The Lady, or the Tiger?

Chapter 10: The Panther, Sub-Rosa?

"Daddy! Daddy!" little William Jr. hollered out with excitement, hearing the front door and taking off like a shot. Surprising herself with her own quick pace, Julia smiled at her childlike delight, even shook her head with the noticing, as she fought the urge to run to him as well.

"Hello, Little Man," she heard William respond with the sound of his big smile squeezing his words, just before she turned the corner and entered the foyer, catching sight of their little toddler diving to hug William's legs as he placed a bouquet of roses down on the table.

"You're so late detective?" she asked, then added, "He was worried he'd miss you." She knew her husband, he would have been home even later than this if not for the chance to make it home before his son's bedtime.

"Mommy… fowers! Me see…" the young one asked, jumping up with little hops towards the rosy target, parental legs and bodies blocking his way. The answer from them was slow, for his parents were in an embrace. His big, brown, bright eyes gazed up at them as they kissed. Typical, secretly Julia loving it, the little one tugged at her skirts, "Fowers. Fowers."

William felt Julia's smile grow under his lips and he released their kiss.

His fingers were icy cold from the chill outside as he reached up and fiddled with one of her curls, and she remembered he had ridden his bicycle home.

"I did promise to never stop courting you," he said, then wrinkling a corner of his mouth. Her attention turned to the bouquet and William squatted down to more thoroughly greet his son, who dove into his arms. There was the softest of puff sounds as the little boy's tiny body landed against his father's densely-coated chest.

"Pink?" Julia observed, not a usual color from him. "They're lovely William," she decided, thinking the cheery change was a nice one. The gusty, unseasonably cold, late October day had caused a frigid chill to emanate off of William's coat, the bite of it arriving through her dress to register on her skin underneath it. She reached down to William as he hugged and kissed William Jr., taking his homburg from his head.

"Co-o-o-old!" William Jr. exaggerated his shivering for emphasis in his father's arms.

"Indeed…" his father replied.

Julia fretted for a moment, "I hope it warms up before our Halloween party… Our costumes are…" she almost said, "skimpy, to say the least," but decided against it, not wanting to alert William to what was to come, as her mind pictured what she had planned with James Pendrick, grateful for James' generosity in using his contacts in the film-making industry to help procure their costumes. She saw the three of them inside her head, her standing next to William, their little son in William's arms, the small family dressed as King Neptune and his wife Salacia with their son Triton, all of them wearing little more than tightly-fitting "fishtail" pants for legs with fin-like extensions curling out and upwards from below their knees. William, above the seafaring appendage, wearing nothing more than his crown and his fake goatie beard, looking gorgeous and exposed and muscular, her with merely two clamshells…

Pulling Julia out of her head, William stood and began his more traditionally rambunctious play with the toddler, tossing and flying him about, the child's giggles and squeals escalating in both glee and amplitude. There was a joyfulness to William's tone that warmed her heart when he dragged her back into the here and now, encouraging, "It will…" with a reply to her worries, magnanimously detecting she had lost the thought with her pause, and then helping, "get warmer."

Nonchalantly stopping their roughhousing, Julia took William Jr. from her husband, plopped the boy on her hip, and then lifted her bouquet of pink roses and placed them in the same handing holding the child in order to begin helping William remove his scarf.

"Pretty," William Jr. declared, leaning over to stick his nose into the plush, perfumy flowers, his senses becoming overwhelmed by the sweet, potent scent and the wonderfully supple caress of the petals on his cheeks.

Julia continued on, briefly leaning down to kiss her son's abundant black curls, "Eloise made beef stroganoff. I'll warm some up for you, hmm?" she suggested. Their eyes met and held for the first time since he had come through the door, with that intensity they were both familiar with, that they both had grown addicted to, and the magnetism of it captured them there momentarily. So much exchanged with the intimate and strong bonding, she could tell he was worried – probably about the case, cases now, she corrected herself in her mind, with the robberies adding to the whole Body-Dumper ordeal, and she also knew he was grateful… for them, for this house, for their magnificent life, and she knew he felt her love, that William knew she loved him more than she would ever be able to tell him in words, and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth admitting to the power of the connection, the charming gesture telling her that everything she had been thinking was true, and she smiled, and cupped his cheek, and tilted in and gave him a softer, more meaningful kiss, and then she left him in the foyer, still decloaking, and went to the kitchen with the baby and the flowers.

After hanging his suit jacket temporarily on the peg over his coat, William considered loosening his tie, deciding against it, his brain sending up delightful thoughts of Julia doing it instead. He turned to the table opposite and spotted the mail. Julia had already sorted it and left his – two envelopes, in a pile for him. He lifted the two letters, checking the senders… Out of the corner of his eye, he spied it, William noting for the umpteenth time the extraordinary way one's peripheral vision can pick up, with such sensitivity, something that has been there all along but has gone unnoticed. Julia had propped the special letter up against the back wall, giving it an air of importance. It was addressed to her… and she had opened it, the jagged edges of the torn paper lining the broken seal. She had placed the letter back inside the envelope. Surely, she intended to share it with him, why else would she leave it like that? William ducked down, leaning in closer to read who it was from. "The Canadian Association of Pathologists," he read it aloud in his head to himself. "Huh," he thought, intrigued. The delicious smell of Eloise's beef stroganoff hit his nostrils, and humming as he went, his stomach urged him to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, William soaked in the sight of Julia's backside at the stove. Mm… a view he always enjoyed.

Pulled to turn to look at William Jr. in his highchair by a few hearty toddler slaps down onto the highchair tray, the boy was enjoying some pieces of cookie – his little legs bouncing and kicking about as he watched them.

Mischievously, William put a finger up to his lips and secretly shushed the child. Such fun, the game earned him a big squeal and an even heartier series of slaps.

William walked stealthily up behind Julia, paused so very close to her, he wondered if she would feel him there, like an aura connecting between them.

She did sense him there, but it was his breath more than his aura, for William was unable to help himself, his breathing had become deeper, more hurried, for his mind had considered what he would like to do to her… if their little son were not right there, eyes alert and focused intently on them.

Delicious, Julia leaned backwards into him, tilting her head, inviting him to her most vulnerable aspect, which he took, vigorously, his mouth, his teeth, his husky breath on her neck. His hands moved in, first holding her firmly by the hips, then stepping in closer, tighter, pressing in, from behind her… and his hands… his hands, hungry and firm, riding up her curves, and ever so slightly, just the hint of a touch, his thumbs breached upwards to purloin the rounded swellings of her breasts, moving lusciously, intentionally, across her nipples through the fabric of her blouse, and her breath caught, and – MY GOD – it thrilled him.

"You'll make me burn it," she complained, now his breath rumbling her ear, just before his evil chuckle.

She yielded, turned to kiss him, but broke the kiss off before it had barely begun, to ask him, "Should I turn off the flame?"

His mouth, so smooth and… succulent, over hers, his kiss spun her brain so…

William let her lips go, and floated his rough, unshaven face along hers to whisper in her ear, "I quite like the flame," melting her, her knees sure to buckle, she felt the tilt, resisted it with all her might, leaning back against the sheer force of the vortexing of wanting him.

"Like a moth, detective," she teased him. And her mind imagined a wick inside a candle, carrying the heat down deeper and deeper down into him, and then she imagined him growing in response, swelling, hardening, readying… and it nearly demolished her. Somehow, somehow, she made herself swallow, the action, dropping her center of gravity enough that she felt herself grounding… enough… to pull back… to regain…

Julia stepped out of his arms. "I'll not be burning your supper, detective," she insisted… "Not this time anyway," she added sarcastically in her head, turning her back to him, focusing on the noodles and chunks of beef, "now a bit too browned," she noticed as she scraped at the food that had stuck with the heat to the bottom of the pan. "Go sit at the table with your son," she instructed.

While William ate, the conversation came around to the letter she had set aside on the foyer table, then growing lively with the good news. Julia told him that the Canadian Association of Pathologists had notified her that they were awarding her with their annual prize for excellence and innovation. They had cited a few of her published papers as exemplary, particularly the one she had written with two of her students about their, "groundbreaking work…" (Of course, Julia had found her own pun to be absolutely hilarious, and decided there and then that she would use it her acceptance speech). Featuring the use of their unique Body Farm, this scientific paper was able to provide scientists in the field of pathology with cutting-edge data and techniques to apply when considering multiple factors that affect decomposition, ultimately improving the ability to accurately determine time of death.

The couple was highly excited by the idea of their Body Farm receiving such professional accolades, and there was some hope that it might serve to secure the image of the Body Farm with the public, the prestigious national group of pathologists toting the idea of creating such a research facility as theirs as "revolutionary." They considered notifying the papers of the news, but chose instead to take the more modest approach of letting the news arrive on its own… if it would.

Having finished his meal, William walked over to his son and lifted him out of his highchair to bring him back over to his chair to his lap. He sat with the boy while Julia began to clean up. Predictably, their play became spirited once again.

Julia warned, not seeming to really pay them much mind, "Oh William, don't go getting him all wound up before he has to go to bed."

But her warnings went unheeded as the mood changed, and currents of frisky electricity swelled in the air, and even Julia was soon enough swept up into the fun of it, joining in, the tiny boy flipped upside-down and tossed back and forth between his parents and whirled around. Abruptly, William's accompanying engine and whirring noises shifted to growls as the child's feet hit the floor, and the rowdy screaming and running and chasing began, pure joy, for the "Daddy Monster" was on the prowl once again. William was careful to let his son get a good head start, bellowing out his fierce and boisterous roars, his arms held high and waving about, while he hunched down to morph into some sort of fiend, before he pursued the tiny toddler, and soon after, the familiar, exhilarating screams of fun echoing from down the hall into the kitchen. Julia couldn't have been happier, that is unless she were able to play too, and so she rushed to load the dishes into William's dishwashing cupboard.

Only a moment later, came the howling of pain, and then the blood-curdling screaming cries of the two-year-old, bolting his mother into a run. "The baby! He's hurt! In the living room…" she yielded to the panic. Arriving, the baby had been scooped up into William's arms, his screaming being muffled because his face was buried into William's chest. William was bouncing him, oddly offset against the height of the emotions, he tenderly bounced the child so softly… a part of her noticing that William had kept his panic in check. "Shh," she heard him soothe the baby, "Shh. You'll be alright," he calmed.

Unexpectedly however, for it was not fitting with his demeanor, William's eyes pleaded. "He hit his head… on the corner there," William glanced down, felt her eyes follow his, to the corner of the coffee table between the two couches.

"No blood," she noticed, a sense of relief with the thought. Julia felt herself settling, becoming in control, her emergency mode activated, despite the fact that it was HER baby who had been hurt.

Wailing, absolute abandoned wailing, from the tiny one, William shifted to sit on the couch with the baby in his lap and he tried to get the child to let go of his clinging, to bring him off of his chest to better examine the wound.

William Jr. felt his mother sit down on the couch next to them, and he imagined her soft, warm, plush body holding him, covering him, and he wanted her so, so badly…

The little boy's face felt the cool rush of air as he pushed back from his father, his face crimson red, teardrops so big on his cheeks, the salty fluid glistening those long thick lashes of his around his huge brown eyes…

And both parents' eyes grabbed for a glimpse of the already egg-shaped swelling bulging out from under the boy's black banana curls as the toddler reached for his mother, and she took him in her lap, and he pushed his face in her bosom, and he felt so much better, but still the crying continued, rhythmical, calmer, each sob tearing at William's heart.

"It hurts, hmm?" Julia's voice so perfect that it could heal the world, she asked him, taking him into such a soothing rocking, its pace slow, its motion definite, and somehow the cadenced waves of it convinced the child to breathe, to breathe slower and deeper. "I know, Little One," she said, "But it will get better. It won't hurt forever. I promise, Shh, shh," and his Mommy's lips kissed his head, his ear, "You'll be alright. Mommy and Daddy are here."

The tears quelled, and they carried the quieter little boy back into the kitchen and sat him on the kitchen table where Julia could better examine the injury. She reported, more to her hovering husband than to her tiny son, "He'll have a big, colorful bruise for a while, but he's going to be fine." She saw William out of the corner of her eye, take a big breath. She lifted her chin, looked at him.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked her, "for getting him wound up… and then hurting him?"

So sincere, he felt the security of the bond sink down into his core, she answered simply, "No."

William reached over and slipped his fingers into his son's hair. "I'm sorry Little Man," he vowed.

Using the tone William had grown to trust more than he could remember trusting anything else in his life, Julia said, "William, you have nothing to be sorry for."

And the two shared a look.

Some of their very biggest fights had been about him taking, what Julia believed to be, too big of a risk with their child, and he soaked in the look of her big blue eyes, expecting to find that judgement there now… but he did not. And somehow, she knew from his look, that he needed an explanation. And there was the quickest flash of a memory, from so, so long ago, after she had fought with the Inspector about the validity of women trying to be equal to men, and William had failed to defend her. He had shown up in the morgue, he had been brave enough to ask her why she was angry with him, and she knew, knew for certain then, that this man was special, honest and brave and true, and, oh, she remembered it with such delight, William Murdoch was winsome, he valued her, saw her for who she was, and he would let her be herself, he seemed to even love her for exactly that, for who she was…

Julia took a deep breath, she would help him understand. "Yes, sometimes I feel you take risks that are… beyond… That I feel are too dangerous. But not the way you play with him, William. The way you play with him, it brings him more sheer jubilance than anything I've ever seen… well, perhaps he is an inkling happier when I join in and play with you too. And yes, there is a risk of his getting hurt, but not likely seriously, and…" she shook her head as she imagined ever suggesting that William not play with their son the way he does, and she pushed the thought away, "No… No William, I'm not the slightest bit angry with you for winding him up, or for playing with him rough enough that he got injured… not in the slightest…"

William had not yet wrinkled the corner of his mouth, not yet taken a deep, reassured breath, and so she worried that his inner suffering still raged on.

A smile appeared on Julia's face, she would tease him… and it worked so instantly, William's face lightening in response to the shift…

"Although," her voice had taken on a commanding, scolding tone, "If you do play with him so, right before he has to go to bed, then you need to be the one to reap what you sow, mister, and you will be in charge of getting him to finally go to sleep." She leaned over closer to him and told him more intimately, finally seeing that adorable, comforting wrinkle crunch up into his cheek as she did so, "Otherwise, truth be told, I love it."

"Now," she changed the subject and looked back to the lump on William Jr.'s forehead, "Can you get me one of the cold steaks Eloise has in the icebox?"

"Yes, doctor," he answered her. His step was lively, light. It really, really was alright.

)

William Jr. stayed up late this night, his mother wanting to keep him from sleeping too soon after he had hit his head. But now, now it was after midnight, and William and Julia had finally tucked him into bed. William's earlier fantasy, well one of them anyway, came true after that, for it was Julia who, very sexily, had undone his tie. Their passions rose, their level of dress fell, until soon they each stood before the other in their skimpiest undergarments.

Breaking off one of their kisses, William told her, a few intermingling kisses between the words, that he needed to take a shower. He pinched the toes of one of his socks to the floor and pulled it off, then the other. Julia helped him lower his underwear, reveling in the need to lift the fabric over the rise in him, then brazenly taking in the sight of him, erect, magnificent, before she stepped out of her bloomers as well. Only her silky camisole between them, she put her arms around his neck, slipped and scratched her fingers into his hair…

Seductively, Julia nipped at his ear and then whispered into it, "I'm feeling a bit dirty myself tonight, detective… Perhaps I should join you."

Oh, the images, the imagined sensations, flooring and swirling both of them, of the soap, and the naked skin, and the taste of the water and the flesh, and the heat and the steam, and the thrusting – OH MY GOD, THE FILTHY, FILTHY, THRUSTING – surged through their bodies into their cores, igniting their flames further, so filled with utter, utter, want…

William pushed the feelings aside, for it was essential to prolonging their pleasure that he stay in control. He raised his eyebrows at her, feigning shock at her suggestion, but then he stepped in even closer to her and he told her, "I am so glad I married you."

Hot, hot air burst out of her nostrils, cascading over him. Such a sultry expression on her face, and a lusciously lusty tone in her voice, as she doubted playfully, "Despite my scandalous suggestions, detective."

In that split second, Julia remembered the time she was furious at Darcy for ripping up the divorce papers, and she was taking her anger out on an archery target, shooting arrow after arrow with precision and force, hitting the bullseye repeatedly as William looked on, speaking with her while standing, and being somewhat awed, or was it worried, at her side. She had made a highly immodest proposal at the time – suggesting that they boldly move in together and live openly in sin, shocking everyone with the outrageousness of it… And, after a time, William had made it clear that they would have to be married if they could ever truly be together, and she was certain that they had both known at the time exactly what it was that he was referring to, and he had wrinkled his face admitting to it, apologizing, and she had loved him so much then, and she had cupped his cheek, with her white-gloved hand… My goodness, she still remembered the tenderness of the moment down into her marrow… Suddenly she noticed.

William's expression had grown deliciously cocky. He was surely about to tease her back, "No Julia, not despite your scurrilous suggestions," he said, and he reached behind her, strong and primal, taking what he wanted, grabbing hold of her supple, soft, mushy buttocks, and then riding his hands down the backs of her thighs to spread her legs wide and lift her, opening her, his body the wedge that hers was forced to part around and to mold around, as he lifted her up onto his hips, and he walked the two of them into the bathroom, finding her ear and whispering, "No Julia, it's not despite them… It's because of them."

)

The next morning William Jr.'s knock came at the door to wake them – to re-wake them really, since the alarm had already rung, but William had turned it off and they had both fallen back to sleep, nude and cozy, interlocked together. Julia was first out of bed, her hunt for something, anything, to put on desperate. She found her robe, exactly where it should be on its hook in the closet, and as she slipped into it, she hopped and zigzagged and stepped over the piles of clothing strung about all over their bedroom floor, her corset, his shirt, a shoe, kicking her blouse away to open the door, barely a glance to see that William had managed to get into his pajama bottoms, before she opened it to their young son.

She kneeled down on a knee to catch his big morning hug, greeting, "Good morning, Little One." Then she stood and took his small hand in hers, and she noticed William Jr.'s eyes grow wide as they moved from item to item to item to item of their clothing on the floor.

"Mommy and Daddy didn't pick up their mess last night," Julia said with as little emotion as she could muster.

It was William who remembered… remembered that William Jr. had gotten hurt last night, the pang of guilt seeping upwards from his gut. He walked up to them and squatted down in front of the little boy. "How's that lump doing?" he asked, his big Daddy fingers reaching up to gently push aside the black curls.

It was egg-sized, and it was black and green, with a distinct line in the center of it, a brownish-red color, straight and thin, like the corner edge of the coffee table that had caused it.

Julia verbally cringed at the sight of it, working, working to keep the sound inside her head, "Oh my, that's impressive." The youngster would only be frightened if the adults around him reacted badly to the wound. An expert at this, she knew the injury needed to be downplayed, yet without lacking in compassion and care and empathy in doing so.

"My goodness," she said, squatting down next to William, "It did leave a bump… It will hurt for a day or two, but not too bad, in the end, hmm detective?" she invited William to add to their son's reassurance.

"Not too bad," he agreed, and then the Daddy pumped up the playful energy, moving in for a tickling attack, "Not so bad that you're not gonna get tickled!"

Oh, the giggling and the playful growling that ensued would erupt any heart with glee with its beautiful sounds.

Julia rushed to the bed and grabbed two pillows. She shoved one between William and his son, arming the toddler, and then proceeded to beat William silly with the other one, the Daddy Monster turning his wrath on the Mommy, giving the little son a slight reprieve. So quickly, William Jr. caught on to his mother's idea… This morning the game was gang up on Daddy, and this was going to be fun – fun – fun!

Finally, the roughhousing had settled down, and Claire-Marie had come to collect William Jr. to ready him for the day while his parents dressed for work. Intermittently, as they put on their various items of clothing, sometimes helping each other, William with her corset – admiring its more modern, less rigid, structure, and reminding Julia of the time she had almost been killed by a corset… her with his shirt buttons and his tie, and while they did this, as tradition held, they would discuss the case.

There was a reluctance in the air, however, to bring it up… and William knew why. It involved talking with her about Neil Catfrey, and he had to admit, it seemed that the subject Neil Catfrey was still a sore spot with him. Thus, it almost had to go the way it went, Julia being the one to bring up the topic.

"You seem to be troubled William," she breached it, "Is it the robbery case?" Oh, she had timed it so well, just as she had begun to move her fingers down the center of his chest, buttoning the buttons on his shirt.

His big sigh told her she was right, and somehow, she alerted herself, an electrical zing alarming inside, warning her, that his stress would be about what had happened at the Ball with Mr. Catfrey.

It eased him, that she was not peering into his eyes, that her eyes were busy, distracted, less intensely focused on his thoughts than he had feared, as she expertly, agilely, like the surgeon she was, worked on buttoning his buttons… creating an undercurrent of rising sexual tension between them. He reminded himself, she had asked what was wrong…

William swallowed, fighting his dry throat…

Prompting Julia to stifle a smile

He braved bringing up the man's name, "We cannot find Catfrey, anywhere. It's like he's a ghost, a ghost who just disappeared into thin air."

My God, her brain trumpeted her intuition and insight and discomfort all in one blast – she was right!

"But you will," her quick reassurance, the response automatic at this point.

Yet in the meanwhile, her mind wandered. "He seems obsessed with Catfrey… There's almost a James Gillies feel to it." A creepy nauseous, spine-tingling, gurgling percolated inside of her, requiring a mighty push to hold the sensations at bay. "Neil Catfrey is no James Gillies, Julia," she scolded herself, an obvious effort to minimize the feelings, to cope with the disturbing association. "Besides, committing robbery is never going to be comparable to committing cold-blooded murder, no matter how ingenious the thief…"

(Interesting, isn't it, that Julia did not seem to notice her own admiration of Catfrey, giving him much more credit than any evidence yet compiled warranted that he deserved?")

She had not yet decided to breach the subject, so she felt a bit surprised, herself, when her words flowed out asking him, "You appear to be very focused on this one possible suspect, William… even though you, yourself, admit that there is not much evidence against him…" Julia's mind charged down a tangent, sarcastically saying to herself what she had managed to keep inside her head, "Not much more evidence than that the rather handsome man made advances towards your wife, at least…" Regret, so suddenly, outweighed everything else, the reminder landing hard, of her part in it all, as the memory replayed in her mind of William pounding away mercilessly at his weights that night.

Wham, the connection between them locked, her pale-blue eyes more like a glowing warm candle than an electrified sparkle of lightning. Hovering so very close to a whisper, sucking him in, drawing him nearer and nearer, and his eyes, framed in those gorgeous black lashes of his, grew wider, and bigger and more and more captivating, and the burn in her heart, enormous, luminous, gave the moment immense importance, and she said to him, to the love her life, "You do know, don't you…?" And Julia dug down for the courage to say it, to bring it up again, and then to finally slay it, "Neil Catfrey is no challenge to you, William… I mean as far as what happened… at the Ball. It was just a fleeting moment, just a brief shiny object that caught my eye, nothing more… like that dream you had about Eva Pearce, remember?

William pinched his lips together, wrinkled one side of his mouth. He had to admit it was true. The wrinkle grew deeper right before he added, "I suppose I am still jealous, to be honest… about Catfrey." He wrinkled his brow…

A look of confusion, puzzled?

"You seemed above all that," he said, "When I told you about kissing Miss Pearce…" it seemed his throat was suddenly become cottony-dry again, and he needed to swallow, "Um, in my dream…" nervously reaching up to rub just above his eye, "You weren't jealous…"

"William," her tone correcting, "You know perfectly well that I get jealous too… Honestly – think about it." Her mind played up the devastation it had caused in her – watching him as he fantasized about being with a waitress that had flirted with him that awful night, back when she was pregnant… and then when her whole world collapsed because he had kept his dirty secret from her, that he was staying with Madam Ettie Weston, his former lover, in Winnipeg, back when he and George went undercover as hobos riding the trains…

William's brain had dashed down the same paths, and he nodded acknowledging their shared truths. "But not, with Eva…"

"Don't kid yourself, William. I was jealous then too. Eva Pearce knew it. That's why she played the cards she played. Eva was a bit to me, like James Gillies was to you. And just as James Gillies used me to get to you, Eva Pearce used you… to get to me," Julia divulged her thoughts from so long ago, her thoughts on so much.

She looked away, her eyes finding his chosen tie waiting, draped on the foot of their bed. She would change the subject, let it all sink in.

"Now detective, tell me why you are so focused on this Catfrey fellow as your suspect. There must be more to it than all this flirting and jealousy… knowing your brilliant mind. What's bothering you, hmm?" her sultry touch tingling him down lower and lower and lower. "What little detail, that no one else would ever even notice, has caught you so?" she asked him, the mood back to seductive as she lifted his shirt collar and wrapped his masculine tie behind his neck, pulled both ends taut to step him closer to her and then brought it end over end to tie the knot, and allowed her fingers the pleasure of sliding down the length of it, the delicate skin on the back of her hand pressing firmer than need be against his chest and stomach muscles for the ride down, all the while feeling his big, warm, chocolate eyes on her again as she feigned complete focus on tying the tie.

Answering her question, despite the primal stirrings she was erupting in him, William said, "I think Catfrey is American."

Julia nodded. It was true. She hadn't noticed, and yet she believed, as usual, that William was right, that he had detected some little hint that, to her, was not quite as conscious as it was to him. Her natural curiosity caught her, her own brilliant mind interested now in, chasing after the clues. "What made you think so?" she asked.

"It's his swagger, Julia. He seemed to me to be, well… so American, with his brashness…" And then, in just the tiny spark of a second, William flashed a memory, from way back when he was in England with Anna Fulford. At the time he could not even remember his own name, and he had flirted with her, teasing her after she had expressed relief in finding out that he was not a priest. Boldly, and he had thought rather winsomely, he had told Anna that she felt that way because she was sexually interested in him. She had called him "brash" at the time – brash like a New Yorker…

Uncomfortable all of a sudden, William cleared his throat. Still, his voice was scratchy as he started explaining, "I detected an accent…" William squinted an eye to look more deeply inward at his memories of Catfrey from that night, much like one might do when using a microscope. "And he watched me, out of the corner of his eye. I had thought it was because much of his… pleasure…" building pressure made William swallow, "in winning you, was the jealousy he was causing in the man he was stealing you from… in me, but…"

Suddenly, William worried that Julia would feel the shame she had felt upon her first discovering Catfrey's likely true motives all over again, the shame of publicly being used so despicably by a man as attractive and arrogant and cunning as Neal Catfrey, yet, he still pushed through, "But now, now I think he knew, um, that he knew that I am… who I am…"

Julia noted to herself that it was not only her husband's suspect who was a bit cocky. The noticing brought a hint of a smile to her face.

William had gone on, "It's simply that I have a sense that Mr. Catfrey was concerned about my being there that night, that he was keeping an eye on me… and that makes me suspicious of him, is all."

William's focus pierced deeply into her with his conclusion. The last time he had told her of these same thoughts she had become quite angry, then later ashamed, and Julia sensed his caution. She found she was grateful for his concern, for his care. She nodded, for she agreed, and they were alright now, and she felt an inkling of relief, for they seemed to have thoroughly gotten to the other side of this particular bump in their relationship once and for all.

William took one of her wispy curls in his fingers, a sure sign that all was well with them, similar in this regard to her fondling of his tie. "I um, I looked into what treasures were on display at the museum the night of the Ball, that he might have stolen that night, and that had gone, as yet, undetected… Everything seems in order, but it is possible that Catfrey could be that good… both as a counterfeiter and as a thief. Another possibility that worries me, though, is that he may not have been there that night to steal something, but rather to prepare for stealing something bigger in the future. The catering company that worked the Ball that night… They work many such art exhibits and fancy galas and such, and… well it might have been reconnaissance on Catfrey's part, for something he's planning next. I… I was thinking, well, unfortunately I can't be there because of our Halloween party, but there is a big event coming up…"

"Yes, Thurston Howell's Howell-oween Bash," Julia interrupted him. "We were invited, William. I'm sure I told you. But I had to turn down the invitation." Her interest was piqued.

"It's at the Riverdale Zoo…" he continued.

Julia's head nodded excitedly. She had heard about all the details. It was quite thrilling. Tilting her head in closer to him, she elaborated, "Yes… Because they have on display a rare pink diamond. It's the talk of the town, William… on loan from France, I hear. The "Pink Panther," it's called."

His eyes widened, "I think it might be what Catfrey's after…"

"I believe I have an idea to help you, detective. Leave having a Constabulary presence at the Howell's big occasion to me," Julia concluded, both with his tie and with her filling him in on her plan.

Her final detail in dressing for the day was doing her hair, thus she sat down at her vanity, leaving William to do his vest and his jacket and his shoes on his own.

"If I'm right, and Catfrey is an American," William said, feet stepping into shoes at the same time he buttoned his vest, "then Alan Clegg would likely know of him. He's in town, I hear." A frown took his face, "It will mean contacting Meyers, in order to contact Clegg," he revealed the cause of the grimace.

Julia immediately smelled the mirage of the irritating spy's cigar smoke lingering in the air. "A price you'll have to pay, detective," she teased him.

Her giggle sparkled the air in response to William's displaying her expected and beloved expression, his 'admitting it' face beautifully mingled with his eyebrow-up 'scolding her' face.

William stepped up to his dresser and opened the top drawer for the most important part of his workday morning routine – his badge.

Irresistible, Julia completed her pièce de résistance, freeing a curl to dangle at the edge of her face, exactly as she knew enticed him, tempted him to touch, to use the lock as a way to get closer to her when he flirted with her, and then she stood and approached him.

My God, she adored this man, currently her fascination reveling in the silvery Toronto shield pinned to his chest. Her fingers longed to stroke it, to feel the smooth, cool, hard, sleek metal of it. She yielded to the urge, and again, she felt the power of his gaze on her. "You are the best detective the world has ever known, even if all the world doesn't actually know it, William. You'll get him," she encouraged.

Remembering the letter from the Association of Pathologists the night before, and Julia's delicious words after the opera all those years ago, before she had kissed him in public, her in that gorgeous golden dress and her white-flower speckled hair, saying to him, "We'll find it, William," and then holding her ground when he questioned her use of the word "WE," William added, "Yes," and he gave her a gallant nod, "Me, and a quite famous, award-winning pathologist. I've been told we make a good team…" his smile lit her heart, "You're right, Julia… We'll find him."

Loving the sight of this man filled with confidence, something nagged in the back of her mind, an irritating warning to prepare for the inevitable, for there was always a cost, something or another that would dampen the high. And oh, she remembered it with a sink, there was the other case, the one that had burdened them so with the press, with the public…

She caught his eye, then dropped away before returning, the gesture alerting him, preparing him. "It seems we might have to put the Body Dumper case into the, very rare, loss column for the great Detective William Henry Murdoch, though," she told the downside. His sigh followed.

Adorable, they both gave each other William's usual 'admitting it' corner-of-the-mouth wrinkle.

Unwilling to accept defeat, he asked her to look over the victim's autopsy report once more. She agreed. Has class was meeting tonight at the University, and she suggested to him that they have her students read the postmortem report too, Julia stating, "They would most assuredly be interested… after all, they were there that day…" Then Julia provided a detail he had forgotten, "It was the Fall Equinox, remember? We were burying our first body for our study… on Seasonal Effects on Human Decomposition. I'm sure they'd jump through hoops to help you solve it." Her eyes twinkled as she waited for his response.

"Very good," he gave.

He offered her his elbow and they headed downstairs for breakfast together.

Picturing that day in her mind, all the students and her in two different carriages, venturing out to their Murdoch Body Farm, and then the press hounding them about her reasons for wanting to adopt a child when they got there, and then discovering a body on their property… again. It was a good thing that she and the students had already buried their subject before the gruesome discovery had been made. Stirring up the memories prompted her to say, "It seems so long, to think that that body we buried that day has been under the ground all this time… just lying there and weathering the forces of nature, and it's really been just over a month. We won't be burying the next body until just before Christmas – on the Winter Solstice… William Jr.'s birthday, the shortest day of the year."

Weighty, William interjected, "It felt like the longest one to me," and his mind raced away with its imagining their being back on that day that William Jr. was born, and dealing with the stark terror that they had battled, devastating, the petrifying thought that Julia would die in labor… and their baby too, all because of a badly timed snowstorm, and the panic stole the blood out of him, leaving his muscles so heavy they dove for the floor with the unbelievable stress of the memories of him having to be the one to perform the Cesarean section on her… HIM being their only hope…

Julia giggled, stopping them there at the halfway turn in their staircase to step in close to him. Her laugh telling him that she had made the connection to the same thing. "Yes, it must have," her fingers slipped into his hair, "You are truly an amazing man, William Henry Murdoch," she whispered.

) (

Toiling away at the stove, Eloise's mind swatted away the reason she was preparing this particular dish, the worrisome memory of Claire-Marie informing her that the couple had been highly distressed when they had arrived home from the Ball the two nights ago. And she had noticed yesterday morning that the doctor's eyes were swollen, and she knew then that the doctor had been crying – hard. "The detective was NOT on the couch either morning," she reminded herself, seeking evidence that the couple she had come to love so much was fine.

She flipped over the golden pieces of toast in the pan. This morning she had made the doctor's favorite – French Toast, hoping to offer her mistress her support, her comfort. As she stirred the bacon, the scent hit her nostrils and triggered different, older, memories – this time tugging at her compassion for the detective, who had returned from his horrible ordeal back when he had been working undercover as a hobo down on his luck, ending up in Chicago's meat-packing plants. He had walked in the door – emaciated, dirty, and wholly distraught with his need for his soul mate's arms. Eloise had never felt such a force between two people as she had felt between the doctor and the detective that day when he had walked unexpectedly back into their kitchen, unexpectedly coming home.

A big sigh moved her thoughts onward, back to the bacon… he had been so extremely aversive to even the smell of pork after his return. Revolting images flashed, pictures of what she had told herself must have happened to him, pictures in her mind of Detective Murdoch cringing and yet still doing it – slaughtering helpless, squealing, thrashing animals, the brutality and cruelty damaging his sensitive soul.

Her mind meandered, connecting the recent to the old, the detective had betrayed his wife so badly back then… There had been quite a few nights on the couch. Dr. Ogden was pregnant at the time, mere weeks away from giving birth to his child. And, although details were never fully disclosed, she had never seen the doctor so distressed in all their years together. She had been absolutely terrified the couple wouldn't be able to recover from it…

My, she marveled at the fact that she had known the doctor for such a long, long time, and she knew she loved the woman, admired and adored the woman, and the world was so, so hard on her. There was a loyalty, an odd, almost motherly bond, she felt with the doctor. And she remembered that she had known the doctor, and thus the detective, since before the doctor had left him, left her home in Toronto, for Buffalo… And there she had met that Garland fellow… and such unbelievable disasters ensued from that union. The first clue, she remembered, shaking her head, that the toff doctor from Buffalo had been a bad choice for Dr. Ogden was the man's insistence that they NOT employ HER after they had married, hiring instead that dreadful Miriam Weller. Still to this day, the sight of that horrid woman testifying on the stand in court filled her with putrid, burning, nausea. Dr. Garland was shrewd alright, Eloise nodded to herself, for the man's instincts were right about the situation, for Eloise was incredibly loyal to Dr. Ogden, and if Eloise had been in their household, it would have swayed the power balance in Dr. Ogden's favor. Her lips pinched tight, fighting the anger, under Dr. Garland's calm demeanor, Eloise had always seen it, the man was secretly all about power, especially when it came to his wife. In that and so many other ways, so very different from the detective…

"Bon jour," came the greeting in Claire-Marie's cheerful and tutorial voice.

Eloise turned from the stove to see the pretty young nanny enter the kitchen holding hands with the couple's little boy. The boy was gorgeous, and often it caught her how very much he looked like the detective, those melty big brown eyes, and those outstandingly long dark eyelashes, his expression bright and curious and confident from underneath all those soft ringlets of curls – one of the only outward features that the child inherited from his mother. Her mind darted down a path, flaring her fury with the newspapers all over again for attacking her employers with such a vengeance for their wanting to adopt another child. And then, counterbalancing against that, she reminded herself of the miracle of this one, and right there and then, she thanked the Lord for the millionth time for gracing the couple with this child.

"Bon jour," William Jr. gleamed. He bolted forward in an effort to see what was cooking on the stove, only to be restrained in his efforts by his nanny, who quickly lifted the toddler up into her arms.

"Master Murdoch," Eloise greeted the boy, "Bon jour to you too."

Claire-Marie continued her French lesson, walking over to allow the child to see. "Pain perdu," the nanny encouraged the little child.

"Pain perdu. Yummy," William Jr. said.

Overhearing the French play, William piped in as he entered, "Le petit singe est comme sa mère quand il s'agit de pain perdu," enjoying the opportunity to call his son a 'little monkey.' William opened his arms for his son, Claire-Marie handing him off.

"Oui, c'est vrai," Claire-Marie replied, adding in English, "about the toast, and his mother, and the monkey," she teased.

The boy recognized the pet name his father often used for him when they roughhoused together, repeating it for the fun of the game, "Singe! Singe!"

William lowered William Jr. down into his highchair.

The delicious smells and banter and smiles, the happiness bordering on momentary perfection, Julia thanked Eloise for making her favorite breakfast in all the world, gushing, "Oh Eloise, this is wonderful! You made French Toast!"

"Pain perdu, Mommy," William Jr. corrected her.

Julia leaned down to cup her son's cheek, topping it off with a kiss, "Of course, Little One. You have a very good point. It is French, so we shall say it in French… 'Pain perdu' it is."

The family sat and breakfast was served.

The vase of pink roses William had brought home for her last night graced the center of the kitchen table. The blooms had opened to their epitome overnight, Julia noticed as she found herself gazing at the sight, the glowing colors and the stark shadows and the glistening rainbows of sparkles from the crystal vase, all stunning, in the morning light. Julia admired the cheery effervescence they give off. A wondering crossed her mind, about his uncommon choice of the color…

"William," she said drawing his chocolate eyes, "Do you think you picked this color… pink I mean, for the roses – it's not a color you usually choose," she noted, "Do you think it was because of the Pink Panther Diamond?"

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, charming her. "One of those psychological Freudian slips in action, perhaps?" he suggested.

Sweet, her smile. "Well, that is not exactly how Freudian slips work," her tone becoming professorial, she took a sip of her coffee, "But it isn't called 'psychological' because it lacks 'logic.' And there is a logic to it, if you think about it." Her blue eyes to his, she explained, "You had the Pink Panther Diamond, and your concerns that Mr. Catfrey would steal it, on your subconscious mind when you must have had the urge to choose pink. See…?" she nodded with him, "Your unconscious drove your decision. It makes perfect sense."

Clearing off the serving dishes, Eloise added, "That's the famous French diamond, isn't it? The one they have for the big Halloween party at the Riverdale Zoo?"

The couple nodded, each reaching for a sip of their warm morning beverage, coffee in her case, tea in his.

"I see another connection," Eloise piqued their curiosity, their eyes widening with interest. "Well, they are holding that big gala at the zoo precisely because of the play on words – the pink "panther…" Where else would you find a panther in Toronto than at the zoo?" Then she interjected a further thought as her mind made the connections, rocking their subconscious worlds a bit, bringing the hidden ever so close to the surface, giving a subliminal jolt to the potential sub-rosa connections involved in the case, "And your suspect, detective… the man you believe is interested in stealing this Pink Panther Diamond, he's named CAT-frey, of all things… Like he's going to FREE the CAT when he steals this priceless panther. You see?" she asked.

William felt it, a cold shudder that needed to be repressed, with the foreshadowing of it.

As she often did, Julia eased his stress, asking, "I wonder if the Riverdale Zoo even has panthers?"

"Oh, I believe so," Eloise answered…

And William tried to hang on to their conversation, to fight the odd panic building inside of himself. He needed to be at the zoo that night. How could he possibly break it to Julia that he would not be here for their own Halloween Party…?

Eloise turned her attention to William Jr., sitting in his highchair, amazing the way such a young child could sometimes be so enthralled by adult conversation. "Master Murdoch," she asked the boy, "tell us, did you see lions and tigers and panthers, at the zoo?"

An excited slap on the highchair tray proceeded the toddlers shout, "Hip-po-po-po-mus," he tried again to say the challenging word his mother had taught him that day with the colorful, fun-shaped, leaves in the Park.

"Very good," Julia beamed at his efforts, "You quite liked the hippo-pot-o-mus, didn't you?" she continued her subtle teaching. "But, were there any panthers?" she got back to the point, then considering that the two-year-old may not know exactly what a panther was, she added, "Were there any really big cats at the zoo?"

"Tigers!" William Jr. remembered the word associated with the sleek, striped cats in the cage.

"Those are the big, big, cats that have stripes on them, right?" his mother said, her pride showing.

"Mm-hmm," her son answered her, exaggerating the excitement of seeing the wild jungle animal with big nods.

"I suppose that's close enough to a panther," she gave.

Julia's mind traveled back to her brilliant husband and his subconscious decision to bring her pink roses last night, "dealing with two subconscious dreads in one fell swoop," she reasoned. Thinking it through she named both of his fears, William would worry about losing the Pink Panther Diamond… and losing her, losing his cherished wife, both to be taken by the nefarious, suave ghost, the handsome and charming Mr. Neil Catfrey… His buying her flowers again, the second day in a row for no apparent reason, and their being PINK, defended, on some deep, unconscious level inside of him, against BOTH potential thefts. "Quite logical in the end."

) (

A strange chill fired through him as George knocked on his office door and informed him that Neil Catfrey had just walked into the stationhouse and requested to speak with him. The man had come to him, had appeared suddenly out of nowhere, the very moment he had picked up the phone to call Alan Clegg.

William placed the receiver back in the cradle. "Show him into the Interview Room, constable," William replied. He did not notice, but George did, the detective's fingers reached up to rub his fretted brow. William's heart raced, and his inner voice coached him… He was the detective here. Catfrey was the suspect, but still, William didn't want the man to know he was a suspect. This was going to take some finesse.

There was a sigh. Catfrey would use what had happened with Julia to throw him off his game, he was certain of it. He needed to be ready for it. And then he thought it again. There was another nagging problem on his mind, these robberies aren't Catfrey's style. Too hands-on, too dirty… relying on a knife, drawing attention to the committing of the crime. A snake like Catfrey would prefer stealth and cunning. But, William reminded himself of the other side of the argument, blatantly, Catfrey had gone after Julia, right in front of her husband, no effort to hide what he was doing, shoving it out into the forefront. Maybe it was the man's style after all, to be showy, blustery. William shook his head. Every instinct he had denied it. Yet, he knew Catfrey was involved, somehow.

A deep breath, William lifted the nearly empty file he had been studying all morning. He would add the few notes scribbled down from what Meyers had just told him. There was not much. Catfrey had claimed to be involved in technology manufacturing. That could be just about anything, and all matter of investigation of such industries had not yielded locating the man.

William opened the file, picked up a photograph. A huge sigh escaped as his eyes absorbed the image for the umpteenth time. A reporter had provided it, in response to being questioned. He and his photographer had been at the Ball that night covering the story for the Gazette. His intention was to use the photo for a gossip story on them, more scandal for himself and Julia. William pictured the headlines, "An Affair at the Affair…" the next one worse, "Green-eyed, Murdoch Pursues Suspect for Cuckolding Not Robbery…"

And William's mind flew into the past – of another photograph of Julia in the arms of a man other than her husband, back then, filling the sordid headlines. Only back then the man was him, and the husband was Darcy, and the affair that was splashed all over the papers had been exposed at the Policemen's New Year's Ball at the turn of the century. Pressure building, William blew out some steam through his pursed lips. His eyes focused back down on the photograph in his hand. This picture showed Julia dancing with Catfrey, not with him. A wave of anger clenched his jaw. He had danced at least a dozen times with his wife that night, not one photograph of that…

He took a deep breath. Catfrey's face was clear in the picture, and they had blown it up and distributed it to the constables to use when looking for witnesses. Useless now, it appeared.

Back to the case.

Scant papers in the file, there were no Canadian citizens with the name Neil Catfrey, at least none in their early thirties. Also, no Americans with that name lived in Toronto as of the census in 1901. Meyers had claimed to know nothing of a man named Neil Catfrey, Canadian or American… William's heart taking up its thundering again, he noted that the Canadian spy had made an obnoxious comment about the photograph of Catfrey dancing with Julia – telling him that the reporter was going to use it in his story in this evening's edition. Meyers had taken credit for stopping the man, about to say that it was in the interest of, "national security, an offense of treason, punishable by death," before William had interjected it. Another sigh, truth be told, he was greatly relieved the story had been stopped, even though it meant he had to thank the arrogant Mr. Meyers. Julia's reputation would have been utterly shattered by such innuendo and scandal as her flirting – again – with a man other than her husband in public.

It hummed quietly in the background though, William's treasured memory of that unbelievable night, Julia in that stunning red dress, there to see him, to tell himthat HE was the one. The kissing had simply been impossible to quell…

The thought jumped to the forefront, the case. Significant, it was Meyers who had brought it up – concern about the Pink Panther Diamond. An obvious clue unintentionally given up, that William's instincts that Catfrey was connected to these robberies, and to targeting this priceless jewel next, were founded. "The Howell's event was only a few days away…" the thought re-stirred his unease.

Another sigh, he did not like playing catch up. According to Meyers, Alan Clegg was in town officially because of the US government's talks on passing the Pure Food and Drug Act. Meyers had blamed, "your friend, Murdoch…" thus indirectly blaming him, "…Mr. Upton Sinclair, from your fellow hoboing days in the Chicago meatpacking 'jungle,' who is responsible for this whole Clegg food industry mess." William had wondered what the fact that the Americans were here poking their noses into Canadian food industries, supposedly in an effort to bypass their new legal restrictions by doing business with Canadian companies, had to do with Catfrey and the robberies and the Pink Panther Diamond. Of course, Terrence Meyers disclosed his suspicions, expecting William to fix the problem. Meyers said he believed there is much more to Clegg's being here at this particular time, at the same time as the French loaning of the Pink Panther Diamond to Thurston Howell for his big party, that he knew it was espionage of some sort, that it was more than just coincidence. He had indicated that further proof was provided by the fact that there was a notable female American who had recently appeared on the art exhibit scene in Toronto. William wrinkled his brow, it was the way Meyers had said it, as if it were something – someone, he should know. The suspicious woman was a pretty blond, pretending to be a toff, supposedly married to a wealthy Parisian.

Tossing the notes into the folder, William frowned. Any reasonable detective would not include such drivel as evidence, or clues, or of value of any sort to this case. He was grasping at straws, and it made him feel sick.

)

Catfrey stood when William entered the room. The man looked directly into his eyes as he offered, "Detective Murdoch, we meet again…"

"Mr. Catfrey," William tried so hard to hide his smirk. He felt it though, he had failed. "Glib," he noticed Catfrey's response. Reassuring himself, he reminded, they mess up easier when they think they have the upper hand. William opened an arm gesturing for Catfrey to sit. "Tell me, why are you here?" he asked.

Catfrey delayed sitting, hoping to have the detective lower himself first. He changed the subject. "I hear your lovely wife, Julia…" he paused and pretended he had made a mistake in using her first name rather than her title, correcting, "…Dr. Ogden, is the pathologist who works with you here. Is that how the two of you met?" he held eye contact.

Annoyingly, William noticed the man's eyes were his most outstanding feature, blue… like Julia's, but somehow even more striking.

Gaining better control, William suppressed a frown. More directly he stated, "Have a seat, Mr. Catfrey." He waited for the man to do so. William remained standing and went on. "Why have you come here?" he asked again, unswayed.

"I heard you were looking for me," Catfrey replied, offering nothing more.

"From whom?" William pushed.

Catfrey placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, "I simply heard it, that shall have to suffice for now." Pointed, feeling confident that it would get the conversation moving to where he preferred, Catfrey gave, "I also heard you were working on the robbery that occurred the night we met. I do have some ideas about that. I thought I might be of some assistance."

Smug, the word landed in William's mind. "And how would that be?" William asked.

"It seems to me from what has been reported in the papers, that the culprit would have to have known exactly when the Banner's were arriving at their home. And I have an idea how that could be done…" Catfrey leaned closer, "Without needing a partner."

William scoffed, "And why do you think the robber did not have a partner?" Infuriating, William held his emotions at bay, for he had reasoned that the robber would have had to have been working with a partner. There would be no other way for him to know precisely when to appear at the victim's front door. Most likely, he had waited at a location near the home for a phone call to alert him of the exact time to act…

"First off, it is better to work alone, less chance of a mess up or involving someone you can't trust," Catfrey stated the obvious and then appeared to gloat about it.

It bothered William to no end, being this off-balance. He lowered his center of gravity, widened his stance. He questioned, "And the robber's method of being in the right place at the necessary time – not too early, not too late…?"

Catfrey received William's side glance.

"Detective, I work with technologies designed to accomplish much in tiny spaces," Catfrey said, stiffly leaving his hands on the table, a conscious decision to make him appear trustworthy, as he leaned back into his chair, more casual, and at ease. The man's eyes looked away as he decided to alter his approach. Directly, they peered back, "You have quite a reputation, detective…"

The slightest nod of recognition from William, while he told himself the man had moved to flattery to distract.

"You are said to be brilliant," Catfrey went on, "And, let's just say it's in my best interest not to give away my business secrets…"

"or contacts," Catfrey thought to himself…

Catfrey tapped his fingers and added, "There have been recent breakthroughs… And… suffice it to say it is possible to know when a particular thing is happening, say such a thing as that the Banner's were leaving the Ball at a particular time…"

William interrupted, "And how is that?" pushing for Catfrey to give more.

Catfrey paused, smiled. "Trade secrets, I'm afraid detective," Catfrey said, pushing his chair back, crossing his legs and cupping his hands in his lap, seemingly closing the topic. "You'll have to take my word for it," Catfrey replied. "I'll give you a hint though. Ironically, in order for you to be successful when you pursue this, at least one of you must come out of the picture."

Then, so quickly, Catfrey whipped it out, his tactic intended to steal away the clue he had just given, to blindside his opponent at just the right moment so that he would appear to have been helpful, and in the end to have given nothing at all. "And speaking of pictures, it seems we have a friend in common, detective – I first met her in Turkey over a decade ago…" Catfrey seemed to revel in going back to his memories. He chuckled and shook his head at himself, working to appear humble, "I was so young, a starving artist. And she was… intriguing, and beautiful." Catfrey's eyes bounced back to William's as he added, "There's just something about your first."

William's level of annoyance forced him to stiffen his jaw. At the same time his brain was running rampant in an effort to identify this woman he had brought up. He remembered what Meyers had told him about there being a pretty blond American… And there was something about Turkey… And a picture…"

An exasperated sigh, William interjected, "Mr. Catfrey, I don't see how this has anything to do…"

Ignoring him, Catfrey continued, "Of course, I never expected to see her again. But then, there she was in Paris, along with all these revolutionary modern artists, Picasso, Matisse, Van Gogh. Sally enjoyed painting herself. She had a quite unique style, the canvas filled with interesting cubes and triangles and geometric figures all in primary colors, all hints of hidden sultry truths…"

Wham – William's mind flew to it. "Sally! …Painting!"He saw it in his mind, Sally Pendrick in the nude, her naked portrait being painted, but the portrait was so abstract and obscure that no one would see it for what it was meant to be. Except Julia! Julia had seen it! She had teased him so mercilessly about the red triangle at the apex of her thighs, calling it a shocking display of the torso of a woman…

Catfrey's voice smudged and drowned out, he meandered through insignificant details, "Sally insists Picasso was enamored by her strange, broken-glasslike shapes in her paintings. She contends Pablo will be imitating the style soon enough." Catfrey stood, the motion pulling William to focus. The man took his hat, preparing to end the interview.

William braced, for Catfrey's expression had grown cocky.

"From what I understand, you, more than anyone, detective, can appreciate Sally's style," the suspect colluded. "Actually, her portrait is the reason I've come to Toronto. And according to Sally, there is only one other man in world she would want to have it…" and then he glanced knowingly into William's eyes, accusing him, "that is besides you, detective. And that man is me. Of course, you're a married man now, and a beautiful wife you have at that…" Catfrey nearly chuckled at the frozen stare the detective glared back at him. Confident he had hit the right nerve, he went on, "Unfortunately, neither of us currently possesses this painting. It seems a Canadian man she had taken up with here in Toronto before I met her in Turkey has absconded with it…"

William's mind rushed to fill in the name, "James Pendrick."

At first I was told he had taken it with him to Panama…" Catfrey widened his eyes, "Now that was quite a wild goose-chase…"

Regaining a semblance of footing, William interrupted, "And what surname does this 'Sally' go by now?"

"Sally Hubbard, detective," he confided, placing his hat on his head, tipping it with a suave tilt. Suddenly respectful, he asked, "Am I free to go now?"

"Just one more thing," William responded, "Is Sally Hubbard here in Toronto?"

Holding back the urge to swallow, Catfrey answered, "Not to my knowledge, detective. Is that all?"

"I will need to be able to contact you. You can leave the information with Constable Crabtree," William said opening the Interview Room door, George revealed waiting on the other side of the screen to receive the suspect. "And don't leave Toronto without notifying me Mr. Catfrey," William asserted his power over the man.

"Of course, detective," Catfrey tilted his hat, only to have to take it off as he left with George.

) (

So much about this Pink Panther was sub rosa, hidden, secret. And time was of the essence. And William felt so scattered. He needed to be at this Howell-oween Bash! ButJulia had said she would take care of it. Such conflict, he wondered at himself, why did he have such an urge to keep the possible involvement of Sally Pendrick a secret… especially from Julia. It made no sense… And what to make of this odd clue of Catfrey's – that one of you has to come out of the picture in order to pursue the robbery case? Needless to say, William reached up and rubbed his brow. Odd, he had the urge again, to buy Julia flowers. He went to his drawing board and picked up the chalk, starting with the latest clues. "Sally Hubbard," then, "Catfrey – artist," then adding, "Turkey," and then, "Paris." William's head tilted to the side, and he just knew he had to write the word… "pursue." Once again, a big sigh escaped. "What a mess," he complained to himself, "What a big, big mess."

)) ((

And so, the story continues to twist and turn, all obscurely headed downstream towards the decision in the end – answering for us ultimately after the fun of riding-out the adventure, whether it will be the Lady, or the Tiger that is chosen. Is it William who faces this final choice, as we would expect? And who is this lady? Julia, quite likely… Or could it be Sally Pendrick, secretly the whole time really only a masquerade for her true identity, Sally Hubbard? After all, she had escaped all those years ago, after her evil plot had failed, foiled by our beloved detective in her efforts to become rich by selling the lethal microwave deathray machine to Turkey. Interesting, isn't it, that William's decision to pursue Sally Hubbard all those years ago had cost him Julia, forever to remember the agony of seeing merely her train's caboose, it's lonely trail of smoke puffing up into the sky, disappearing out of his life? And what of this tiger? Could it be the Pink Panther Diamond? And how does the Body Dumper fit into all of this? Could he be Catfrey too? Could this suave and untrustworthy mystery man be the murderer of the unidentifiable victim buried at the Murdoch's, now award-winning, Body Farm, his face shot off, with the only real clue in that case being the strangely-shaped bruise caught in the process of healing when the victim had died, revealed on the back of the victim's thigh by William's inventive use of ultraviolet light photography? And then there is what will come of Julia's attending Sunday morning Mass with William, and what effect, if any, doing so will have on their hopes of adopting a second child. It may be worth noting that a raging river is always undoubtedly downstream from its tributaries, its many, many influxes of little brooks and streams that feed into it, and that each one of these is needed to make the voyage flow. Remember, what all rivers are headed for is that final SEA. And so here, at what is likely only a halfway point to this long and winding story, you are reassured that we are also headed for you, too, to ultimately reach that big, and final… SEE.