The Lady, or the Tiger

Chapter 3: Being Badgered: Press On

The ride to the Murdoch's property, out on the bank of the Don River, was long from the Medical College – almost an hour, and Dr. Ogden's Forensics Medicine class was large enough that the trip required two carriages. In both, talk centered around recent events. In one carriage, the one that included Dr. Ogden, the topic that was being enthusiastically debated was that of the news of the upcoming and controversial planned execution of Dr. Restell, charged and found guilty of murder for performing multiple abortions. Needless to say, the topic was uncomfortable for Julia, with her history. Thus, her contribution to the lively discussion harbored around the legal considerations. "The law allows for life imprisonment. It is quite a stretch to extend it to hanging," their professor added.

Her comment was quickly picked up, Madeline insisting, "Restell is being used to set an example… to intimidate any other doctors who…"

Interrupting, Gladys tried to hammer her point, "As he should be. You know, it was argued that one of those babies was born alive!"

"I greatly doubt it," Ethel jumped in, "You would know such a thing would be impossible if you understood the procedure."

Dr. Ogden decided to stop the debate, which was coming dangerously close to an outright fight, right there, holding up her hand and wearing a stern expression she said, "Enough! Enough. This is a very charged issue, and we will have to accept that the various views on it are held strongly, and with conviction. As doctors, we will need to know the law, respect the law. As women, as modern women, if we don't agree with those laws, we will have to work to change them. Are we agreed?"

She received sheepish nods all around.

In the other carriage, the discussion of the latest newspaper stories about the upcoming hanging of Dr. Restell had stopped rather abruptly, the moment one of the students brought up the other story in this morning's paper, the one about the Murdoch's being rejected in their efforts to adopt a baby. Not a one among these young women thought badly of Dr. Ogden. Quite the opposite was true, she was an admired role model, mentor, for some she was outright idolized. They were all in agreement that the story was unfair, and hurtful. Still, it was human nature to want to know about the private lives of one's heroes, and so their natural curiosity lingered and solidified. All agreed, Detective Murdoch was extremely handsome, and he was most likely a wonderful husband. And the couple had had a child, so the suspicions that they used contraception seemed unfounded, certainly unsupported by the facts. But, it did seem that, assuming their sex-life was normal, and they all agreed, with embarrassed giggles, that they all imagined that the lovemaking between Dr. Ogden and Detective Murdoch was likely much, much better than normal, thus it seemed likely that Dr. Ogden should have become pregnant sooner than she did after the couple had first married. And, Oh, how their eyes widened with the guilty pleasure of the topic of the doctor's murder trial, and the reported events from during that trial of both, the detective and Dr. Ogden, telling all the world that they loved each other – even though Dr. Ogden had been married to another man at the time… And the Queen's Hotel! They squealed with the gossipy, dirty, delight of it…

A reporter was already waiting at the front gate of the Murdoch Body Farm when the two carriages with Dr. Ogden and her students pulled up. Their sentiment behind their professor's frown was clear as she mumbled, "He must've somehow heard our class was meeting here today." She looked around at her students' faces. They read her intention. She saw it on their faces. She huffed, telling herself that that was sufficient scolding.

Teddy Nelson of the Toronto Gazette, little notepad and pencil in hand, barked his first question as the doctor disembarked. "Dr. Ogden, is it true that you and your husband use contraception?" his rude and shocking words scalding her through and through, and alighting a panic deep inside of her. She held back any visible reaction, sensing the steam of the effort rising in her gut, spreading to her jaw.

Dr. Ogden took a deep breath. Ignoring the man, she discovered as she did it, was to be her obvious tactic. She turned to the other man waiting at the front gate of the Murdoch Body Farm. "Jake," she called to him, offering the big, burly, handyman her hand in greeting, "It was so kind of you to meet us here today."

"Doctor," the reporter's persistent, tinny voice yelled over the din of the students peeking and peering out of every opening in the carriages, and the chirping of the country birds, "Did you want to spare your own body the difficulties of going through another pregnancy… Is it because you wanted to be able to keep working? Is that why you are trying to adopt a baby? Do you think that is favorable to getting pregnant and having your own flesh-and-blood child with your husband?"

Julia's voice betrayed her anger, startling, alarming everyone all around, "Mr. Nelson," her chin jutted out and her fists curled, "That is truly no business of yours. Now, I will ask you to stay off of our property," she said, finding her own self-control returning, she added after a breath, "please."

Jake made sure to lock the gate behind them after all of the proper carriages had crossed the threshold. The two carriage drivers hired for the day had agreed to wait to bring the ladies back to the Medical College when they had finished their… lab. They helped the Murdoch's hired man unload what they suspected was a body – the reputation of this place was wide-spread, and then they sat together shooting the breeze. It appeared they also took on the task of guarding the premises, for at one point they noticed that that nosey, pushy, reporter had climbed the fence. They hollered and took a threatening run in the little weasel's direction, scaring him back to where he belonged.

)

First, Dr. Ogden had had the students each make and record detailed observations, and measurements, as well as collecting various samples from the body. She explained it was important to do this to be able to account for any changes that will have occurred after being the body had been buried in a shallow grave in the Fall. This would further enable them to make comparisons between changes that occurred in corpses buried in similar conditions in all the seasons – the spring, the summer, now this one in the fall, and the one final body which they planned to bury here in the winter. Thus, it wasn't until early afternoon that the class had ventured out to the chosen part of the body farm to be used for the "Season Experiment," the whole class and the handyman bringing the body to the slight depression on the property near the road. Jake Castern happily allowed the students to dig the shallow grave, handed over his shovel and backed away. He glanced over at Dr. Ogden to make sure she did not think him shirking his responsibilities, and, gratefully, he received a friendly nod.

"Mr. Castern," the doctor called to Jake from over on the other side of the rapidly forming grave, "Could you find us a few sticks, to use at markers. We want this grave to be exactly the same size as the other ones." A part of her wasn't even surprised when she heard the man call out a minute later from behind the brush line. "Of course," her internal-self rolled her eyes, "Of course we would find another blasted body!"

And that they had.

Quickly the whole class gathered around, parting as the doctor moved through them to the dead man's naked body, laid flat out, barely covered with a few flecks of dirt and some leaves, facedown on the ground. She squatted down near his head. "Bullet wound to the back of the head. Very close range," she stated, her routines taking over. She paused, for she could already tell, this was going to be a very messy one. There would be a humungous exit wound through the man's face – at least what would be left of it.

Dr. Ogden told each of them to remain exactly where they were, remarking that there might be footprints, or other evidence left here by the killer, or whomever dumped the body here. They needed, most carefully, to work to preserve any evidence at the scene. After making sure the way the body had been found was photographed by the student who had been assigned the camera, she and Mr. Castern carefully brushed away the debris, collecting it in bags. "Perhaps it would be best to warn them," she thought, as she prepared to roll the man over.

"Miss Jenner, could you help me roll him," Julia requested. Jake Castern gladly stepped back. As the boldest student Julia had in the class stepped into position to help, the doctor said calmly, "We can see here the entrance wound. Exit wounds… Tell me Miss Weston, how does their size compare to that of entrance wounds?"

"Much bigger… The exit wound will be bigger," the student rushed to answer.

Dr. Ogden swallowed as she scanned their worried faces. They were bracing for the sight. That was good.

)

When Julia returned, with most of the class in tow, to the lab building that she and William had built on the property, she had already decided to call William. Before she got inside to where the phone was located, though, the carriage drivers informed her that quite a few other reporters had shown up and that they were getting braver about trespassing.

"There would be no good reason for more of them to come here," she reasoned it aloud. It sounded like a question, or perhaps a reprimand, at least to the driver who responded.

Looking sheepish, he blurted out, "Sorry mam! I'm… we're, uh sorry. We didn't think, er… We uh told the one guy bout the body. I know it was stupid. I sees that now… mam."

Unable to control it, her lips slimmed and planted firmly at the rim of her mouth, and her chin took its customary jut. Blast, she blew out the tension, then braved a glance down the driveway to see that there were at least three other carriages planted in front of their gate now, and four or five men. They were clicking pictures with cameras. Mr. Nelson, when he hovered as the only reporter on the scene, would have seen us bring the box back from the field anyway. He'd have probably been able to tell it was just as heavy as when we brought the donated body in," her mind grasped for calm. She dug into herself for some kindness, and responded to the harried driver, "It's alright. They'd have figured it out once we brought the body out anyway." She looked into the man's uneasy blue eyes and smiled kindly at him with a small nod, "Don't worry about it."

)

The morgue carriage, instead of the police carriage, had been the Inspector's idea. It was a good one, William thought now, as he and George grew nearer to their Don River property in the more cumbersome vehicle. This way, Julia had been able to let her students return to the college before their arrival, not needing their larger carriages to transport the body. Typical of George, he was talking, and talking. The last time William had been paying attention, George was on the topic of the numerous bodies that have been found dumped at their Body Farm over the short time they had owned it. William's mind wandered… he was glad he had thought to bring along his roses for Julia. She sounded stressed on the phone. Not aware of his own tell, he reached up and rubbed his forehead. George had the reins. He sighed, and his eyes shifted back to the orange-red bouquet next to him on the seat. The color was so vibrant, he thought, admiring them. She would like them.

"Do you remember, sir… when Jackson and his secret sweetheart…" George's voice excited, drew William out of his thoughts. The Constable's eyes held to his, dripping with anticipation.

Quickly William's mind chased down the needed trail through his memories, finding the precise moment. Oh yes, he remembered it – ironically, he had been considering doing that exact same thing with Julia inside the secluded tent. Constable Jackson's biggest problem however, causing the rampant spreading of the juicy rumor beyond just the two people who had really seen the scandal of what was happening, was his and his young lady's utter lack of clothing, for George had noticed that he and Julia had hurried out of the tent, giggling, intending to give the couple time to redress. Of course, then George had rushed in to see for himself…Higgins right on his heels. Now, if you want to spread a rumor, tell Higgins…

"Yes, George. I remember," he replied. William reached up to rub his brow again. "The press had a heyday with all that back then, I mean with all those bodies… particularly the extra ones, the ones Julia didn't bury there," he said.

George felt the deflation, felt it being replaced with worry. "Do you think the press will make a big deal out of it… out of another body being found there?" he asked.

William clamped his lips together. He did. He released another sigh.

George's mind made its usual jumps, landing on another disturbing newspaper article he had read in today's paper. He had observed the detective had had the paper opened to the page with the story. He was sure the detective had read it too. "I'm sorry, sir. Um, sorry about the way the press is reporting about you and… and Dr. Ogden, er, trying to adopt a baby…"

The look was quick, William's eyes showing surprise first, then the pain, before he looked away.

The silence intolerable to him, George went on, "The paper today… that article was blistering… It just seemed downright cruel…"

William couldn't help but replay the sharp words he'd read, "Modern Ogden Unfit for Mothering," then hearing Mr. Hanlon's voice in his head, "Your wife's history was too vexing…" He couldn't help but re-feel the fear those words had evoked in him. They would wound Julia terribly. They crumbled their chances of adopting the child they so wanted. He reminded himself how much he trusted George. Why, this was the man who had dressed as a hobo right alongside him, the man who had had his back out there in the jungles of the meatpacking and hoboing world. Actually, he remembered he had disclosed much to George about his love for Julia, and some of their more personal history while they rode the trains together.

Another sigh, William had decided to be brave. "George," William's voice asked, not masking its vulnerability, "What do the others… What do all the other constables think about such matters?" It felt so strange, sitting there next to the man waiting, listening for the answer – like he wanted to hear and he didn't want to hear at the same time.

Surprised by Detective Murdoch's question, it took George a moment to react. He was distracted by the flooding of joy inside of him at the recognition of his being so trusted by this modest, private man whom he adored so. He felt it swell in his chest, his love for his mentor and his friend. "Well, they think… or they used to think, at least, before Dr. Ogden got pregnant and you two had your son, um… that she was sterile, or frigid," hurrying to add, "But I told them otherwise," he blushed, "There's no way Dr. Ogden's frigid, sir… um, I saw her Christmas present to you… so scantily wrapped up like that, and of course… um, I heard the parrot imitating, um… at your Windsor House Hotel. But, they do wonder sir… I mean you are Catholic, and Catholics are known to be… rigid about, um, er… reproductive matters, and Catholics tend to have lots and lots of children as well, and well, you two…er, you two don't…" George paused and finally inhaled. He seemed to convince himself to continue. "So, they say, um, she… that you… well sir, they all know that Dr. Ogden has quite a bit of knowledge, about contraceptives, and if you, um, er… her, were using any of those… methods, well, that would explain…"

"Why so few children," William finished for him.

Relieved, George's head took to repetitive nodding, "Yes!" he almost yelled it, "Yes, exactly."

William wrinkled his face. He understood all the questions that must be in everyone's minds, his current expression admitting to his worrying about it. "Yes, they must be curious," he said.

George sat on pins and needles. Would Detective Murdoch actually tell him!? Tell him about his sex-life with Dr. Ogden! Tell him about whether or not it was true that they used contraception!?

Such turmoil thundered inside of William's heart, drawn by the memory of sitting with George and Upton Sinclair, the now famous author, who at the time had also been disguised as a hobo on the train looking for work, and William telling them his "story" that explained why he had ended up there, miserable, wounded, grieving by gazing for hours on end at an old photograph he had kept of Julia. My God, he remembered with such an ache, that she had been pregnant with William Jr. at the time, and he had left het to go undercover, and he had played out their storythe way it could have been, as part of their ruse, falsely telling of her becoming pregnant with Darcy's child rather than his. With relief, he remembered that he had not told them there on that train, that he had not told George, what it was that had caused Julia's supposed sterility. Thank the Lord he hadn't told them of her life-threatening abortion. It would have been a disaster to tell George such a lethal secret. He considered now, however, telling him that Julia's 'condition' made her unable to birth a child, of telling him that that was the reason they had used prophylactics in the past, that it was a matter of her life… although now it seemed that all the scar tissue added to her womb from the Cesarean section surgery precluded the need for using them any longer, for it was even more unlikely than before that Julia could get pregnant. It would have lessened his burden to share it, it would have increased the risk of having someone else knowing…

A huge sigh surged out of William with his decision. Such tension, he couldn't help it, he had to rub his forehead… again. "I…" the detective paused, clamped his lips tight again, then he slowly began to shake his head, "I can't… I'm not going to tell you… anything, George. I'm sorry."

"No sir, please," George blustered out his effort to reassure his friend, "Don't worry, I understand, it's private… and well, at least you know what the other constables think… now."

"Yes. Yes. Thank you," the detective responded warmly, nodding, feeling the conversation was closed. They were getting very close now, to the turn to the front gate. "Slow down here, George," William said. He warned his companion – and himself – that Julia had told him that there were already reporters positioned at the gate.

)

Annoyed, Detective Murdoch dismounted from the morgue carriage demanding the reporters move all their carriages. "This is my property, and official Constabulary business. We need to be able to get through our gate," he demanded.

The swarm only thickened around them. There were so many questions being hollered at him, well some seemed to be aimed at George too, that none of them could be made out. Yet, somehow, the mob of reporters had learned how to work together. A first question was hurled out of the clatter, making contact. William was highly conflicted, half telling himself not to respond, the other half trying to figure out how answer to help to end this dreadful ordeal.

"Detective Murdoch, will you confirm that, once again, your property has become a convenient dumping ground for Toronto's heinous murderers?" a young, ambitious reporter from the Toronto Daily Star managed to win the first race.

The sound of the camera shutters clicking registered in William's brain. His picture would be in the paper. They would be reporting all of this. He reminded himself that these were men, many of them good men. Yes, they wanted a story, and they'd be willing to hurt him and to hurt Julia to get it. But, they could see reason… A calming breath, the crowd was poised. "Look, you reporters harass us incessantly whenever we don't solve a crime as quickly as you think we should. We are creating multiple means of improving our abilities to solve these crimes. This Body Farm idea of Julia's, of our pathologist, Dr. Ogden, my wife, was a good one, and although you have given us nothing but criticisms about it, it will help, not just us, but future forensic scientists as well, in better solving these, agreeably, heinous crimes."

William moved towards the gate he needed to open, the gaggle parted, made way for him, a second round of a jumbled mayhem of questions fluttering about in his wake. The gate swung wide and George clicked his tongue, starting the horses forward. The hum of the reporters now shifted sideways to allow the carriage to pass behind them, tightening up around the detective who was still down on the ground. George heard that, particularly pushy, Teddy Nelson get his question highest, loudest, perfectly timed so that it stood alone and brazen…

"Are you not a Catholic, detective?" there was a superiority in the man's tone, an edge, "Is it not against your own Catholic faith to use contraception with your wife?"

George nearly laid an egg.

The hesitation, before the detective would answer, the sounds of the carriage rattling past them all, the detective's distinctly large brown eyes, oddly piercing and kind, as they held to those of Mr. Nelson, only intensified the moment. The silence was palpable.

"Such matters are between God, myself, and my wife. You are not among one of those three," William asserted. His body language was strong, resolved, confident as he closed the gate, leaving the reporters rebuilding their barrage of questions. It was their job to fire away these questions at a given target. But, everyone present knew it was pointless, they were done here for the night.

Teddy Nelson, though, he had felt the bite, the sting, from Detective Murdoch's response. He had been so much as told that he had no right to claim to know the ways of God… by a Catholic man. He would fight fire with fire. Yes, he boarded up on his carriage from the Toronto Gazette, also having gotten the message loud and clear that any news-collecting from the Murdoch Body Farm was over and done with. He was far from done, however. Teddy Nelson's next stop was Detective William Murdoch's Catholic Church.

)

Wisely, Julia had planned to stay inside the lab when William arrived with the carriage. The students had left. The reporters had stayed. She had watched William deal with the reporters through the window, Jake Castern having alerted her once the detective had pulled up at the gate.

"Brilliant, he thought to bring the morgue carriage," she said aloud, "And George." She fought the urge to hop up and down as she waited for them to get into the building. She had curbed her desire to dive into his arms by the time he stepped in.

"Constable Crabtree," the doctor's happy words greeted, as her body betrayed her true desires and she moved to her husband. She stopped and stood before him. "Detective," and there they were, those gorgeous William eyes…

"Doctor," came his response, so arousing, the way he tipped his hat.

She could almost smell the park from this morning, she felt so similar with him, here, now, as she did with him this morning. Amazing, it felt like that was days ago. His sweet wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, told her he, too, was remembering this morning, and too, telling that things had gone rather downhill since then.

It was William who set the tone, "So doctor, Mr. Castern, what have you?"

They were brought up to date. Mr. Castern and the students had managed to get the body into the box and up here to the lab from where it was dumped. The victim was found without any clothing, shot with what was most likely a rifle, point blank to the back of the head. The large exit wound through the face would make it quite a bit harder to identify him than usual. While they had waited, Julia had taken fingermarks. There were no obvious identifying marks on the body, no tattoos or noticeable scars. The victim was male, early thirties, in quite good shape. Time of death was between 18-24 hours ago.

Julia stepped back from the body. "As to the location where the body was found, the killer, or at least the man who carried the body in from the road, and it was a man, and a big man at that…" She saw the question forming on William's face and rushed to answer it, "There were two footprints – a left and a right, a matching set." Charmingly, she smiled as William showed her his satisfaction with her answer before she had actually finished, "Looked like a big man's boot. I had the students take pictures of each, next to a ruler…"

"George, we'll want to make casts," William instructed.

Julia directed them to the plastering materials she had already laid out expecting his plans. George got right to work mixing the plaster.

"Any other evidence?" William asked. He wrinkled his face apologizing, hoping, "Perhaps a bullet?" Of course, he kicked himself, for he knew finding a bullet was unlikely – there was an exit wound, and there was no evidence that the victim had been shot here. He sighed… It seems the press was right, killers do think they can use this place as their dumping grounds. Anger surged, twitching his fingers, as he thought to himself, "No William, they don't think it. They actually DO it."

Julia had giggled at his suggestion of a bullet. "No bullet I'm afraid, detective" she said with a soft scolding, then back to business, "There were some wheelmarks next to the road. We photographed those too, but you'll likely make cast impressions of them as well…" She looked for his nod, and his nod to George to make more plaster. "And the grass had been disturbed along the path the killer must have used. Seemed to be only one man who carried the body in. He's a big man, our victim… The killer must've been strong. We checked systematically and thoroughly, using a grid method, for any pieces of fabric that might've gotten caught on the weeds or brush, or for anything that might have been dropped," She shook her head, "Sorry for not finding more."

William decided to look on the bright side. His wife was an expert at this. She had had the help of her well-trained students. They had done a good job. He glanced over to George, the plaster was ready. His eyes travelled to the door. He stepped closer to his wife, stood closer to her than one would in a professional capacity. "It looks like you have done most of our job here," he smiled, taking a moment to adore her, for so many reasons. "There's still daylight. I suppose we should have a look," he suggested.

Julia moved to the door, leading the way.

)

Soon left alone to make the casts, George got right to talking. "The victim was…" he paused, searched for the word, "well-built…"

William chuckled to himself, thinking, "Much too good-looking, in my opinion, for Julia to be around, I'll tell you that much." Of course, he told George nothing. "Your point, George," he said.

"Well sir, I wonder if the ladies noticed?" George raised.

His mind flashed it at him, in quick succession, all those connections. William saw it over again, Julia, she was so young then, squatted down over the dead boxer, and her admiring, practically drooling over, the victim's muscular arms… "He's quite the physical specimen, isn't he? Look at the size of his arms," William reheard her breathy, squeaky sweet voice in his head. Furious, the way his jealousy seized him, inspiring him, demanding, that he be the one she lusted after like that, and driving him to start lifting and working out with weights. "Yes, the ladies… Julia, would have most certainly noticed," he thought, re-feeling the jealousy once more. "Most likely," he answered plainly.

Uncanny, the way George seemed to follow much the same mental path. "You know, sir, I've been working out, ever since I jumped into that wrestling match…" George's eyes met William's, checking to see if the detective remembered the time. Satisfied, he went on, "I wanted Edna to find me more attractive. I remember, sir, that you suggested it then…"

William nodded. He remembered.

"You work out, sir…"

William was unsure whether it was a question or a statement. He started to answer, "Ye…"

"You're quite muscled and fit… I've, er, noticed," George explained, suddenly feeling the heat of discomfort rising up his neck. "I mean, not that I find you to be attractive, sir… I mean, of course, you're attractive, but I don't find y…"

William practically shouted, "Let's get back to the case George."

)

The sun was setting as their morgue carriage, complete with its three tired passengers and the big, long box containing the newest victim, rattled around the turn to Stationhouse #4's street. William spoke, breaking what had been a long, comfortable silence between himself, Julia and George. "We'll pull into the morgue. George and I can bring in the body," he said.

By the time the three of them stepped back out into the side driveway, it had grown dark enough that Julia needed to turn on the outside light. "I'll help Julia with the horses, George. You can head home. Thanks for your help," William offered.

"You're very welcome, sir. Goodnight then," he answered.

In leaving, George sought to part by giving the doctor solace and support in light of the awful newspaper coverage she was being burdened under, saying, "And goodnight too, Dr. Ogden. And stay strong and keep heart. Those reporters are a brutal bunch. It seems you went from being Toronto's "Favorite Couple" to its most spurned, overnight. But… things'll look up, just hang in there."

She responded simply, "Thank you, George. Have a goodnight."

As she walked with William to unharness the horses, she wondered of him, "The reporters at the body farm… George anticipates the press will be blasting us… about there being more bodies again?"

William replied, "Perhaps." It haunted though, in the back of his mind as they worked together, what he knew George was really referring to, that it was much more than that, much worse than that. He needed to tell Julia about the adoption article, about how it had been detailed, and heartless, in its claims about their motivations to adopt.

Finished with the carriage, now only the work of preparing the body for the cold storage and tomorrow's more complete post-mortem, the couple stood together outside the big side door, the one that would bang loudly if you didn't hold it while it closed, in the dim light, peppered with fluttering moth shadows. They felt close to each other, exhausted and close. Julia stepped closer and said, slipping her hands up his lapels and then around his neck, "William Murdoch, you are wonderful," she told him.

"I'm glad you think so," he replied, bringing his hands to his wife's hips, holding eye contact, unblinking.

"It's astounding," she went on, "How after all this time I'm so amazingly, head-over-heels in love with you."

"Of this, too," he said, leaning closer, and with a nod, "I am glad." And with that he took her in his arms, held her. She felt her body relax, his unique, Chinese-herbed, Williamy, smell sinking into her being, drowning away the odors of death, dissipating so much of the day's fears and worries and struggles. His voice was so low, her ear feeling its vibrations as much as hearing them, as he offered to come inside and help her, "It will get you… us, home sooner," he said.

Julia turned her head so her lips hovered at his ear. "Go home, William," she countered, leaning even closer, letting her cheek rub against his. "You can tuck William Jr. into bed – it makes a difference to him… having at least one of us there." Julia stepped back and reached up to cup his face. His afternoon shadow had grown stubbly, and again her mind, this time taking her body along for the luscious ride, reminded her with its string of flashes, of their morning, of their mid-night stormy lovemaking in the thunder and the lightning, and then of the rugged way, later in the golden dawn, he had had his way with her, pinning her wrists above her head, ravaging her so delightfully. It seemed so very long ago. Not expecting it…

He said, "There's something I wanted to speak with you about." She noticed, his inhale was jagged, sensed how he held his breath.

"Sounds ominous. Can it keep…" she asked, revealing her suspicions, suspicions that were correct, that it would be an unpleasant conversation, "Till I get home?"

"It can," he accepted, with a slight feeling of relief warning him that he was being a coward. "I'll bring your flowers home for you, set them up in your favorite vase…" William grasped one of her willowy curls, "Have a whisky ready?" he coaxed with a wrinkle, for he wanted her to be quick.

"That would be lovely," she kissed his cheek. "You offer good bribes, husband," she teased.

"Good," he said with a gentlemanly bow, and left her to it.

)

"Here's Blanco," his Daddy whispered softly.

His big, strong, wonderful Daddy loved him, adored him, William Jr. knew it in every bone in his body. Yummy, the sensation of his skin sliding on the sheets, smooth, and still cool, from being out in their backyard, looking at the stars. Daddy had put him up on his tall, tall shoulders – so he could see the Moon rising over the trees! Next to his cheek, the fluffy, soft rabbit felt so warm. Something about that night air… and the mellow, rumbly, sound of his Daddy's voice… all around… made him… so… sleepy…

)

"I decided to check Miss James' work and sign off on Mr. Atkins' postmortem," Julia explained to him when she unpinned her hat and rested it temporarily down on the foyer table. It was later than either of them would have liked, after a long and trying day, and he would care for her. William warmed up some dinner while she poured herself a drink and sat at the kitchen table.

The orange-red roses struck her as stunning, there in the center of the table. Her mind ran the memory of William bringing her flowers after they had first married, promising to, "never stop courting her." The man keeps his promises, she told herself. She giggled, just as he reached from behind her to put her plate down, and he paused there to tuck his face into her neck, take a deep whiff of her, kiss her tender skin.

"What? What's so funny Mrs. Murdoch?" he touched her…

His lovely humid voice muffled in her neck, stirring her lusty urges, and mingling with her famished stomach, and her twisting womb, and her watering mouth, and still the tickle of the memory that had prompted her giggle danced in the foreground…

Oh, how she wished he would ramp up his advances, and she melted with the joy of the succulent flavors of Eloise's casserole flooding through her every taste bud, so mushy and warm, and she told him with her mouth full, and feeling so very glad to be HOME, that the roses had made her remember the time he had played a trick on her and he had gotten her to sit on a whoopy cushion, and it was so out of character for him, for he had laughed so hard at his own prank, and My God, she loved him so much.

William suggested a hot bath. She didn't even need to answer, her moan, her anticipation of its heaven, so obvious. He went upstairs to prepare it.

)

Deliciously pampered, Julia's clean, smooth body cloaked in merely a towel, she gazed down at their sleeping boy, his beautiful face all that was touched by the sliver of light beaming through the door. Somehow, it always worked, looking at this baby, and having the cares and worries drop away. Amazing the way babies sleep so soundly, she stroked his black, curly hair and treasured those long, dark lashes of his. She loved that it was so obvious that he was the child of William Murdoch.

)

"Perfect timing," her mind trumpeted her good fortune, as she stepped into their bedroom, reclosing the door behind her. Yes, it was quite opportune, for there, right before her wide and hungry eyes, was her husband, his hunky, squared-off buttocks plainly in view, as he was bent over and stepping his fully naked and gorgeous self into his pajama bottoms. Rapidly covered, now it was the marks, her marks, scratched into his solid, firm back that caught her eye, surging a second cramping and twisting tweak through her core with a jolt, sparking the memory of being under him, so magnificently, and thoroughly, underneath him, as he thrust and thrust and thrust into her, pumping up the internal inferno of unbearable pressure inside of her, and she dug into him, held on to him, pulled him closer, with all her might…

He turned to her, bare-chested in that pleasing, low, bedroom light, and he was breathtaking. She had been so exhausted, had wanted only to lie flat in their soft bed and fall away to sleep, but now…

Sultry, her tone as she said, "It looks like you have run into a jungle-cat, detective." His eyes, his face, took on that edge, that twinkle, but… so unusual, unfamiliar, for her to also be weighted by such hefty fatigue.

He stepped to her, "That I did," he said.

It was unfortunate, she thought, the change showing on her face, preparing him.

"I'm too tired, I think, tonight," she told him, with a wrinkle at the corner of her mouth, her apology.

"Of course," he replied.

He gave her a quick kiss, and then turned away quickly, pushing down his urges, knowing it was best NOT to see her drop her towel. He got into their bed, feigned interest in a periodical article he had been reading for days now, on the design of rotary saw devices used in industry. The inventor in him had been thinking of can-openers. There must be a way to make them cut all the way around the circumference of the lid… The appliance could be mounted on the wall, and powered by electricity. But now, now he was not in inventor mode, he was in lover mode, and he was fighting to put out the fire of his manly, primal urges, to shift back into loving husband mode. He heard her moving about, saw her off in the distance, on the edges of the page, he knew she was naked… "Keep your nose in the journal, William," he coached himself, as he heard her reach for her robe. "Her robe!" William's body reacted to the information, "She's NOT putting on her nightgown, she'll take off the robe… she'll be getting into bed bare-naked!" His anticipation growing, he tried to focus on the printed words… "Words, they're words, William." He recited the article to himself in his head, spotting, tracing the lines with his finger, trying, so very hard, to focus on a section he had previously underlined, "…functions much like rotating gears under a conveyor belt that delivers wood to a rotary saw blade, but with the conveyor belt removed."

Julia crawled into bed, under the covers, propped herself up on an elbow next to him and gave him a quick peck goodnight on his cheek, then she rolled over, away from him, onto her side. He looked, saw her small, round shoulders… she was naked as he had expected, and he noticed those delightful freckles sprinkled all about. And then, William's mind flickered a memory, of a wild fantasy he had had long ago, of Julia, turning her back to him, standing before him completely naked, in the morgue – back when Ruby had told of Julia's being arrested, and he had been bold enough to ask Julia about it, and she had told him of her skinny-dipping off of Hanlan's Point… 'sans clothing.' He had seen it then, in his vivid imaginings, her naked skin… How did he know she would have these freckles… that she would be so very beautiful? he wondered.

He invited her to lie on him, to rest her body on his body, as they both were so want to do.

"My hair is too wet, William," she answered, explaining, but in her mind, she was figuring it might be for the best not to tempt him.

"That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make," he charmed.

Happy to oblige him, for she longed to be close to him herself, Julia rolled all the way over and slipped her silky-smooth, long leg up over him, then she reached up and twisted her hair into a semi-braid which she pulled forward over her chest, and she pressed down into him, her body so, so soft and plush, and moldable to his, her damp head feeling cold at first, on his skin. "Relaxed, you're limp and soft," William told himself. You kept this under control for eight long years, you can get through it tonight.

She wiggled a bit against him, nestling, settling. Her breath, warm, flowed over his flesh, and she apologized, "I hope you'll be able to forgive me for being so tired tonight, William." She didn't have to lift her head, to turn to look at his face, to know that he had wrinkled a corner of his mouth. He was truly delectable, unable to deny he was finding staying reined-in to be a struggle.

She giggled. Then she helped, rising up to take his periodical from him and rest it on his night table, then settle back down on top of him to ask, "What was it you had wanted to talk to me about?"

"Well, that surely worked," he thought, as a modicum of dread washed away his loitering lust. He cleared his throat, and tellingly reached up to rub his forehead. "Mr. Harlen… from the orphanage…" William felt her nod, "He called today. He said he knew we were waiting for news of their decision…"

Julia frowned against his skin, then turned and kissed his chest tenderly, she sensed the answer was no.

William frowned too. "They turned us down," he said directly, "He said there was an official letter with their rejection in the post." That part concluded, William found he was mustering up the nerve to get to the worst of it. Edgy and uncomfortable, he shifted under her. He wanted his arms around her, he wanted to shelter her from it all. One hand reached for her braid of hair, fiddled with it, his other scooped tighter around her back and traced its caress over her bare shoulder. He fought clearing his throat again, and he heard his own voice dry as he said, "I think the press questioned some members of the board. Um, there was an article… in the paper today…"

Now, Julia Ogden was an incredibly strong woman, and she sensed his worry, and she strove to comfort him, to reassure him… that she could take it. And her way, Julia Ogden's way, was to go at a problem head-on, and so she said, "That explains the abhorrent questions that that weaselly reporter from the Gazette asked today. Truly awful. Like it was any business of his if we use contraception. And then to accuse me of wanting to spare my body… to be able to keep working, that these would be reasons I would choose to adopt rather than have your child." As she told it, the fire in her belly flared into full-fledged fury. Damn, it ticked her off!

Intriguingly, Julia's anger charged William's, and he found he felt stronger now, less powerless. His wife was truly wonderful, he told himself.

William felt Julia settle herself, nuzzle closer, sigh, push her anger away.

"Well," she reasoned, "When you fall off a horse, you need to dust yourself off and then get right back on, don't you?"

He squeezed her tighter. "Mm-hmm," he answered, basking in his admiration of this woman.

"We have an appointment with Calvin Baker at Baker House the day after tomorrow…" she reminded.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Right back on the horse then, do you not agree, Mr. Murdoch?"

"Very good, Mrs. Murdoch," he squeezed her again, and then reached over and clicked out the light. "Very good, indeed," he said.

)

But, William was troubled and found he could not sleep. Frustrated, he finally yielded to the truth of it, and got up out of bed, went down to kitchen in the middle of the night, and made himself a cup of hot chocolate. As they each tended to do, he made a cup for Julia too, left it in the pan on the stove for her in case she came down. Tonight… she did not come, and he sat there at the kitchen table, alone. He had saved the newspaper, and against his better judgement, he sat there staring down at the dreadful article and letting all the thoughts clash and fly and tumble about inside of him.

With a big sigh, William rubbed and rubbed at his brow. He had come to some conclusions, and a big one was that there was so much more to lose, now, now than there ever had been before in his life. And at the core of it, it would always hang there in the secret darkness, was the fact that Julia Ogden had had an abortion, and because of that fact, he knew he could lose her, William Jr. could lose her, and it terrified him. And now there was this new danger, that they had broken the law in another way, by using contraceptives. And it infuriated him that society would force its way into their private lives and feel it had the right to jail them, the sting of it even more profound because they did it to keep his wife alive!

A big release of breath flew out of him – trying, he was trying. He needed to calm down… He knew he needed to calm down.

A thought gurgled up. "Eloise! Eloise would know they had used prophylactics!" it shook him, "She would have seen them when cleaning! But…" William chased down the timeline. He hadn't used a condom since Julia got pregnant… even quite a while before that – that was part of the problem, that was why she had gotten pregnant… really a blessing in the end. His heart lifted for a moment with the reminder of the miracle of their having had William Jr. at all. Eloise didn't come work for us until we left the hotel and came here to this house, and Julia was already pregnant then. And then, after William Jr. was born Isaac advised us that it was even more unlikely that Julia would ever be able to get pregnant again. Relieved, William concluded that Eloise would not be privy to that incriminating piece of information, at least, not that particular piece.

As to the badgering they were getting by being under the press' microscope as they pursued the adoption of a sibling for William Jr., Julia and he had both agreed that another child was something they wanted greatly, and Julia… they, would be able to persevere through the worst of it, he was certain. "Of course, the press would press on," he warned himself. Surprising himself, he chuckled, at his own pun. Delighted in thinking that if Julia had been the one to say it she would have pouted when he did not laugh, and then she would have made it worse by endearingly explaining why the joke was funny, the ultimate proof that it was not, and with all that, his heart warmed, and he realized he felt better, and he went back upstairs, and finally, William Murdoch joined his wife in sleep.

)

Her arms full of grocery bags, Eloise made an effort to keep the noise down as she dumped them temporarily onto the kitchen table. She had the detective's newspapers – today she had gotten him two, for the Murdoch's were front-page news, it seemed. As she put the papers down on the window ledge for him, as was their custom, she noted that he had left yesterday's paper there… but it was folded, opened to the page with the story about the couple's efforts in adopting a baby being thwarted at every turn. "It had been read," she concluded, "Quite a bit, by the look of it," she frowned thinking of the hardship the article had likely caused them. Eloise adored this couple, as she believed did most of Toronto. But in her case, she knew them much better, and they each had a special place in her heart, and she knew herself, she felt riled, like a mama bear when her cubs are being threatened.

Putting two and two together, she deduced a connection between the hurtful story and the presence of a dirty hot chocolate cup that had been left on the countertop… and the pan used to make the soothing elixir in the sink. One of them couldn't sleep last night. Too bad it was only one. These two help each other more than any couple she'd ever known. They were better when they were together. "My goodness," she panicked, "I hope this whole mess hasn't pressured them into having one of their fights." She ran back her memory of coming in just now. She had to admit it, she had a habit of checking. Nope, she was sure of it, the detective did not spend the night on the couch. That was a relief, at least.

As she went about her work, Eloise found herself entertaining the idea that the detective would have been able to tell which one of the Murdoch's had been the one up late last night. He would use fingermarks, she was sure he could recognize his own and the doctor's, purely by memory. "Oh!" she stumbled on a thought, "Maybe even from the lip print?!" Holding the cup up to better see the lip marks in the light, she wondered if that was something the man could do.

Despite herself, for she was worried that the news in the papers would be rather upsetting for them, Eloise fell into a pleasant humming as her routines took hold. The stories waited there on the ledge, one claiming the Murdoch's were too weird to be trusted, and that the government should take legal action to forcefully close their Body Farm so as to stop murderers from using it as a dumping ground. Another was a bit less one-sided, but held that the Murdoch's were extremely macabre, always dealing with gruesome and grisly crimes, and that they were unfit as parents because they were too strange, and even immoral. Further, the other front-page news – that the doctor who had been set to hang in just a few days, for committing murder with his abortions, had escaped… Even this seemingly unrelated news was likely to bring her beloved employers stress, for in both of the papers, a connection was drawn between this abortion doctor and Dr. Ogden, highlighting her arrests for teaching women about contraception. It seemed to be part of the horrible wave they were being slammed under right now, the press digging up every negative thing they could about the Murdoch's. It would be very difficult, not to be on the edge.

)

The knock at the door surprised him. It was too late for anyone… A panic flew through him. It would be Julia! He had just gotten her to take Arlene Dennett back home. The schoolgirl obviously had a crush on him, and he had had to call Julia to save himself from the amorous teen's sexual advances, and to take her home for him. And now, Oh My God! She had come back to tell him how dangerous it was for his reputation – for his job, to scold him for having a schoolgirl like that in his room at night!

"Strange!" was the second thing he thought when he opened the door to find that it was Julia, and that she was dressed… Mm–mm-mm-mm-mm, how she was dressed! "Was that a silk corset? It's so thin?" his brain inquired, while his groin, his whole body really, reoriented towards her, striving to touch her as he stood there – mouth opened, eyes wide, weak-kneed, and dazed.

"Julia," he finally found some semblance of words and greeted. "What on Earth…"

She slipped her hand along his undershirt-hugged chest as she stepped past him. "I told Mrs. Kitchen I left something here," she explained perusing the room.

He felt his legs buckle underneath him with the wave of lust that rolled up from the floor, for he had noticed the two round, plump, cheeks of her buttocks peeking out from under… what were those… tiny pants?

Her eyes hung too long on the bed, before spotting the stethoscope on the side table. "There it is," she offered proof. Her eyes caught his.

She was, always had been, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Close the door, William," she requested.

Overwhelming, his groin's responding, throbbing, burning, surging. He couldn't believe himself as he leaned back against the hard, wooden surface and heard the little, tiny, click. He was yelling at himself not to, but his eyes traveled her body, relished and toured and fantasized about her body.

William swallowed, and cleared his throat, and swallowed again before he said, "I… I, um, I thought… Julia, what are you doing? I… I don't understand. You're engage…"

"I wanted you to see what it feels like to open the door to such… temptation, William. The girl is clearly obsessed with you. And you open the door… like that," she said it with such a lusting in her tone. And her eyes widened and sucked in the view of him. "It is a very tight undershirt, William. You can see every contoured… magnificent, bulge of you through it. I must say, it makes you want to touch. And if a girl lets herself imagine… And I do believe that Arlene did more than just imagine, William, for when I came in she was pressed right up against…" Julia's eyes dropped back down to William's chest and she moved closer to him, never taking her eyes off of what she wanted, "That hard, strong body."

He was so struck that he remained paralyzed, as he watched and spun with desire and such an intense longing…

"I made that mistake. And once I had imagined it, I was done for, William," she said, thinking it explained more than she had intended. The force between them ramped up as she stepped closer to him, and lowered her voice to match their proximity. "William, we have been resisting each other for years, dancing around each other for years, as the Inspector says…" she said, now so close their auras flared and tingled. She took her stethoscope and lifted her arms to place the earpieces to his ears. She loved it, sensing his eyes engulfing her curvy, full, creamy cleavage. "I think I have diagnosed the problem," she lured. Julia took his hand, lifted it up to take the end of the stethoscope and guided it to her heart. "Listen," she whispered enticingly, "I think it's broken."

"Julia… I, I don't know what to…" he puzzled.

Then she guided his hand, with her hand, to his chest. "I think yours is too," she whispered to him.

He nodded, for he knew it was true, and just a little, his eyes welled up. And that seemed to collapse her resolve, and she rose her delightful voice into such a sweet squeaking, and she swore her undying love for him.

It took so little to ignite the flame, really. Just a slight tilt of her head, inviting him. And the whirlwind rushed in. They would never be close enough to each other, never… the stethoscope flung across the room, their lips locked, tongues invading, thundered by their moans. Hands kneading, starved and exhilarated, marveling in his hardness, her softness. "My God you feel good," she said, breathless, and tucking and rubbing her pelvis into him, exaggerating their shared awareness of his bulging readiness, as she moved in rippling waves of seduction, into him, into him, into him, over and over again.

"Can you take it off?" she whispered.

And very much wanting to, William stepped back. His eyes glowed and twinkled so as he looked past each little, black string in the column at the center of her silk corset, and through them, under them, he prayed to be pressed into her luscious flesh, creamy, and pink, and curvy, and…

He nodded, words now long gone, and reached down…

She gasped with anticipation, but then her look became one of bewilderment, as he reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out his penknife. Pop, he placed the blade under the top string and pulled it tighter and tighter, it suddenly giving way and popping opened, revealing a wave of jiggles in her newly exposed cleavage between her rounded, pliable, breasts. He did it again to the next string in the line, freeing more of her tangy, sassy orbs, lower, and then the next, and then the next… until her corset dropped to the floor. Oh, what he pictured himself doing with his hands on her, his mouth on her, pillowed in her.

Julia took hold of his hands and brought them up to the outsides of her breasts, his thumbs reaching for and sliding over her pink, pert nipples, as she clasped her fingers around his and pushed and molded and moved her squishy, supple flesh with his big hands. "I meant your undershirt…" she confided, "could you take off your undershirt…" she giggled. So rushed, she tugged and grabbed at his undershirt, frantically untucking it from his trousers, lifting it, between her kisses, to get it over his head. She electrified him, slipping her hand to his trouser button.

"Julia, the bed… it squeaks and the headboard will ram…" he worried.

"William, don't ruin it," she chided.

With such a wallop it hit them, this second wave, tidal in proportion, soaring them upward to mountainous heights, landing them with a lovely thud on his mattress, Julia so vulnerable underneath him. He would take her. My God – he would take her.

"I'm afraid I will be noisier than the bed," she warned with a giggle.

Her breath caught, thrilling him to the bone as he pushed her scrumptious smooth thigh over, to widen her, to open her to him. He nearly plummeted off of the Earth, with the delicious, slippery, warm feel of her surrounding his fingertips, and her wild moan, so close, inside his ear, rumbling each and every atom in his soul, as he snuck in deeper.

"Please William… My God please," she breathed, lush and humid and naughty, as she reached behind him solidly taking a hold of his well-built buttocks with her grasp, nudged and tucked and wiggled to try to get under him. "Please… I want you," she urged him.

Savage, ferocious, he mounted her, fierce with his spinning, undeniable, unbearable need. So sweet, so forbidden, the rupture as he pushed in, and she surrendered to him, and he pushed in deeper, and her moans melded with his, for he had never dreamed of something so luscious. His first, powerful thrust, staggering, with its magnitude, seeming to push the air, in a gush, out of her. Then again, and that lovely sound from her, and again. The pace picked up, and the tension built.

"Don't stop, William… Hurry, hurry," she begged him.

Driving him into her harder and harder, he pounded.

The gravity, the world, tilted. It was coming. It was humungous, the breath-stealing, dizzying pause of the upsurge. It would be unbearable, delicious, when it hit…

"Mmm," he absorbed the impact of the first roaring crash. More, he wanted more, he pumped and pumped, each succulent ripple rewarding him with her warm sweetness to his core. This woman was delicious, absolutely delicious, the juiciness passed through him, and he stretched for the last morsel of her, the last drop.

"I love you so much, Julia," his exhausted, spent, pleasured vows surrounded his own awareness. And William woke, in their bed… Only to discover he was alone, then detecting the cool, wet, stickiness, the physical evidence of what had happened in his pajama bottoms, against his skin. Shame wafted over him, only to rapidly disperse. The warm, pleasant feeling, full, throughout his whole body, brought back the memory of the dream. "I haven't had that one for a while," he thought as reality came into focus.

)

When she found him, he had just finished his shaving. His eyes dropped down to her blouse, noting she was already dressed for the day. But, mmm, she had chosen to put on THAT blouse, that irresistible blouse, the one that was low-cut and revealing, tight, displaying her shapeliness, and it had those touchable, soft, plump, silk-covered buttons. His eyes stuck to her breasts, he sensed her smile more than actually saw it.

William pinned her against the wall. Wanting to touch her breasts, undo those buttons, but instead, he took a mischievous curl in his fingers.

"I've been thinking about our problems with the press, and the orphanages," she started the serious conversation. "I think we just need to stay on course, William… just to press on."

He lifted an eyebrow at her and waited, for he found the irony, of her making the same pun he had thought of last night, to be astounding. He would push it a bit. "Press on," he repeated.

She giggled, brightening the world, "Yes. Press on. It's the only way to handle the badgering press, and the stifling judgmentalness of our society."

"Good," William's voice had a raspiness to it, as he leaned to her ear. His mouth took her neck, and she melted with the desire tweaking her womb. "William," she complained, yet her breathiness betrayed her wanting, "I'm completely dressed."

Oh, how she loved his laugh, in this case, so cocky and devilish.

"You were completely dressed," he teased, as his fingers popped opened her buttons, and she felt his breath cascade over her exposed flesh, "It's the risk you take, doctor, when you choose to put on THIS blouse."

"I see," she savored in the euphoric sensations his attentions fluttered inside of her, "I guess it's your favorite."

Abruptly, their bedroom door widened, and the joyous giggles and pattering footsteps of William Jr. cascaded into the room. "Daddy!" he exclaimed, diving his arms around William's legs.

"Good morning, little man," William greeted, lifting the boy up into his arms.

"Bouncy! Bouncy!" the boy urged his father to toss him around for the sheer thrill of it.

Of course, his Daddy obliged.

Claire-Marie dashed in. "So sorry, doctor," the nanny hurried to say. "He just… took off…"

"Don't fret," Julia reassured, her eyes watched and as William bounded their child in the air, "He is quite the little Houdini."

Claire-Marie stood, paused, staring momentarily down, her eyes going wide with the sight of her employer's unbuttoned blouse and revealed cleavage. Her mind envied her, truth be told, the woman looked good. Recovering herself, Claire-Marie opened her arms and let William deposit the toddler in them. Having gained control over her lustful curiosity, she managed not to let her eyes explore the gorgeous man's bare chest. She walked out talking to the boy, encouraging him that they had a fun day ahead, "Remember, we're going to the zoo… with Alice. Remember little Alice, hmm?"

William's eyes dropped down to his wife's bosom, so smug his expression. "You're blushing, doctor," he teased her

"Ugh," she gave him a playful shove. "And whose fault is that!" she accused.

William's reaction filled her with glee, for she so adored his laugh, and she could not resist joining him as he fell into a hearty chuckle. "That's a guilty laugh, William Murdoch, a guilty laugh."

)

By the time William joined them downstairs for breakfast, Julia already had the paper sprawled out in front of her. The top headline caught his eye first – the abortion doctor set to hang had escaped!

"Good morning," he announced to the room. "Breakfast smells wonderful, Eloise," he thanked her, "and I see we have a few newspapers this morning."

His tardiness the final clue, she had concluded that it was the detective who had been up late last night, troubled. Still, she would not beat around the bush. "Yes, you two are front-page news again, detective" she warned him.

William kissed both his son and his wife before taking his seat at the table. He noted the orange-red roses still brightened the kitchen. He picked up the other paper, this one the Toronto Daily Star, and flipped it over to the lower-half of the front page. The photograph there, big and centered, was striking. It was himself and Julia – in silhouette, and they were standing close, engaged in a kiss. In the background was the park, and Mr. Atkins' body laid out on the ground, and so glaringly, the knife sticking straight-up into the air from out of the dead man's chest. The headline read, "Macabre Murdoch's, A Blessing or a Curse." It seemed most of the article attacked them for their Body Farm providing murderers with a place to dump their victim's bodies. It also insinuated that their distinct "oddness," their daily dealings with the, "darker side of life," and their "modernness," rendered them unsuitable parents.

William's frown did not go unnoticed. "What is it?" Julia asked. He shared the story with her, and they spoke once more about being hounded by the press, and fighting against the tendency for the attacks to make them see themselves as they currently were being presented to the world, through that critical, harsh, lens, as disgusting, unworthy, and thoroughly covered in mud.

Eloise informed them that she had been followed by a reporter to the market this morning. She proudly explained that she had not said a word to the man. Needless to say, however, the news of the outward spiraling of the press' harassment served to irritate William and Julia further.

Julia got up to leave first, as William was running late and intended to ride his bicycle to the station, and she was compelled to start the postmortem on the body they had found yesterday dumped on their property. They were both expecting that the press would be clambering for a quick solution of the crime.

She rushed back into the kitchen, bothered. A mob of reporters stood waiting at their front gate! It looked to be a hard day ahead. They agreed that William would call Enid… to cancel their planned outing to the zoo with William Jr., his nanny, Claire-Marie, Enid, and her baby daughter Alice. It was to have been the first playdate their son would have with the child of the newly married woman who William had once courted, since they had had a chance encounter at William's baseball game this past summer. William and Julia reasoned that the news coverage would only take advantage of the fact that it was not their son's mother who spent time with the boy, thus using it as more evidence that Julia was an unfit mother. It would only add fuel to their fire.

With a kiss good-bye at the door, the couple agreed, reinforced each other once more, that they would press on through it all. Press on, indeed.