CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Tuesday July 4th
At 1:00 pm sharp, she pulled up to the predetermined location along Grenadier pond on the outskirts of Toronto. The dirt road she came up left a dusty haze over her shiny car. Though it was a hot summer day, Julia felt a chill envelop her and she wished for something around her shoulders as she walked towards a bench at the edge of the pond under a willow tree, wrapping her arms about her for warmth.
Under the leafy green canopy, it felt a good ten or fifteen degrees cooler than the ambient temperature. Instead of pleasant though, it was eerily silent and dark, almost an omen of sorts. Too late she remembered William's admonition to never go into strange situations alone. I should have told Ruby, since I couldn't tell William about meeting this man. It would be rather ironic if something bad happening here will be the reason I never see him again...
The skin on her legs raised goosebumps as a breeze blew through. Her heart beat faster as she took a seat on the bench, waiting for the man who managed to sneak a note into her private and locked morgue. A couple minutes later, she heard a heavy tread behind her, branches snapping as someone stepped on them. Before she could react, the man was beside her. Today he was dressed in an immaculate grey summer suit, vastly different from the rough tweed of their first encounter. He looked like a banker or wealthy businessman, right down to his mirror-polished shoes and City Gent's bowler hat.
"What d'ya know, Doctor Lady?" he asked, skipping the pleasantries.
Sighing, she squinted at him, studying his face. He was exactly as intense as their first encounter. Deciding that truth was always the best response with this man she turned towards him. "I have concluded Olive Routledge took her own life. That will be the official manner of death."
"So...not murder." His shoulders slumped and fists relaxed. "She threw herself off that building? Why?"
Why do you seem so damned relieved it was not murder? What kind of person are you? Julia hesitated, deciding to tell him to see his reaction. "She was distraught because she'd just gotten that news from an attorney, whose office is at that address, that the man she was involved with was already married," she told him, looking at his face for any reaction.
He flinched as if she struck him. Exhaling sharply, he took off his hat and ran his fingers through dark hair, muttered something in a foreign language, and stomped his foot into the ground. Turning his back to her, he took several steps away, to compose himself. Julia waited patiently. After a minute he turned around. "And the babies?"
"They are currently at an orphan's home in St. Catharines. They are well, but they miss their parents. Would you know where I can find their father?"
The man's jaw worked, his black eyes unreadable. "What about her parents?"
"A private investigator found them in Manitoba."
"I...I'd be obliged if you'd arrange for them to get there."
"Don't you want to see them?" she asked, desperate for this man to acknowledge he was their father. Why else go to all this trouble?
"Just call me one of those, how do you say, Good Samaritans. See they make it there; I'd be forever in your debt if you'd do that," he replied, shoving a thick envelope at her.
Holding the package, she could tell it contained what she assumed was a substantial amount of cash. "I promise I will make sure this gets sent along with them, to help her family care for them." She stood to end the interview, angry with this difficult man, expecting him to disappear again.
His face and eyes remained cold, frozen. "Say, you don't happen to know anything more about those bootleg deaths, do you?" he suddenly asked.
"Some," Julia reluctantly admitted after a moment. "Who did you lose that way?"
"How many?" he insisted.
"In the whole region? Forty-four men and women lost their lives at last count," Julia answered.
"Porca miseria!" he hissed through clenched teeth, balling his fists again. His face remained largely immobile, but in the shade of the tree she saw his skin darken.
The hair on the back of her neck rose.
"Doctor Lady, I thank you for all of your help. I mean it when I say I'm in your debt… I gotta go. I got something else I gotta do," he said quickly, tipping his hat at her as he abruptly walked off.
"And how did you get that note into my morgue?" she yelled at his retreating back.
Julia glared at him until he reached a black motorcar where a driver waited outside, eagerly opening the passenger door and quickly closing it before sprinting back to the driver's side. She watched the vehicle roar off, turning the meeting over in her mind.
Well, this conversation is clearly over!
She remembered the envelope of cash in her hand. No amount of money makes up for a parent who abandons their children - suicide or cowardice or indifference be damned.
She decided her priority was getting to St. Catharines and making arrangements for Olive's children. Her heart ached for them and hoped that the Routledge family would love and care for them. No matter what she promised the 'Roof Man' about getting funds to the family, she vowed she was going to check up on those children - personally.
3 PM Tuesday July 4th
St. Paul's Roman Catholic Church
Murdoch inhaled the familiar scent of St. Paul's - dust, incense and candle wax - which settled his nerves. Instead of prayer though, his head was filled with police logistics, the beautiful, impossible, Julia Ogden, and his thick packet of divorce papers - all of which continued to weigh heavily. What was worse was he could not decide if those last two items were related.
A robust parish full of Catholic families like St. Paul's supported five priests, making it easy for him to avoid Eddie Cullen in the confessional. He unburdened himself instead with Father Faire - all of it, every mortal and venial sin since his last confession, adultery and angry arrogance to the end of the wicked alphabet of his transgressions. He expressed contrition, accepted a stiff penance and sat in the cool sanctuary trying to pray.
In time, he finished his last prayer, putting his olive-wood rosary away, shifting abruptly back to the mundane when it hit his pocket. His soul might be lightened, but that did not mean anything had changed.
Maybe I should consider dropping in on Eddie to talk it all over, make a decision, get it out of my mind before tonight. After a long while of reflection he finally rejected that as unfair.
None of it is Eddie's problem and all of it will take too long.
He checked his watch, the round dial glowing softly in the comfortingly dim church light. Shift change at the old Leaside Munitions factory was in three hours and he had a lot left to do.
The random thought that Liza might even yet get a police widow's pension made him laugh at the irony as he walked outside, putting his hat back on.
