The Lady, Or the Tiger, Chapter 4 – Still Counting Sheep_T

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It had been rising up inside of him in waves for nearly two hours now, frustration, frustration which William would rationalize away, push back down. He had come to expect it to re-emerge. William's forehead was reddened from all his subconscious rubbing, and his eyes were sore, the squiggly fingermark patterns on the cards sometimes blurried by their efforts to tear-up, to lubricate, to cope with the strain of reading the marks, searching for a match. This case promised to be trying, the victim found dumped on their property – their body farm, the press having a heyday with that, the victim's exit wound through the face, and now, his seeming lack of matching fingermarks in the system rendering him unidentifiable. Not to mention the papers circling the wagons around himself and Julia, becoming suspicious, some of them even rabid in their dogged questioning about their alleged use of contraception being linked to their desire to adopt… and desire that was being foiled at every turn…

With his billionth sigh, he glanced out into the bullpen. Crabtree and Higgins each held fingermark cards and a magnifying glass - working, but their conversation was lively. William's mind shot back to his talking with George on the carriage ride up to the Body Farm yesterday. Discomfort flooded through him as he pictured the two men out there now, conferring about himself, about Julia.

He was up, homburg on, before he had consciously decided. He would go to the flower shop. His wife was most assuredly in need of some courting, and thankfully, such matters were up to him. Besides, the timing would be opportune, Julia most likely ready to give him her initial findings from her postmortem by the time he returned.

Glad he had taken his bicycle this morning, William walked out of the stationhouse, erupting the pool of reporters into a flutter, and he moved forward directly into the maelstrom. He chanted out his newfound mantra – "I have no comments to make. Please step aside, this is Constabulary business," – as he mounted up and stood on the pedals to gain maximum thrust. No carriage to wait for, he felt a little less like a sitting duck.

The soft rumble of moving air at his ears, his suit jacket lifting on the breeze, his speed picked up, and the burdens lightened. Yesterday's orange-red roses had brought spice and pizzazz to mind. "Today," he thought, "Yellow, yellow like the permanence and promise at our wedding."

Earlier this morning, his mind dampened his mood with the memory as he rode, there had been reporters at their home, and then again when he arrived at work. A few had run from where they had parked themselves outside the morgue as soon as he was spotted pedaling down the street on his bicycle towards the stationhouse, and he knew that Julia had been harassed when she had arrived at work before him. Powerful, the mixture of sadness and anger and helplessness the thoughts stirred in him.

Flashes of memories of his efforts, as he had made his way into the building this morning, failed attempts to assuage the buzzing reporters' questions, now wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting to his ineptness in the endeavor, as he rode closer to the flower shop. His reasonable claims that he had work to do on the very case that the reporters were complaining about, and that they would better serve the greater good if they would stop pestering him and let him get to it, seemed to only rile them up more. He counted himself grateful that they had not badgered him about their troubles adopting, about his working wife who wouldn't even take his name when they married, or even worse, about using contraception. Immediately, the panic blended with his thought, "At least they hadn't yet…" Yes, he was dreadfully aware of the fact that his ploy to use logic and distraction had been failing…

But then, the Inspector 's voice, large and burly, had stolen the show. William had stood by and watched as he was rescued, his superior standing tall at his side.

"You attack Murdoch here, and our pathologist, when the real monster in this case is the person who shot the victim point blank in the back of his head with a rifle, annihilating the poor bugger's face… and then left him naked as a jaybird, to eliminate any clues," the Inspector's hefty voice replayed in William's head.

His memory re-saw it, a reporter had catcalled loudly, "Yeah, dumped the body at their morbid, disgusting "Body Farm," that Frankenstein-ian graveyard." And then the older man had held up his pencil to his colleagues with an idea. "Hey, that would make a good headline," he had jabbed.

"Bollocks!" The Inspector's cane had stretched out, backing the group off. His English face had burned red and he had barked out his orders. "You lot will bloody well move back…" He had boldly pushed forward, herding the bunch of them backwards en masse. "This is a Constabulary stationhouse, and, believe it or not you lousy tossers, we have work to do." The Inspector had then tilted his head over towards William, "Detective," he confidently had instructed him, "Have the constables set up a perimeter out here…" Then Inspector Brackenreid's attention had returned to the reporters, "And don't any of you wankers cross it!"

Turning the corner to the street with the flower shop, William was back on his bicycle, and his scientific mind shifted to the technical matters involved in setting-up an alarm system along the fence-line of their property. He would be meeting their handyman, Jake, there later to install it. Keeping the scrutiny cameras functioning in the cold, and the rain, and all sorts of bad weather, would be problematic to say the least, but at least his plans for using a tripwire would be able to catch any trespassers by surprise, suddenly blasting them with bright lights and starling sounds that would alert even far-off neighbors when triggered. Any resulting photographs of the culprits would have to be seen as a bonus, for now.

Mrs. Jensen's Flower Shop was located conveniently between the stationhouse and the wealthier portions of Toronto. Such locations had always housed Julia, but since they had wed, they also were where he was fortunate to live as well. For such a very long time William had been buying flowers from Mrs. Jensen for Julia… even for a brief time for Enid… William's mind raced away with the memory, the Inspector once again rescuing him, suggesting flowers as the best way to make-up with a lady. Most definitely, he was guilty of using the thinly veiled effort to soften Julia's heart after their countless arguments over the years, but surely his favorite time to lavish her with the courting gift, and he believed hers as well, was when he showed up with a bouquet for no specific reason at all. Amazing, the bounce in his step, for this would be one of those times.

)

William held the large morgue door as it closed behind him, stopping its announcement of his arrival. He placed his bouquet of yellow roses down to surprise her with later, next to it his hat, and glanced into the morgue theater. With a smile, he noted she was alone. Quickly, a flash of memory warmed and electrified him, of quite some time ago, something so simple and yet so rare, her phonograph playing… here… in a morgue, out of place and yet perfect, and he had felt another, stronger, deeper nudge inside of himself telling him that he was right all along, she was the one.

"What have you doctor?" he caused her to turn from the body, and he breathed in the uplifting flush of air the moment her face met his, brightened.

"Detective," her exclamation rich with the more clandestine significance of what they both knew was there.

Playing their professional roles well, she turned her eyes back to the body on the morgue slab as he stepped up beside her. Julia began giving him her report as if reading a text – "The victim is male, physically fit, taller than average, early thirties," but then veered out of the methodical to make a side-note, "Just as we had first figured yesterday, really no birthmarks, or tattoos to help identify him."

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and as happened sometimes, he found himself dwelling on the magnificent blue color, and luring heat, of them.

With a little wrinkle at the corner of her mouth, he recognized the gesture as his…

She went on, "No bullet I'm afraid, but I guess we already knew that, with this exit wound." They both stared down at the butchered mess of a face on the slab. "The degree of damage indicates the weapon was a rifle, as we thought…" Julia stepped closer to William, and as she was want to do, and, oh, how he adored it, she began to use his body to demonstrate whatever it was she wanted to report, and that meant she would be close, he would feel her breath, smell her, she would touch him…

"The barrel was pressed directly against the back of the skull, at a downward angle. Quite an extreme angle, William," he felt her hand brace across his chest to hold him in place as her other hand pressed into the back of his head with the knuckle of her bent index finger imitating the harsh pressure of the gun. "I suspect the victim was probably down on his knees, with the killer standing behind him," she explained. "Marks on his wrists indicate that he had been handcuffed. Two or three perimortem bruises to his stomach and face – he was beaten just before he was shot…"

"Decisive and cold," William added, his own internal sensations affected by his imagining the inherent helplessness of the victim's situation.

"Very," she agreed, "Death was quick, at least." Leave it to Julia Ogden to find a bright side.

Ever the detective, William focused back on identifying the victim. "Our efforts at finding matching fingermarks have been unsuccessful," he worried.

"Speaking of fingers," she said, "there were no signs of skin under the fingernails, and no other defensive wounds either, on the hands or arms." She reached under the sheet covering the body and pulled out a hand. She opened the fingers, showing him, "He has callouses, as you can see. But they are not from a lifetime of hard labor. Instead, it seems these were formed within the past year." She rested the hand back down and went off on a tangent, delving into the more personal, "The opposite of you…" then explained, "I um… well your callouses are deep… older…" She reached for his hand and opened it, stroking her fingers over the ridges of its surface, "from years ago, when you worked the lumber camps and the horse ranches." She decided to add a little spice, leaning close and giving him a mischievous nudge, "Except, of course, for when you take up work on some project or another around the house," gracing him with a pleasant smile, "even if they do take you a rather long time to finish."

It would be William who brought them back to the case at hand. "Anything of interest on the body? Some trace evidence, maybe some carpet fibers or such, from when the body was moved?" he pressed, tilting back over the body, inspecting.

Julia's attention went down to the dead body before them, the distance between the two lovers increasing once more. It was this play, this vibrating, quivering alteration, delightful oscillation, between moving towards and moving apart, that had made their chemistry so entrancing all these years. Her eyes focused on the victim's brown hair. "Well, as you know, we found him without any clothing on him to analyze. His hair had some grass blades, pollen. There was nothing that is not commonly found in the outdoor areas around our body farm," she stipulated.

"Killed elsewhere," William drew her into his musings, "Either naked when he was shot, perhaps somewhere on route to our property, or the killer removed the clothes after committing the murder. The killer would have had to have gotten blood on his clothing, firing from so close…"

"Not to mention gun-powder residue," she inserted.

"And then he would have had to get rid of his own bloody clothes and the victim's clothing as well…" William concluded his train of thought. He pictured the killer arriving at their farm in the carriage, lifting the already naked body over his shoulder, wrapped in nothing.

"Time of death?" he asked.

She nodded, "As we speculated, he was killed the night before we found him at our farm."

Thinking of something that could be important, her tone rose and she said, "He had had sexual intercourse before he was killed. There were still remnants of semen present in his penis… and the pH was low…"

"Acidic," he thought to himself…

"So likely vaginal fluids as well," she deduced.

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth considering the significance. Possibly with the killer, but if so, then someone else would have had to have dumped the body. A woman would find it too difficult, he inferred.

Not very satisfactory, she thought of his reaction.

Julia sighed and went back to her routine of reporting out the results. "His organs showed nothing unusual. The victim didn't drink. There were no signs of drug use. It will take a while for the analysis of the blood and other fluids to come back..."

William had an idea – a flash of remembering George holding up a cigarette butt in the dark of the night, shining his handlight on it.

"Did he show any signs of smoking?" William rushed to ask her. He speculated aloud, "George discovered a cigarette butt in the carriage tire tracks at the side of the road near our property. It had to have been dropped there after the carriage had pulled up… in order not to have been pressed into the ground by the wheel. Perhaps the killer smoked one of the victim's cigarettes – a kind of victory?" he wondered with his customary charming wrinkle at the corner of his mouth showing his doubt.

Julia shook her head, regretting disappointing him. "No. No, the victim's lungs were clean, healthy. No signs of smoking." She knew what he had been hoping, to use the brand of cigarettes to help identify the victim. "You'll have to use the cigarette brand to identify the man who killed him instead, I guess," she encouraged.

"Yes," he nodded, trying to accept the evidence as relevant and helpful. His thoughts extended. "And it was definitely a man that dumped the body… carried the body himself, only one set of footprints, from a larger than average shoe…" He remembered, as he envisioned examining the tracks and making the casts at the scene, that besides the shoeprints, and the tire tracks, he remembered that the horse had also left hoofprints – average sized unfortunately. Though the horse had a unique way of moving, paddled its foot out to the side, leaving a series of curved lines in the dirt in the road… Perhaps they would be able to find the horse and carriage…

Her sigh, her eyes back down on the body, led him to consider that she might have found something more useful after all. If so, her discovery would be tenuous, he knew, for her manner suggested a 'grasping at straws' – though such straws had moved them forward on cases before…

"Can you help me turn him?" she asked. Julia removed the sheet covering the body.

Strange, William felt a pang of worry, of jealousy, somehow, at the sight of the muscular, well-endowed body of the man lying there. Sometimes it was so blatantly obvious that his wife had much more knowledge of male anatomy than he, than any other woman or the average man for that matter, and it felt odd to find himself wondering if he measured up in confronting seeing Julia so familiar with such an obviously robust specimen.

Their eyes honed in on the man's relaxed, but exceptionally-sized, more private parts.

Julia had said that he was fit, but it had been an understatement, William realized now. This man was dangerously gorgeous, and every sign erupted within him that he was jealous, his fingers tensing and curling, moving to form fists, his jaw clenching tight, his heart pounded in his chest and there was a raging-bull burst of hot air exploding from deep, deep within him. Rapidly, William worked to backpedal, to pull himself back from his instinctive reaction to the sight of the man's body, hoping Julia would not have noticed the effect the rugged handsomeness of the body had had on him.

Once the body was rolled onto its stomach, William's eyes were drawn to the man's squared-off and impressive buttocks, Julia pointed out a spot on the right thigh. "It appears our victim had broken his leg sometime before he died. I'd say about a month ago. His femur suffered a fracture…" Those big, blue eyes of hers met his again as she added, "The femur is the strongest bone in the body, William. It would require great force to break it…" She saw him ready to ask for details, prompting her to nod her head at him and say, "Somewhere in the realm of 2000 to 3000 lbs."

His raised eyebrows fluttered her stomach a bit. Delightful, she still felt butterflies, felt so intrigued by this remarkable man's enthusiasm, his interest, his love for the learning of all things.

Back to her initial report, she stood up taller and went on. "It was professionally set, by someone with medical training. Atrophy suggests he would have been wearing a plaster cast for quite some time…"

William nodded, noting the significantly smaller size of the injured leg.

"… possibly removed only recently…" Julia paused there, noticing William had taken on that familiar expression he gets sometimes, indicating his mind was doing its thing. He would be envisioning something related to the case. She would wait.

Soon, his lovely brown eyes were back, focused on her as he asked for her agreement, "He would have been lying down, facedown, when the injury occurred… Perhaps run over by a car?"

Subtly, a smile wrinkled at the corners of her mouth. "That would have done it," she replied. Wham, there it was again, that same far-off and intense face of William's, coinciding with her own delightful, effervescent internal response to it…

Electrical sparks fired in his brain, running down so many different paths at once… They had made casts of the carriage tracks from the road outside their body farm that he could examine – perhaps the victim was run over by a carriage, not an automobile… but it was unlikely the victim was run-over a month before his murder by the same vehicle used to dump the body, and a carriage would be too light, probably anyway, to cause that degree of damage to the femur… And at the same time, another neuron trail was roused – "that annoying Roger Newsome had been involved with cars…" A corner of William's mouth twitched, "Most likely irrelevant," came his quick judgment… "And George!" an offshoot pathway fired, "George is quite the expert on cars, being in business with Nina's brother – an auto-repair business. Maybe George would know of a car that had been in such a collision a month ago… No. No…" he sighed, "If the victim had been lying down before the tire went over his leg, there would not have been any damage to the grill of the car, so no damage to the automobile to need repairing. Another thought zipped off, "Why would the victim be lying down in the road in the first place? The injury suggested he was already down, maybe unconscious…" Then a rather large sigh escaped, "Either way, the victim broke a leg and it was treated. Maybe the victim reported the incident. He would have gone to a…"

His wife's voice spoke, pulled at him, "The bone was dealt with by someone with medical training… Maybe hospitals…"

Oh, how they both so adored the experience of mutual travel… and then coming to the same climactic culmination.

"Yes," he gloried, acknowledging their shared conclusion, and its optimism, for it was true, there was a possibility that checking the hospitals could lead to identifying the victim. He would send constables out to do just that once he got back to the stationhouse.

Wondrous, how with that, the mood switched, and a perfume of romance seemed to dance in the air, catching them, swirling them together in its wake.

Julia's voice dropped down an octave, slow and lusty, she admitted, "I'm sorry I can't offer you more, detective." Ever so imperceptibly, she leaned, held her breath, hinting at a gasp on an obscure breeze.

He stepped close, very close, too close, nonprofessionally close, the tingling action reminding them both that they were alone, despite being in a 'public' place. His eyes settled on one of her tempting curls at the edge of her face, his fingers glancing across the petal-softness of her cheek as he took his claim.

"Oh, there's quite a bit more you can offer me, doctor," he confided, erupting her womb into a torqueing twist of want. And the closeness of the scratchy sounds of the hairs of her curl in her ear, being pinched and glided through his fingers, promised their more intimate touch.

They both felt it, knew the other felt it as well, the lure of steady eye contact – powerful and unblinking. A clearer message could not be sent.

William's mind rushed ahead, anticipating, imagining taking her in his arms, kissing her – rough and wild. She would respond, her breathing becoming fast and fiery. Her sexy, marshmallowy body squishing to him, under him, succumbing to him. Her scent… it was right there…

He shut the fantasy down. Regained his footing. "Actually, I brought you something," he whispered, letting go of his hold on her to step away, to step back, to turn, to leave to retrieve the roses he had left by the door.

Her face lit up with the sight of his offering. "Two days in row?" she marveled, her gaze drawn to the sweet-smelling dozen golden roses in his hand.

His explanation rocked her, "I want you to know you're loved."

Blue, so blue, her eyes met his again. He basked in the shower of the lovely feelings.

"But, I do," she told him.

Julia took the glorious gift from him, treasuring it. As she walked away to put them into a vase, she asked, "William…"

She would never know how often her husband watched her with lust in his heart, well mostly his groin, when she walked away from him.

"How, ever do you choose the colors? Why today yellow?" she was intrigued by solving the puzzle. Returning, again, their eyes locked. "Our wedding!? Our bond?" she concluded, wondering.

His smile answered her question and she stepped close once more. Julia took his suit jacket lapel in her fingers, remembering that he had worn a yellow rose there, on his tuxedo, while he stood at the end of the aisle that day, waiting for her. They would soon be married! She had seen that he had needed to breathe, and she knew it in her soul then, looking at him through the smoky mist of her wedding veil, that he was enormously happy. She slipped her fingers under his jacket, to feel the cold, smooth, metal of his badge pinned to his vest.

William took a deep breath, soaking it in. "The yellow rose was like a badge I put on that day, to declare my undying love for you to the world, telling all that I was your husband. It gave me rights and responsibilities… More important than this metal badge, that rose one, my whole life, this remarkable partnership, my family…"

He kissed her, and she fell, mesmerized, breath-taken by the way he sucked her into the overwhelming force of his gravitational field, the electromagnetic vortex flipping her so magnificently…

'Bam,' the piercing sound of the slam startled, the huge morgue door parting them.

Immediately, Rebecca James stopped in her tracks at the sight of them, instantly uncomfortable, blaringly aware of what she had interrupted. But… Miss Rebecca James was not easy to rattle, and she settled her internal alarm quickly. The detective and the doctor, however, squirmed about nervously, eyes drifting down, away, itching and scratching, and avoiding.

"Truly, these two were such prudes sometimes. They are married after all… Probably the detective," Rebecca noted. She nodded her greeting, "Good afternoon."

Each of the couple managed to respond in kind. And Miss James crossed the aisle-way to the back area to deposit her things.

"I was giving the detective the initial findings of the postmortem on the victim we found yesterday," Dr. Ogden offered.

"That makes sense," Rebecca responded, busying herself with various chemical vials.

Julia noticed, however, as she interacted with Rebecca, that the young woman was not her usual, confident self, but was instead, a bit unsteady. Worried that Rebecca's having had interrupted them during a romantic interlude was the cause, she decided to be direct, although in Julia's case, sometimes that would end up being just plain old blunt.

She stepped herself close to her husband and tucked herself under William's arm, feeling him respond to her by placing his hand at the small of her back, instinctively there for her. "Miss James," she stammered, "Uh… Rebecca, William and I are not bothered by your arrival while we were…"

Rebecca felt a sudden heat erupt inside of her – William too. The flush caused an actual redness in the detective's face. Amazing how quickly this man betrayed his feelings, for a man who was so buttoned-up.

Needing to stop the doctor from going any further, Rebecca rushed to blurt out, "It's not that. It was the reporters… the reporters hounding me. One of them even followed me to the University. I saw him asking one of your students, doctor, questions… Doctor... Detective…" she asked for acknowledgement from each of them with her eye contact. Suddenly dizzy, she realized she had not breathed in quite some time, the lack of oxygen had soprano-ed her voice.

Rebecca took a breath, then continued, calmer, her pitch lower, "It's just that I'm afraid… um, that I may have made things worse for you…" She swallowed and pushed herself forward, "He asked if we… share…" Rebecca cleared her throat and held firmly to Julia's eyes, "womanly disclosures… The nerve, to think that, if we did, I would tell," she objected shaking her head, her jaw locking tight.

William had felt his wife's body jerk and tense-up with the news. Every bone in his body pushed him to protect her. He stepped closer to Miss James, lowered his voice to sound more composed than he actually was, and he said, "I don't think it is possible for you to have made our problems with press any worse," thinking his words would both reassure Miss James, and let Julia know that she should not be concerned with the shocking pushiness of the reporter.

It seemed that his intentions had worked, at least with Miss James, for then Rebecca relaxed and started storming on about how furious she had become with the rude man, ranting and steaming, finally concluding harshly, "And then... I broke his pencil in two!"

Julia laughed, "I, for one, am glad you did." Instantaneously, the tension in the room eased. "Now," she changed subjects, "Please phone the lab and check to see if they received our samples from this postmortem…"

Miss James nodded and aimed herself to take up the task.

Julia caught William's eye, "I'd like to properly send-off my husband," she declared.

The couple walked arm-in-arm to the morgue door. They stopped and faced each other. Each of them smiled. Julia asked, "Will you come collect me this evening, detective, to return home?"

His endearing wrinkle at the corner of his mouth showed his disappointment. "Sorry, sorry, I rode the bicycle... this morning…" He sighed, then brightened with an idea, "But I can come escort you to your cab, protect you from press, before I mount up and ride home."

She looked so beautiful then, tilting her head, loving him so. "That would be quite charming of you, detective," she flirted.

"Good," he nodded his common, sweet, albeit short, reply. He took his hat from the ledge and put it on his head. Much like a knight-in-shining-armor, bringing his hand to his brow as he lifted his metal facemask to hold it in place as he bid his farewells to a lady, William reached up and tipped his hat to her. Magnetic, the bond between them. It took effort to break it, to take his leave.

Here, it should be told, in fairness, that Julia Ogden, too, enjoyed watching HIM while he walked away, wallowing in the lush feelings stirred in her womb by the lovely view of the lower portion of his suit jacket, dangling and flapping, just up above his taught, firm derriere.

Although, this time, her guilty pleasure did not go unnoticed by Miss Rebecca James.

Caught, all that Julia Ogden could do was shrug, and smile, and then be swept along with her friend as she tucked the doctor's arm into her own. "Womanly disclosures, indeed," Rebecca thought.

Never before had Miss James known two people to be so much in love. And she admired each of them so. Dr. Ogden, her mentor, her heroine, endeavored with such effort and efficiency to help those who were weaker – street children, oppressed peoples, the poor, women. She had more courage and compassion in her little finger than most people have in their lifetimes. A perfect match for her, Rebecca believed, Detective Murdoch, driven to find truth, intrigued and fueled by curiosity, and the man's ingenuity never ceased to amaze her. And she makes him better. And he makes her better. Her mind replayed the horrid barrage of questions the reporter had asked of her earlier and she concluded strongly, "And if these two people want to parent a child, to adopt a child, I feel it is dastardly, and insane, to try to stop them. There could be no better gift than to be raised by these two people, none."

) (

The mood at dinner was tense that evening. Eloise moved about in the background, sometimes in with them, sometimes out. Fortunately, William Jr.'s antics served, at times, to lighten the mood. But there were serious matters to discuss. First, William shared with his wife, his colleague, his partner in everything, about the frustrating and troublesome dead ends on the case.

Nothing had come from searching for the victim's identity at hospitals, there was not one report of a man with such a broken femur from a month ago. The victim's fingermarks were not anywhere in their records. Further, the man had no face to use to help identify him. There were no distinguishing marks on the body, and the only real clue they had – his unique injury to his femur, had led to nowhere. Experience told that, in a case where the victim could not be identified, solving it was much more difficult, and often the endeavor would end up being unsuccessful.

William reached up and rubbed his brow as he moved on to the next problem. He reached for some piping hot seconds and explained, "As for finding the individual who dumped the body at our place," he shook his head and frowned, "I'm not optimistic. The casts of the carriage wheels, even the fact that the horse paddles… I'd need to have a place to start." Annoyed, and embarrassed at the urge to slam something, he stopped himself there.

He dropped his fork to his plate and asserted, "There's no bullet! No useful trace evidence… Well, the cigarette butt…" he considered, but his rage resurfaced instantly, for it was so little, and it had led nowhere either.

Eloise prepared their desert over at the counter, the detective's stomach being one of the best ways she knew to soothe him. "The doctor's good at this," she told herself.

"William, take heart in us. Have faith. You know we've solved worse cases," she encouraged him.

His big, brown eyes held to hers a little extra long. He was holding his breath. There was so much more weighing on him, and his look reminded her of it. She breathed in. He did too.

"Better," she thought.

William returned to eating. After a large exhale, he admitted, "Tomorrow's papers, I'm afraid…"

His frown was back. Julia thought he looked a bit pale. He resumed the hopeless shaking of his head, and that incessant rubbing of his brow. She had to concede, thinking of tomorrow's papers had a similar effect on her.

"The questions they fired at the Inspector and myself as we left the stationhouse… They'll be reporting that I'm bungling the case," he predicted. Then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth and divulged his fears, "They'll be trying to reignite the calls for public uproar, and demands that we be forced to close the body farm."

Thinking that the couple had reached the low-point, Eloise offered desert. "Coconut Cream Pie," she announced, knowing it was one of the detective's favorite. Joyfully, it appeared his son shared in his tastes, for William Jr.'s happy bouncing and squealing as he tried the treat, and their playful jokes about him wearing more of it than he was eating, helped them all find their smiles once again.

Eventually however, the table was being cleared, and the reality of their troubles returned. Talk turned to the extended harassment of the press to include their friends. Not only had a reporter upset Miss James, but George, too, had been followed and questioned. Besides the, now common, story of reporter affronts about the Murdoch's use of contraception and their motives for wanting to adopt, it seems that George was most distressed by a sense of personal betrayal by a one-time friend – Louise Cherry. According to George, the woman, still reporting for the Gazette, expected him to betray his friendship with the detective, her questions pressing him to disclose his own opinion on whether the detective had actually been duped by Dr. Ogden into believing she was sterile, when in actuality Miss Cherry suspected that Dr. Ogden had been using a contraceptive cup without her husband's knowing it – all so that the doctor would not get pregnant and could keep her precious career. George had had it, and told the woman off in a tirade.

Eloise had been listening. She respected the couple enough not to pretend that she had not been doing so. And, there had been a few moments in their conversation when both William and Julia had glanced her way. Their agreed upon decision to continue talking revealed their trust in the Eloise. In many ways, the enshroudedly doting and loyal housekeeper had come to feel like one of the family to them.

Originally, she had planned to keep the sordid details of the reporter's horrid and shocking actions today, after the man had followed her to the drycleaners, completely to herself. But now Eloise had decided against that. She told herself that she knew Dr. Ogden well, and she reasoned that the couple could better defend themselves from the press' onslaught if they were armed with the knowledge of how thoroughly wretched and vile the reporters were willing to be. So, she spoke up, telling them that a reporter from the Daily Star had had the gall to offer her money to say if she had seen evidence of use of prophylactics in their home, and even if the doctor possessed any of those illegal contraceptive contraptions she was infamous for teaching other women about.

"Of course, I adamantly refused to take the money, or to say anything," Eloise insisted, "But… well, I'm sorry to say…" The older woman huffed, "I became so incensed… Well, I told that weasel that I knew this house like the back of my hand, and I had never, never seen such a thing. And then I gave him a piece of my mind… And, well, truth be told I belted him with my purse, I was so mad."

William's mind trumpeted relief, for he had already confronted that particular fear last night, when he sat at this very table drinking a cup of hot chocolate. Just another time recently that he had failed in counting sheep.

Still, there was a knowing look between the couple, for surely the question about prophylactics was something that could have gone the other way, and it was more obvious now that they had been much too casual about it back when they had been using them. They reassured Eloise that they appreciated her standing up for them, and they regretted that she had been confronted as she had been.

Julia stood and lifted the baby into her arms, signaling that the meal was through. William joined her, thanking Eloise for a delicious dinner as usual, and pausing to let her know that he particularly valued her taking such good care of him, with her home-cooking and her potent choice of the times to serve his favorites.

He caught up to Julia in the foyer. The family stood together for a moment, considering how to spend the rest of their evening.

"You should workout with your weights, William," Julia suggested, their son still in her arms, her husband lovingly stroking the boy's curly, dark, head of hair. She administered her expert advice, "It will distract your mind from all these upsetting problems, and it will relax you. I'll play with the baby. We'll be right in the next room while you sweat it all out." She gave herself a chuckle, thinking there was a pun in there somewhere. He liked the idea, and he headed up to change his clothes while she and William Jr. went downstairs to the playroom.

Just as William was coming down from the bedroom, the phone rang. He picked it up before Eloise reached it, and they nodded at each other as the detective took the call and the housekeeper readied to leave for the day.

"Father Clemmons," William said into the receiver, sounding surprised. "Yes. I believe I know which one he was – Teddy Nelson… Tonight… at evening mass?"

Eloise had put on her jacket, but now hesitated, fiddling with her hat.

Father Clemmons told William that the reporter had questioned him, about completely inappropriate matters, and that he had also questioned many of the parishioners. And then he added that Mr. Nelson had sought out Mrs. Kitchen specifically.

"Mrs. Kitchen!" William's distress, registering in volume, shot a chill up Eloise's spine.

The priest elaborated, "My goodness, William, she was spitting mad, spent her entire time in the confessional telling me of all the awful, sinful, things she had wanted to do to the man…"

Having regained his self-control, William stood with the phone to his ear, his lips pinched tight trying to accept the horribleness of what he was learning. "I'll have to give her a call," he said calmly.

Father Clemmons' voice was reassuring as he ended the call, saying, "I thought you should know."

"Thank you, Father. Yes. Yes. I appreciate your taking the time, and… everything else. Goodnight… I will. Thanks again," William said, hanging up the phone.

Eloise approached the front door to leave, but stopped and turned back to face him. His expression was warm as their eyes met. It pulled at her heart strings, and she yielded to her urge to touch him, at least with some kind words. "You know," she started, "I see you want to protect your friends from these terrible confrontations from the press, and… certainly, I understand the need to guard yourself, and even more so the doctor, from embarrassment, but consider looking at all this mess from another perspective. Take heart from your friends' loyalty, feel the comfort of their love for you, it can offer you much. Recognize the support they give you when they are driven so to defend you."

The detective's smile was sincere, genuine, and she knew her words had heartened him. He thanked her for her wisdom, and her care, and he stood at the door, watching, waiting, for her to make it to the sidewalk and then make her turn towards her home. Gratefully, their front gate was free of reporters, at least for now, it seemed they all had been left alone.

) (

With the yummy, warm glow of the whisky in her belly, Julia stepped into their standing bath to take her shower. Her mind bounced about from thought to thought. The alcohol would help her sleep… It was too bad William had already showered… Her mind splurged with a vivid and arousing flash of memory, mixed with a delightful dose of fantasy, her body responding with a delectable, lust-filled, wrenching of her insides as she imagined her lathered up husband pushing her backside into the cold, hard shower tiles on the wall, and having his way with her. Ever so quietly, her throat released a tiny whimper with the unbearable pleasure of it.

Now, Julia Ogden was an extraordinarily lucky woman, for it turns out that her ruggedly handsome husband, after he had looked in on their sleeping toddler and secured the house for the night, had been having exactly the same experience as he returned to their bedroom and heard the shower running.

There were sounds – the metal rings jangling along the metal shower pole as the shower curtain slid opened… their breathing changing, building, becoming blustery, and hot, and strong… the teeming pattering of the cascading stream of water – but no words were spoken. They were deluged with caresses of sudsy-smooth, slippery, skin, and luscious tastes of their lover's lips, so steamy, and humid. Julia wanting to rush, William forcing her to slow down, teasing her to the very edge, the highest precipice, of her agonous longings to have his dizzying, magnificent, hardness, closer to her. Her desperation for him had been driven to such enormous peaks that tears had formed in her eyes by the time William yielded to his own teetering desires, and he took her. Primal urges, fierce needs, so humungous the explosion. William refused to allow her an inch, pinned her with all his might to the wall, sunk his teeth wildly into the tender flesh of her neck, with such a fury, with such fire, he forced her to succumb to him, that she was certain she would die from the sheer ecstasy of it.

)

Later that night, William had a nightmare, likely triggered by a seemingly boundless barrage of unnerving thoughts that played in his mind while, largely, failing to fall asleep, disturbing thoughts of all the dangers they were facing. He had laid there in the darkness, Julia long since sleeping next to him, and train after train had rolled by, sometimes him getting on for a while, other times him just letting the steaming, chugging, train of thought go by. He and Julia had both broken the law in the past, her by having an abortion, him by setting Constance Gardner free. Those big ones lingered off in the distance, their threat very real, but he knew that, for now, they were hidden in the dark. Right now, the light shined on their use of prophylactics – illegal, but not as devastating, and he had managed to get off of that train of thought. But it rumbled up in again, and images of people, particular people, some of them friends, others merely acquaintances, drifted in, and solidified, and faded out. There were people who knew their secrets, there could be such grave consequences… He saw them flash and flicker in the darkness – the maid at the Windsor House Hotel holding up two used condoms that she had pulled out of their bedroom wastebasket… Dr. Tash walking alongside of him in the woods, telling that, "Julia had been such a pistol back at Bishop College…" Chief Inspector Giles glaring with awareness as he wisely said it, "Loyalty is the only moral instinct that can exist on the same plane as truth itself. They may clash, but one can never overcome the other without cost…"

He sat at one end of a chessboard. Inspector Giles appeared to be his opponent. They were in prison! Had he been caught! Where was Julia?!

Suddenly, he was down on the board, dressed as the Mad Hatter, wearing that ridiculous polka-dot, huge, bowtie. He was ON a life-sized chessboard. Gigantic, one of the pieces… he was certain it was his opponent, but his opponent was no longer Giles, instead he now faced a shadowy grim-reaper figure whom he could not wholly make out, only that the fiend was smoky, blackened, sinister, powerful and elusive. Stealing his breath, making him jump, abruptly, the monstrous chess piece, the rook, was lifted high above him in the air as it took its move, landed with a BOOM that shook the whole world. He couldn't think, his heart raced, he was full of terror… There were treacherous sounds of voices, questions, badgering, ridiculing, attacking, threatening him, threatening Julia – HIS QUEEN. He saw her there, so, so beautiful, big, like all the other chess pieces, but unsuspecting…

Giles' voice whispered in his ear, "If you protect your Queen, you'll die."

Boldly, he shouted his reply, "Worse, to live without her!" and he dove full-hearted into battle to fight for her, to keep the monstrous foes away from her, slaying, and striking, and punching, spinning, and kicking, he urgently blocked any motion that appeared in front of them. But he saw it, denied it was there, but still he saw it, hopelessness lurked at the edges of the playing field. There were too many of them, too many of them, and they came from all sides. He couldn't protect her from all sides! With each move, he was losing more ground, and he knew he couldn't possibly keep it up, and he knew in his heart, that eventually, he would fail.

Without so much as a blip, he was in their foyer… But he was retreating, rushing away… from something, from someone. Julia caught up to him from behind, grabbed his arm, stopped him. "William," she demanded, "You need to relax, take a deep breath, stop rushing wildly from one thing to another."

He turned on her, his teeth gritted in anger. "You are so bossy!" he sniped. Immediately it flooded, pain, and fear of losing her, terror with the awareness, the risk, of him being the one to hurt her, the urgency trumpeted through him with an electrical jolt. He could never say it fast enough, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Her eyes, blue, beautiful, caught him, slowed him, slowed everything. So very softly she answered, "I can be… bossy."

And he felt her words like the wind, yet they were surrounded only by silence, by nauseating stillness. There was a hint at shame, shame being overrun by her love of being truthful, truthful with him. She never ceased to amaze him, Julia was astounding, rare, so honest, so strong.

He held vehemently to her. Her eyes, so caring. He felt her love for him seeping in, warming, soothing.

"I'm worried about you," she said, touching him so tenderly, cupping his cheek.

Maybe it was that he felt the unbearable surge of shame for having had lost his control with her, for snapping at her… More likely it was the sheer panic of the situation, but for some reason, tears filled his eyes. And it was so odd, for he could see himself, his tears glistening so beautifully as the slippery liquid caught the light, remarkable the way they melted Julia's heart with love for him, filling the air, filling him, so that it seemed to glow, and to ache, and to float.

He rushed to try to explain, "You don't see, Julia, disaster is going to happen, and I have to stop it, but I don't think I can. Each move they make, I'm losing ground, I'm bound to fail." He stared at her, pleading that she saw the dangers. An enormous teardrop trickled down his cheek, so large, so heavy… He quickly swiped at it, wishing it were not there, that she did not see...

Gentle, her thumb glided, taking the stream of tears away. "Come outside with me, breath some fresh air for a minute," she seemed to wrap herself around him. They stepped onto the porch, fresh, and light, and perfect, their world. "You're not alone, William, that's why it will be alright. Together we will stop it. You, and me… and William, there are so many others who love us, who will help us to, so much more than you know…"

Without warning, another prisoner appeared on the chessboard before him. It was Dr. Tash! He'd been sentenced to death for performing abortions, landing with an earthquaking BOOM from above… William grabbed his queen's hand, jerked her to follow him. But she struggled against him. It was Julia's voice that called it out from behind him, "No William, I want this fight…"

"You want it?" he felt himself asking incredulously as he awoke. So quickly, he knew where he was. His body told him he was unsettled, terrified, confused, battered… "Just a dream," he promised himself, "Julia's right there. The baby's fine. It wasn't real. It will be alright…"

William exhaled, accepting his fate. Yes, once again, he was having trouble sleeping, he was stuck counting sheep. There was no sense in fighting it, so he got up. His nakedness reminded him of their lovemaking in the shower, and so lusciously, he felt better. He put on his pajama bottoms and headed downstairs. Hot chocolate again, it seemed.

)

He heard her behind him as he stirred the pot of melting chocolate and milk on the stove, and he noted his own reaction, one of pure joy. She would share 'the middle of the night, trouble sleeping custom' with him. He waited for her to wrap her arms around him from behind, and he tilted his head to give her access to his neck. She was grateful for it, and trickled it with kisses, and paused to take in the scent of him, before either of them would speak.

It had hit him like a thunderbolt when he first noticed it, her arms sliding over the naked skin of his sides, up his chest, her body pressed against his bare back, so familiar the feeling of the fabric of his own pajama top. There was something so sexy about knowing she was in it, that she had chosen to put his pajama top on, rather than her nightgown or her robe. His top was too big for her, of course, and deliciously short! If she moved in the right way, he could catch a glimpse of the two orbs of her scrumptious behind sticking out from underneath it. William did not even pretend he wasn't worked-up by the sight, expressing aloud the effect it had on him with a vigorous shaking of his head and a grumbly moaning of "Mmm-mmm-mm."

Although both cups of steaming hot chocolate managed to make it to the table, neither of their drinkers made it to their chairs. He would have to do something about his lust before they sat and talked. Julia's insides, too, were aroused beyond tolerable. They made love against the kitchen wall. Delicious, absolutely delicious.

Afterwards, important things were resolved that night, at the kitchen table, each of them holding a warm ceramic cup of hot chocolate as they talked it through. Times were hard for them right now, of that there was no doubt, but they lived their lives in a way that opened them up to such risks, and they had boldly chosen to stick to their principles in doing so. They had no regrets. They shared how grateful they were for their friends, and they also trusted that those same friends could handle themselves well.

As for adopting, full-speed-ahead was the plan. They had one more appointment, at Baker House here in Toronto, tomorrow afternoon, and after that, they would change tactics and try applying to Catholic orphanages. The strikes being held against them for Julia's, and William argued, his too, modern ways were expected to present problems with these more religiously-centered organizations as well, but they were already suffering from such opinions stopping their efforts at adopting a child as it was, so they agreed, they had nothing to lose in trying Catholic opinions. Perhaps William's devoutness, and some good words from Father Clemmons and other Catholic parishioners, would help counterbalance their perceived insufficiencies.

William noted that he had plans to meet their handyman, Jake Castern, at the Body Farm tomorrow morning. They would be installing an alarm system. William fought the urge to frown as he said, "Perhaps that will stop any more bodies from being dumped there… Or at least enable us to catch any culprits right away. Maybe that will help satisfy the press." But, he already knew that it would not.

He spotted it when he looked at her to give her his 'admitting it' mouth wrinkle, his mark from biting her so roughly earlier when they had made love in the shower. The lovebite had raspberried into a swollen, purplish, bruise on her flesh. She noticed his eyes react, reached up to touch the spot. For a moment, she wondered if he would ever be able to see such evidence of his wilder, sexual, side without feeling regret.

She reached over to him, from where she sat, around the corner from him at their kitchen table, and tucked her fingers under his chin to lift his face to meet hers. He swallowed. She smiled, gave him a little giggle. Reassuringly she vowed, "It was lovely William."

He clamped his lips together and nodded. If he really let himself remember it, it was obvious that she had quite liked it.

Wham, it hit! William tilted his head to the side, and flew along his fast mind's track.

Julia knew that look. Truth be told, she found it invigorating when this happened – something had stirred an important connection in his amazing mind. "Probably a clue in the case," she explained the change to herself. She would have to wait for him to come back to tell her what he had discovered.

It had been her bruise, sparking a memory of a similar one in the past. He had figured out, back then, that if he photographed it with only ultraviolet light, they would be able to detect old bruising. They had even done an experiment at the time, taking pictures of his lovebite on her neck every day for a month.

"Julia," his eyes sparkled so with his excitement, "we can see the automobile's tire track on the victim's thigh!" he exclaimed.

Her eyebrows raised at him. "That would be good!" she encouraged. "But how?" she insisted.

"We can photograph the area around the break in the femur with a UV filter!" he beamed, "Remember?" he urged, "We did it with your bruise… after I discovered I could see an old bruise on my knuckles when I took a UV photo of myself holding a gun, hoping to be able to see the luminescence of blood on the weapon!"

Oh, his excitement was so contagious, Julia felt the strain of her smile in her cheeks.

"Yes! Of course I remember," she gleamed.

The discovery would count as a victory. There was much to do now, when they woke tomorrow. Taking a useful photograph using this technique was rather complicated. He would need her help, and it would take a good amount of time. It would have to be after he got back from putting in the alarm system at the Body Farm… and before they left to make their appointment at Baker House. With that, the couple went back upstairs, and soon all the Murdoch's were asleep.

The next morning, Eloise would find TWO cups resting in the sink. She wouldn't know exactly what they had worked out, not being privy to their agreeing that there was nothing more noble than fighting for what you believe in, and their acknowledgement that such battles usually required the utmost courage, and their gratitude that courage was something that they each had in ample amounts. Yes, there would be more nights when they would still be counting sheep. But Eloise, for one, was reassured to know that they would be counting them… together.

)) ((