CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

1100 hours, Monday July 3rd, 1922

Station House No. 4

John Hodge's smile was a welcome sight - he sidled through the cluttered office, bringing Murdoch a butter tart to go with his coffee, placing it on the desk with a surreptitious glance towards the bullpen. Murdoch followed Hodge's gaze: Brackenreid was animatedly conversing with - or bullying - Crabtree and Higgins, who stood at attention under the onslaught.

Hodge's lifted eyebrows were his sole commentary on the tongue lashing happening a few feet away. Instead, the Hodge held the huge grin on his face. "You must be getting better sleep lately, sir."

"What...?" Murdoch nearly choked on a swallow of coffee. What does Hodge know?

"Well, you came in all bright eyed and bushy tailed and then there are your chalkboards - I can tell you've had one of your brainstorms, sir. Everything is rearranged."

"Ugh… yes…" He put his cup down and rose, pointing to the chalkboards. "Worcester claimed he was only investigating a fire, when Swift's squad walked up on him and arrested him."

"The only physical evidence was a burned painting? Not much of a case, sir," Hodge pointed out. "Er, not one you'd move forward with."

"No. A large quantity of unexplained money was found in Worcester's possessions when they searched his kit - that clinched it."

"He insisted he was framed. What if it is true?"

"That, Hodge, is an excellent question. If Worcester was railroaded, it was expertly done. Regardless - if revenge for Worcester's fate is a motive to kill Knox and Landswell, or for Knox to kill Doulton - we are out of suspects. No... I think it is something else entirely, just as I am sure this is about those men in that squad - I just know it. The military police were not as well-received by other soldiers as we in the constabulary are by the public."

Hodge winced. "Desertions, you mean. Were any of that squad ever involved in a firing squad?"

"That's my first call this morning for the names of every squad member and for details of their deployments. I want you to follow up more on our Mr. Salt today, especially his background." He rubbed his forehead and was about to pick up the telephone receiver when Julia approached his office, knocking on the doorframe. He straightened up as the ringer in Brackenreid's office went off - his boss ignoring it in favour of whatever was going on with Crabtree and Higgins. "Hodge, help me make room then can you please answer that call in the inspector's office for him?" The man's eyebrows migrated into his hairline, but Hodge compiled by moving the chalkboards, making more room for Julia to enter.

"Good day, Doctor. I was hoping to see you." Her smile made his stomach flutter. For the first time ever, he hated that his office was essentially a goldfish bowl.

"I was hoping for a word with you as well. May I?" She gestured to a chair. He saw she also took in the total lack of privacy. She shrugged and sat. "I came to thank you for Miss Pink's name. She works quickly, already making progress with my quest to find the parents of my suicide victim. I was also curious how it went with the boat rental, I…."

He could not hear the rest of her sentence because Inspector Brackenreid started shouting his name. "Murdoch. My office. Now."

That doesn't sound good. He excused himself to get to his boss, but behind him Julia was right on his heels. Hodge, Crabtree and Higgins were already crammed in there. "Sir?"

Brackenreid's entire body bristled. "Forget what you've been doing. That was Randolph Swift. Says he thinks he knows who poisoned Knox and Landswell," Brackenreid announced. "He believes one of his old squad, Argyle Hudson, is behind this whole bollocksed mess. Says Hudson called him in a terrible state and threatened him, even thinks Hudson tried to kill him, with - get this - poisoned cognac, except Swift didn't drink enough other than to get sick. Says he thinks Hudson cracked because of the war, might try to kill himself or do a runner out of guilt."

He was speechless. A man damaged by combat - his life eroding bit by bit, year over year, until he became unhinged and homicidal - was not anywhere amongst his theories of the case. He tried to picture what it would take for him to turn on Brackenreid, or Crabtree. Never!

His blood surged. "Do we know where Argyle Hudson lives, sir?" He was already reaching for maps of Toronto to plot the quickest route.

"No, we do not, other than Swift thinks here in Toronto." Brackenreid turned to the men. "Gentlemen, we have only one task right now. We are searching for a man named Argyle Hudson. Higgins, get to the telephone exchange, find out where Hudson made that call from, and don't leave until you get an answer. Crabtree, get out the city directories, and failing that, go to the land office looking for a name and address."

He wanted to follow the military connection. "Hodge, call the veterans' office. See if this Argyle Hudson is getting a pension and then check constabulary records in case he's been in trouble with the law. Try the trade unions too."

"Do you have an old regimental photograph of Hudson in those files you and Hodge have been pouring over?" Brackenreid asked him.

"I'll make copies. We'll send the rest of the men to the train station and the docks, notify customs, and get pictures as far as the borders in Niagara Falls, Buffalo and Windsor."

"Good. Gentlemen, we must find Argyle Hudson immediately, by the end of the day at the latest! I don't want to hear anything other than you are arresting him. Go!" Brackenreid unceremoniously pushed them all out his office, before grabbing his sleeve. "Not you."

With a regretful nod and shrug in Julia's direction, he reluctantly let her go, turning back to his boss.

"Close the door and sit down." Brackenreid sat on the edge of his own desk and hunched forward. "You and I have been through the war, and I'd trust you with my life. Have done, in fact. But I'll say this plainly. Murdoch - you have been all over the map. Distracted like a school-boy. I don't know what is going on and right now I don't care..."

"Sir-"

"Don't interrupt me! Just what are you doing about it?"

"Sir. I have gone about this all wrong, I know that now. It's like that parlour game Crabtree is always trying to get me to play. I had all the answers in front of me, the whole time! I never asked the right question." He did not really have it in him to defend himself because he agreed with Brackenreid. He had been distracted - nothing of which he was going to share.

"Humph… Our priority is arresting Perri and trying him for those 44 deaths. What ever questions you are asking almost got you killed, and our new City Coroner with you!" Brackenreid sounded furious.

"About that...I have assigned a constable to check on Dr. Ogden and the morgue."

"And the boat that hit you? Shouting Eye-talian gibberish at you on the way by."

"Not gibberish sir, telling us to stop and that it was enough. My guess is they either followed Dr. Ogden or myself and took an opportunity when they saw it. The boat was stolen and sunk. No evidence to glean, of course."

"Of course. Christ! Perri covers his tracks well. Does mean you are getting closer to nailing him, though. What did you tell Dr. Ogden?"

He felt himself get hot. "Nothing, actually. I thought it wise to have her continue to think it was an accident, for now. I...um... made sure she was safe that night and besides...I hardly think she was the target, but better to be safe..."

Brackenreid's eyes bored into him for a moment before turning away and sitting at his desk, shifting back in his chair. "Now, what do you think about this Argyle Hudson character?"

"Sir, this has always been about those men, we just never asked the right questions about their connections. I... I never asked. What we lacked was motive. If not love, money or revenge, I suppose a madman is as good as anything. All shifts will focus on finding Argyle Hudson."

"I am paying more overtime for this, aren't I?" Brackenreid looked resigned.

"Sir. We must do this by the book. Hudson and tying him to Knox and Landswell's deaths - if the motive is from the war as Mr. Swift theorizes - means there will be no scandal tainting Mr. Landswell, or other powerful interests by association."

"News to make the Mayor and Board of Control happy, no doubt." Brackenreid barked a laugh. "Leave it to you to find the sunshine spot. Just get your head out of your arse - find this Argyle Hudson before anyone else has to die."


Banished from the Inspector's office, Julia could only observe the detective and his boss deep in conversation. Since waiting in the detective's office was not the wisest of options now, she reluctantly returned to the morgue - William Murdoch on her mind. She'd only meant to have a dalliance with an acquaintance, and move on. He turned out to be a complicated man and after what they'd shared last night, this was no easy fling with no strings…she only realized now.

Walking back over, she wondered if he would even want to see her again outside of the morgue or station house. He didn't seem the type to be promiscuous, but she'd been - disastrously - wrong before in her judgement of men. Now that he knew his equipment functioned, did he want to go out and have fun? Was this primarily going to be a tom-catting situation for him?

I'm not so sure how I feel about that. She was aware of the hypocrisy. Too many feelings for something that was supposed to be a lark…that's for damn sure!

She walked back into the morgue, resolutely put the matter aside, and tried her best to focus on work. But before she'd even had the chance to make a cup of coffee, Jack told her that her sister had called multiple times...insisting upon lunch.

Did Ruby already know? And what am I going to tell her?


Her sister's expression reminded her of Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat. "Jules! Part of me didn't think you actually would - or that he actually would - at least not so soon," she excitedly bombarded Julia before she'd even had a chance to get settled.

Julia had a strong urge to slap that smile right off her sister's face. "Ruby! Keep your voice down! We're in public," she admonished, but she couldn't keep her own smile off her lips. Ruby bet against me and I won the bet!

"I can't believe it! What was he like? What did you talk about? What…?'

Julia said nothing while ignoring Ruby's pointed questions.

Hoping for a brief respite from her sister's pestering, she gratefully accepted the coffee which appeared at the hands of an efficient waiter. She slurped the first sip: it was hot and strong, just as she liked it. She stared below the rim of her cup at the shining brown liquid, so like the colour and sheen of his bright, intelligent, soulful eyes.

William…

It was extraordinary. Just like that, he'd bared his soul to her, his most profound shame. And proved to be a passionate, tender lover...

Ruby interrupted her daydreaming. "Oh, you have to give me something! Tell me, Jules! Was he all he promised? He is quite the man, after all…" she went on excitedly.

"Ruby! That's enough! I'm not one of your interview subjects, all right? I won't be pushed around and I'd appreciate it if you'd give me space!" surprising herself with her outburst.

"Don't bite my head off," Ruby replied, taking a sip of her own coffee. "Ugh, this stuff is abominable. I can't understand how you love it, and don't say it's because of the war."

"I won't, then. Just add sugar and cream, Ruby, it's an acquired taste," Julia laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"And have you acquired a taste for Detective Murdoch?"

"None of your business!"

And I wouldn't tell you if I did...

Setting the sugar bowl down, Ruby looked skeptical. "You could not possibly have feelings for him! That would be regrettable and just prove my point that you don't know how to have fun anymore."

"Need I remind you that I am older than you and after everything...well, my definition of fun has changed, I suppose."

Ruby made a face at her then laughed mischievously. "Fine. But I must know, is he as fit as he seems?"

"Combat ready." Julia just couldn't resist a giggle. "He even has a regimental tattoo - which seems so out of character, but I guess nothing should surprise me."

Throughout luncheon she gave her sister only half her attention. Deflecting Ruby's prying about her romantic attachments - or lack thereof - was not difficult. It was harder than she expected not to tell her sister all about the investigations she was involved in. Worse, she was sorely tempted to fill her in about the sad case of Olive Routledge, because Detective Pearce could care less, and Detective Murdoch had his hands more than full. She might love her sister, but she didn't trust Ruby's discretion. She imagined if she tried to discuss it with Ruby, her sister would stalk her and turn the rendezvous - if she ever got one - into an ambush complete with flash powder, probably wielded by that female photographer, Miss Genvieve Latcher.

She was glad she'd left it in the capable hands of Miss Freddie Pink, the private investigator William had suggested. Now she was waiting on two important letters and the waiting was driving her mad!