William hated to leave, but the last two days had upended his entire, well-established world. As the train jerked away from the platform with a hiss and screech, he almost took himself out of his seat and ran to the compartment door to fling himself out. He had a bad feeling about this - all of it.
Julia agreed it was not wise to let a young boy -his own son or not - and recently bereft of his mother, go off on his own on a potentially dangerous quest. Was someone hunting the boy? Who knew what was behind the door at that Montreal address? Help - or an assassin?
In the carriage to Union Station, he and Julia went over every option they could think of to solve the case, protect Harry, protect Anna if they were able. Hire a private investigator? Call on the Montreal authorities? Ask Terrence Meyers? No idea was too ridiculous, too far-flung.
Chasing after Harry was just the best of bad choices they had a twenty-minute carriage ride to make. She said she understood. Gave him counsel. Gave him all the cash she had on her. Took a list of telegrams to send along the train route, asking the station masters to look out for a boy traveling alone. So, her last words surprised him - and that last unguarded look on her face made his heart clench. His brave, independent, gracious wife looked so sad. So unsure. But the train was leaving, and he was out of time.
Julia… He told her he was coming back. To her. How could she think he would not? He tried to take her insecure questions in stride, not make too much of it because she wouldn't appreciate a suggestion from him she was overly emotional. Because, of course, he was coming back. If Anna were alive, she'd take the boy. No question. If she were dead, well, he'd raise his son. No question of that, either.
Could she genuinely think he would abandon her? Could abandon her?
He settled into his second-class seat, misgivings shadowing his thoughts as he went over what they knew. Anna came to Toronto for a reason. She was frightened but kept it a secret from him, for some reason he had yet to fathom. The Black Hand knows Anna Fulford didn't die at the hands of a teenage assassin. Knows that he, William, lied to them. Knows that Julia was involved in the lie. Probably assumes other members of the constabulary were involved. That puts everyone in danger.
Then there is the son he never knew about and doesn't know much about now. Harry found an address in his mother's journal that meant something to the boy. For some reason, Harry did not trust his newly discovered father and took off with that address, presumably went to find it, and whoever lived there. This was also the same boy who shot up Mr. Carmichael's restaurant, for reasons that were still unclear - especially since he missed at point-blank range. Well, the boy has gumption, if not common sense. I'll give him that.
He saw his reflection in the window; darkness lay beyond. That bad feeling wasn't getting any better. Julia. He fished around in his pocket for his pencil and notepad, hoping he'd be able to find a passenger leaving the train willing to do a favour…