CHAPTER TWO
"Up to you, of course…" Dr. Ogden deadpanned.
Brackenreid sputtered, slamming the glass back down and wiping his brow. "Bloody Hell!"
"Bloody Hell indeed, it's a fine bottle," Dr. Ogden agreed, then asked in the same mock-detached tone, "From Yorkshire, are we?" Another smirk. "I had a residency at Sheffield Royal Hospital during medical school."
"Why, that's me' hometown, Doctor." Brackenreid recovered his embarrassment and smiled broadly, taking a new interest in the doctor. "I don't suppose you got in any of the football matches while you were there?"
"I'm an Owls fan all the way. Go The Wednesday!" she replied, a flippant grin directed to Brackenreid.
Murdoch cleared his throat to get her and his boss back to business. "Any preliminary observations, Doctor?"
"Well, I was here when he keeled over. I can tell you the time of death was eight forty-five. He had been drinking from his own bottle," she pointed to the one the inspector nearly sampled, "which I will need packaged up and sent to the morgue. I suspect poison, reserving the outside possibility he died of an unexpected seizure or heart malady."
She stood up abruptly from her observations, eyes on the doorway. "The morgue attendants are here, therefore I must go organize them. Toodle pip!"
Inspector Brackenreid watched the sway of her retreating hips before realizing that he was as well. "I like her, Murdoch. She's got spunk."
He ignored that. "Sir?" he said through his teeth, "This is hardly our jurisdiction. What are we doing here? What are you doing here?" His boss showing up at a crime scene decked out in his best summer suit meant this was not a run-of-the-mill investigation.
"It was Blackburn who called us in. Landswell there is," Brackenreid moved his walking stick in the corpse's direction, "well, was a friend of our new mayor of Toronto, Charles A. Maguire, and the Control Board is up in arms about the rash of alcohol-related deaths."
"That's never bothered them before."
"Seems one of the alkies dropped dead on Alderman Birdsall's doorstep earlier tonight and the shite has hit the fan. Particularly now one of their own," another thrust of the stick towards Landswell, "appears to have succumbed. And in a place like this!"
Murdoch's lips folded in displeasure. He dropped his voice lower. "Sir. Are we here to solve it or cover it up?"
Brackenreid's shoulders hunched. "We are to solve this one, swiftly and discreetly. Station House Four got the call because of our past success with high-profile cases."
"It would not have anything to do with your own political inclinations, sir?"
"At ease, Murdoch!" Having a Catholic detective in his unit - even one who was responsible for Station Four's high success rate - was a problem for Brackenreid's ambitions. His colour rose with his voice. "That has nothing to do with it. Now, let me get Mr. Blackburn and his lovely companion out of your way so you and Dr. Ogden can do what you are paid for." Brackenreid walked forward a pace, then came back to whisper: "And, Murdoch - try not to piss this coroner off like you did the last one."
He didn't hold out much hope as this particular young Dr. Ogden appeared to be a hedonist; he could not imagine how she got the position of city coroner let alone be able to keep it.
Unfortunately handling this death with 'discretion' meant he was seriously under-manned. Tonight, he had only a mis-matched pair of constables: Constable first class George Crabtree, a war veteran a decade younger than himself with a bright future in law enforcement if he could edit his flights of fancy, and newly hired Constable third class Henry Higgins, at eighteen painfully young and invested with the arrogance of youth. He motioned them over.
"Gentlemen. We need to know who was here tonight and who had access to poison our victim's food or beverage, since that is the coroner's initial evaluation for cause of death."
"Who's the big timer in such a swanky joint as this?" Higgins pointed a thumb over his shoulder.
"The victim's name is Mr. Conrad Landswell. Constable Higgins, please get the names of all the staff members from the manager. I need to know who was working tonight, and who worked which shifts all week. There must be a list somewhere - get it. Get a list of all deliveries or non-employee workmen who came and went for the last week." He saw Higgins struggle with his notebook and pencil to write it all down, so he slowed his delivery to match Higgins' penmanship. No point in giving orders if they were not properly received. "The manager is a Mr. Hedson. He's the tall gentleman over by the entrance." He pointed to a harried-looking man with old fashioned sideburns, beard and mustache who was clutching a large ring of keys.
"You mean the whiskbroom over there? You want me to get the low down on any hinky people he's been eyeing?"
"No, not only suspicious persons, constable. All staff - who worked which shifts, and names of delivery persons, strangers etcetera," he repeated. "It will take a while. Don't rush. Copy it all down, exactly. And don't take no for an answer, understood?" Higgins' eyes widened, but he trotted off with his notepad and pencil at the ready. Murdoch hoped it was a good start.
Crabtree watched Higgins' progress with a thoughtful gaze. "Sir. What do you think?"
"That Mr. Hedson may benefit from a translator."
"A...about the case, I mean," Crabtree grinned. "This one makes six bodies and it is still early on a Friday night. Do you think it is another bootlegged alcohol death?"
"We shall see. I suppose it is possible our victim voluntarily substituted a low-end rot gut for the cognac, but let us keep all possibilities open, including this was targeted and intentional. To that end, Crabtree, obtain a guest list for this evening for interviews."
"I've already started, but I...I hate to tell you, several patrons already fled." Crabtree was apologetic, his high forehead wrinkled with concern. "No one knew anything was amiss at first, but when we arrived...well, they got nervous a...and snuck out."
He nodded. "I assumed that was the case. The Inspector is taking statements from Miss Ogden and Mr. Blackburn, who, along with our new coroner, apparently actually witnessed the death. And the other club members and guests?"
"Nothing much. Mr. Landswell was a regular member, usually drank alone, no particular friends, although he was known to try and scrape up business prospects for his electrical contracting firm. He was a sort of a glad-hander." Crabtree flipped his notebook open. "Here is a list of guests I have been working from. I...I saved these two gentlemen for you because they might have pertinent information to add." Crabtree passed a sheet of notepaper over, pointing to two circled names. "Both of them say they knew Mr. Landswell and saw him come in and open the lock on his private liquor cabinet. They were present all evening and are waiting for you in the cigar room."
"Did Mr. Landswell ever share from his liquor cabinet?" He pointed to the rows of locked cubbies containing alcohol along the back wall.
"No, sir. I'm told he hoarded his own stock."
He scanned the list of names, thinking Landswell's tight-fisted nature was a good thing or there'd be more bodies here tonight. "Dr. Ogden requires the bottle he drank from. Please collect it, take fingerprints from the whole lot, and then send the entire contents of his cabinet along to the morgue, will you?"
"Sir."
"I will start interviewing the remaining guests. When Higgins is done with the manager over there, we will have to extract a member and guest list out of him as well." Murdoch and his constable turned to look at Higgins and Mr. Hedson wrangling over the employee list, with Mr. Hedson's face getting redder and his eyes rounder by the minute.
Crabtree let out a conspiratorial snicker. "Mr. Hedson's not having a very good night, is he sir?"
Murdoch raised one eyebrow. "Better than Mr. Landswell."
Out of the corner of her eye, Julia spied her sister examining Mr. Landswell's form on the gurney. She marched over and flicked the white sheet back over the body, then pointed to where she wanted Ruby to wait - across the room. Ruby ignored her, removing a small compact from her Mandalian mesh purse for a quick primp.
Some things never change, Julia thought, feeling a familiar frustration surface. As the elder sister, Julia was supposed to protect and guide her younger sibling in social deportment. However, since childhood, Ruby was generally quite immune to taking direction. More galling, Ruby's gift for blithely flaunting convention without the slightest ripple of public censure made her jealous.
"Jules, your new job is quite disagreeable," her sister pronounced. "And it is quite a lot of work."
"Ha! This from a person who mucks around in the underbelly of Society, all for a few column inches in the papers," Julia shot back. She abhorred giving Ruby the satisfaction of agreeing about the quantity of work on her plate. Too many corpses and too little time...
Ruby patted her hair and clasped her hands together, trying to look prim. Julia thought the red fingernail varnish and lip rouge spoiled the effect.
"I am a writer. A journalist. That is my job. Ernest Hemingway advises that to write well, one must write the truth," her sister offered as an excuse. "I think I shall follow his example and turn this misadventure into an article." Ruby proceeded to stick her tongue out.
Julia nearly stamped her foot. "Mr. Hemingway is not known for writing about murders or crime in the Star. Even so, you cannot have any special privilege from me about this case. I am still on probation." She tried glaring at her sister, then found an insistent giggle bubbling up. It took all her might not to laugh out loud, as absurd as it was, the two of them, standing off over a corpse.
Ruby was less successful in stifling herself, much to Julia's disapproval. They were still locked in sisterly opposition when the morgue attendants approached to remove Mr. Landswell. Julia shushed her sister, but Ruby kept teasing. "I still think your new position is unsavoury. After nursing in the Great War, I thought you were sick of the dead, and yet here you are…" She waved at the sheet-covered stretcher as the morgue attendants shifted it and its burden down the stairs. "Why ever did you take this on?"
"First, this is nothing like what I saw and did overseas. Second, it is vital for we women to have positions of prominence in Society, particularly since achieving the vote, and I will be making an important contribution as City Coroner." Julia's answer was sharper than she intended. Only her sister could get under her skin so quickly - silly to enraged in the blink of an eye. It was exhausting. "In my spare time, I will be exploring options for establishing a practice here. If I have any free time, that is." She muttered this last part. "In the meantime, I will be making reports of my findings to the detective."
"Hmmm. Those constables...how about that detective? He's just the cat's meow." Ruby licked her lips, nodding towards the man questioning the club's guests.
Julia choked. Leave it to Ruby to notice the handsome police officer or the men in uniform - her sister was such a cliché. "Ruby! He is a colleague I just met. We are working a crime scene, not socializing at a tea dance."
"Considering I cannot get you to a dance hall, this will have to do," her sister gibed. "Where else will you find such a dashing man?"
"And a married one if his ring finger is any indication."
"Oh, you noticed, did you? So you were looking."
Julia counted herself incapable of that kind of embarrassment but... maybe she had glanced in the detective's direction once, or twice, and she wasn't the only female in the room who noticed. He was attractive and she wasn't dead. "I came out with you tonight because you said it was going to be a few laughs. Come relax, you said. Meet new people, you said. Have fun, you said. But, instead of a few laughs, I have yet again another corpse to dissect and you'd like me to entangle myself with a police officer, of all things!"
"Which is sort of the point, Jules. It's no fun if there is no challenge. Look at him, all dour and brown-study serious. He needs a woman's… touch... to get that certain smile on his face."
Julia's face warmed. Her sister was impossible. "For Heaven's sake, Ruby! He's Catholic to boot. All that crossing or whatever it is. Did you notice that too?"
She sent an angry glare at her sister, then took another, even closer look at the detective - curiosity overcoming her reluctance. She'd been warned about Detective Murdoch by her dear friend Dr. Michelle McDaniels: he was an outstanding cop with a generally low opinion of the coroner's office, demanding of the individual pathologists, and possessed of an annoying tendency to second-guess results. Mick went on to judge him to be more than competent in the areas of chemistry, physics and electrical engineering, probably capable of performing a primitive autopsy of pressed. Julia thought the detective sounded positively boring.
Detective Murdoch lobbied for a permanent city coroner. I suppose he's indirectly responsible for getting me this position, she reminded herself. I bet he never imagined a woman permanently in the job, did he?
But a liaison with him? He reminds me of an officious butler in one of the great English houses. What was Ruby thinking?
…. Yet, she could not deny there was a most intriguing aspect to the man. He was certainly good-looking - if one could get past his dark-browed glower which Ruby so helpfully pointed out. Perhaps away from work he was more congenial? She snuck another look. She put him in his early thirties, clean-shaven, tanned from the out of doors with pleasingly smooth facial planes under high cheekbones. He was well-dressed, and well-groomed, down to buffed fingernails - rather more polished than the average copper. Underneath that dark suit she could imagine his muscles flexing, already noticing how his trousers covered his haunches. Most striking was a heavy fringe of lashes over coffee brown eyes.
And she loved coffee…
Ruby poked her in the ribs. "I bet you an extra week at the lake house - no, I will spend two extra weeks with Father, if you bed Detective Murdoch by Dominion Day."
Julia thought about how much she'd like to avoid her duty call to Father, sliding her gaze towards Detective Murdoch and back to her sister. She already knew the coroner's office was going to be temporary. What did she have to lose?
"All right, Ruby. You're on!"
Satisfied Crabtree and Higgins were making progress with Mr. Hedson, Murdoch walked outside in order to take in the fresh air, surprised to find Brackenreid and Dr. Ogden on the sidewalk. She should have left with the morgue wagon. Alongside the building, Miss Ruby Ogden lingered with a cigarette underneath the entrance canopy; Mr. Blackburn nowhere in sight. He sighed inwardly, walking forward to join his boss, who appeared inordinately charmed by the new coroner.
"Enjoying a fine dram in the club, were you, Doctor?" Brackenreid asked her with a smile.
"I was trying to, gentlemen." She replied, put her foot on a light post and hiked up her skirt to pull a flask out of her garter. Taking a swig, she handed it to Brackenreid who gladly took her up on her offer.
Murdoch's unruly eye caught the curve of her upper thigh and the lace tops of her stockings all the way to the deep decolletage in the front and the deep V in the back of her dress and how nicely the handkerchief hem floated below her knees. Which was, he assumed, the whole point of the exercise. His fingers twitched towards the flask when she offered him a pull of his own.
He declined, watching her hands again as she tucked it back away and slid the blue silk back down her long legs. Remaining clear-headed is going to be a necessity. He took his boss aside to share preliminary reports. "Sir, what did you learn from Mr. Blackburn and Miss Ogden?"
"Nothing good. Mr. Blackburn claims it was his first time at the club, escorting his recent companion, Miss Ruby Ogden, who, by the way, says she is a reporter for the Toronto Star." Brackenreid looked positively dyspeptic. "Keeping a politician's and a reporter's mouth shut about this nasty business will not be easy. You'd better watch out there."
"Sir. We will also have to make sure Dr. Ogden does not feed information to her sister."
"Agreed. Miss Ogden and Mr. Blackburn concur Mr. Landswell expired about a quarter to nine o'clock, just after they arrived. It was Miss Ruby who invited her sister along, which is how our new city coroner was also Johnny-on-the-spot." Brackenreid made a harsh sound in his throat. "This is a damned cock-up already."
A politician, a reporter and a coroner all walked into a bar and witnessed a death...It sounded to him like the start of one of Crabtree's bad jokes. His discreet inquiry was just about blown to Hell already. "Sir. There is not much more we can do here right now. I will come back later and speak with the rest of the staff. In the morning we can take a better look at the victim's house and finances." He turned back to where the coroner was chatting with her sister. With Brackenreid at his elbow he approached her. "Dr. Ogden, I assume you'll be starting the autopsy immediately?"
"On the contrary. I'll be escorting my sister to another party and from there, who knows? Our victim is going anywhere, is he? I'll begin first thing tomorrow provided there isn't anything else taking precedence," she added with a wink and a smile as she turned on her heel.
Brackenreid caught his eye as they both watched her leave. His boss shook his head. "Oi, I do believe you've met your match. She won't be having any of your poppycock, will she?" Brackenreid thumped him on the back. "See you don't scare her off."
Biting his tongue, Murdoch straightened his hat and walked to his beloved 1917 Indian motorcycle. There was a great deal of work ahead therefore a dull ache was asserting itself behind his eyes just to spite him. He considered Dr. Ogden. There was a certain patrician cast to her face and that imperious manner - but the rest? He could not imagine the severe Lionel Ogden siring that particular, flighty offspring, let alone the effervescent Ruby.
If Julia Ogden, whose ever daughter she was, was the new city coroner, Murdoch bet himself she was not going to last the week.
Mimico
Even though she'd grown up with most of these people, gone to school with them, spent summers at various lake cottages together, Julia didn't feel as though she belonged with them anymore and as a result, felt awkwardly out of place.
But at least the booze flowed freely at Mimsy Boroughs' party, and taking a glass of the abundant champagne, Julia moved through the rooms, looking for a quiet alcove or garden to gather her wits and indulge her powers of observation. Seeing what promised to be a secluded nook, she was disappointed to find a gaggle of young women, snorting lines of cocaine.
"Julia Ogden! Come, join us!" Elizabeth Devons, a girl who had gone to school with Ruby, called out, but Julia wasn't craving the allure of that high tonight, and politely declined, apologizing for intruding.
Meandering around, she finally spied the conservatory, and slipped inside, taking a seat to watch the party around her, to be a part of it, while not being fully involved. She sipped her glass, closed her eyes and savored the bubbly liquid, contemplating the events at the Crown Club.
Detective Murdoch. For all his propriety and erect bearing, she sensed a darkness beneath that placid exterior, attracting her all the more. She was willing to bet he'd seen action in the Great War, been changed from the man he'd been before and was hiding it under that stiff veneer.
She recognized the change because she'd gone through it herself. Parties in England had been different because of that shared experience, but here, most of these young people were too far removed to have known what happened nearly four thousand miles away during the long war years or excruciatingly awful swath of destruction from influenza, and as a result, their lives remained unaltered and blissfully ignorant of the carnage. Their topics of conversation were even still the same!
Julia couldn't relate.
Laughing at her ennui, she stood and drained her glass, quickly catching the eye of a waiter for a refill. Forcing a smile, she did her best to rejoin the party and the friends she'd known her whole life, even if they didn't - couldn't - really know her anymore.
Walking back into the salon where the bulk of the crowd was, she looked for Ruby and their hostess, ready to give her excuses for an early departure. Ruby soon found her, her dilated pupils and excited demeanor along with the white residue around her nose told Julia that she'd also been enjoying the white powder.
"Juliaaaaa, you caaaaaan't be leaving," Ruby cajoled.
"Ruby, I'm tired, I have work in the morning, and…."
"You're no fun anymore. Not since you got back from England...or are you going to get in trouble just so you can meet Detective Murdoch again?" she giggled.
"Good night, Ruby. Give my regards to Mimsy, and wipe the cocaine from your nose. I'll see you tomorrow," she replied, accepting her wrap from a servant, and stepping outside, where a footman ushered her into a waiting taxi, sorry she had not taken her own motor car to the party.
Leaning her head back in the cab, she considered Ruby's words. Ruby was wrong, she still wished to have fun, it's just that her definition of the activity had changed as her thoughts turned to men…
Alas, the interesting ones were always taken. Detective Murdoch might be married, but she certainly wouldn't mind a fling with him...what's the harm?
Besides, as soon as I have my license to practice medicine, for the first time in my whole life, I am going to be completely free!
