-Chapter Two-

"….Face it, Murdoch. Neither you nor I have any say in the matter." Inspector Brackenreid's voice came across the telephone lines slightly scratchy-distorted; nothing, however, interfered with his sarcastic tone oozing through. "It isn't every day that I get a personal telephone call from our Prime Minister, Mister-Wilfrid-Bloody-Laurier, asking ever so politely, if I would mind lending my detective to him for a few hours. Honestly, Murdoch! How do you do it? Always getting yourself in a cock-up like this?"

"But, sir!" William defended himself. "You are the one who told me to come here in the first place…" He was standing in the library, with Julia seated beside him and the pocket-doors closed for privacy's sake. This call was not going the way he had hoped. Any other time he would have sent his curiosity to the hundreds of volumes lining the room's handsome shelves; instead he stared at the telephone's earpiece as if by doing so he could change the words that were coming over the wires.

Brackenreid interrupted what was drifting towards a whine from his detective. "They will be sending you their new replacement for Terrance Meyers, coming on a special train that should arrive in Hamilton in a few hours. I cannot believe I am saying this, but I almost wish it were Mr. Meyers, at least he's the devil we know…"

William interjected again. "Sir! To conduct a case in only three or four hours, with no constables, no equipment…"

"You have Dr. Ogden, do you not?" Brackenreid continued in a milder tone. "Look, Murdoch. The whole thing is an embarrassment all the way around. Your job is to catch the killer, but also to help them all save face. No one wants to create a panic, offend any of the gentry's sensibilities or derail anyone's political career. Just secure what evidence you can, whittle down the possible suspects and do it all without ruffling any unnecessary feathers."

"Inspector, while that may sound straight forward enough, I don't like how the Hamilton Constabulary is being side-lined and put under suspicion; at the same time I can't help but think if it goes well no one will know anything about it and if it goes badly then the Toronto Constabulary will be blamed for the mess."

"Ah, Detective, you are learning the subtleties of politics. Well done." Brackenreid's sarcasm crept back in. "But, me ol' mucker, it will be you personally that will get blamed as well."

William heard a cough on the other end of the line, and it sounded as if his superior just took a long swig of scotch. William had no trouble visualizing Brackenreid at his desk, glass in hand and glare in place. He knew his inspector was unhappy about the circumstances, but rather than giving sympathy, or support or even help, William was feeling like he was being set adrift. "I am aware of that, sir. Dr. Ogden and I will do our best."

"Find a new gear, Murdoch. You have a few hours to do what, I know, usually takes you days on end. You are the current, temporary, Special Investigator of the Dominion Police, and at the moment you outrank me, the Chief Constable and probably everyone else at that tea-party down in Hamilton! Bloody hell—right at this moment you are the new Terrance Meyers! Use it, but don't let it go to your head. Just get on with it and make sure no one else gets killed!" Brackenreid ended the call on that high note.

William stared at the telephone for several seconds after the line went dead, trying to think what he should have said to extricate himself from this dilemma.

"I heard your end of the conversation, William. What advice did the Inspector have for you?" Julia asked. She was surprised at the level of William's consternation. After Mr. Sherwood made his extraordinary announcement, William had quietly excused himself, taken her by the elbow and retreated stiffly to the library to use the telephone. Watching the unguarded expressions on his face during the telephone call was quite a revelation, and it was only worry that kept her from being amused.

"He reminded me of how often, just as I have honed in on my prime suspect, he, or she, has wound up dead!" William rubbed his forehead and placed the earpiece on the handset. He smiled tightly at Julia then sighed. "But I digress. It seems that I am in charge of this investigation until I am relieved by a new Special Investigator who is coming to Hamilton via commissioned train. Calling in the local police is out of the question in case that would tip off other would-be conspirators, while The-Powers-That-Be decide if there are threats to the nation that are playing out in this particular house in Hamilton on this particular day; there are newspaper reporters outside in the garden who must, at all costs, be kept in the dark; the Prime Minister is angry with the security detail, whose members must be now counted amongst the suspects; and the list of dignitaries and important personages I am not to upset is impressive for its length. I am expected to produce concrete results in under four hours, with incomplete information and no access to my usual tools of my trade, so to speak. I have too many motives and suspects…" He moved restlessly about.

"… And, oh, if I err in some way it will be my head. Did I leave anything out?" William hadn't meant to sound so plaintive and he hated himself for it. In this instance perhaps Inspector Brackenreid has rubbed off on me, he understood ruefully.

Part of Julia appreciated his candor; she knew her husband would never speak his mind this way to anyone but her. She decided going to the heart of the matter was best, so she rose and stood very near him, allowing them to see eye-to-eye. "Detective. A man has been murdered. You have been given the job of investigating his death. All those other variables are merely distractions. We need evidence, interviews and a timeline." She had not watched this man work for a decade without picking up a thing or two. "Even better, there is a chalk board in the billiard room on the third floor. You can work there in relative privacy." Julia gave him the most brilliant smile she could produce.

William was jolted out of his momentary self-pity by feeling exceptionally grateful for Julia's take on the situation.

I already have means: the man was pushed over the railing from the third floor. What I need is opportunity, which I hope to get from narrowing the time of death. For motive, I need to know more about the victim.

"You are quite right, doctor. Forgive my lapse of attention." He kissed her cheek, thinking how happy he was that she was there with him. "Inspector Brackenreid also advised me to make use of your talents. How often have I said that together we can do almost anything?" The enervated feeling dissipated. Bless Julia for reminding me it is Justice I serve, not the whims of political masters. "I believe we will divide and conquer. Do you think you could look at the body for anything that could confirm a time of death as well as collect trace evidence for basic analysis?"

# # #

Working rapidly was an understatement. While Julia and the body made their clandestine way to the basement, William had the security staff (8 men plus Officer Broadstreet) bring him the guest list (230 names), a list of servants (10 between the kitchen staff and servers, including Mr. August), and a location on all the carriage drivers, etcetera, who were on the premises (7 playing cards in the carriage house.) The security detail was not happy about the arrangement until Mr. Sherwood stepped in and made them understand it was not a request. William took the risk that Mr. Sherwood was above suspicion, so he was allowed to question his own men who confirmed no one "uninvited" came onto the property and no one has left either. Considering William's own attempt to enter the grounds and house, he believed them. Mr. Sherwood also confirmed that all guards were at all times within sightlines of each other, so it was unlikely anyone snuck in. With Mr. August's keys, four men thoroughly search the house then reestablish themselves on the perimeter. No perpetrators were hiding anywhere and there was no obvious evidence of the murder having actually taken place in another location. William did not expect to find anything but it needed to be done to be certain.

It had been an astonishingly short time since he was first admitted to the house as a petitioner, to being placed in charge of an investigation by the Prime Minister himself. William was acutely aware of the time ticking off against him, punctuated by the hall clock chiming every quarter hour. By eliminating anyone who arrived after Julia entered the main floor hall to discover Mr. August and Mr. Burke, William was pleased to see twenty nine names now crossed off the guest list and an additional seventeen to count the carriage drivers who all alibied each other and all the security detail. He remained daunted by the task ahead. At the rate I am going, it will be forty-eight hours from now, not four, until I get through the next 210 names.

He was just setting up his notebook when Mr. Endeavour Taggert arrived and sat down. William already knew a great deal about Taggert, his family and business, because he prepared himself prior to the intended interview today. Sitting across from the Mr. Taggert, William saw the remnants of what had been a tall, formidable man, ruthless in business and given to the twin passions of politics and money.

His recently deceased son, Merit Taggert, had grown the family tobacco business into a mini-empire, emulating his father's business tactics for exploiting an opportunity by buying tobacco from the South's secessionist's during the American War Between the States, turning it into consumer products and then reintroducing the addictive smoke to the North from "neutral" Canada. Merit Taggert even took a turn as Alderman, after his father served as Mayor. Having made his fortune and his mark on society, he built this pile of a house for his family, and then promptly died almost as soon as the last shingle was attached. He had been only sixty-two.

William sighed, hoping he was not being superstitious about his own plans for a home with Julia. So often that was the story: a man finally settles into his life, has enough capital and the stability to put down firm roots, builds his dream home and then never gets to enjoy it. Instead he focused on Endeavour Taggert.

He opened his notebook and began. "Mr. Taggert, what can you tell me about the victim, Caliber Burke, the young man who was your guest? I believe he was known as 'Caleb'?"

"Caliber came to Hamilton about seven weeks ago, a little while after his mother died. Edmund Burke passed on early last fall. Mr. Burke senior was in business with my son, but we bought him out in 1874, leaving him with a ten percent 'silent' share, and the arrangement was that his company sold us tobacco and he then distributed some of the product back in the States. While our business prospered, Mr. Burke senior fell on hard times. Caliber inherited the business and needed to learn how to run it better, so I invited him here to learn it all first hand." Taggert was succinct and appeared to have composed himself after the shock of seeing his guest's body splayed in the hall. It was a miracle the man had not had a heart attack on the spot.

William wondered if some misfortune followed Caleb Burke to Hamilton from Virginia. "I see. Tell me, Mr. Taggert. If your family business has prospered and Mr. Burke had a ten percent share, do you know how it is he fell on such hard times? Was young Mr. Burke dealing with his father's debts or perhaps some of his own?"

Taggert did not hesitate. "The ten percent 'silent' share was only worth something should the entire business be sold, much like some stock certificates are only worth something if there is a new buyer for the business, and only as a way to cash out. Edmund Burke made his money as a middle man for tobacco sales- raw material to Canada and finished product to the States. Caliber was forthright with me that there were business debts in Virginia, largely because the business did not keep up with changing times. Caliber seemed to have much better business acumen than Mr. Burke, senior, and I was confident he was going to be able to turn the business around."

At that, William observed Mr. Taggert stiffened his shoulders as if to stave off showing emotion about the loss of a young man he clearly had taken a shine to. Still, there were questions that needed to be asked. "Mr. Taggert, what more can you tell me? Did Mr. Burke have any enemies that you are aware of, perhaps in Virginia? Or did he have any problems with anyone here in Hamilton? Issues with business rivals? Romantic interests? Gambling perhaps?"

The detective watched Taggert's reactions to each of these questions as they were presented. The old man had probably been a good poker player, treating William to the full display of legendary 'Taggert' negotiating style: nothing caused even a flicker across the man's age-lined face. But this time William noticed he did hesitate before answering.

"Detective Murdoch, my interactions with Caliber were defined by a ten-hour work day and dinner conversation. I cannot imagine anyone who would resort to killing him. He conducted himself in my presence as intelligent and well-mannered. I imagine that as a young man of certain means, he made social acquaintances about which I would have scant knowledge, but they could hardly have been of any depth or duration. Whom could he have possibly offended in a mere seven weeks when his time and attention were devoted to business matters?"

Whom, indeed? groaned William. If Mr. Taggert were not exaggerating about the length of his working hours, perhaps he was not as decrepit as he first appeared to be. And I noticed he did not actually answer the question. "Did he get on well here with the family?"

Taggert answered quickly. "My granddaughter's fiancé, Mr. Trevor Howard, and Caliber did not see eye to eye on business matters. I think Mr. Howard felt a little put out about the time I was spending with young Mr. Burke. I have been grooming Mr. Howard to take over part of the business, detective. I have lost my son and two son's -in -law and must consider the future of the business which supports my family, as well a hundred of our employees here in Hamilton. As for my granddaughters… Prudence, my eldest, has been a sort of caretaker for our newly-built factory since her husband passed on. She has had contact with Caliber about business matters, but I am not aware of any problems. Mercy, also widowed, seems fond enough of him. Charity, the next youngest, and Caliber spent considerable time socializing in the billiard room; both their mothers were from Virginia so I suppose they kindled a common bond. Joy, my youngest granddaughter, is the one engaged to Mr. Howard and primarily devoted to him. I suppose she and Caliber crossed paths socially."

"Mr. Taggert, where were you this afternoon?" William considered if old Mr. Taggert was as enthusiastic about 'Caleb' Burke as he claimed. I learned long ago that an otherwise physically weak individual can act with surprising strength if the circumstances warrant.

The old man shifted and leaned forward. "I am, or at least I was hosting an event with more than 200 people in attendance. I greeted each one, continuously from twelve noon until August fetched me into the house. And before you ask, Detective, I must insist that you not involve my daughters in any of this…sordid business. It is unsuitable for a woman of any good breeding to associate herself with such gruesome events."

William saw that Mr. Taggert's distaste for exposing a female to "gruesome events" encompassed his disapproval of the whole concept of 'Dr. Julia Ogden.' It was a good thing he did not know that she was performing a post mortem examination on Caleb Burke right under his feet.

# # #

I am usually neater than this, Julia judged herself, looking at the blood smears on the front of her apron, a small spot on her sleeve and another on her skirt that missed the apron, in the glow of electric lights illuminating the basement. Merit Taggert spared no expense constructing this house, she observed, looking at the neat rows of light bulbs and making a mental note to discuss it with William; she was sure it would not be difficult to persuade him to add more electrical to their own home. She was glad she exchanged her borrowed frock for one of her own more serviceable outfits and appropriated said apron from the cook. In fact, she selected several items from the kitchen that were now arrayed in front of her, none of which would never be welcome back in the cook's domain, however useful or sentimental the item was.

Julia could hear pans clanging and the scramble of servers in the kitchen above with a great deal of sympathy: trying to do too much with inadequate time and assistance. In twenty minutes, with a guard standing at the door to prevent her being disturbed, Julia had cut off Caleb Burke's beautiful suit of clothes and looked at the victim's body for signs of other foul play such as a head wound, bruises, cuts, ligature marks, injection sites, broken bones, stab wounds or gun shots, etcetera. None were evident. His fingernails were clean; hands unremarkable except for pollen, and blue-green and red dust. She collected trace evidence of dubious value from his clothing (more blue dust, red dust, & pollen), and examined his stomach.

William had produced yet another treasure from his jacket pockets, one of Mr. Gillette's new safety-razor blades, which made an efficient scalpel-substitute for the more delicate slicing her investigation required. She pieced together the badly damaged stomach to discover its contents included some kind of undigested biscuits and lemonade. She sniffed. Lavender short-bread, perchance? A bit of alcohol as well. It was hard to tell considering the other smells, but a small sample might confirm the presence of the plant at least. Lacking saw, bone shears or her other tools, she had to make do with that: no "Y" incision, no heart or lung samples, no brain sample, and no lab work. She made a small card of fingermarks using the tiny ink-pad William also produced from his jacket. She sighed. This was more like an on-scene rapid assessment than any kind of autopsy, however I do have more data—and more questions.

Looking down at her hands and apron as she tried to wash the blood out of her fingernails, Julia grimaced, wishing she had asked about the chemical the DP officers used to remove blood. Officer Broadstreet had even suggested a vase full of lilies from the garden be brought in to mask the stench. My, she thought, they do think of everything, don't they? She gave a last scrub, dried her hands then checked her sleeves, sighing at the additional blood spots she found.

William is upstairs in a nice clean library, enjoying a nice breeze while I am in a stuffy basement ruining yet another outfit! She covered the body with canvas, set the clothing aside after looking carefully at the garments and removing what was in the various pockets, and picked up several folded packets containing the trace evidence to share with William. The last item she pulled out of the dishpan where it was soaking to clean and disinfect, dried it with a clean end of her apron and put it in her pocket with the notes of her meager findings, satisfied with her work. I think a dress from Paris might need to be my reward!

She was just pulling the apron over her head when she heard a commotion at the top of the stairs.

# # #

William wished he was at the station house in his own, familiar, interview room. Having gone through the preliminaries while running out more clock, he was unsure how to interrogate Mr. Sherwood to get as much information as possible in the shortest time, from a man who operated at the highest echelons of Canada's government, in its most closely guarded arena. At Station House No. 4 it is always quite established who was running the interview and who was the interviewee. I have so such advantage here.

"You said 'It's not him.' Mr. Sherwood, whom did you think the victim might have been?" William needed Sherwood's help, had been ordered to help in fact, but the man was also obstructing the investigation by not being more forthcoming. He did not worry about Sherwood's presence being missed so he waited for a straight answer while his patience wore thin and more time elapsed. "Have one of the guests been receiving threats?"

Sherwood was obviously calculating how much to disclose. "Detective, several of the guests have been threatened in one way or another. We have Adam Zimmerman, an American immigrant who aspires to the House of Commons; John Strathearn Hendrie, our ex-Mayor and current member of Provincial Parliament; John Morison Gibson, also a member of the Legislature who is trying to singlehandedly bring electricity to Hamilton; the current Mayor, Wellington Jeffers Morden; even an adherent to Henri Bourassa and his anti-British rhetoric. Many of the guests have threatened each other in the past or are currently vying with each other for a political or economic advantage. Then there is a more general threat to the stability of our government…"

William wondered what part of the Commissioner's statement hit a nerve, since he saw Sherwood twitch in his chair, a sure sign the man was uncomfortable. For the head of a spy agency, he was not very closed in; he could see Mr. Taggert, or Officer Broadstreet beating him at cards. William gestured to keep Sherwood talking.

"Detective Murdoch. Not everyone is in favour of the current government… or Prime Minister Laurier. I am sure it does not stretch your imagination to appreciate that. I admit I spend most of my time allaying the fears caused by overheated imaginations of Canadian and British officials." He stopped himself from going any further by naming names. He took a breath and continued. "However, the anarchist attack on the Welland canal in April 1900, and two investigations of explosions in the west at Coal Creek in '02 and this past April in the town of Frank have unnerved everyone. Unrest is everywhere: in Manchuria; between the Catholics and the government of France; the assassination of the King and Queen of Serbia by the Black Hand. Why even the American drought - all pose threats to Canadian security with those grasping Americans making a play for our water. Having resources pulled out of alignment makes things vulnerable for an underfunded service like ours. We need to make sure this is not a feint of some kind to test our lines of defense, or communication, or manpower. We need to be sure that it is not an act designed to create terror: the message being that we can reach among your wealthy and politically connected and do mayhem at will. The effect would be chilling… "

Sherwood's face reddened; whether from anger or embarrassment William was not certain. "Mr. Sherwood. Do you believe someone else at this party is at risk? Do you believe we have not seen the last of the deaths?" Brackenreid had been painfully accurate when he alluded to the idea that a second body tended to show up in the midst of my investigations. Not this time, God willing, William prayed.

"I have taken steps to increase security. We only need to hold out a little while until reinforcements come." Sherwood sounded confident, despite the words he had just spoken moments before.

William was not as satisfied. "Sir, why kill Caliber Burke? Do you have any information specifically about him? An addition, what connection do any of the principles you have named, or not named for that matter, have with Mr. Burke? He has been in Hamilton less than two months. It is hard to imagine he was involved in a plot of some kind. Because of his naiveté, could he have been unknowingly used in a nefarious manner or even stumbled on some piece of compromising information and been silenced?" That kind of information could lead to something he can use to connect this death with a specific threat or individual in attendance outside. It might even exclude any connection to a national security issue all together and point back to William's interview with Mr. Taggert as the reason for his death, the connection which Julia suggested. William actually hoped that his death was relevant somehow to a specific threat as Mr. Sherwood and Ottawa feared.

At least that would mean there was a reason, no matter how horrid, for such a cruel death. It was better than to think he was a random victim, chosen only for convenience's sake to disrupt the party outside or make a political point, he believed. And better than to think he was killed because of my visit with Mr. Taggert. "Mr. Sherwood, we need to have a motive for this death if we are to find a killer."

Sherwood was about to answer when there was a smart rap on the door. William looked up to see his wife come in, accompanied by a tall, slim woman about Julia's age who wore a dress of layered blue silk. It flowed like a waterfall from the woman's shoulders, gently curving along her body, to end in a band of embroidered dragonflies just above her shoes. The fabric shifted as she moved, so that overlapping sections in various shades of blue shimmered like stained glass, especially as the light hit the fabric from behind. She had blue gems in her ears and at her throat, accenting her eyes and creamy white skin. In combination with dark amber hair clasped in a silver-filigree dragonfly, the effect was arresting.

Julia smiled in apology and both men rose politely, but were noticeably uncomfortable with the interruption.

Mr. Sherwood spoke first. "Mrs. Carter…Dr. Ogden, I do not think…"

"Gentlemen. No one else may have noticed, but as I am hostess for the premiere social event in Hamilton of this entire year, it is my job to keep track of my guests and see that their needs are met…so we can pry as much money as possible put of their pockets." Prudence Carter smiled to take a little of the bite out of her assessment; the smile included a definite glint in her sapphire eyes. "When my butler goes missing, then my houseguest, then my father takes a long siesta in the middle of the gathering, and finally the Commissioner of the Dominion Police absents himself while Cook says she is no longer allowed in the basement pantry, I am going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what!"

William was about to add something when Julia marched forward. "This is Mrs. Carter. She was rather… persuasive after she found me…er, at her cellar stairs, shall we say?" Julia reached William to make introductions. "Prudence Carter, this is my husband, Detective William Murdoch, and I believe you know Mr. Sherwood?" Julia was hoping she did not have to explain the frantic wrangling between Dennie, herself and the guard, over the staircase to the basement and how near a miss it was that the cook did not get an eye full of what she oughtn't.

"I understand there has been an unfortunate event in this house. Julia would not give me any details and I would not let it go. Therefore I am here and I insist you tell me what is going on!" Prudence Carter announced in a low, energetic voice, searching each man's face for answers.

Now I know more about what she and Julia have in common, including that stubborn streak, William realized. He saw their efforts at keeping a secret unraveling and fidgeted with his jacket briefly while trying to catch Julia's eye. I should have known better, he rebuked himself. Keeping people out of the house and in the dark was going to be nearly impossible. No wonder Ottawa wanted the guest list full of suspects and/or witnesses pared down so the rest could go on their way in blissful ignorance as soon as possible. He suppressed a sigh. Inspector Brackenreid warned me to be careful. I might be the titular new temporary Special Investigator, but this man has true power and Julia and I must watch our backs. William and Sherwood looked at each other for a moment in a silent power struggle, before William deferred to the other man with a shrug and a small bow.

Sherwood began: "Mrs. Carter. I am sorry to inform you one of your guests has…passed away suddenly. Dr. Ogden was gracious enough to help us quietly place the remains where they will not disturb your party and your guests. We informed your father, of course as head of the household. He was quite insistent that none of his granddaughters be bothered…."

"Bollocks! My grandfather thinks of his female descendants as weak in both stomach and mind. I am quite capable of facing difficulties, Mr. Sherman." She turned to William. "My guess is that Julia did quite a bit more than chaperone a corpse, since Cook is going on about missing knives…" she said, directing her icy gaze to Julia next. Mrs. Carter then glared at all three of them as if they were school children caught out in some minor infraction.

Julia tried not to giggle. Prudence's language drew raised eyebrows from William and the suggestion of a smile from Sherwood.

Julia found an opening and spoke up. "Considering the difficulty we are going to have and our time constraints, perhaps it is wise to enlist more assistance?" Julia found her friend Prudence to be a singularly able individual who had dealings with Caleb Burke as well as a fine-grained understanding of local politics, business and Hamilton Society. In other words, perfectly suited to offer help.

William, on the other hand, considered Mr. Sherwood might just lock their hostess up, or was at minimal considering it. Instead, Sherwood was silent for several moments then sighed and offered Mrs. Carter a seat in her own library. "I will be blunt then. Someone has been killed. It is very important you go back and hostess your event as if nothing at all has occurred. Your guests, your servants, the reporters…no one must become aware of the death. It is a matter of national...interest that they do not. We are concerned that the perpetrator may still be on the grounds, as well as believing there may be risks to other guests. Please be assured we have taken additional steps for the safety of all. Detective Murdoch and I were just talking about how best to handle things."

"Mr. Sherwood, Detective. You still have not told me who died." Mrs. Carter reminded him.

"It is Mr. Caliber Burke." William said; he was not going to offer any other details. He saw her grab the sides of her dress in her hands and crush the silk.

"Caleb? Oh, my God! Do you know who did this to him?" her voice quavered slightly, but she did not blanch.

Sherwood answered. "We are trying to ascertain that, Mrs. Carter. We found him on the ground floor…on the stairs."

"Oh…I noticed the broken light. Another death…" Julia crossed over to stand by her chair and offer support. Dennie and her family certainly have suffered so many losses. Preventing some of them was the whole point of this gathering outside; how unfair an additional death should punctuate the day! Julia felt angry about that, reaching to squeeze Dennie's hand in solidarity.

There is no time for gentleness. As intrusive as it was William took the opportunity to question her. "We have no known motive. Perhaps he had an argument recently, or some invited guest took a disliking to him…?"

Mrs. Carter took a deep breath before answering in that same low voice, this time with some of the brightness rubbed off. "Almost none of the people here today are fond of each other; in fact most loathe each other. But if not liking someone was cause for murder, Detective, then there would be a bloodbath in my garden right now…" she quipped.

William had a new suggestion and frowned. "Mrs. Carter. This fund raising party…it was well-advertised, I imagine? There are reporters in attendance are there not? How were the guests chosen? Did you prepare a guest list as if it was a private party, or did individuals contact you to sign up, as it were and pay a donation for admission?" If the guests were invited and then whomever prepared the guest list would have had a convenient roster of potential targets a person with an agenda could have exploited. I know large events such as this are planned months in advance, giving an assassin, or anarchists, for instance, plenty of time to set up…Even the choice of guests could have been intentional to get a specific person or set of persons in a vulnerable or dangerous position. William's imagination spun with possibilities. If it was open to the public, then anyone with an agenda could have just paid for a ticket and lain in wait.

"Both. My grandfather had already chosen the speaker, Mrs. Adelaide Hoodless, one of the founders of the Victoria Order of Nurses, among other accomplishments. Then we secured some initial, high profile donors who agreed to help sponsor the fundraiser. Once it became known they were going to be in attendance, there was a clamor for tickets which were snapped up in a single afternoon." She paused with a modicum of sarcasm in the curl of her lips. "Everyone wants to be close to the rich or famous, Detective Murdoch. It makes them believe they actually have a social relationship with their perceived betters, or are going to share in the reflected glory. How ridiculous to conflate friendliness with familiarity! And how sad…" She stopped and pursed her mouth as if the very thought was sour, then continued. "After choosing the day and getting the word out, I had only two weeks from public announcement until event," she said. William noticed she did not offer a modest feminine blush, nor did she appear to be boasting. "I have done all the organization and my sisters and I have been working around the clock to pull this off."

William was impressed; if Prudence Carter's organization skills were this sharp for a party then he imagined she could have been a powerhouse in business, if not for the very real prejudices against her gender.

Sherwood was interested in that compressed timeline as well. "Mrs. Carter, even if the public could invite themselves for the price of a ticket, may I assume you know, or know of everyone who was invited? It would seem this party was designed to get wealthy individuals to 'pry as much money out of the pockets as possible' as I believe you so colourfully put it. I will put it to you plainly: do you have any reason to suspect any of your highly-placed guests would want to harm Mr. Burke, considering their standing in the community?"

Julia watched Prudence's lips twist closed and her eyes narrow. Oh, oh…Dennie is about to launch…she held her breath as her friend cocked her head and gave a sly grin.

"Surely you don't expect people with money or power to also, de facto, be civilized, do you?" She twitched her blue skirts. "That has not been my experience. If you are looking for motives…"

"Ladies, Detective Murdoch." Mr. Sherwood drew himself up. "May I remind you our primary responsibility is to eliminate panic by ensuring as many people as possible avoid having to be interviewed or put under suspicion while preventing any more…tragedy. Motive is secondary-that is being looked at by my operatives in Ottawa. Right now, we are trying to narrow down the time of death. Dr. Ogden, do you have any findings?" Mr. Sherwood asked and then waited for an answer.

Allowing Prudence Carter to become part of the discussion surprised William. I am curious what Sherwood is up to.it is not something I would have done. Perhaps there is a subtlety in the spy business that eludes me. He looked at Julia and nodded when she hesitated, offering his seat for her recitation.

Julia accepted the chair and extracted her notes. She saw William's surprise at allowing Dennie to remain and did a quick edit in her head of her recitation. She was not comfortable describing details about what the rest of them already witnessed firsthand, in front of Dennie. "Yes I do. As far as I can determine, the, er….cause of death is what we expected. I saw no evidence of peri-mortem trauma of any kind. I noted some palor mortis, and livor mortis had already occurred so he'd been...there at least fifteen to twenty minutes. As there was no rigor mortis, so less than four hours. But we already knew that, I believe, since everyone was out of the house by twelve noon, including, I assume, Mr. Burke. So, we have a time-of-death window of noon until I came into the hall at about two-twenty. Algor mortis is compromised because of the, um…condition of the body, so exposed to air…" She cleared her throat, "But I would estimate he was dead no more than two hours at the most, possibly less if you consider the state of the blood spatter." She saw Dennie wince, but maintain eye contact. "Mr. August really cannot remember when he came into the house and found the body; I think he has a little retrograde amnesia, indicating he could have been passed out for quite a while. This still brings in the time-table to approximately noon until, say, two p.m., conservatively."

Sherwood was unhappy. "Unfortunately, that only confirms what we already knew about the timeline."

He said it without criticism, but Mrs. Carter rose to Julia's defense. "Mr. Sherman, you only had an assumption before, now you have facts. I should hope you'd appreciate that!"

Sherwood blinked. "Do you have more to add?" he asked, inviting Mrs. Carter to comment by turning to her and motioning with his hand.

She shook her head, downcast. "I was standing with my grandfather greeting guests. He excused himself about two forty-five and I believed it was to meet you, Detective Murdoch since I was aware of his appointment with you. I only noticed Mr. August was missing about the same time it registered to me that you had not come back with my fan, Julia. I hadn't thought much about it, only assumed you'd merely been waylaid by one of the potential donors in that throng outside and been captured in conversation. And then I looked around, to notice you were missing as well, Mr. Sherwood. When grandfather came back out, we greeted the last of the guests and I chatted with our speaker, Mrs. Adelaide Hoodless. Then I came inside to discover a commotion in the kitchen and man by the basement steps with Julia coming up them." She put her hand in her lap again and nervously plucked at the decoration on her skirts before commanding herself to stop.

"But I might have something to add," Julia offered. "Mr. Burke was not intoxicated, and had consumed only some shortbread biscuits and lemonade," she glanced side-long at Dennie, "spiked with Pimm's I'd wager, or some similar alcohol. Hardly enough to do more than flavor the drink. The food was undigested so that gives about a two hour window at most from when he consumed it to when he died; less really because there was no evidence of stomach acid working on the material. If we could just figure out when he ate the biscuits that may give us a better time frame."

William saw Mrs. Carter's shoulders straighten and her head come up, then she stood, her ready energy seeming to flow back inside her, banishing the malaise. "I think I can help you with that. Lavender shortbread is a specialty of Cook; actually lavender items of all kinds are a trademark of mine when entertaining, since I love flowers." She was irritated at her own off-topic diversion. "What I mean is, the afternoon's refreshments were put out on a rather strict timetable. I can tell you precisely when the biscuits were started and ended being served!"