Chapter Five
William arrived at work the next morning with a spring and lightness to his step, and he was in a most excellent mood as he strode into the Station with a smile before disappearing into his office.
Smirking, Henry muttered to George "Well, it looks like someone finally had an enjoyable evening last night. About time, if you ask me."
"Henry!"
"Oh, don't be such a prude George. Since you broke up with Miss Bloom, you've been in a mood yourself. Perhaps you should make up with her just so you can be tolerable again if you catch my drift. I may have to put up with his dry spells, but I don't have to put up with yours. Besides, I believe that a man has needs and when those aren't attended to, everything suffers," Henry snidely commented.
"You know Henry, I was wrong yesterday. Maybe you should try to hire a lady friend down at the docks to assist you with your own needs, as you have become quite intolerable of late yourself. Perhaps take a bit of your own advice!" George bit back. Henry may technically outrank him now, but there was no doubt that the man was becoming increasingly difficult to work with. He doubted that either the Detective or the Inspector thought enough of Henry to put much stock in his complaints if he decided to take offense at George's insolence.
Inside his office, the detective exhaled sharply, having heard enough of the conversation to replace his morning smile with a scowl, carefully hidden behind a report on assault statistics from the other precincts. Higgins, unfortunately, remained unsteady and uneven in his new rank and responsibilities. Despite having George be witness to more than he'd care to have had him witness yesterday, William knew George was again a better choice to take along on interviews than Henry would be, especially as George was a writer himself, and might have some insight to share or even know which questions to ask at the Tattler.
Besides, it would be justifiable to knock Higgins down a peg, given his recent mishandling of events with Roger Newsom, William reasoned. Personally, he wouldn't mind seeing the man busted down a stripe or two. He coughed as he came out of the bullpen to discuss the day's plan with his men, hoping the two constables would put their squabbling away.
"Gentlemen," he announced, gathering the constables around. "I have reviewed the department's notes- there have been no string of similar assaults and robberies such as perpetrated against Mr. Snow. I think we can declare that a dead end, especially since with Dr. Ogden's help we have opened other lines of inquiry. It seems the cause of death was actually an injection of heroin. Time of death is between three and five o'clock, but he could have been assaulted earlier. The body was not moved so the assault took place in between those two buildings during the afternoon hours."
Officers muttered in consternation. "The cause of death was an injection of heroin, sir?" George repeated quizzically, speaking for the room. "You mean he wasn't beaten to death after all?" he wondered aloud.
"No George, the beating was perhaps meant to disguise the true manner of death and throw us off the trail. With all the bruising on his body, perhaps they were hoping we would just assume it was another bruise. Possibly they meant it to look like a self-inflicted overdose, but Mr. Snow was right handed, and it was administered in his right arm, which is impossible to do to yourself," William explained. "I need you to canvass the area around the soap-works, this time to look for a cast-off syringe." He pointed to Stanton and Brightman, assigning the task. "We also need to expand into other kinds of vices since that was what Mr. Snow was supposedly investigating. Henry? Please see if we can find any link between Mr. Snow and gambling, bookmaking and loan-sharking. Money is after all a motive for murder."
Henry smiled. "I'll get someone right on it. Follow the money, eh sir? Just as the inspector would have said."
"Exactly. George? Do you have any information from Chicago?"
"No sir," he answered. "But I do have a call into his editor and the publisher. They are giving me a hard time about the American First Amendment and wanting to protect the freedom of the press, but I think if I can explain what we are looking for to the men in charge I can persuade them to give us what we need. The impression I get is that the 'spot of trouble" in Chicago was directly related to that series of articles he wrote exposing medical fraud."
"Thank you. Gentlemen, we are also looking into any connection with his fellows at the Tattler who might have had motive to harm Mr. Snow-or at minimum motive for taking all the notes and drafts of whatever stories he was working on. We need to re-interview everyone at the paper, run background checks and alibis, and I want us at Mr. Snow's wake and funeral." He dismissed the men with a few more instructions and reentered his office, followed close on his heels by George and Henry. Both of whom tried to get through the doorway at the same time, causing a jam. Henry glared at George, but before he could speak, the detective interrupted. "George, you are with me. Henry, I need you to run the investigation here." Henry kept glaring, but did as he was told.
George straightened his tunic. "So, are we returning to the Tattler and interviewing the staff once again?" he asked.
"Yes. Someone there must know something about the stories he was writing," William said. "It just has to be tied to the motive for his death. Nothing else makes sense."
# # #
When William and George arrived at the Tattler offices, the noise and rush of the place was unabated. However, as the newspaper's office planned to reduce down to a skeleton crew in the afternoon so coworkers could to pay their respects at Norris Snow's calling hours, most of the staff was already dressed in appropriate, somber black.
The two officers were given small cubicles in which to conduct interviews. Unfortunately, it seemed that most of the staff was unaware of which stories Mr. Snow had been pursuing and that the visit to the newspaper offices would once again prove futile in shedding light on what activities Mr. Snow had been engaging in prior to his death.
William was on his final interview and trying not to rush through. He saw George playing with a typewriter on a nearby desk, admiring the machine and peering into its mechanism while he passed the time, having finished his own list of interviews. Martin Bannon was a large, round man with thinning hair, who covered business news for the paper. Mr. Bannon had gone on and on in a mumbling way, about accounting practices and the stock market, making it difficult to get him to focus on the question at hand. Just as William was ready to cede defeat at the Tattler and walk the few blocks to the Gazette to interview Mr. Goshen (Mr. Snow's lone friend in Toronto it seemed) Mr. Bannon disclosed a significant detail.
"I really have no idea exactly what Norris was working on. This place is so busy. I for one will be holding down the fort here while everyone else is at the calling hours this afternoon. Can't stop the presses and all that! But come to think of it Detective, I forgot to mention to you earlier I recently learned that a man who was financially ruined by one of Mr. Snow's stories in Chicago relocated here to Toronto. He is a man by the name of Gustav Batting, but does business under the name of 'Dr. Batty.' One of his most popular products were 'Asthma Cigarettes,'" the man informed William.
"I'm sorry, come again?" William wasn't sure he understood correctly, and he leaned in out of curiosity at such an absurd statement.
Laughing, the man nodded. "Yes, Detective, 'Asthma Cigarettes' if you can believe that! The claim was that they did all sorts of good for the respiratory system, and Mr. Snow destroyed that claim. The man's business disappeared overnight, and of course, he was forced to leave town lest he face reprisals from his customers and his investors as well. He's now in Toronto, and far be it for me to suggest anything, but perhaps Mr. Batting didn't want a repeat of what happened in Chicago," Mr. Bannon explained.
"Thank you for that lead, Mr. Bannon. Do you happen to know where I can find Mr. Batting now?" asked William, taking another move backward in his seat. The man's breath smelled so pungent, perhaps rotted teeth or too much garlic?
"I'm afraid I don't. I believe I once heard Norris mention that the man loved girls, games, and drink, but other than that, I'm at a loss. But I'd be willing to bet that Norris had that information in his notes if you can ever find them," he offered.
"Thank you, Mr. Bannon," William replied, making a mark in his notebook before closing it. It was time to regroup to check with Mr. Goshen at the Gazette before Mr. Snow's visitation hours—and get someone onto locating Mr. Batting.
# # #
Seeing as Mr. Snow had no family in Toronto, his wake would be the final opportunity for everyone who knew him to pay their respects to the man.
William was there along with a few other members of Constabulary in plain clothes lest they attract undue attention. They were not here to be seen, but rather to observe. Since Norris Snow's death was not likely to be a random misadventure at the hand of a stranger, his killer was likely someone who knew the man. William suspected that the person or persons would make an appearance. Dressed in his own sober suit in a darkened corner, William stood, and watched.
Most of the visitors were Mr. Snow's colleagues at the Tattler, the Gazette, and several other publications, which was not all that surprising given that Mr. Snow had been new to the city and had been most secretive about the details of his private life-if he had one at all. William was becoming increasingly suspicious about the erasure of so many personal details via the disappearance of his papers. What had the man been up to?
Mr. Goshen appeared most affected by the loss of his friend, and it was he and Mr. Wick, who assumed positions as primary mourners, lacking anyone else to take that place. Mr. Wick was in fact paying for the funeral, which William would have thought was a kindness…If Mr. Wick was not also making money from the publicity about doing so, and selling even more papers by railing against the constabulary for failing to finding his killer, he complained to himself.
Mr. Snow's landlady and fellow borders made a brief appearance along with a few chums from his pub where he ate most of his meals. William even saw several women from Mme. Le Chabanais', dressed in conservative mourning clothes, come to pay their respects in a dignified manner. The constables closely monitored a guest book which was set up to capture names of all comers for further investigation. Yet as the visitation drew to a close, William recognized one of the least obtrusive mourners; a tall, sturdy person who did not make a show, nor did this person fully approach the casket where Mr. Snow lay in eternal repose.
This person was none other than Miss Rita Love, a reporter William had made the acquaintance of in a previous case. Miss Love's green eyes were obscured behind gold-rimmed glasses, and her usually straightforward demeanor was withdrawn. Smiling at one another, she looked as though she were about to approach him when she stopped, and turned around to leave instead.
Afterwards, William stopped at the same apothecary shop on his way to the station house, and this time picked up a box of 'Dr. Batty's Asthma Cigarettes: For the Temporary Relief of Paroxysms of Asthma' and asked the clerk about how the product was typically delivered. Luckily, the clerk informed him that it was Dr. Batty himself, and gave an address the 'doctor' had left with the shop. Out of all the nostrums found in Mr. Snow's room, to the best of his knowledge, Dr. Batty's Asthma Cigarettes were not one of the many products present. But what if the man made other products under other names?
Outside the store, he stopped to look at the colourful paper-board box. William couldn't help but laugh at the title. He doubted Julia would have paroxysms of asthma that evening upon seeing what new snake oil he had brought to her, but he knew that she would have a fit of rage nonetheless that such a product was being offered to the public.
The station house was humming along upon his return. George was working the telephone lines trying to confirm Mr. Bannon's assertion about Gustav Batting, and whatever else he could uncover that might speak to a revenge or financial motive to kill Mr. Snow. Constable Jackson had not yet located Dr. Batty/Mr. Batting for an interview, but it had only been a few hours and now he had better contact information, thanks to the apothecary clerk. William didn't bother turning the lights on in his office, but instead opened the blinds and took advantage of the late afternoon sun to look out the window and reflect upon the case. Wouldn't it be convenient if Mr. Batting turned out to be our man…revenge and money the motives?
William poured himself a glass of water and toasted the air, looking at the darkened, empty office across the bullpen. Well, Inspector, you'll be happy to know that even in your absence we are following the money.
He settled back at his desk. Taking his watch out of his pocket to glance at the time, he hoped Julia would return soon with the results of her day's efforts with her students at the medical college. She had had the wonderful idea of combining Mr. Snow's stomach and blood analysis with the study and comparison of samples taken from many of the bottles. William hoped that their efforts would return usable information in narrowing down the list of suspects. In fact, he prayed that she would arrive to present her findings before Constable Jackson did with Mr. Batting. Looking up, he saw Henry through the glass of his office walls coming in from the street.
"Detective? I have my results." Higgins knocked on the door, looking deflated.
William waved him in. "What have you, Henry?"
"We have had nothing come in at all from our informants about witnesses to the assault or someone spending money they had no claim to near the soap works, and nothing has turned up regarding any syringe."
William nodded his head. "It was a long shot, but had to be done. And the money angle?"
Henry's tried not to grimace. "I sent men to look at betting parlours, the race tracks, Chinatown and the Ward; I called in information from the other precincts about usury and loan sharking enterprises. Mr. Snow might have enjoyed the occasional game of cards but there is no information at all that he was involved with gambling, in debt, or writing about legal or illegal gaming." He put his notes away. "I'm sorry sir." The constable looked embarrassed.
William took some pity on him. "Good work, Henry. That was very rapidly and thoroughly done, and well presented. Asking for help from the other station houses was a good idea. Never apologize for doing your job." Behind Henry, George was hanging up the telephone and approaching the detective's office, obviously overhearing the praise William just delivered. He saw George nod in agreement and nudge his erstwhile friend.
"Here, here!" George offered generously. "Detective, Henry. I have just spoken with Mr. Snow's publisher in Chicago. Mr. Bannon was correct. By the time Norris Snow finished his expose of patent medicines and medical fraud, Gustav Batting's company was not just shuttered, he lost nearly six thousand dollars that he was forced to pay back investors at pennies on the dollar. It seems he over sold shares in his company and was run out of town on a rail so to speak, barely escaping some law suits that were attaching themselves to him. The publisher said Mr. Snow received many threats from Mr. Batting before the 'doctor' was forced to capitulate, including threatening libel, getting him fired, and one rather public shouting match that included a death threat against the reporter. Mr. Batting lost everything, including his wife who left him and took his child with her back to Iowa. I searched his history here in Toronto as well. After laying low about six months he resurfaced first in Niagara Falls then in our city. He has rebranded his products and is doing a brisk sale in bottled medicines and other products sold over the counter, and is branching out into ordering though the postal service."
"And now his nemesis was back in town, and perhaps sniffing around," Henry commented.
"Worse yet. It seems that Mrs. Batting has recently rejoined her husband. I think it is not just money that is at stake here," George concluded.
"I concur. So… vice is out as a motive. Money is in, making Mr. Batting our prime suspect, perhaps seeking revenge, certainly fearful of more loss. Those are very strong motives." William rose to circle a few boxes on the blackboard and tapped with his chalk. "Henry, George…We need three things, very quickly. Number one: I want you to pin down where Mr. Batting was all of the day of Mr. Snow's death, hour by hour. Number two: I want to know if he has access to syringes—we already know he has access to heroin and other drugs and chemicals because of the ingredients in the products he sells, and it is likely it would not be too hard for him to get access to medical supplies. Number three: I want to know if there is any evidence of Mr. Snow and Mr. Batting crossing swords in Canada—and start back at the Tattler. Mr. Batting spent a great sum of money on advertisement in that paper."
"We have one of them already, sir." George announced. "He rents part of a building on Trinity near the lake—a spit and a holler from the soap-works."
The telephone's jangle punctuated the short list of tasks. The two constables exited excitedly while William picked up the handset. "Detective Murdoch." He was pleased to hear his wife on the other end.
"Julia, please tell me that there is something definitive in your results. It seems Mr. Snow had more secrets than a magician," he groaned.
Her voice was concerned. "Shall I deliver my findings in person?"
"No. I see Jackson has returned and I hope that means my interview with my new prime suspect is about to begin."
"Well, I do have some information for you as it turns out. In further analysis of his stomach contents and tissues, we most definitely found traces of arsenic of a considerable amount, but not quite enough to kill Mr. Snow. However, in analyzing the contents of one of the nostrums found in his desk at work, we did find cyanide in a bottle of 'Wilson's Syrup of Tar, Wild Cherry, and Horehound'. What's interesting about this product is that it is quite boastful that it does not contain morphine or opiates, and it is said to cure all coughs, colds, croup, and pulmonary afflictions. Given its popularity and that it's been sold since the mid 80's, I wouldn't think that it would contain arsenic," Julia explained.
"Why risk killing off your most loyal customers? That seems counterproductive." William opined.
"Precisely," Julia agreed. "We thought it strange ourselves. So, we went out and bought three additional bottles of the syrup and we didn't find arsenic in any of them. So, it stands to reason that Mr. Snow was deliberately being poisoned by someone adding arsenic to his cough syrup."
"So now the question is just who was adulterating Mr. Snow's syrup and how were they doing it. The syrup was found in his room. How did it get there? Is it possible a person, frustrated with the slow pace of death, wanted to speed up the process…?" He paused to hear himself talk his ideas out loud. "Well, it is illogical to assume more than one person had it in for the man, is it not?" William was already running the possibilities through his mind. He scrunched up his face. "I don't suppose there's any chance that any of your tests that can help me with that is there?" he asked.
"I'm afraid that's your job, and not mine. I just analyze the evidence. It's your responsibility to interpret it. Seeing as you have a potential suspect, I guess I shouldn't expect you home for dinner?" Julia asked.
"I'm afraid not. However, I hope to be home before bedtime," he assured her before putting the handset on its cradle. He took in a huge breath and sent a prayer that George and Henry come up with enough evidence to put Mr. Batting on the ropes. He needed to know how Mr. Batting and Mr. Snow overlapped sufficiently to give Batting the opportunity to attempt to poison his nemesis and then beat him and inject him with heroin-propinquity alone was suggestive but not conclusive. William was afraid it was going to be a tall order.
Checking his appearance in the reflection of the glass, William straightened his tie and re-buttoned his vest, making sure he was presentable. Before walking out to the bullpen where Constable Jackson was awaiting him, he tucked a folded newspaper into a manila folder and grasped it under his arm.
"Mr. Batting is in the interview room, sir. I did not tell him why he was brought in, but that you would explain it to him," Jackson stated before William could even ask.
"Excellent, Constable. Thank you for bringing him in," said William as he left for an interview in which he hoped to get a quick confession. Gustav Batting looked nothing like Dr. Batty from the package of Asthma Cigarettes. Instead of having dark eyes, aquiline nose and a bushy mustache like the figure from the package's picture, Mr. Batting was a thin man, with dark blonde hair, gray eyes and his nose was far less prominent and his mustache quite thin. William thought he would have better off without one as he took in the appearance of his main suspect. A quick glance at the man's hands showed no evidence of a recent altercation, which meant that the man couldn't have been personally responsible for the beating, but he still could have hired someone else for the job. On the other hand, William remembered, Julia thought Snow was slammed against the building and kicked—maybe his killer's hands would not be a giveaway, anyway.
"Good Evening, Mr. Batting. Thank you for agreeing to come down here to speak with me. I'm Detective William Murdoch," William introduced himself.
"Vhy am I heere? I am an honest businessman und I have broken no laws heere in your country," Mr. Batting immediately attacked, in what William instantly recognized as an atrociously fake German accent.
William opened his folder and quietly laid out some of the pages. "Yes…We are conducting an investigation and believe you may have valuable information. I understand you produce what are known as patent medicines."
"Ja. That is true."
"You distribute them in apothecary shops, small stores, door to door and I understand though the mail?"
"Ja. Was ist los?"
"And some doctors and dentists also carry your products?" William asked and got a satisfied nod this time and a smile. "The constabulary is interested to know where you obtain and store your ingredients."
"I import some from mein country and some I buy locally. I mix them at mien workshop, Herr Detective, vhere mien elixirs are mixed und bottled, on Trinity."
So far, so good, thought William. All facts that he already knew and one he as fishing for: access to a medical provider who might have syringes. "I see. And do you use or store any of these particular ingredients?" William slid a single sheet over, containing Julia's best guess of all the chemicals which were in the nostrum Mr. Snow apparently consumed, plus heroin, cocaine, boric acid, alcohol, arsenic, and strychnine—some thirty in all.
"Ja… I used thees in my preparations, zoh, ja, I have them. Theere is nothing amiss. I am an honest provider of helpful remedies. Nothing more!" Mr. Batting squirmed under the detective's inquiry and backed away from the table with a firm shove.
"Well, Mr. Batting, given that your business deals in products of the snake-oil variety, we'll just have to differ on what constitutes honesty," William replied calmly, his sarcasm barely suppressed. Not particularly in the mood for entertaining the man's act, William immediately decided to end the charade. If Gustav Batting's accent was fake, then he really wasn't from Germany. If he really wasn't from Germany, William doubted that the man's name was truly Gustav Batting. "Woher kommen sie aus Deutschland?" William asked. His knowledge of German was not nearly as proficient as French was, but he'd gained a passable knowledge from the various scientific journals dealing with Chemistry and engineering that came from the country.
"I'm sorry, I do not understand…" Mr. Batting began, his false accent faltering even more.
"Ich spreche nur ein kleines bisschen Deutsch. Sprechen sie Deutsch? Ich spreche Englisch. Sprechen sie Englisch?" William pressed his question.
"Ja." the man replied.
"Ich nicht verstehen sie. Sprechen sie Englisch, oder sprechen sie Deutsch?"
"Nein?"
Herr Batting is getting nervous now, shifting in his seat, William observed. "Which is it, Mr. Batting? Please help me, which is it that you do not speak, English or German?" William finally snapped. "How about we admit that we don't speak German, that you've probably never been to Germany, and that Gustav Batting is not your real name. Then perhaps you can tell me your real name and where you're actually from," William stated.
Exhaling and slumping into his seat, Mr. Batting rubbed his face with his hands. "Fine, Mr. Murdoch," he replied in a flat "A" accent. "I do not speak nearly as much German as you apparently, and I am from Chicago. However, my name truly is Gustav Batting. I was named for my grandfather, Gustavus Batting who immigrated to the United States from Mainz, Germany fifty years ago," the man defeatedly admitted.
"Excellent, now that we're telling the truth, how about you tell me where you were Wednesday afternoon from twelve o'clock on, and just how long have you known that Norris Snow, your bitter foe and the man who ruined you in Chicago, was also here in Toronto?" William queried.
"Wednesday?" the man asked, cocking his head quizzically. "Why Wednesday?"
"It was the day that Mr. Snow's body was found near the soap-works. Don't tell me that you were unaware that he was dead," William pressed. "In fact, don't even tell me that you didn't know that he was in Toronto, or that he was dead." William opened his folder again and drew out the edition of The Tattler, which spelled out lurid details of the death and murder investigation.
Batting glanced at the headlines and cleared his throat. "I was at my business, overseeing the production of my fine medications that have benefitted innumerable people over the years. Yes, as an advertiser in the Tattler I knew Snow was there. I saw his name on the byline of many of the articles, but I did not kill him if that's what you were implying. I came here from Chicago, and he must have followed me. Snow ruined my business at his last newspaper, and I was afraid that it was only a matter of time before he did so again. That editor, Mr. Wick, assured me he was not going to publish anything negative about me—I had a guarantee!"
"I think you were worried about the publicity and the money—also that you might lose your family again. I cannot imagine how horrid it would be to reconcile with your wife and reunite your family only to lose them again—that would be a powerful motive to rid yourself of the man who was threatening you."
"Detective! But I did not kill him!"
"I think you did. Convince me otherwise." William shot back.
"If you want the truth, I'm not sorry he's dead, the man was vicious and unjustly attacked me, but I was nowhere near him when he died." he repeated. "Call my wife! Check with my secretary, they can vouch for me," the man pleaded. "Here! Here are their numbers!"
"Very well. Constable?" William called out to Jackson who was waiting just outside.
"Yes, sir?" the man asked. "Please contact Mr. Batting's home and place of business and verify with both his secretary and Mrs. Batting that Mr. Batting was in fact at his office Wednesday afternoon," William handed the names and numbers over on a piece of paper.
"Yes, sir," the constable said, and was off at a trot.
"Why do you believe that you were unjustly attacked? If your products are truly as miraculous as you must claim…" William continued with his previous line of investigation before he was interrupted.
"They've saved countless lives. My concoctions are made of the finest ingredients from Germany, which is why I pretend that's where I'm from. Everyone knows that German knowledge of chemistry is second to none! In fact, Detective, might I suggest some of my…"
It was William's turn to interrupt. "No, thank you, Mr. Batting. My wife is a physician and I follow her advice in regards to my health, which is superb, I assure you. If your products are above reproach, then why flee Chicago in the dark of night, leaving your investors in the lurch? Surely if your products are as high a quality as you believe, wouldn't they have stood up to the criticism?"
"There is nothing wrong with my products! I assure you that they have helped many. I am not sorry Mr. Snow is dead, but I did not kill him, Detective!" the man pleaded.
"Mr. Batting, you produce a product known as "Asthma Cigarettes", and you even recommend their use for children. Instead of seeking appropriate medical care, your lies convince people that your tobacco will ease the coughing associated with respiratory problems when it must in fact, exacerbate it," William snapped. "I happen to disagree with you that your products have helped countless people. The only person they have helped is you and your bank account, Mr. Batting."
"That's not true! Snow was merely an annoyance. I plan to revise the formulas…I can still make a profit, regardless of what Snow does. That's…" Mr. Batting began before William cut him off again.
"Mr. Batting, you started this interview off by lying to me. Is there any reason I should believe you now?" William pointedly asked as there was a knock at the door. "Yes, Constable?"
"Sir, I have been unable to contact Mrs. Batting. She is not at home. However, Mr. Batting's secretary says that he was out of the office most of the afternoon at a meeting. She did not know where exactly," Jackson reported.
"Thank you again, Constable." William replied, nodding his head as the Constable shut the door again and resumed his post outside the door.
"Well, Mr. Batting. It seems that you've been lying to me again. I am arresting you for obstruction of justice—and on suspicion of murder. Perhaps a night in our cells will convince you to tell the truth in the morning," said William.
"Constable? Please escort this man down to the lock up. Our interview is over for now," William stated, standing up and leaving the room, while his suspect started sputtering something about a lawyer.
William returned to his office and quickly completed the necessary paperwork and procedures for detaining a prisoner. Groaning, he grabbed the handset on his phone and asked to be connected to the hotel. He was going to inform Julia that he would be home much later than expected tonight. Somewhere from the back of his mind he could hear the Inspector's voice "Murdoch, no one on their death bed ever wished that they had worked more." He supposed that was true, but neither George nor Jackson had wives or families at home so no one was waiting for them his mind rationalized. But you do, his conscience reminded him.
Nevertheless William ignored it as he stepped into the bullpen to determine a course of action with the two men.
# # #