Chapter Seven
Saturday mornings were typically a time for luxuriating in bed with Julia, and his one day of the week to take his time starting his day, as Sundays he had to rise as early as any weekday to attend Mass. But despite this not being a typical Saturday, his mood was pleasant, as he woke up with the woman he loved, sexually satisfied, something that always added a boost to his confidence and best yet, he was still going to spend the day with his wife, who was his true partner in every sense of the word. Looking over to his right he found said woman already awake and staring at him with a smile on her face.
"Good morning, Mr. Murdoch. Did you sleep well?" she asked as she smoothed the lines on his brow.
"With you by my side, how could I not?" he asked, taking her hand to kiss it. "Shall we get our day started?"
As they dressed and ate a quick breakfast of tea and scones, William outlined the plans for the day. If he didn't get the evidence he needed by lunchtime, he was going to have to let Mr. Batting go. Thus, since time was of the essence, it was decided that William would send constables to search Mr. Batting's workshop while he interviewed Mrs. Batting, and Julia would examine Mr. Batting for any recent injuries as well as test the ingredients found in Mr. Batting's workshop the previous evening. She was planning on calling in Miss James as well as some other students to assist her with this last task. William got to thinking about Julia's observation about poison, women, and access to Mr. Snow to deliver the poison. It gave him another idea for who the men outside Mme. Le Chabanais' might have been arguing about, so he arranged that conversation too.
Thus, they immediately hit the ground running on what was supposed to have been a leisurely day for the both of them.
Julia's examination of Batting turned up no visible injuries of any recent physical altercations and thus she immediately set to work to test the samples brought back from Batting's lab, including the most ridiculous and appalling item- the "Asthma Cigarette."
Meanwhile, William met with Mrs. Batting, and almost immediately, William most uncharitably understood why the man sought refuge in both game and drink. Some may have described her as physically attractive, with thick, glossy black hair, a patrician nose, and grey eyes, but the woman simply left William cold, as there was no warmth or spark to her personality, and instead of expressing concern about her husband, she instead spoke exasperatedly of him.
"What's the idiot done now, Detective?" were her first words to him upon being seated in his office.
"Well, I don't know that he's done anything, but he is a person of interest in a murder investigation. I trust your party went well last night?" William asked, unable to resist a dig at her refusal to come in the night previous.
"Why yes, Detective. I've only been in town for two weeks, but of course I've already made such wonderful friends. To be perfectly honest, it went even better than I expected without that oaf there to mess things up," Mrs. Batting stated coldly. "I should never have given the man a second chance."
"Oh?" William asked. He also wondered how wonderful these friends truly could have been if Mrs. Batting were the measurement by which they could be judged.
"Yes, when we were courting, he assured me that he was a successful businessman, head of a growing business empire, and showered me with expensive gifts until I agreed to marry him," the woman explained. "But after the wonderfully lavish honeymoon, he bought me the large house I wanted, but it wasn't in the correct neighborhood, after he'd promised that I would have nothing but the best. Of course, I wanted out then, but by that time, I was already pregnant, damn fool that I was. Of course, the bastard planned it that way, I'm sure of it," the woman complained.
Not particularly moved by her hardships, William couldn't bring himself to feel much sympathy for the woman. "I see," he responded. "Have you any more children? Are they here in Toronto?"
"Oh, God no. Poor thing looks entirely too much like her father, unfortunately. She's back in Iowa with my mother," the woman explained. "Gustav assured me that things would be different here, that he wasn't going to trade in his snake oil products. He told me that he was importing heroin from Germany and merely reselling it to local producers. He assured me that he was not making anything for public consumption himself. He promised me that it would be different here," the woman whined.
"And you didn't suspect anything different?" William asked incredulously.
"Why should I? It's his job to provide for me. It's not seemly for a lady to concern herself with business affairs," the woman haughtily replied.
"Mrs. Batting, could you tell me where you were Wednesday afternoon?"
"Wednesday afternoon…oh yes, I was at the tennis club playing doubles with Mrs. Margaret Attenbury, Mrs. Belinda Knowles, and Miss Evelyn Mercer. It was a most splendid afternoon even if some wretched woman came by asking for money to feed her baby. Shouldn't have had the poor creature if you can't afford to feed it, if you ask me. Thankfully, the club dispatched someone to remove her quickly, although I dare say I may have to speak with them as to how she was even able to enter the grounds in the first place," the woman replied.
His previous good mood was eroded by the woman's dreadful demeanor and he wondered just what Mr. Batting or any other man would see in this woman. "I see. Thank you, Mrs. Batting. That will be all for now. Perhaps I can have the Constable escort you down to the cells so that you may see your husband," he proposed.
"Oh, absolutely not. It must be ghastly down there," the woman replied, tugging her gloves on daintily.
"Mrs. Batting, our interview is concluded, but I'd like to ask you to stay for a while anyway. If not visiting your husband, perhaps in the interview room," William said.
"Oh, but what if anyone should see me?" the woman asked. "This won't do my reputation any favors," she worried.
"The interview room is most secluded, Mrs. Batting. I would think no one should see you there," William assured her.
"Oh, very well. If I must…" she muttered.
Sensing that she would be just the type of woman easily turned by a bit of flattery, William called Higgins into his office.
"Sir?" the constable asked.
"I need you to escort Mrs. Batting into the interview room and perhaps bring her some tea?" William directed.
Seeing the gleam in his eye as he appraised the attractive woman, Higgins eagerly accepted his task.
"Yes, sir. Ma'am? May I escort you?" he asked, offering his arm.
Smiling and taking his arm, the woman beamed. "Thank you most kindly, Constable…Higgins, is it? I am pleased to know that such gentlemen like you are still around…" she trailed off as the door closed behind them.
William was sure that if he'd rolled his eyes any harder, they might have actually stuck in the back of his head. He also congratulated himself for having the foresight and intelligence for not marrying a woman like that. Doubtful that she would have ever been interested in you anyway, a working class copper he snorted to himself. Thank God, for that!
For the time being, William was convinced that the woman was most likely not responsible for poisoning Mr. Snow as he doubted that Mr. Batting was worth that much to her. If he embarrassed her again, the woman would most likely just simply leave him once more. Still, it was worth finding out if Mrs. Batting was the "she" referred to in the mysterious conversation with Mr. Snow outside Mademoiselle. Chastity's room.
Picking up the phone, he decided to call the morgue to check on Julia's progress in testing the samples.
"Oh, Julia," he sighed. "May I tell you once again how much I love you and how truly fortunate I am to have found someone like you?" he asked as she answered the phone.
Laughing heartily, her response lifted his spirits again. "I take it Mrs. Batting was a most charming and beguiling woman?" she asked.
"Oh, most appealing," he sarcastically quipped as she laughed again. His mood brightened even more at being the man who could make this woman her laugh like that. "What do you have so far?" he asked.
"We're close to being done, if you believe it! I actually got several volunteers from the medical college to come in and help me, and these ladies are most excellent chemists," she proudly stated. "They're quite keen to learn more about poisons and the compositions of various drugs and concoctions and how they can impact the body."
"That's wonderful. Might you have an answer soon?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, I think they might be finishing up now, so as soon as we discuss our findings, I can come over to report to you in person?" she asked.
"You should know that I will never object to seeing you, Mrs. Murdoch, in more ways than one," he assured her as the call ended.
Thinking of his wife and lover, he was thankful for what seemed like the millionth time that he could share all aspects of his life with Julia, including work. He truly loved how their professional and personal interests blended into their lives so seamlessly, and that he could discuss a case after relations just as he had done last night.
Just then he found himself wondering if Norris Snow had shared anything of an intimate nature with anyone and he suddenly remembered that there had been something most unusual about Rita Love's behavior at his visitation. William decided that perhaps it might be useful to speak with the Gazette's reporter and find out what her exact relationship had been with the victim. Even if his hunch that they had been lovers was off, the woman seemed to know everything, and she might just have some useful information. Placing a phone call to the Gazette, the woman agreed to meet him in 30 minutes time.
After checking the interview room to see how Mrs. Batting was doing, and seeing that she was enjoying flirting with Higgins (it seems the man was somewhat useful after all), William returned to his office and began creating a list of suspects at his chalkboard made all the more difficult by the secretiveness with which Mr. Snow had lived his life. Sighing, he created a column for names, another for motive, and another for alibi when the constables returned from searching Mr. Batting's workshop, reporting that not much else of note had been found on the premises inside, outside, or even in the trash that had yet to be collected. This included no syringe.
Sighing, he put his chalk down he decided to speak with Mr. Batting again, hoping a night in the cells had loosened his tongue or at least increased his desire for telling the truth.
###
It turned out that now that his wife, Mrs. Batting, was fully involved and he not desiring to spend another night in the less than inviting conditions of the cells of station house No. 4, Mr. Batting readily admitted to having spent Wednesday afternoon at McGuinness' Pub, just as his secretary had theorized.
"Why didn't you tell me this yesterday, man? It could have saved everyone a great deal of trouble?" William asked incredulously.
"I don't know…I didn't want my wife to find out, I guess." The man forlornly stated.
"Then why use her as an alibi in the first place?" William wondered.
"I was hoping she wouldn't answer the phone, or would just forget and say that I was home," the man cryptically said.
It didn't make much sense to him, but with this bit of information in hand, William immediately dispatched a constable to check the man's alibi.
# # #
"Please have a seat, Miss Love," William offered politely and with a smile. He was having this discussion in the Inspector's office, not to specifically intimidate the woman, but because he thought discretion was paramount and this room was more private than his office, whilst Mrs. Batting was occupying the interview room.
"Detective Murdoch. Why am I here? I don't suppose it is to offer me an exclusive story on one of your cases. Is it?" Miss Love shifted only slightly in her chair and offered a wary smile in return.
William had his hands clasped on the desk and opened them in apology. "No. It is not. But I do wish to discuss Norris Snow's murder." He noticed the corners of her green eyes tighten and he spied the reddened areas, suspecting she'd been crying. "I saw you at Mr. Snow's calling hours." He waited for her next reaction-which was to keep her face frozen in a neutral, superficially pleasant expression, trying to give nothing away- as he expected. Miss Love was warm and pleasant, but tough at the same time—she'd have to be considering her occupation. "You were the only one there who did not pay their respects at the coffin nor did you interact with anyone else there-most of whom were your and his colleagues of one kind of another." William waited again so see her reaction. He knew he had to consider her a possible suspect, despite his instinct lying in another direction. Miss Love remained unmoving, not giving into the silence which stretched out between them. I am going to have to watch her carefully and push the truth out of her, considering the first time I questioned her she nearly hijacked the interview. William sighed to himself, gathered his thoughts and commenced:
"Miss Love. I believe you were at Norris Snow's calling hours because you and he were more than colleagues." The woman kept her face calm, but her hands twitched while she remained silent.
"I believe you and he were involved. Romantically." Her eyes widened fractionally but she did not deny it.
"The question is, therefore, why, when you probably knew him best, have you not come forward with any information to help find his killer?" This time, she looked like she'd been slapped, her face flooded with blood and her cool green eyes misted. William waited until the emotion in her turned from shock to anger, only mildly ashamed at himself for such a brutal tactic - but he was running out of time. "Is it because you can be implicated in his death? Just before his death, we know he was arguing about a woman-are you that woman?"
"No!" The sound erupted from Miss Love's throat. "I am not! That is ridiculous!" She leaned forward over the deskin agitation.
"No to which question, Miss Love? To being the woman he was arguing about or being involved in his death?"
"Both!"
"Then, why not come forward? It is no secret we are investigating his death."
Her pulse raced in her neck and she was breathing harder. She looked at him, still angry but with the added emotion of guilt or shame he thought. He sat back and waited some more while she found her gumption.
"Detective, Norris and I were…intimate. I was humiliated to admit my connection to him, to have been a fool, because it is also no secret that everyone is saying he was heavily involved with prostitutes. That tidbit of information has been leaked everywhere-all those prying eyes at the funeral! I just don't want to believe it! " She wiped her face, then looked up. "My position as a female journalist is precarious enough-there are only two of us in Toronto. Being caught up in a sex scandal and murder will undercut my reputation and credibility. It was hard enough to lose him…I don't want to lose my career too, not after how hard I fought to get it." Miss Love sat ram-rod straight, daring William to wound her any further.
William considered the woman before him. "Where were you between twelve noon and five o'clock the afternoon of his death?"
"I was covering the warehouse fire and aftermath. I interviewed the Fire Chief and the Alderman, then I went back to the office to type up my story in time for the evening edition."
"I am also going to want to search your residence and your office. If you have nothing to hide it will be a mere formality." He got a glare from her and then a nod-he was not going to say he was looking for poisons, since that would give her more information than he's gotten from her. "As it happens, I agree with you about Mr. Snow's character. He was not availing himself of the women he was writing about in the brothels. He was not only discrete, he was apparently faithful to you." Miss Love's face was transformed by her thoughts-surprise, then gratitude, then grief in quick succession.
"I knew it, she murmured. "I never should have doubted him."
"Miss Love. I promise that in the end the truth about Norris Snow will come out-but I am not in the position to clear his reputation at the moment. You understand, don't you? I am hoping you will help us catch his killer. Where did he keep the notes for the stories he was working on, his drafts, his research?" William thought she'd know if anyone did.
"Norris had a prodigious memory, Detective. I don't know if you've ever met anyone like this but he recalled, almost verbatim, anything he read. He kept in a journal that was always on his person with the essence of what he was writing, names, facts, occasionally things to jog his memory or when he needed a precise reference. His manuscripts were only two places-work or his boarding house. He kept his personal work at home and his professional work at the newspaper, locked in his desk. Why are you asking?"
"First: do you know what he was working on?"
"Yes. Norris was rather secretive about his work, but he did end up telling me he had three active projects going that were nearly completed-not unusual for a writer as prolific as he…was. He had an expose about patent medications in Toronto-just like he did one in Chicago. It was on hold though until the editor gave the go-ahead. He was doing a piece on prostitution-not the usual exploration of the men who use these women, but about the women's lives-their real lives. And he was writing a novel-I understand it was nearly complete."
That confirmed the basic facts already discovered. "Do you know of any reason for someone to want to kill Mr. Snow?"
Miss Love's voice was grave. "It is a little known fact of life…journalists are intimidated all the time, especially when they are writing about important yet unpopular subjects-unpopular because they point out corruption or threaten a political figure or a man's riches." Her face darkened. "He made no mention to me of anyone making any threats to him. But if I correctly infer from what you said—I take it his papers are gone?" He nodded. "Then I think the fact the notes are gone indicates Norris was targeted because of what he was writing—there is your motive, detective. He would have likely been working up some new stories as well, which would be outlined in his journal—he kept everything of importance there and never let it out of his sight. Do you think perhaps he was assassinated for what he uncovered?"
# # #
William was thoughtful as he watched Miss Love exit towards the street from the Inspector's private entrance. The reporter and his wife scraped by each other in the vestibule, but neither woman paused. Julia caught his eye and he rose to greet her and escort her back to his own office, where the telephone was ringing.
William answered the call and made a face, thanking his caller and hanging up. "I take it you have your results, doctor?"
"Yes," she said. "I think we do." She sat in the chair across from his desk. "Our results indicate that the material in Mr. Batting's possession at his workshop match the ingredients in his products—hardly surprising. He imports many of his ingredients from Germany and purchases the rest from Ontario and New York. Also not surprising. What is surprising is that the purity of the heroin in his possession is much less than what was in Mr. Snow's body. One can easily decrease purity but it is harder to increase it, requiring equipment not in his possession. He never even did his own distillations. William, I don't think Mr. Batting supplied the drug that killed Mr. Snow!"
He shook his head and pointed to the chalkboard's grid and lists. "There are no known scuffles between Mr. Snow and Mr. Batting. No proximate cause or motive since the exposé was not going to be published any time soon. By the time Mr. Wick allowed it, Mr. Batting would have made his fortune and likely been gone, or changed his tune about what he produced. Henry finished turning his workshop and warehouse over-no syringes. That was the constable I sent over to Mr. Batting's pub—he was indeed there all afternoon. His alibi checks out. You tell me the heroin does not match." He looked at Julia. "I think we are going to have to let him go."
"I'm sorry, William, but I agree." Julia answered. She stood to leave when George appeared in the doorway.
"Sir. I showed Mr. Batting's picture to the ladies at Madame Le Chabanais'. No one recognized him. We searched the premises—and while we turned up a few items, there was only rat poison, and no medical devices such as syringes. The Madam is convincing that she did not know about the article he was writing—on medical remedies nor on other "vices." I cannot find an actual motive for anyone else there to have killed Mr. Snow."
Julia weighed in. "Remember that Mr. Snow was poisoned over time. Even were it to turn out that he was poisoned at the brothel, there is no reason to connect that act to the Madam."
George agreed and shrugged.
"Thank you, George." He paused. "I agree as well. There is not enough evidence to connect Mr. Batting to Mr. Snow's death. Please send a constable to release Mr. Batting and send his wife along with him."
While George was doing so, William went to the blackboard and used his eraser. When he was done, there was very little left: "Means" was poison delivered in a syringe; secondarily Snow was poisoned, likely deliberately. Access had a question mark on it. Under "Motive," William wrote "missing papers." Under "Opportunity" he wrote "Home," "Work," and "Other."
George and Henry joined detective and doctor in a semi-circle inform of the slate. When they were settled, William began. "Doctor, gentlemen… We have made no progress at all with knowing who the "she" is that Norris Snow and some other man were fighting about. Perhaps since there are no known threats towards Mr. Snow, the overheard argument was Mr. Snow threatening another man. We have crossed off Mr. Batting and his wife from our suspect list. We have also crossed off Madame Le Chabanais and her employees as well. I spoke with Miss Rita Love, a colleague of Mr. Snow who was also his paramour. It seems unlikely she was the woman that was being argued about. She has an alibi that I am pretty sure will check out. She says he was very secretive about his writing and only kept work at work and personal writing at home; and his journal with him at all times. Miss Love believes he was killed, assassinated is the word she used, because of what he was writing about, as evidenced by his missing papers and notes on stories..." He made eye contact with his audience. "I have decided I agree with her. But perhaps not in the way she thinks. To obtain the papers may have been why he was killed—but we have no way of verifying exactly what about them was so important it required killing to keep it quiet."
"We also need to find someone who had access to Mr. Snow to poison him, and who knew that the papers were so dangerous." Henry pointed out.
"It seems that the place with that sort of overlap would be at the Tattler itself," George added. "But how was that done?"
Julia wondered. "And by whom?"
All four were silent, then Julia stood. "Detective? I have an idea about how else to introduce chemicals into Mr. Snow's body, but I need access to some of the evidence seized from the newspaper office and his home. May I?" she asked, walking over to the box of items she was interested in.
As he had no objection, she left with her selection, with Henry carrying the crate.
George and William looked at each other glumly. Eventually George spoke: "So, I must tell you that in thinking about Mr. Snow, I was inspired to go home and work on my latest novel. You know, he was one of those muckrakers, and I was thinking that perhaps I should make one of my characters one, as they are a heroic sort sir. Just think, they still seek justice and truth just as we do, so I suppose I feel that they are a sort of kindred spirit to us. Also…" George would have expounded more, but William cut him off.
"Yes, George. Your point." William reminded him.
"Yes, sir. As I was doing so, I needed to replace my typewriter ribbon, and that's when I realized that though Mr. Snow's notes may be missing or possibly even destroyed, there should at least be a partial record of what he typed, actually recorded on his typewriting ribbons at the newspaper and his home—as you recall he had a habit of never reusing one. We may not learn everything, but at least we could know what he was last working on, which may help us." George explained.
Shaking his head in annoyance that he didn't think of it himself, William sighed. Of course, he thought. Out loud, he nodded his head in agreement, "Very good, George. And if you will recall, it was Mr. Bannon who criticized Mr. Snow as a sinner for spending his time with prostitutes as well as sent us in the direction of Mr. Batting. Mr. Bannon who sits right next to Mr. Snow in the office. Mr. Bannon who did not attend the calling hours or funeral of his colleague..."
"George, get your helmet. We're going back to the Tattler and to Mr. Snow's boarding house. We need those typewriters," William instructed. "Best take the carriage as who knows what other evidence may be useful to us."
"Sir, perhaps we should stop by Mme. Le Chabanais establishment and show her and the other girls Mr. Bannon's picture? It's possible they might recognize him.
"Excellent idea again, George!"