective's office.

Alone with her, Brackenreid would try to help Murdoch's wife, and his friend and colleague, as best he could. "I'm sorry doctor," he said. "But let's not panic yet," he encouraged, "We've not yet seen it. We don't even know what it is they want."

She nodded. She agreed. She was trying. A part of her floated up to the ceiling – from there, time seemed to cease moving, up here she was helpless, but in being so, she was accepting, relaxed even. However, another part of her rushed ahead, anticipating, predicting, panicking – sickening her with the sense that time was barreling forward, threatening to run out, and she would never be able to catch up…

By the time Meyers returned, George had found the detective's projector… and the screen, and had set up the projector with the kidnapper's film loaded. From Murdoch's door, Meyers paused, looking in to see the doctor and the Inspector sitting silently and watching the process… waiting for the final task to be done before they saw the dreaded film. The constable was pulling up the screen as he walked in to join them. Inspector Brackenreid handed him the note and filled him in on what they knew about the package thus far. Mr. Meyers turned off the light, and George flicked the switch, and the wheel turned.

Two men sit, hooded, side-by-side, in chairs. A white sheet is hung in the background, making it unlikely that the location will be identified. The man on the left is dressed in what is recognizable as Murdoch's suit, without the jacket or tie, a Toronto Constabulary badge pinned to his vest. The other man is dressed only in trousers and a dress shirt. It seems to be very hot. Both men are wet with sweat, have their shirtsleeves rolled up, and many of the upper buttons of their shirts undone.

A third man, his face covered in a mask, comes into the shot. He too, wet, shirtsleeves rolled up, he walks behind the two men and pulls off their hoods, revealing to the camera the identities of the two captives – Murdoch on the left, and Pendrick on the right. Murdoch seems to wobble and try to reach for the masked man behind him, saying something, receiving a whack in the head in response. Murdoch then turns to look off screen, seeming again to ask the same thing, but now to someone behind the camera.

(To Julia, it reminded her of something… "Oh that's it!" her inner voice rang out in her head – hearing the memory as much as re-seeing it – of William's scratchy voice after being revived, him worrying, "I've lost my hat?" It was from back when William had nearly drowned on the sinking ship. "MY GOD!" she thought, "He's asking for his hat!")

The masked man walks out of sight, temporarily blocking their view as he crosses in front of the camera, and then brings Detective Murdoch his hat, placing it on the detective's head for him, and it becomes obvious, as one watches, that Murdoch and Pendrick are not only tied up, but they are also bound tightly in place in their chairs. Murdoch seems to quiet down.

The masked man puts the hood back on Pendrick, walks in front of the camera, blocking the view of two captives momentarily, coming back into the camera's view carrying a sign. He places the sign in Murdoch's lap. It says,

I die in 12 hrs. unless

location of airbase

at drop by 8 PM

Abruptly, the reel ends.

The spinning of the end of the film on the wheel clicked away rapidly, reminding of the ticking clock – ticking too fast, in the dark, airless room.

With everything she had, Julia tried not to fall apart.

George turned off the projector. Meyers stood and flicked on the light. Everyone looked at Julia. Everyone worried about her in that moment.

Seeing their concern for her, she gave into the tears she had been holding at bay, letting them well-up and flow. She took a breath, shaky. She looked at the Inspector and clamped her lips together, giving him a nod. "Let's save him," she said, her voice not much more than a windless squeak.

With that, all eyes focused on Meyers.

Brackenreid felt his ire rising. "Tell us about this airbase," he gritted his teeth and demanded.

All of a sudden, Meyers felt the need for his cigar. Annoyingly, though he used the time to calm himself down – and he would be of little help to Murdoch and Pendrick if he panicked – Mr. Meyers withdrew a cigar out of his topcoat pocket, and then a match, which he struck, and held to the end of the cigar, puffing and puffing until the embers glowed, and then he shook the match out, the smoke floating about as the smell of Sulphur hit their nostrils. He searched Murdoch's office for an ashtray, of course, not finding one.

"Constable," the government spy looked to George, "Perhaps you could…"

"Bollocks Meyers!" Brackenreid yelled. "Crabtree! Get his bloody ashtray! Now Mr. Meyers… the airbase!?" he glared into the man's face.

Terrence Meyers exhaled a swirling, snaking, twisting, cloud of smoke. "There is a problem," he confided…

It felt as if everyone held their breath.

"Canada does not have an airbase," he said matter-of-factly.

"Bollocks, Meyers! I'm bloody well sick of all your secrets! There's no point in hiding it from us! We already know!" the Inspector bellowed at the man.

Julia leaned forward, her voice an odd mix of strong and pleading, "We have to give it to them."

Mr. Meyers stood, needing to pace, to move, so as not to feel stuck. But fear was there, in his gut, demanding to be dealt with. "What I am telling you is the truth. I don't know why the kidnapper's think we have an airbase, of all things. Perhaps they dreamt the thing up, and then used the activities of Pendrick and Murdoch as further evidence supporting the wild idea," he explained.

Looking to Julia, he saw that she believed him… And he could tell it scared her too, because the location of the supposed airbase was what they had to trade for her husband's life, and now she understood that there was no airbase.

Having come clean about the fact that Canada did not have an airbase, thus they could not reveal its location in the drop at 8 PM, and they would not be able to come up with the ransom requested by the enemy spy kidnappers, and thus, they were powerless to save Murdoch's life, Meyers decided to come clean about something else, something from a while ago, that was likely relevant. "I may as well tell you now," he started, hesitating to inhale his cigar, "The first dead man – the man who had the Wimmer identification… who had gotten shot in the chest, the same night Murdoch was first abducted. He was not Murdoch's captor. He was my best man. I'd put him on Murdoch because I truly believed he could protect him."

It dawned on everyone in the room… Murdoch had been abducted by the same people both times... It was all but certain now. And these men were lethally dangerous, skilled enough to get the best of, not only Detective William Murdoch – who may not have been as alert as he might have been since he didn't know he was being set up as a decoy… But these treacherous men, likely spies for the USA, or Germany, or Russia, or some underworld organization, they had also gotten the best of Canada's finest man in the field.

Julia felt the world crashing down around her – the image of the Tower, burning, being struck by lightning, crumbling, as she fell through the abyss. She rushed out of room – feeling she would be sick.

After Crabtree had put away the projecting equipment, the three men went into the Inspector's office, waiting for her. Inspector Brackenreid offered them a drink. Meyers accepting, Crabtree declining. They began to work the clues, hoping to determine the identity of the kidnapper's, or their hiding place.

It drummed in the back of the mind, 8 PM, 8 PM, 8 PM. Little over four hours from now… Only four hours from now… Less than four hours from now…

Julia returned, face washed, hair straightened. The Inspector offered her a drink. Oh, how she wanted one…

Hearing Lady Minerva's voice foretell, "Your intuition is trying to send you a message, and you must listen..." Julia wiggled her toes in her shoes, grounding as best she could, and said, "No, um, no thank you Inspector." She clamped her lips and glanced into the Inspector's blue eyes. "It was the nine of cups, the card that told it, she remembered… "Watch out for your own weaknesses, your own indulgences," her fortune had warned.

Appearing at Brackenreid's door, unannounced, just suddenly there, Alan Clegg showed up.

It was George who had the strongest reaction to the sight of the American man standing there, for he was slimy, and there was evidence that he was involved. He remembered the sight of it, the crumpled up Necco Wafers candy wrapper in the detective's hand, after he had pulled it out from the pocket of the murdered man they now knew to be Meyers' best spy, put in charge of protecting Detective Murdoch. A brave and highly competent man killed, likely as he had tried to save the detective, giving his life with the effort.

Clegg had heard about Murdoch and Pendrick being captured, that the two Canadians were being held for some sort of ransom. He wanted to ensure them that it was not the USA that was responsible. He claimed to want to help.

No one in the room believed him. But the head of the spy organization for the American government, he might know something that they needed. They would hear him out.

Meyers attacked right away though, going for the man's poker face, figuring Clegg wouldn't be expecting it. "Alan, they are saying we have an airbase, but we d…"

Immediately the American's response, interrupting, with his usual rudeness, and so very cool, "We thought you did too." Clegg lit a cigarette.

George remembered finding cigarette butts, the thoughts splitting off in multiple directions. Once in the Trappe flat, where Murdoch was taken this second time – did Clegg's brand match that one? The second neural trail placed him in the alleyway in Winnipeg – and there too with the cigarette butts, was the Necco wrapper – and the diabolical assassin, the one working for the TOFF, and Dr. Ogden's American cousin to boot, the meat monger Jonathan Ogden, Ogden's hired killer, the deadly Mr. Graveson. The man had George in a handshake, nearly stabbed him in the armpit – the image, the memory replayed, Detective Murdoch flying through the air to save him… So quick, the flash, back even further from when they were undercover as hoboes on the same case, and the cruel American copper, Flannel Bull, bolstered by all his goonies, choosing the detective as his victim… in the barn in the Jungle, and George rallying to his rescue, but knocked unconscious, and when the gun was cocked to George's head, it provided the means to force the detective to acquiesce to the bastard's lewd advances…

Meyers recognized the fellow spy's delaying tactic. "There was something there," he told himself, as he watched the man shake out the match and hunt the ashtray.

Exhaling the thinner smoke, Clegg added, "Heard it from the Russians. The Russkies are suspicious of Pendrick… Think he's a spy for your government. They've been watching ever since he started his airplane delivery business." Clegg wouldn't tell, but he believed Pendrick to be a double-agent, working for both Canada and for Russia. He ran the tabulation in his head. Pendrick had spent time in Russia, working on his rocketship. He even brought that Russian woman, Svetlana, back with him. Clegg had always thought it was Pendrick's mission for Russia to kill Meyers, almost being successful, launching Meyers off into space.

Meyers replied, "Pendrick is an innocent businessman, much as Murdoch, too, who had nothing to do with any spying… At least, not for us."

George asked, having gotten his focus back on the conversation, "Do you think the Germans could be the kidnappers… err, like the detective suspected, and they got wind of the Russian's suspicions of Pendrick, and since Pendrick has a bunch of planes they just…"

Both Meyers and Clegg agreed that the captors, whether they be German or Russian, must have conjured up the idea, somehow, that Canada had a secret airbase. And when Pendrick and Murdoch started working on, and testing, their various innovations in airplanes, it only added fuel to the fire. And now it would be next to impossible to convince them otherwise.

Julia spoke up. "And what does that mean for William? And James Pendrick? Are they doomed?"

Brackenreid steamed, "You spies are a bloody lot! You need to make this right!"

Meyers looked to Clegg. "We don't have much time," he said.

The talk turned to how much time they did have. Less than four hours until the note's demanded time of the drop… and it was unclear if Murdoch's clock – the twelve hours until he died – started from then, or from when they had received the package here in the stationhouse. Both experienced spies speculated that the kidnapper's clock started at the time of the drop… a drop that was in less than four hours, and then Murdoch would have twelve hours after that for the enemy spies to determine whether the location given had been legitimate. And it could not be, so that meant they needed to solve the case.

They needed to work the clues – to find them – FAST!

Julia said she thought William looked like he might have been drugged in the film. She suspected they were giving him a drug called "devil's breath" which causes people to put down their defenses, to tell all their secrets, and to become very submissive. It was a kind of hypnotic truth serum.

Clegg was hit with a jolt of adrenalin. "What makes you say that?!" he nearly yelled at the doctor, surprising everyone with his aggressiveness.

She explained that there had been small amounts of a drug that matched the chemical compounds in 'devil's breath' in William's blood, the first time he had been taken. Then she added that yesterday, when William had investigated the scene where his captors lie in wait for him, he had found a dusting of the same drug on the table in the home of the last victim – a piece of evidence that he had managed to hand off to Constable Crabtree, before the villains snatched him once more.

She couldn't help it… It came at her from out of left field… The memory of his last kiss – possibly their very last kiss. The way he called her back. She had been so confused. "I didn't want to let you go without saying goodbye." Then his breath in her ear telling her he loved her. And then he stepped back, and he lifted a corner of his mouth, admitting… Oh, my God, she knew now, he was admitting to the pain he felt, and he was admitting to being sorry for the pain she would feel, for he would be gone. The heat of tears forming in her heart brewed upward in her throat.

Clegg managed to calm down quickly. He tried to cover for his overreaction, saying he had only been worried for the two men in case… He explained that, if his suspicions about Pendrick were right, and the captors were the Germans instead of the Russians, and then when Pendrick told the German spies the truth about his being a spy, because of the truth serum, then the Germans would assume Murdoch was helping the Russian spy… And thus, their lives were in even greater danger than was originally thought.

It was Meyers who noticed, Clegg was antsy from that moment on. It was only a few moments after that exchange that the American spy would take his leave. Meyers was suspicious, but he had so much to do and so little time.

The room cooled down. Crabtree began to report out about their other clues – the victim having burned off his fingermarks with acid, and a cigarette butt in the ashtray at the same table Dr. Ogden had mentioned that had had the truth serum substance on it.

Clegg stood and said he would be putting every man he had in Toronto on this. He took Julia's hand and rose it to give it a kiss. "Dr. Ogden, the American government is on the case. We will do everything in our power to find your husband," he vowed.

"Thank you, Mr. Clegg," she said simply, trying to be polite, trying to hide her distrust – her own mind reminding of the Necco Wafers candy wrapper in the pocket of the man who had been killed trying to protect her husband.

Glad that the American was gone, Meyers shared his plan with his fellow Canadians. He would pretend that Canada DID have a secret airbase… Supply the fake location of this made-up airbase at the drop. Not to worry, his men were experts at disguising themselves. They could appear to be a postbox, or a shoeshine stand. They were skilled men, who could stand still as a post for hours – blending in with the environment, drawing no attention, no suspicion, as they surveilled. They would stake out the drop, follow the pick-up man discretely back to the captor's hideout. If that failed, they would watch the spot they had identified in the drop as being where the airbase was located, lying in wait for when the enemy spies tried to destroy the supposed airbase, capturing them that way. Meyers and his spies would find Murdoch and Pendrick. They would save them. Meyers sent them all home. The Constabulary would only be in the way, would only jeopardize the plan.

After Meyers left, the Inspector said, "Bugger that. Crabtree, what have you? Doctor?"

George and Julia went to the University with the photograph of the victim falsely identified as Mr. Trappe. Upon asking around for people who recognized the man in the picture, George spotted a cigarette butt in an ashtray in an office of one of the chemistry professors. It was the same brand as the one the detective had given him rolled up in his handkerchief!

The constable asked, "Who smokes these?"

The professor replied, "Let me see…" for there were two different brands of cigarette in the ashtray, and he needed to know which one the constable was inquiring about. "Well, the Chesterfields are mine…" he answered, considering George's face to ascertain if that somehow implicated him in the murder.

"No, sir. Not those. The Hignett's…" George glanced at Dr. Ogden, "The German ones."

Julia stood at alert… They had something!

Relieved, the professor, leaned back in his chair and paused, trying to remember. His face brightened – it had come to him. "There is a man called Weimer. He works as a technician in the lab. He met with me in here a few days ago."

They had him! They had the identification of the man murdered and used in the trap to catch William!

They asked the professor to examine the photograph once more, to consider whether it could be this Mr. Weimer. "Oh… I see now. Weimer looked much older… and had mutton chops and a mustache…"

George's mind jumped to a memory of the time they were having difficulty identifying a man up in Perth County… He remembered it now – it was the first time they had met Mr. Meyers! Meyers was posing as the manager of a landholding company, and fooling people into thinking their military airship was a Martian spacecraft to get them to sell their land! Wasn't that for a secret government airbase?! The suspect they had a picture of back then lacked a mustache, but a man found murdered was discovered, by Dr. Ogden when she performed her postmortem, to be wearing a fake mustache, and was really the same man in their photograph. It had fooled everyone.

Outside the University, George suggested the doctor go home to her children. Now that they had a name, the search would move to looking through Constabulary records, and then following any clues they got from there. He would get all the available constables on it.

She decided to follow his advice. There was a hint in the back of her mind, that in order to do what Lady Minerva's fortune had predicted, she would need time alone to "hear" her intuition.

) (

Down from the cab, Julia found herself scared to go inside. Their house was so beautiful. William designed this house, his character in every nook and cranny. A tear threatened to bloom in her eye. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed on. It was near dinner time. She felt too sick to eat, but she would try.

Not expected at home so early, it seemed, at first, that no one heard her come in. She removed her hat. Checking her image in the mirror… "No sign of crying… Tired, though. You look tired," she told herself. In the reflection, she spotted Eloise coming through the corridor from the kitchen. Oh, how she wanted to fall into the woman's arms and cry…

"Doctor!" the woman declared… alerting the household to arrival.

Instantly, the happy children could be overheard sharing the news down in the basement playroom.

"Mommy's home!"

"Mommy's here!"

And the pattering of footsteps barreled upwards.

Such conflict raged in Julia's heart, wanting more than anything in the world to have her – their – three children safely and securely in her arms… but so too, filled with dread at the thought of telling them, of even considering the possibility, that they would grow up without their father. "He's still alive," she reminded herself, having already decided not to tell… not yet.

Hugs and kisses, multiplied by ten, abound, because their parents had not come home last night. Inevitably, however, the question came.

"When's Daddy getting home?" asked Katie.

Julia steadied her voice in her mind – striving for complete matter-of-factness and confidence. "Daddy's still all wrapped up in the case. He probably won't make it home tonight," she said.

There were groans and mumbles from the little ones in response.

Little Chelsea, in her mother's arms, who seemed not to be quite old enough to grasp the news, asked "Dadda?"

"Not tonight my baby girl," Julia answered her, nuzzling her with kisses, prompting the baby to giggle, and light up the world, for just a moment.

Claire-Marie asked about the doctor's class at the University tonight. Julia explained that she had gotten another professor to cover the class for her, expecting to be busy working on this very tough and important case. She asked the nanny if she would be willing to stay at home, and be ready at a moment's notice to watch the children… should something come up. She would be leaving earlier than usual tomorrow morning, and hoped Claire-Marie could wake the children and start their day. The young woman graciously agreed. Julia sensed that both Claire-Marie and Eloise grasped the dire situation more than they were letting on. Their compassion was appreciated.

Oh, how Julia had been trying to cope. It was worse here than in his office – everything, absolutely everything – reminded her of him. She couldn't breathe…

When it came time to tuck the children in, she ended up faltering.

William Jr. looked back at her from under his bedsheet, and his big, brown eyes reminded her, so very deeply, of William. And she missed him so much. And was so worried about him. And, without her permission, tears pooled in her eyes, and that lovely little boy saw it, and he asked her…

"Are you sad Mommy?" his voice high, like a child's, and so innocent.

"Yes, baby. I am a little… But don't worry. Mommies get sad sometimes. It won't last forever, hmm?" she answered, telling the truth, for there was no other way when it came to heart-to-hearts. She pulled him into hug. "But William could be dead forever," she thought to herself, and she hoped her son could withstand it, for she fell into soft weeping, and that little boy stayed there with her, not knowing what was wrong, but knowing his mother needed him – which she did, ever so much.

The wave of emotions passed, once Julia had allowed them to flow. She took a deep breath, told him he was such a good boy, and she loved him so, so much. And she kissed him goodnight.

After the children were asleep, she went down into William's workroom to use his drawing board and recreate the layout of the four cases and the clues. They did know more now. She put Weimer's name over the crossed-out "Trappe" name at the far-right side of the board – the last case. Under Wimmer's name she wrote, "Meyers' spy," taking a moment to thank the man in her mind for trying to save William's life. Under "William's abduction" she wrote, with more confidence in the clue now, "devil's breath."

Staring at the board, trying to decide where to put it, she thought, "And the airbase… Was it about this airbase all along? Certainly, William's first abduction was much more clearly about radioactive substances…

Being busy with the board and the clues had helped distract her. Yet, she suddenly noticed, as if from within a cloud, that she had been staring at the same clue… "sweet smell" under the column for William's first abduction, the same words that had caught her eye at the stationhouse earlier. It was her intuition, she knew it! But what?! What!?

Frustrated, she put the chalk down and went upstairs… retrieved the whiskey bottle from the dining room… considering how hard it was going to be for her to fall asleep in their bed without him.

Out of the corner of her eye –

Her breath swept out of her with the registering of the shadow – his Anniversary gift, the vase of copper and wool roses. A dozen yellow ones, and one red… And the red one tweaked her womb with lust, her eyes drifting to the secret passageway in the corner of the room, in the dark. And then she remembered the thrill of the game he had made, seeing rose after rose in the house, and before that, reading his magnificent poem, there with the first yellow rose on his pillow next to her in the bed – you are the ground in which I grow my roots – and then his note, on the dining room table, right there, with the vase. At first, he had planned to place seven roses adhered to places in the house where they had made love, for seven years, but it wasn't enough, and she knew, she was certain of it, seven was not enough! Not seven roses for places they had loved, nor seven years for time they had loved. She knew, her body knew, down to the marrow of her bones, she knew, William was still alive and he was out there… and she had to find him. This was not the end of their story.

A flash, an image, a memory and a wish. Julia saw herself, abruptly being swooped up high into the AIR, or was it that she jumped up into the air to save him from falling, urged by little Katie, to save her Daddy from the plane. She needed to be ready, she thought, putting the bottle away. Remember the Nine of Cups… remember the nine of cups.

Her intuition told her they were facing an epic journey. If she could find him, be with him, if they were together, just as he had told her long ago, and her intuition told her that, now, more than ever, it was true, if they were together, there was no one stronger.

) (

The Nine of Cups is a minor Tarot card, it is true, so it gives insight only into specific, little details in one's future story. Julia had correctly intuited the significance of its hint, in this instance, its being upside-down telling her to be aware of the dangers of yielding to one's own indulgences, and in putting down the whiskey bottle, Julia had incorporated the tiny clue into the fabric of their fortune, saving it from fraying away into the void of the impossible. But, she had not yet discovered that there would be more to the gypsy fortuneteller's taking the unusual risk of offering her a chance at the drawing of a minor card… And Julia would need it, for her instincts were right. William needed her WITH HIM in order to survive this monumental challenge, and thus she needed to find him, and time would be running out, very, very soon.

)) ((