Chapter Eight
The detective and his constable made their first stop at Mr. Snow's boarding house where they seized his personal typewriting machine and collected the myriad of bottles present in the window. Next, they went by the offices of the Tattler and seized the typewriting machine there as well, hoping they would find motive and a suspect on one or both of these machines.
On their way back to the station, they made a brief stop at Madame Le Chabanais' house where they were again greeted by the same butler who had shown them in the first time, this time far less formally attired. It was early yet.
Upon seeing William and George again, the man sighed deeply, clearly hesitant to upset his boss once again.
"The sooner you allow us in, sir, the sooner we will be gone," William offered, feeling somewhat sorry for the man.
"Madame is not yet awake, Detective," he quietly explained.
"We'll wait. In the meantime, which of the young ladies are awake? We'll speak with them first," William told him as they pushed their way in the door. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was past noon, he doubted the house's inhabitants would be asleep much longer if they were to have time to get ready before the evening's guests arrived.
Walking around the drawing room, this time William and George made no pretense they weren't studying the artworks on the wall. Many of the pictures that caught William's attention last time caught his eye again - particularly those featuring the siege d'amour, and other platforms for connection. Truth be told, he wanted to study the choices in greater detail, curious to see if he could recreate something for himself from existing furniture, or if it would need to be something he would need to commission? In fact, could any furniture maker create the piece, or would he have to seek out a particular maker? He doubted they were mass-produced, so it would be costly, but given the unique positions that the pieces could afford him and Julia, he felt that it might be worth it. So caught up in studying it, he failed to notice Mademoiselle Chastity approach him, clearly naked beneath her dressing gown in much the same way Julia had been the night before.
"Detective Murdoch, I see that you are most intrigued by that position. Are you sure you don't care to come upstairs and experience it for yourself?" she asked from behind. "I am most willing."
Startled, William spun around, embarrassed at having been caught out. Blushing, he looked down. But since there was no point it denying it, he decided to own up to his curiosity. "Actually, Mademoiselle Chastity, I'm most intrigued by the piece of furniture. I've never seen anything like it before, and I was wondering if you happened to know where it was obtained, or if it was made specifically for Mme. Le Chabanais?" William asked before realizing how inappropriate his question truly was. "I'm simply curious because I think such a person must be quite skilled and obviously a craftsman," he quickly explained, shocked at his own forwardness. A quick glance at George reassured him that the man was far too intently studying another erotic painting.
"Rest assured, Detective, you are not the first to ask. I believe I have heard Madame boast that she imported it directly from Paris at a most incredible expense. But I have also heard her state that there is a chair maker near Cabbagetown who has custom made other pieces based on sketches Madame got from Paris. Miles and Sons I do believe it was," she informed him with a wink.
"Thank you for all of your information, Mademoiselle Chastity, I cannot thank you enough for the details you have provided. They may assist us in catching Mr. Snow's killer yet. However, I do have one more question to ask of you. Do you know this man?" he asked, holding up a picture of Mr. Bannon.
Mademoiselle Chastity wrinkled her nose and grimaced pettily. "Why yes, that's Martin, of course. Dreadful man, he is. Not at all a gentleman like you. Now that you mention it, he could very well have been the other voice I thought I heard with Mr. Snow. He was a regular here six month's back. Then he returned again—they always do you know. It's been a few days since I've seen him and that's unusual…" she trailed off, looking around. Seeing that another girl had come down, still scantily dressed in a sheer nightdress, Chastity called her over.
"Patience, when was the last time you saw Martin?" she asked pointing at the picture.
Brow furrowed, the girl looked at the picture. "Ugh. It's been a few days, thankfully." she confirmed.
"Mademoiselle Patience, is it? Do you know this man?" William asked, pointing to the picture to confirm.
"Yes, that's Martin, everyone knows him. He used to come in here almost nightly," she stated, rolling her eyes. "The last time we saw him he was quite a sight!"
Mademoiselle Patience laughed. "And a smell too! Not like you and your fellow officer…"
"Ladies, forgive me for asking, but you don't seem to have a favorable opinion of Mr. Bannon. May I ask why?" William wondered.
"Most men here aren't much to look at, but usually they're a decent sort, and don't hurt us or make us do anything we don't want to do. But this man does, he enjoys humiliating us some times and hurting us at others. Madame has told us to endure some of it, but when we persisted, she said she was going to have a talk with him, warn him that he best mend his ways or she would have him escorted out and not allow him to return," Mademoiselle Chastity replied.
"Most girls won't see him anymore. Maybe that's why he stopped coming…Madame spoke with him already?" Mademoiselle Patience offered as well.
"That is pertinent information indeed, ladies. And you say that he hasn't been seen here in days despite being a regular? Do you happen to remember when that last time was?" William asked, feeling like he was maybe finally on the right track.
"All the days blur together," she answered with a shrug. "Perhaps Madame knows. She usually keeps track of such things in her book," she replied.
By this time, more ladies had come down and all had confirmed that Martin Bannon was a regular who hadn't been seen in a few days, and that none of them cared for the man's sadism. Finally, Madame Le Chabanais herself came down with an angry look, no doubt already having been informed that the Constabulary had returned.
Hoping to ward off the woman's foul mood, quickly gain her cooperation, and quickly get back to the station, William held up a hand in peace. "Madame Le Chabanais, I apologize for taking up your time once again, but your girls have already confirmed that they know this man, and I was wondering if you could confirm his name as well as the last date he was here? It may be pertinent to our case," he explained, trying to encourage her that as long as she complied, their departure would soon be imminent. Visibly pushing down her anger, she nodded.
"Yes, that's Mr. Bannon, and the last day he was here Tuesday evening I do believe," she responded opening up her book to check the details. "Yes, he hasn't been here since Tuesday," she confirmed. "Is he involved in this matter?" she asked. "It wouldn't surprise me at all, I never did care for the man."
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," William replied. "Why continue to allow him entrance if you or the ladies didn't care for him?
"Because cash is still cash, even if it comes from an unrefined boor – at least until a certain point. Truth be told, I was very close to asking him to leave and not return, as most of the girls couldn't abide him," she admitted.
"I see. Thank you ladies, all of you, for your help. We'll show ourselves out," he stated, as he motioned George to follow him. By this time George was surrounded by a few ladies who were admiring his uniform. "George!" William barked.
"Sorry, sir," the man replied amidst a sea of giggles.
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Arriving back at the station, William had George immediately set to work upon the typewriting machines to remove and hopefully decipher the ribbons. George deftly opened up the cover of the Oliver machine, and pulled out the spooled ribbon. "This is an Underwood ribbon made for an older model of Oliver, much like my own. You can see that it has been wound back up only about three quarters of the way." George set the spools flat on his desk and used pencils to spear the center holes. "I am praying that he's been consistent in his habit of never using a ribbon twice."
William handed George a large magnifier. "We need to know what Mr. Snow was writing about that could have gotten him killed."
"Yes sir." He lectured the detective as he worked. "Certain typestyles damage the cotton ribbon more than others when the steel strikes the ribbon, depositing ink of the page behind it as it rests against the platten. How hard the typewriter hits the keys, the kind of paper all play a part of course. But…." he pulled out a section for the detective to appreciate. "You can see here where the cotton fibers are fractured that it is possible to see most of the individual letters which were struck. Sir! I think this is going to work!"
"That is excellent George."
"Thank you. Do you think Mr. Bannon was involved?"
"It is my best line of inquiry, George. He injected himself into our investigation and gave us what turned out to be false information about Mr. Snow—initially leading us astray. Then we have witnesses who suggest Mr. Bannon and Mr. Snow argued the night before he was killed—one man threatening the other, even if we are not sure who threatened whom or about which woman."
"Or professional jealousy, perhaps? Instead of Mr. Snow plagiarizing, perhaps it was Mr. Bannon who wanted some sort of glory and stole his stories. It must be boring and not very rewarding to write about financial matters, don't you think?" He angled the ribbon to see better. "Sir. All I see so far on this ribbon is the last portion of Mr. Snow's novel. I, er… took it upon myself to read the manuscript thoroughly, for evidentiary value only, of course."
"Of course." William was disappointed. "Nothing else?"
"It will take me a while to look at both ribbons." George examined the Underwood machine from the Tattler offices. "Now this is a fine machine, with a standard one-half inch ribbon. Since we are in a rush, perhaps I will get Higgins to help."
"Go to it. Get anyone you want to assist you. I need conclusive evidence, George. Mr. Bannon may be an extremely unlikable character, but we cannot allow this to influence our investigation." William reminded George as he turned back to his blackboard, working through a potential case against Mr. Bannon. He had only speculation about the interference the newspaper man may have perpetrated in the case. He had no known motive other than an argument overheard by two prostitutes—which was too weak. "Opportunity" was clear—Mr. Bannon was a co-worker who would have had personal access to poisoning him as well as his papers. "Means" was unclear, but as there was no regulation about accessibility to various drugs and poisons anyone might be able to obtain these chemicals.
William checked his watch. Time is flying. He picked up the telephone to call Julia while he was waiting for George and Henry to finish. The handset rang only twice when his wife swept in to his office excitedly, Miss James and two of her students trailing behind. "Detective, we have it! One of the reasons we did not find poison in Mr. Snow's stomach contents is that he was being given small doses on a daily basis. His pens, pencils, his tea spoon, even his ivory tooth - pick, all were covered with arsenic residue which was likely directly absorbed into the blood stream. We also know why that did not out and out kill him. It is because usually when someone is exposed that way, a little bit at a time, it can create a sort of immunity to the poison—the body can build resistance to it."
"It is called 'mithridatism.'" Miss James continued at Dr. Ogden's urging. "You should know that depending on the poison, it can still lead to lethal levels of a poison in the body, depending on the individual's constitution."
"Like the King of Pontus?" William was not quite sure how to interpret the data. "So you think he was doing it to himself?"
"Unlikely, detective." Miss James continued. "Simply coating random objects with a poison is not an effective way of doing that. No. What I mean is that someone was trying to poison him but because of how he was doing so, it actually rendered the poisoning less effective."
"So. One more piece of evidence. But it does not get us any closer to a killer." William scratched his forehead.
"Actually it does," Julia smiled. "Ladies?"
William had ignored the two students until now. He gave them his attention.
"Detective Murdoch. Our analysis shows that none of the items from Mr. Snow's room were affected: only those found in his office were tainted. That means the opportunity was at the Tattler." The dark haired student beamed her news at him, when she was startled by George shouting in the bullpen.
"Sir! I've got it!" George rushed into the detective's office-his hands were black from the ink and a certain amount was painted on his face and Henry's too. "Listen to this! I had to guess at a few letters, but…Quote: 'You are going to pay me or pay the price with your wife. I told you to stay away from those girls and you just would not listen. I'll take another $15 right off the top—I will see you tomorrow, Bannon. Have my money ready.' Unquote. We have him sir! Mr. Bannon's motive was to shed himself of a blackmailer!"
"And didn't you tell me his breath smelled appalling?" Julia asked. William nodded. "I am going to want to examine him, but I think we are going to find out Mr. Bannon has mistakenly poisoned himself."
Out into the bullpen he shouted. "Henry! George! Get cleaned up and call Mr. Bannon and Mr. Snow's banks. I want to see those records."
A short while later, Henry had been successful in reaching the bank manager for Mr. Bannon's bank, and had informed him that there had been a series of withdrawals every Friday for the past six months for the same amount. A few minutes later, Norris Snow's bank contacted him that there had been a series of matching deposits for the same amount made either late in the day Friday or early Monday for the same time period.
The Inspector would be proud that we are following his aphorism about the money, William thought with a smirk before regaining his composure.
"Henry? Bring Mr. Bannon in for a visit and see if we can bring justice to Mr. Snow, and while you are there, secure his house. Take two constables with you. George? I'll need you to pay another visit to the Tattler and tell Mr. Wick we need everything from Mr. Bannon's desk. If he refuses, tell him we'll get a warrant," William ordered.
As both men nodded in understanding and replied with their customary "yes, sirs," they scuttled off to complete their tasks.
Taking a deep breath to clear his head, William set about gathering his evidence and collecting his thoughts, mentally cataloguing what it was he needed to do get a confession, something he desperately wanted.
###
With everything in order in his file, William was looking outside his office window as the sky took on the hues of sunset, saddened that he had lost a beautiful Saturday to this case, but hopeful that he was about to solve it. About an hour after he left, George was the first to return with items of interest from Martin Bannon's desk. "No need for a warrant sir. Mr. Wick was all too happy to allow me to take anything I wanted," George offered as an explanation as he presented the box to William.
Immediately taking a look at the objects, William was heartened to see a bottle of Fowler's Solution, a product that boasted arsenic oxide and a bottle of Bayer's Heroin. "Please take everything to Dr. Ogden at once, George. Please let her know I need them as soon as possible," William requested.
Alas, there had been no syringe found in the man's desk, but William presumed that he would not have been dumb enough to hold onto it, much like the victim's wallet and personal items had been discarded unless they had been of monetary value, and those had been pawned. Too bad the pawnbroker wouldn't be able to give an accurate description…
Hopefully Julia is right and that he's been inadvertently poisoning himself as well.
Thirty minutes later, Higgins finally returned with their new suspect, Martin Bannon. "Sorry sir, he wasn't at the office or at home. His residence is under a discrete guard. I had to wait until he and his wife returned home from the park it seems," Henry offered.
"Quite all right Henry, you found him. I take it he's in the interview room?"
"Yes, sir. I told him we needed him for additional assistance in Mr. Snow's death inquiry," the Constable added.
"So he doesn't know he's our new chief suspect, then? Excellent, Henry," William said as he picked up the phone to call the morgue.
"Julia. How is the testing going?" William asked his wife, unconsciously pulling on his tie. All his energy was gone from earlier in the day; all he wanted to go home and spend another night with his wife like he had last night.
"Quite well, William. The Fowler's Solution you sent over should only contain approximately 1% arsenic, yet I'm fairly sure it's been adulterated with more, since the sample from Mr. Bannon's desk contains slightly more, but not enough to kill him, which is probably why Mr. Snow wasn't deathly ill, but only presented with the symptoms of a cold, especially given since he didn't directly ingest any of the product. Mr. Bannon I'd wager, since he was directly handling the arsenic, should have come into contact with more of it, and should be showing signs of arsenic poisoning-even more so that Mr. Snow would have since the arsenic was introduced to him in a way that would have allowed him to build up immunity," she explained.
"Good, that is excellent news. Perhaps we'll close this up tonight yet, eh?" he asked.
"For both of our sakes I certainly hope so," she teased.
"Later," he murmured. "Are you at a point where you can step away? Our suspect has arrived," he asked.
"Yes, all that's left is very simple testing that even you could perform, Detective," she teased again.
"Amusing, Julia. I'll remember that later," he teased back as he ended the call and resumed his seriousness. He still had work to do.
Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts and offer a prayer that he would serve the Lord's will, William once again ran over the pertinent details as he waited for his wife to come to the station. He selected a variety of items which buttressed his case against Mr. Bannon and assembled them on a tray he covered with one of his white handkerchiefs. A few minutes later, the playful and curious Julia of earlier had been replaced by a no-nonsense professional, her blue suit immaculate and fully buttoned up and her hair swept back in a bun. "Shall we?" she asked while standing at his door way.
Mr. Martin Bannon fidgeted in his seat, and was startled when Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden entered the interview room. William placed his tray nonchalantly to the side, and his file directly on the table in front of his suspect. Here we go.
"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Bannon. This is our coroner, Dr. Julia Ogden. She has completed the autopsy of your colleague Norris Snow. We know several things we did not know before."
"How can I help you, detective?" He asked, pulling his hand which had a slight tremor, off the table into his lap.
"We know that Norris Snow was murdered, injected with an overdose of heroin. We also know, in addition, that he was being poisoned. You were so helpful for our investigation, Mr. Bannon, pointing us to various houses of ill repute to hunt for suspects and clues and giving us insights into the victim."
Bannon relaxed and smiled. "You are welcome. Anything I can do to be helpful. Was it an angry pimp who murdered him, perhaps? Or was it ol' Doc Batty himself?" he asked, slightly leering at Julia.
Without even thinking about it, William moved to stand between the man and his wife. Suddenly the room was not big enough for there to be the distance between Bannon and Julia that William wanted.
Unaware of the man's character, or of William's need to have a barrier between them, Julia needed no additional time at all for her analysis of the man and weighed in, stepping forward to speak. The suspect's appearance told her all she needed to know as she cut directly to the chase. "It may be how we can help you, Mr. Bannon. You appear to be suffering from ill health. Tremor, thinning hair, dark skin tone, foul breath and, if I am not mistaken, Aldrich-Mees lines on your fingernails?" Julia paused a beat, watching a bead of sweat role down his face before pronouncing. "I'd say you were poisoned."
"Poisoned!" Mr. Bannon was aghast, gripping his hands into fists and his eyes opened over-wide. The confident, smug countenance was gone and William initiated his plan, flipping over the cover on his tray to reveal two bottles found at his office and the rest of the evidence. "Surely that should not come as much of a surprise, Mr. Bannon."
"Come again…?" His face blanched.
William set out the tainted pens, placing them carefully on the table, just out of Bannon's reach. "Only someone who was close with Mr. Snow would have known about his habit of putting things into his mouth when he wrote; nasty habit, eh? And only someone with access to those items could have painted them with poison. But that is such a sloppy method—subject to getting so much of the poison on one's self, isn't that so?"
"What?" He stuttered. "I…I...have no idea, detective. If Norris was being poisoned, then it appears the same man poisoned me too! I insist you investigate that as well." Bannon's voice rose dramatically and he beseeched Julia. "Poisoned? Doctor, if I'm sick would you…"
"Who would want you dead?" William interrupted. "No one. But yes…I do think the same man who was poisoning Mr. Snow also poisoned you." He gave a long pause. "It was you! We have the poison you used on Mr. Snow, which is how your acquired own collateral exposure to the toxins." He said flatly, setting the next items out.
William picked up a flat tin box containing one typewriting machine ribbon and a small card. "Did you know that it is possible to recover the impression of the letters which have been typed on a machine's ribbon? My constable knows just everything about those machines it seems… But, I digress. Those strings of letters can form words." He read from the card. "Quote: You are going to pay me or pay the price with your wife. I told you to stay away from those girls and you just would not listen. I'll take another $15 right off the top—I will see you tomorrow, Bannon. Have my money ready.' Norris Snow was blackmailing you, threatening to expose your behaviors to your wife, and baldly conducting it all from one desk away at the newspaper: we have the proof he was."
William methodically presented each piece of evidence in front of his suspect, watching the cracks in Bannon's composure getting wider with each revelation. "I have your bank records which show payments from your account show up in his, and witnesses who heard you argue with him. That is what we call motive. We have a liquid heroin solution in your possession which matches that which was injected into Mr. Snow. We call that means. And you worked at the desk next to him, with full access to his desk, his papers, his habits and his journal. You have no alibi for the afternoon of his death. We call that opportunity.Who knows what we will discover once we have interviewed your wife and searched your house? Perhaps we will find trace evidence on your clothing, or your shoes, from when you viciously beat and kicked him in that alley before you plunged a syringe into him and left him to die. Perhaps Dr. Ogden here will find recent, fresh trauma to your feet, since it's doubtful a man such as yourself owns a pair of boots. We call all of this evidence." William waited as the ruin of a man in front of him seemed to actually waver back and forth in his chair, praying Bannon would tip himself into a confession. I need a confession, he repeated silently to himself, because I do not have that syringe and nothing, yet, directly tying Bannon to Snow in that alley by the soap-works.
Mr. Bannon's gaze wandered between the table top with its pile of evidence, Julia and the detective. William slammed his hand on the table, causing Bannon to jump. "Do I have your undivided attention now, Mr. Bannon?"
Bannon's anxious eyes darted between detective and doctor, settling on the doctor. "Am I going to die? Doctor please just tell me!"
William intervened. "Not at this very moment. First, tell us what happened, exactly. It might go well for you if you do and then you can get a physician to tend to you." A doctor who certainly won't be my wife. Not if I have anything to say about it, William thought.
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