Chapter Two
"Just look at that, William. There should be a law that says you cannot advertise something unless you are being truthful and accurate!" Julia reached over to rattle the newspaper in her husband's hand. "I don't know what is worse, the extravagant promises they make or the noxious ingredients they use in those concoctions, or the papers that accept money to publish the claims." Home unusually early, the couple was just sitting down to their supper after a long day. William's headache had blessedly dissipated at the same time Julia's temples were throbbing.
"Quite. Although I think the Tattler may be the worst offender." William pushed his copy aside and brought the Gazette to rest between them. "Has that something to do with the frustrations of your day?" He knew Julia needed to vent so opened the door and invited her to do so, metaphorically speaking.
Julia quaffed the remainder of her wine and smiled in appreciation as William refilled her glass. The wine was soothing her head marvelously. Taking a bite of her Chicken Kiev, she closed her eyes and moaned in appreciation, marveling at the genius idea of a chicken breast stuffed with butter and savory herbs. "You know William, I do believe that this is one of my new favorites here, we shall have to pay our compliments to the chef in hopes that he'll offer it again in the future," she remarked taking a sip of her wine.
"If it will elicit such a reaction from you every time, then we must," he remarked with a sly grin and glint in his eye. "Of course, I'm not sure that I care for the competition," he commented with a smirk.
"Oh I assure you, husband, good wine and food will only heighten my appetites for other things," she stated back with a grin of her own. "Oh, but yes, I digress. Yes, these patent medicines, or nostrums as they are sometimes known, are really starting to become an issue. People are taking them in the hopes of curing their ills, but in many cases, it's only masking their symptoms and creating new concerns. It is beyond me why the public will not turn to the modern medical profession with safer treatments such as mercury for infection. It's heartbreaking to see the number of parents who are dosing their newborns with opium to soothe their colic or heroin for alleviating teething pain. Who knows how many deaths officially attributed to other causes are actually an overdose? Of course their parents don't realize this, and think they're actually helping their poor child. It's tragic!"
William was not so sure about the mercury, but said only: "Yes, I must agree. I have been reading some interesting articles written by reporters who call themselves 'investigative journalists', and if many of their claims are true, hopefully our government will take action and create laws that will require those selling salves, tinctures and the like must be able to scientifically prove the claims these manufacturers are making," William commented, taking a bite of his own Chicken Kiev. It seemed that he agreed with Julia, the dish was magnificent.
"Mmm, one can certainly hope. Of course, now I'm going to have to lecture at the college on these nostrums, including why they're worthless and in some cases even dangerous. Then I suppose we'll have to devise some effective ways to counsel our patients against them. Did you know that there's a concoction from Boston called "Lydia Pinkham's Vegetable Compound" which addresses 'female complaints' and that contains licorice and many other things and is also almost 20% alcohol! No wonder it's so popular with women-it's akin to a bottle of whiskey in terms of alcohol by volume. They also have a slogan "A Baby in Every Bottle" so of course women who are desperate to conceive are buying it and if you are not successful this month, one can just buy another bottle next month! Of course there are no rigorous scientific tests concerning its efficacy, no legal regulation, so these claims are unchallenged. It's disgraceful!"
Julia's outrage was discharged by now (as was her own headache) and her thoughts turned elsewhere once she noticed a wry smile on William's lips. "Of course, we could undertake an experiment of our own…" she trailed off suggestively, reaching over to squeeze his knee.
"How can I say no? Anything in the name of science of course. Should we track the number of attempts along with the amounts consumed?" he asked suggestively, arching his eyebrows.
"Now wouldn't that be quite the scientific data to present?" she asked leaning forward towards him.
"It would be most intriguing, certainly," William admitted, leaning forward to kiss her, relishing the taste of wine on her lips. A fine meal and a fine time later…the evening was promising to be most edifying.
Pulling back to smile at one another, they both resumed their dinner, taking another bite, both pleased about what the evening may entail when a knock sounded at the door. Dropping his fork and closing his eyes, he inwardly groaned. There was no doubt that the unexpected caller was from the Constabulary.
Standing up allow to William to finish as much of his meal as was possible, Julia answered the door and let in Higgins.
The young constable's helmet was in his hands. "Sorry to interrupt your evening and your meal sir, but a body has been found."
Of course one has, he uncharitably thought to himself thinking of his ruined meal and evening plans. He checked his timepiece: barely six forty. But then, I doubt the poor victim's plans for the evening involved dying, he chastised himself.
# # #
"What have you George?" William asked as he escorted Julia towards a dark alley in St. John's Ward. Seeing the growing police presence, curious onlookers now scattered, fearful that they were going to be asked questions.
"Sir. Higgins ordered the scene secured, right down that lane." The constable pointed to an area between two tall buildings that were typical of the area, consisting of office or retail space at ground level and three succeeding tenement stories above. A gate that usually crossed the opening was swung wide.
William followed George to the alleyway entrance and gazed down the dark space where lanterns had been set against the gloom. He suspected a narrow building once occupied the space since he noticed no windows facing the lane, and only one doorway for each building set back in the shadows. Not likely to be witnesses there, he observed as he walked to where the body rested and brought his hand up to touched his forehead and then each shoulder in the sign of the cross. "George, take two of the men and question the folks milling about. This alley seems to be used as a thoroughfare and this is a section of town that supports a wide variety of street life at all hours; surely someone who lives here, a street vendor, worker coming to or from his shift or a prostitute… someone had to have seen something. Remind them that we're asking about a potential murder, not how they were earning an income," William clarified.
"Yes sir." Crabtree snapped to it, taking two of the constables with him. Pleased that Detective Murdoch had asked him to remain, Higgins stood at the ready.
"All right Henry, give me the particulars."
"A Mr. John Evans, a hobo, hailed one of the constables on his beat upon discovering the body. He didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, just discovered his body while digging through the trash here. He touched the body thinking it was a rug, but once he realized that it was a dead body, immediately left it alone. He's waiting other there, with Jackson guarding him. We have not otherwise disturbed the scene," Henry informed Julia with a nod towards her.
After a few pictures were taken, Julia asked for assistance in moving the body so as to better inspect it. Now in a better light, she immediately recognized the man, her face blanching.
"I know this man…or at least in passing. This is…let's see, I think his name is Mr. Snow. He came by the clinic perhaps a week ago, seeking information on those very patent medicines we were discussing earlier. I remember him because he made it sound as though he was worried about a family member and wanted to know which medicines ones to recommend or stay away from. I invited him to seek medical treatment from an actual doctor if there as someone in his life who was ailing, but he insisted I give him advice. All I could do is point out the names of the most common concoctions we encounter which he should at all costs avoid as they are nearly useless for any purpose," said Julia. "He thanked me and said that he might be back at a later time with more questions."
William nodded, suddenly aware that they had likely just found their missing man. It seems that Mr. Goshen had been right to be concerned. His coat and shirt were half off him as if someone had tried to steal them too but failed, only getting the cufflinks before giving up on the clothes. The shoes were still on the corpse's feet, but it was easy to see how the body could have been overlooked if covered with trash. Checking the man's pockets, he found nothing that would identify the man other than Julia's statement, and nothing of value.
"Henry, when we're done here, we'll need to check the pawn shops. His valuables are gone." While Henry helped set up the litter that would take the corpse into the morgue, William asked Julia for her opinion.
Julia knelt by the body, and turned the man's head so her husband could get a better look. "Well, you can see here he has several cuts and scrapes on his face, and a nasty gash on his head that bled copiously. I'd say his head connected with one of these brick walls—you can see the brick dust." She examined the man's hands as well. "He also has scrapes on his hands. I will have to see what his tissues look like under his clothes, but my first impression is that he was beaten and left to die. You can see some emesis here? It is not unusual for someone to be sick after receiving a head trauma—he could have aspirated the vomit as well…see how his skin is slightly bluish as if he did not get enough oxygen? I do think he died right here, however." She pointed to the ground underneath the body and the large blood stain that soaked the cobblestones and the detritus pushed up against the alley wall where Mr. Snow's crumpled body lay. "That may mean the time of his beating may not be the time of his death, which, by the feel of his head and jaw, between two and six hours ago. "
"So, as late as five this afternoon and as long ago as one o'clock?"
She raised her hand for William to assist her up to stand beside him. "Yes. But remember he could have been lying here for a while before he succumbed to his wounds. The temperature in the alley is also cooler than the surrounding area, so I will have to make a calculation based on liver temperature back at my morgue. I will do a preliminary assessment tonight, then a full autopsy tomorrow.May I take the body, detective?"
"Yes, doctor." William smiled briefly at the habitual use of titles. "Henry? Ask Jackson to bring Mr. Evans over. Then after you get this man on the wagon to the morgue, please check the pawnbrokers and small shops that might trade valuable items for alcohol or other goods, and have constables look for any spots his other effects could have been disposed of." He helped Julia rise and held her hand for a second, regret at missing out on their evening's plans banished by impending duty. "Julia, I assume you will ride back to the morgue with the wagon?"
Before she left, William asked her to look at Mr. Evan's hands, just in case there was evidence of a recent fight on the man's fists, then the couple parted: Julia on her way to the morgue and the detective to follow up with George, who appeared to have rounded up two witnesses.
"Thank you George. We have a tentative identification that the victim is Mr. Norris Snow, the journalist from the Toronto Tattler you were inquiring after this morning. When we are done here, please go around to his lodging and this time search his room, and let his editor, Mr. Wick, know we found the body, as well that we will need to interview him again, tonight. Henry is going to search the pawnshops since the victim appears to have been robbed. I will on call Mr. Goshen to give him the news." He turned to the two men his constable had in tow. "Now. These men have something pertinent to offer?"
"Yes sir." George made introductions. "This is Mr. Charles Baker and this chap is Mr. Peter Lowell. They both work at the Morse Soap Company. According to them, at shift change some workers use the closed off alley as a short cut, because to be late is to risk losing their jobs."
"Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary," he introduced himself. "What can you tell me about this area?"
The two men eyed each other and Peter Lowell nudged his companion into speaking. "Shifts at the soap-works is 12 hours, twenty-four hours a day, six days a week," Charles Baker began nervously. "Just before six in the morning, we was through that alleyway and di'n't see nothing amiss, even though it were darkish out. Just after six tonight we was going on home and saw old 'John-ee' come running out like he were set on fire."
"I take it 'John-ee' is Mr. John Evans, the man who found the body?" William asked.
"If you say so, we dunno his real name, but he makes his rounds at shift change. He mebee used to work at the factory until he got hurt," Lowell added.
William wanted to know one thing: "Based on your experience, do you think it is possible for the body to have been there when you went into the factory before six this morning?"
# # #
Despite the late hour and fully realizing that he would be calling the man away from his own dinner and evening plans, William requested that the editor of the Tattler, Alexander Wick be brought in immediately. William needed to know exactly what the man knew and hoped to get a positive identification on the victim.
Approximately an hour later, Mr. Wick arrived at the station, pale and visibly shaken. "Is it true what your constable says? Is Mr. Snow truly dead?" he asked.
"Well, Mr. Wick, I was hoping that you could provide a positive identification for our victim and then perhaps you can tell me everything you know," William countered.
The editor winced at the thought of encountering a dead body up and close; William thought the man might object, and was surprised that a newspaper man would have a weak stomach for the more grotesque features of life, considering his occupation. But swallowing hard, Mr. Wick nodded and took a deep breath, determined to do his duty. "Of course, Detective. Mr. Snow doesn't have any family locally so as his employer, I have the responsibility of verifying that it is indeed him," he agreed.
Anxious to get things going so that he could get home and get to bed before it got any later, William took the man to the morgue at once, hoping he could still catch Julia. Besides the fact that he was hoping he could see her, he was also hoping that he could ask her to observe his interview with Mr. Wick, to help determine whether or not the man was being forthcoming.
"Not exactly how we planned on spending this evening, is it?" William asked under his breath, taking the keys from her and locking the morgue doors, with Mr. Wick in the laneway ahead of them supported by a constable.
"No, it isn't. But luckily I will settle for a bit of canoodling under the covers and a shoulder massage," she countered in a whisper as they walked back over to the station house.
"I believe we have a deal then," William agreed just as quietly.
Once in the station house, Julia announced her presence as necessary for part of the autopsy process, and she sat as unobtrusively as possible in the corner of the interview room while her husband and the editor settled around the large wooden table.
"Detective Murdoch, what happened to Norris?" Mr. Wick asked solemnly.
William thought this was a question spoken the way a friend might ask, rather than a newspaperman following a lead, but for the detective keeping control of the interview was paramount. "We are in the process of discovering that. Our working theory is that he was assaulted and robbed, then left for dead. Today is pay day for most workers—is that true for your newspaper?"
The editor winced. "Yes. It was. This is horrible, detective. Just awful."
William began to ask Mr. Wick what he knew, starting with his employment at the Tattler.
"I recently brought him to Toronto from Chicago, where he made a great splash there with some of his investigative reporting. I know our publication doesn't enjoy the greatest of reputations, but I am trying to change that. I've only been editor for a few months myself and I'm trying to increase our readership. People love reading these sensational 'muckraking' pieces of you will, and my thought was that if we were to publish more of them, we would sell more papers," Mr. Wick explained.
"Why did Mr. Snow agree to move from Chicago? Were you offering him more money?" William asked.
"No, I heard from a friend that he had run into a bit of trouble in that city and was looking for a fresh start. It was quite a stretch for me to offer him what he had been earning per article in Chicago, but I agreed to his request, as I knew he would deliver the articles that would help sell more papers. He'd been writing small articles about local crime and corruption, but I do know that he'd been wanting to write a series of stories on medical fraud and useless potions sold as medicines to the unwary here in Toronto, similar to what he did in the States. I didn't tell him no, but I did tell him that I wouldn't be publishing them at present time, so as not to offend many of our advertising clients, who deal and trade in that very thing," he stated.
William furrowed his brow, recalling the quantity of printed announcements and advertisements in the Tattler pages he previewed earlier. "You told him you didn't want to offend the advertisers right now, but you wouldn't rule it out for the future? Why?"
"I still need their money, Detective," Mr. Wick said without the least embarrassment. "Eventually, I would have liked to have gotten away from them, but with Norris Snow gone, those plans are in peril unless I can find someone of his caliber. I told him that I needed him to produce articles that would boost our sales numbers, and once that happened, we would be less dependent upon the income from such snake-oil salesmen, and could then appeal to a better class of advertising clients. He said he understood, and asked if he could still work on the story so that it would be ready to go once it could be safely published. I agreed, but I asked him to be discreet and to not tell anyone about it. He said that he would." Mr. Wick said.
"Mr. Wick, what other stories was Mr. Snow working on that you were aware of?" William asked.
"As I said, Mr. Snow was quite versatile. He'd been writing pieces that featured shocking crime stories, political pieces, as well as true investigative journalism- and they were proving popular. He could also write the most sensationalist copy I'd ever seen. I also know that he was working on another major story that was not about patent medicines, but he did not tell me what it was about. He assured me that it would be about predilections towards vice, scandalous or titillating in nature, and would sell papers, but it would not offend any of our current advertisers. Unfortunately, he never told me what it concerned and I'm sorry now that I never asked. He was unconventional: he never came into the office before noon, but that was because he did most of his research at night and as he never missed a deadline, I never complained as his methods got results. He was also always producing stories - he was the most prolific writer on staff, and his pieces were undoubtedly the most popular," the man stated with a sad air, thinking of what could have been.
"Mr. Wick, may we come to the offices tomorrow and search Mr. Snow's belongings and speak to your staff?"
"Of course, the entire office is at your disposal."
After thanking the man for his time and seeing him out at half past ten, William and Julia were not far behind him in exiting the station to return to their suite.
Julia shared her impressions. "I don't think he's your murderer, William. He seemed uncomfortable about being with the body, but he wasn't nervous in answering your questions. Besides, what would his motive be?" she asked as they climbed into the carriage.
"I concur. Mr. Snow was an instrumental in making the Tattler a more high profile periodical, if not yet more respectable, and it served to make Mr. Wick a wealthier man. He has lost that booster to his bottom line, and doesn't seem happy about it at all," he agreed, stroking her thigh with his hand. It was far too late to enjoy the plans that he hoped for, but perhaps he could initiate some affection while riding back to the hotel.
Not much else was said as some of the long-awaited romantic overtures took place in the cab; enjoying kisses as their hands explored one another's bodies. William realized, belatedly, that they were stopped and was curious for how long. Too embarrassed to ask or even make contact with the driver, William hurriedly paid the man and quickly rushed Julia into the hotel, well aware that it probably looked like a clandestine affair, seeing as neither had any luggage to accompany them.
As they entered their room, both of them couldn't help but look longingly at their abandoned dinner. The meal, absolutely delicious while still hot, was most unappetizing cold, the warm butter having long ago congealed on the plate. Salvaging some rolls to tide them over, they called for some tea to accompany them and for the dinner remains to be collected, settling for a meager sustenance before going to bed.
"It's a shame about dinner. The kitchen is going to think we didn't enjoy it at all, when we actually did," Julia lamented as she gazed longingly at her long forgotten and ruined dinner.
"Then we must give our regards to the Chef and make our entreaties for him to prepare it again," William agreed.
"Yes, we must. Perhaps we can ask him to make it for us tomorrow night and maybe we could try our other plans again then as well," Julia asked, wrapping her arms around him to kiss him.
Just as the kiss deepened, the knock at the door signaled the arrival of their tea and the departure of their ruined meal. Groaning softly, William laid his forehead against hers, "That sounds wonderful," he admitted before pulling away to answer the door.
The small evening repast of bread and tea was a hurried affair, and at half past eleven they slipped beneath the covers and briefly continued with the more of the promised canoodling, but not the massage he had promised her, William realized only after Julia had already fallen asleep.
As he waited for slumber to overtake him, he made a mental note to make good on his offer of a nice massage tomorrow evening, along with arranging for Chicken Kiev to be served once again as well as obtaining a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound, for laughs. His last thoughts of the night were trying to think of ways in which he could scientifically measure their intimate relations, and note the variables and differences. Even if the thought had been uttered in jest, it did sound rather intriguing to him, a nice dimension to add to his already enjoyable relations with Julia.
# # #