-Chapter Four-

"Detective," inquired the commissioner, "is she always like this?"

Arthur Percy Sherwood knew that was rhetorical almost as it came out of his mouth…It was obvious in the mix of pride and terror on Murdoch's face. Sherwood could not help but contrast the straightforward attitude in front of him with the convoluted machinations of his masters. Because, in reality, he served many masters, most of whom were at odds with each other…and completely ignorant of the existence of each other as well. So far, these two persons in front of him were behaving exactly as the reports he had on them would have predicted. Intelligent. Logical. Loyal. Persistent. And he had to admit: Brave.

He was deeply pleased at the opportunity to recruit them for the DP. Each of them has also killed a person, two in the case of Dr. Ogden. The only problem with Detective Murdoch and his wife was their uncompromising insistence on the truth.

Hell, he thought, no one's perfect. At the end of the day, his decision was simple. He smiled pleasantly, bowing slightly first in one direction and then the other. "You first, detective…doctor."

Julia nodded to her husband; her bravado suddenly evaporating. There is no going back.

He looked at her face and returned the nod. This is not the first, and with Julia, not likely to be the last time I ask myself 'What have we done? ' William took a deep breath and began in a low, urgent voice. "I believe you when you say there are credible threats to the functioning of the Canadian government which, for some reason, were focused here in Hamilton. Why else would you and your security be here for what is for all intents and purposes, a party? There was only security on the perimeter of this venue. Why is that?" He did not anticipate an answer from Sherwood, so offered one himself.

"I believe that was because you expected a threat to come from the outside, an embarrassing disruption of some sort, a shooting perhaps, or even a bomb-throwing anarchist, for which you were well-prepared. Unfortunately, when a dead man was found within the house, you felt it was evidence your intelligence was compromised…which is why you hatched this scheme for me to be your special investigator. I believe what your office has actually been doing these last few hours is not so much checking into threats to the national interest but reevaluating your own operatives and informants." William observed Sherwood's face remained unmoved, but saw the pupils of his eyes dilate. "I have been a convenient place-holder; nothing more." William found he was stung by the perceived slight, and surprised at himself for possessing such a wounded ego.

He bore on. "When you first saw the body, you said, quote: 'It's not him.' You were expecting a particular victim, were you not? At least in so far as you received a preliminary description of the man. I believe you have been harbouring the assumption a particular guest is in danger—or you have a list of guests," William curled the left side of his mouth in a wry smile, "about whom you have detailed files, and any of whom could be targets for myriad reasons."

Sherwood did not move, barely breathed. William was satisfied: I see I have the man's full attention. "I believe you were relieved when you saw it was Caliber Burke who had been killed, because he was not on the list of potential targets or individuals under your protection. Was he randomly chosen for death to sow fear? Doubtful, since no one has taken responsibility. You really did hope it was an accident, because that would mean it had nothing to do with threats or security. When we proved it to be deliberate, you became concerned that the death was a case of mistaken identity— you believed the assassin killed the wrong man and was still on the grounds, blending anonymously into the party. That was the reason why you demanded complete secrecy about the victim… It would not surprise me if the man you think was the intended victim has been quietly spirited away by Officer Broadstreet so that the assassin and other co-conspirators could believe they got away with it. That explains why we have not seen Mr. Broadstreet." Sherwood moved his head noncommittally.

"Preventing us from gathering evidence or conducting interviews, not to mention failing to disclose the connections has seriously hampered my investigation," William continued, allowing his frustration to show. "We want to know the identity of the man you believed was the intended target."

Sherwood was prepared. "Armand LaVergne," he answered. "I believe it was Armand LaVergne. He has entered Liberal Party politics and hopes to stand for Montmagny in the upcoming by-election. He was visiting Niagara Falls and when he learned about this event, made sure to attend today so see and be seen…he has a, shall we say, natural instinct for politics. Monsieur LaVergne and Mr. Burke are of a similar build, strikingly so that they could be twin brothers except for a difference in age and that Monsieur LaVergne is over six feet, and has more refined features than Mr. Burke. They have the same chestnut hair, the same high foreheads, mustaches, and are dressed similarly today with the exception of Monsieur LaVergne's waistcoat and cravat which are…I believe the colour is referred to as aubergine." Sherwood saw that both of them expected more. "And yes, he is well and gone from here."

"Why would he be a target?" William was not convinced he had all the relevant information.

Sherwood said: "Monsieur LaVergne is a thorn in many people's backsides, or a loose cannon as it were, in the view of highly placed individuals…"

Julia saw Mr. Sherwood shift slightly and suspected he was preparing to lie. She sent a warning glance to William. "You did not answer the question, Mr. Sherwood," she cautioned.

A long pause followed before Sherwood started to surrender. "The Liberals champion Provincial rights and as you know, our Prime Minister is a master at negotiation and compromise. However Monsieur LaVergne is an adherent of anti-British fire-brand Henri Bourassa and the PM has been worried that, given his way, Monsieur LaVergne would toss all the English in the river in his quest to preserve French Canada. Young, idiot, rabble-rouser if you ask me, but he has a following. You must appreciate…our Prime Minister is at the height of his power and prestige. He will not tolerate anything… he cannot afford to indulge anything that will diminish his credibility and esteem or his ability to negotiate freely. There is too much at stake internationally and within the Dominion."

"Commissioner Sherwood! You are prevaricating. I hoped you would speak plainly. How would a threat to Monsieur LaVergne or his death affect the Prime Minister or national security?" William spoke sharply. He felt Julia jump slightly, unused to witnessing such vehemence when he went after a suspect for the truth. He searched for her hand and grasped it to reassure her.

The commissioner answered in a tight voice. "Because it is rumoured that Monsieur LaVergne is actually the Prime Minister's…er… natural son." Sherwood exhaled sharply.

William and Julia looked at each other, slack-jawed in surprise. "So, a threat to Monsieur LaVergne might shape Mr. Laurier's actions? Or perhaps blackmail pressure? Surely such a vague rumour is a stretch…" asked William.

Sherwood paused again. "No, unfortunately it is not. If you ever saw pictures of a youthful Wilfrid Laurier and Monsieur LaVergne side by side... Worse yet, Monsieur LaVergne's mother is the wife of Mr. Laurier's old law partner." Sherwood opened his arms and shrugged. "Well. You can imagine…"

Julia understood very clearly the psychological reactions, the loss of trust or sense of betrayal in the public's eye that could be exploited for political gain, potentially dissolving the current government. She spoke up, voice clear and direct. "His death would churn as many rumours as his life in politics would. It would not matter if they were true or not, would it? If one says something often enough and loud enough, weak-minded or venal individuals will believe it and parrot it about." She saw Sherwood nod once. "Eventually that new narrative takes the place of all rational discourse; the ultimate distraction."

"Sir, Dr. Ogden and I do not believe it could have been mistaken identity. While we cannot prove the voices Cook heard included Caleb Burke and his killer or killers, we know he was on the third floor, can place him in the billiard room, and a putative argument was overheard within the prescribed timeframe. There is too much evidence that the killer and Mr. Burke had to have some sort of extended interaction. A long-range gunshot might mix up two similar men, but not a face-to-face scuffle."

Julia added. "Commissioner Sherwood, we are certain Mr. Burke himself was the intended victim."

"Which means you no longer need to concern yourself about a national security threat, or one to Mr. Laurier. You should call in the Hamilton Police, now, Commissioner." William was not happy to give up the case, but common sense dictated their course of action: this was Hamilton and the Toronto Constabulary had no jurisdiction.

Julia's excitement was draining off. In the background she heard polite applause directed at Mrs. Hoodless. Julia was disappointed at being sidelined from additional investigation, yet agreed with William that under the circumstances they must withdraw and turn it over to the proper authorities. Soon the programme would end and new refreshments would be served in a huge white tent set with tables, while public pledges for money were garnered and cheque books pried open. In under an hour the garden and house would be empty.

"Thank you, Dr. Ogden, Detective Murdoch," Sherwood told them, letting a mirthless smile appear on his lips. "I will take that under advisement," he deadpanned. The commissioner reached into his pocket to reveal a telegramme. "That is not your call to make," he coughed genteelly. "Nor mine. Mr. Laurier himself appointed you special investigator and that appointment does not expire until the man Ottawa sent gets here to replace you." He waved the paper. "His train has been unavoidably delayed. No. The Hamilton constabulary will not be informed, even if you believe this is a crime of a more pedestrian nature."

William was uncomfortable with that news, while interested his wife seemed rather more cheerful upon hearing it. Good Lord, what is she thinking? "What would you have me do, Mr. Sherwood? That is, if this is not a matter of political intrigue or our national interest needing preservation?"

"It is still embarrassing to the government…to my service in particular, and will upset many people. A large part of my job is to allay people's fears, regardless if they are well-founded or not; almost especially if they are, if you understand me. When events are dire, it is ultimately important that the citizens remain calm and no one panics." He gestured with his head over to the assembled guests. "You don't suppose that learning a murder occurred mere yards away whilst you were sipping tea and lemonade will go unremarked by the rich and politically-connected here in Hamilton, do you? Especially an unsolved murder?" Sherwood focused his gaze on the couple. I think I have the doctor on board, now the right bait for her husband. "As you say, there are still eighty-seven possible suspects and less than an hour, more or less, to identify your killer…assuming you are able."

William made a face. "That is too many and you know it. In my view the timing of his death is suspicious. If we can rule out national-political motives, Dr. Ogden and I have a theory that his death may be related to my visit here to interview Mr. Taggert concerning a Toronto murder investigation-he died right before my scheduled appointment which I count as too big a coincidence. That makes a new theory of the crime confined to more local politics or something personal to Mr. Burke. Perhaps if we can eliminate any who clearly had no motive, then we can work on those who had opportunity."

Sherwood's eyes glittered. Now to set the hook. "That is why I am going to give you as much information as I can about Mr. Burke and anyone here today who might have motive to kill him, including any knowledge I possess about Mr. Taggert's or Mr. Burke's activities, so you can start choosing individuals to interview. But I must insist on discretion, Detective. Our Prime Minister has placed you in a unique position… " Sherwood paused as one of his men approached, and walked a short distance away. The guard leaned forward, saying something very long and animatedly.

William and Julia saw Sherwood's eyes track part of the audience and his face become grim, the first time the commissioner showed any genuine disquiet. "William," Julia whispered, "what could possibly upset that man?"

"Precisely my own thoughts; it does not bode well." He turned his back so that his and his wife's words were shielded from being overheard. "Julia, it bothers me Mr. Sherwood has been so unnecessarily evasive. I am not sure I trust him to give me straight answers." He caught her eye. She was giving him one of these looks again that make him stop and reevaluate. "I am not sure I trust anyone here except you!"

Oh, William! I feel the same about you. Julia spent a moment contemplating her husband. Does he know he just got manipulated into agreeing to continue to investigate? It is so like him to be unable to drop something-and he talks about me! She felt an affectionate, warm spot in her whole being for him and his expression of trust in her…accompanied by an overwhelming urge to poke fun at him. "Why, William! You sound just like Terrence Meyers!" When his eyes shifted into an expression of distaste and disbelief she just laughed at him until he was forced to acknowledge the joke. They were still quietly amused when Mr. Sherwood came back to them. His expression put their humour away quickly.

Sherwood gave no preamble. "Detective Murdoch, Dr. Ogden. It seems you have run out of time after all. We are losing control of the scene and the attendees. Our hostess, Mrs. Carter, is insisting my men open the gates because the newspaper reporters are trying to leave-they want to get their articles into the evening editions of the papers. She is complaining they must be able to file their stories or this whole affair will be for naught." He frowned sourly. "Stopping them will cause more problems, of course, because the reporters will make their usual fuss and the fine citizens at this party expect their pictures to be published. Mrs. Carter already has the photographer packed up and halfway to the street." He shook his head to clear his irritation. "You two will have to work faster. The only good news is that the press will be gone and the evening editions set before this all comes out..." He was musing on damage control when the pair in front of him erupted.

"There are photographs!?"

William and Julia competed with each other for who said it faster and with more surprise, then looked at each other in amazement. "Who took the pictures? When did he come? Do not let them leave. What sort of pictures are these? What kind of camera was it? Where are the plates or the film now? Get your men to secure that camera."

Sherwood's head swung from doctor to detective as they rattled off excited questions and commands. He grabbed Murdoch's arm to slow the man down. "One at a time, please. There was one photographer here taking pictures this afternoon."

William complied. "Mr. Sherwood, depending on the content of the pictures, we can possibly use the photographs to create a timeline of who had opportunity to kill Caleb Burke. Between that and information about motive it will be possible to rapidly eliminate suspects. We employed a similar tactic once before…"

"On Alderman Hidell's murder, I believe?" Sherwood supplied. Of course this high-profile case was in their file; he knew that was one of the reasons Murdoch was likely to accept the job today. "I believe you left the coroner's office the first time right after that case, did you not, Dr. Ogden?"

"Never-mind that!" Julia snapped, stung at the difficult memory and shocked Sherman knew about her activities, causing her to speak more cuttingly than she intended. She hated to be reminded of that part of her past, no matter that William seemed genuinely able to put it all behind them. She took a breath to calm down and smiled at her husband, locking her gaze on his excited brown eyes. "William. Shall I will get that camera while you get information from Mr. Sherwood?" She motioned to the DP officer that was hovering around, and after Mr. Sherwood gave assent, dragged him off to find the camera and whoever took the pictures, hoping he had not been allowed to leave. William watched her briefly as she sailed off on her way to the gate, tacking through the crowd milling about for tea and the expected financial reckoning.

William did not like how Commissioner Sherman was also so intently watching his wife's retreat. I detect an unhealthy interest in Julia from his direction. He did not like that idea so cleared his throat loudly, which had the intended effect of getting the other man to redirect his eyes back to the present conversation. "Commissioner Sherwood. Do you want to start with who you think we can eliminate and let go, or who needs to be detained and interviewed? I imagine that information is close at hand…" William brought his leather notebook out and his pencil was poised over an unmarked sheet.

Sherwood held Murdoch's gaze, and this time both men broke the contact at the same time. Sherwood's subtle mind knew when to engage in a contest and when to only appear to do so; he let Murdoch win before, but it was time to reset the dynamics. "Detective Murdoch. There are several invited guests who have had business of one kind or another with Mr. Burke. I have really very little on the man himself, only a rough outline. Since coming to Hamilton little more than seven weeks ago he has scraped the acquaintance of several prominent businessmen, and their daughters," he said with a certain emphasis, "has discovered the pleasures of a dissipated life in Hamilton to be much the same as in Richmond, Virginia, including gambling, and generally behaved like any young man of means—although he's getting to be a bit old for calling these habits 'youthful indiscretions.' He has not come to the attention of the local constabulary. He was intelligent, genial, half-heartedly interested in his father's business, and of no known threat to the government of Canada." He turned towards the tent and inclined his head. "Mr. Taggert, now there is a man with enemies." He made a short, hard laugh. "You do not live eighty-plus years and make no impression. I am told he made a decent Mayor. However in his commercial interests, Mr. Taggert is sly, calculated, and successful; even his enemies admire his ruthless business sense. His passion for horses and horse racing are well known and he has been lobbying for changes in the law to allow official, legal betting schemes on racing. But I assume you know that. I suppose it is possible Mr. Burke could have damaging knowledge about Mr. Taggert, however unlikely, and was silenced…"

William perked up. "How so?" This is what he was concerned with all along; the murders in Toronto being connected with Mr. Taggert in Hamilton and Mr. Burke getting caught in the middle.

Sherwood laughed harshly again. "I wish you luck, Detective. As far as we know, Mr. Taggert is an upstanding businessman. If someone thinks they discovered something untoward about Mr. Taggert, I want to hire them for the Dominion Police service, because they discovered what we have not. No. I can save you the trouble of investigating Mr. Taggert—he bends circumstances, and people, to his will, but he will not break the law." He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a page, folded lengthwise. He opened and scanned the page. "May I have your notebook?" he asked, with an outstretched hand.

William fought with himself for a moment and then turned it over, annoyed at Sherwood preemptory manner, before remembering exactly who Sherwood was. Then William swallowed down his irritation; it would not do to make an enemy of this man. When the notebook was returned to him, there were six names written in a bold hand. From eight-seven down to six! Only one was familiar to William, so he looked at the commissioner for more details.

"The first one took exception to Mr. Burke's attentions to his sister, the next four are involved in gambling, and the last is…"

William finished for him. "Trevor Howard, one of Mr. Taggert's employees and soon-to-be-grandson-in-law."

# # #

"Stop!" Julia lunged past a startled servant to catch an edge of the wrought iron gate as it swung shut. The Dominion Police officer was right behind her, and used the opening she created to slide through and halt a tall man who was struggling under a set of sticks over his left shoulder and a large, heavy case in his right hand. Fortunately the commotion went unnoticed by the other newspaper gentlemen who raced on ahead to waiting horses for the ride to their publishers' offices.

"Sir! I must ask you to come with me." The officer collected the photographer and redirected him back inside the gate faster than he could complain regarding the muzzling of a free press. A lone petite woman, dark-haired, and sporting round gold wire-rimmed glasses, stood outside and protested. "Where are you taking him?" she cried, as she swung back towards the house to join her companion.

Julia had no idea what to tell the woman, assuming she was his sweetheart or another reporter, and was going to leave her outside without an explanation when she though the better of it—mindful of the need for discretion. Thinking furiously, she came up with an excuse. "The, er, speaker desired another photograph. He'll be along in a minute." Julia was closing the latched when the woman pulled the gate out of her hands.

"Well, if that's the case, he won't get far without this." The woman held out a Kodak box camera in front of her with a smirk, looking at Julia impatiently. When Julia offered to take the camera off her hands and deliver it so the woman could depart, she clutched it more tightly.

Unwilling to cause a scene, Julia shrugged and allowed the woman to enter, closing the gate behind, then directed her after the DP man and photographer. They were intercepted by Dennie on the lawn.

"Julia!" Dennie's cheeks were flushed. "Genevieve? Where are you going…? You have a deadline…." She stood, barring their way, glaring at the pair.

"Prudence, is this your friend, Dr. Ogden?" The woman identified as Genevieve asked, smiling brightly and extending her hand to Julia.

Julia took it politely, feeling a firm grip in return. Out of a corner of her eye she saw the photographer disappear into the house and, worried about falling behind, tried to extricate herself and her charge to keep moving. Dennie stopped her, making abrupt introductions. "Yes. This is Dr. Julia Ogden. Julia, meet my friend Miss Genevieve Latcher. Julia, please let Miss Latcher get on her way. Hasn't this been bad enough…?" She barely stopped herself from explaining too much. "We have gone to so much trouble to lose out on the necessary publicity! You of all people should understand…" Julia saw that Dennie was actually pleading, an unusual occurrence in an otherwise demanding person.

The photographer and Dominion Officer were nowhere in sight, leaving Julia with a sense of dread. Time is imperative. Her thoughts wandered briefly. How would William handle this? She considered how he might use his position as an officer of the law, or his size or position…she had none of those. Instead she summoned up her own authoritative voice, honed from years of working with men who tried to obstruct her. "I do understand. I really do. Mr. Sherman has requested the photographer return and Miss Latcher," she pointed to the Kodak camera currently nestled in brown lace which softened the neckline of the woman's suit, "has the man's equipment which she will only relinquish to him. The newspapers will have to wait; I'm sure that if it is important enough they will."

Julia felt a deep stab of guilt for not helping Dennie make the case for the needs of mothers, leaving it all for her to accomplish. Some friend I turned out to be today, she thought sadly. She hoped Dennie would get the message and cease fussing. Not waiting for any more discussion, she took Miss Latcher's elbow and swung her towards the house, leaving Dennie to her job as hostess and her skills of getting money from the local gentry.

Genevieve Latcher did not like to be moved along so briskly, Julia observed. Perhaps it has something to do with the narrow skirt of her severe brown suit. Julia took pity on her and slowed down long enough to see the intelligence in the woman's blue eyes, as well as humour in a mobile mouth set over even white teeth. "Miss Latcher, I apologize for this and I will get you an explanation as soon as we get inside."

A delightful peel of laughter followed. "Dr. Ogden, I will get my own explanations. For instance. Where were you this afternoon? Prudence was counting on you."

Julia took in a short breath. It never occurred to me I'd be missed...now what? "How observant, Miss Latcher. You are acquainted with the newspaper I take it? An assistant to the photographer, perhaps?" She reached for the door and ushered her companion in ahead of her, searching the oval ballroom with her eyes and listening for sounds of William or Mr. Sherman. Disappointed, she made for the main hall.

More musical laughter came from Miss Latcher's direction. "Oh, dear, Prudence did not tell you. I am the photographer. Richard Perkins is along for show and to carry things for me. And for instances where my…" she gestured at herself.

"Gender…?" Julia guessed.

"Height, becomes a drawback."

Julia flushed, embarrassed by assuming that a woman could not fulfill the role of photographer. "I apologize again, Miss Latcher for, well, thinking you were a helper and not the principle." She sighed. "I must do better to support accomplished women, starting with my own failings of imagination."

"Prudence allowed me to be the exclusive photographer for today, and paid me for my time." Her humour dimmed, replaced by irritation. "However, if I do not get my film developed, printed and to the papers before it goes to press, I will not get paid the other half of my fee from the papers."

Julia was puzzled. "Then why stop and come back in, Miss Latcher?"

"It's Genevieve, please," she responded, this time with red flaming on her cheeks. "Richard…Mr. Perkins, has most of the film because the case is too large and too heavy for me to carry. I need it back!" she demanded.

There was no one in the main hall, but the library doors were shut. Julia walked up and listened, hearing William's voice within. He hates to have his interrogations disrupted, she knew, but he needs to talk with my witness. Julia felt pleased to think of Miss Latcher as such, and knocked on the door. There was a long pause in the voices emanating from the library, and then William parted the double doors, a wary look on his face. She cut him off from complaining to announce, with a tinge of pride: "Detective, this is Miss Genevieve Latcher. She is the actual photographer and the film belongs to her."

William's worried face lightened and he slid open both doors to admit the ladies. "Splendid!" he said and gave an openly grateful look to Julia, making her insides thrill again to be part of the investigation.

Within the library, a man Julia took to be Mr. Perkins was sitting stiffly with too much white showing around his irises, and perspiration beading his forehead that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. He looks terrified, she concluded. It is disconcerting to think William could have that effect on someone. She noted Mr. Sherwood and one of his men looked on grimly and that William did not offer any introductions.

William quickly settled Miss Latcher next to Mr. Perkins and began. "Miss Latcher, I am Detective William Murdoch, of…" He checked himself; "I am working for the Canadian government, on a very tight timeline and need your help. Before you ask, I am not at liberty to explain." This was the second time he'd uttered those words and he did not believe it would ever not sound ridiculous. I am no Terrance Meyers, he sighed, sending a quick glance towards Commissioner Sherwood. I refuse to say 'It's classified' out loud. Instead, he continued: "What can you tell me about the photographs you took?"

As William guided Miss Latcher through a series of questions, Julia was impressed at how rapidly he got to the heart of the matter. Miss Latcher took a photograph of practically each and every person who attended the event and larger views of the event as a whole from the audience and from the speaker's platform-she was quite thorough. Unfortunately that meant there were literally hundreds of photographs to consider; the benefits of this new way to take images on relatively inexpensive continuous film, rather than cumbersome glass plates.

She'd make a good police photographer, he praised her in his head. "Miss Latcher, how will you choose the ones to publish?" he queried, clearly trying to come up with a way for him to narrow the number down.

The photographer rummaged around in her case and produced a ledger or logbook of some sort. "I marked each roll and have a list of who is featured in each picture on that roll. I will send several to the various local and out of town editors who will pick the photographs they want to print in their papers, most probably based on who has the most social prominence or prestige. The remainder of the photographs will be offered for sale to the individuals who appear in the pictures." She had an amused turn on her mouth. "It is amazing how easily a person can succumb to reflected glory, detective. Although in a proper household no one of good breeding or taste displays photographs in their public rooms, having evidence of meeting someone who is your social better, rich or famous, is even better than collecting autographs-and easier to show off as well."

William noted that Mrs. Carter had previously expressed similar, cynical sentiments.

Mr. Sherwood piped up. "You don't have time to print all those pictures, detective." The warning tone was obvious, and given more weight as another set of notes was heard from the clock in the hall. William's shoulders hunched in defense against the sound of the chimes. That's it, I am cancelling my order for that clock!

"That won't be necessary sir. All I need are the negatives. One of the advantages is that they are in a continuous line—establishing an order of events, even if not a timeline per se." He looked at Miss Latcher. "I am going to guess that since you are trying to make a business of taking these sorts of photographs, you also own at least one of the new Kodak Developing Machines. I don't suppose it is in boot of your carriage in those boxes Mr. Perkins says you picked up fromn the train station before coming here?"

Relief flooded him when she answered affirmatively. William directed the DP officer to escort Miss Latcher and her assistant Mr. Perkins to her conveyance and bring in the developing equipment. Miss Latcher stood but would not be moved. Although not a large woman, she was sturdy and plainspoken. "What do I get out of this? I want my film back so I can fulfill my contract with the papers. The whole point of me being here today is to attract interest in the quality of my work… No other woman is doing what I want to do. I am not that interested in portraits, landscapes or advertisement. My real interest is in the news. There are only a handful of professional female photographers of any kind in Ontario and if I fail with this contract I will never get another!" She cocked her head to the side and lifted her chin, defying anyone in the room to challenge her demands.

"Murdoch!" Sherwood rumbled under his breath.

William stole a look at Julia who glared back with an icy-blue cast in her eyes. Good grief! 'Between a rock and a hard place' as Inspector Brackenreid would put it. How do I get myself into these jams? He changed his orientation to Miss Latcher's countenance, coughed and made an opening bid on negotiation….