After he woke up from his brief nap (Julia wasn't tired-she'd merely watched him sleep-not for the first time envying his long eyelashes), William checked with the constables to see if they were able to turn up any clues on whether or not George or Edna had family nearby that might be hiding or at least have knowledge of possible locations where George might have hidden Mrs. Brooks and Simon. Not surprisingly, with the exception of his mother, George did not have any family locally, and the constables were still interviewing Mrs. Brooks' family and acquaintances to see if they knew where she might have gone. Nothing useful had as of yet been turned up.
Together, he and Julia examined the evidence pertaining to George's case, including the contents of his desk. Most of the desk contents included the average detritus one might expect to find in a desk such as candy wrappers, old pencils, used nibs for fountain pens, etc. Also found were a collection of scandalous post cards of very attractive women in seductive poses with titillating captions underneath.
Without realizing what he was doing, Julia caught William perusing and admiring the pictures for longer than a brief, cursory glance, and stood there smirking until he realized that she noticed what he was doing.
Embarrassed (and afraid of her anger), William blushed and made a move towards the wastebasket with the cards. "I don't believe these are of evidentiary value," he informed her.
Laughing, she took the cards from his hands, looking at the cards herself. "Are you sure, William? Perhaps they are at least of entertainment value to others-including yourself."
Sighing, he knew he'd been caught and wasn't going to be let off the hook so easily. "Julia, you have nothing to fear from these pictures. Between these ladies and you, there's no contest," he desperately tried to convince her.
It was true, he may have enjoyed looking at such pictures as a single man, but it had been merely a sin to desire and know these women who would never be his wife in such a way back then. Now, it was still a sin, but also disrespectful to his wife. He knew that if the tables were turned, he would not care for Julia looking at and admiring the nearly nude bodies of other men.
"I know you can't help it William, it's a natural reaction. As I've told you before, your sexual desires are not perverse or ungodly-God gave you those desires, William. How else would the species have replicated itself for all of these years? Besides, I happen to know that you've always rather enjoyed a pretty package and you're quite easily distracted by such," she reminded him.
"Perhaps," he admitted. "But there's no prettier package than you, none so intriguing, fascinating, or arousing," he conceded to her with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Giggling and batting her eyelashes at him, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. "Still, William. I'm curious. Are these captions really that stimulating? I can understand why the pictures might be, but the text seems rather ridiculous."
"For some, perhaps. But the text has never been the popular draw-the images themselves are the primary reason men buy those cards," he granted.
For a brief moment she looked at the cards in her hands and then glanced up at Constables Higgins and Jackson with what William could only describe as an evil grin crossing her face, before her expression quickly sobered. "Perhaps we'll return these to the box, and we'll let George decide what he wants to do with them," she yielded, remembering why they were going through the contents of George's desk in the first place.
For the remainder of the afternoon, William and Julia examined the articles and discussed the facts, writing down pertinent details on his blackboard as well as a rudimentary timeline. Even with his nap, William's lack of sleep was clearly affecting his progress, and at 6pm, the Inspector came in and told him to go home-his exhaustion evident to all.
Despite his condition, William protested. But both Julia and the Inspector were adamant: there wasn't much else he could do today, and he would function much better after a good night's rest. The last 24 hours had been emotionally draining, and William wasn't his normal, ultra-perceptive self.
Conceding that both the Inspector and Julia were right, he and Julia gathered their things and returned to their suite. There, they dined on a light supper and Julia drew him another bath-in which he insisted she join him. Though his ardor was as strong as it ever was for her, neither was in the mood for a physical demonstration thereof this evening, and they immediately retired to bed, both still recovering from the previous evening's activities. Under the covers, Julia coaxed him over until his head lay upon her bosom, stroking his brow and hair until he fell into a deep sleep. Which happened rather quickly as it turned out.
As the night bled into the dawn of the next day, Edna's fear grew stronger. She couldn't dismiss the feeling that something had happened to George as a silly, unfounded fear anymore. He'd given his word that he would come here for them soon, and that was three days ago.
As the dawn became morning proper, she watched the world come to life. Morning had been one her favorite times of day as a child. She'd loved the promise of adventures new as well as the hope that anything could happen in a single day.
She laughed bitterly. Anything could happen and had happened in a single day. In the span of one particular day, she'd become the future Mrs. George Crabtree, and by the end of that same day, she'd reverted to being Mrs. Archibald Brooks again. The next day, said husband had beaten her for refusing his advances, and accused her of being a whore in his absence. Then he'd stormed off in a huff, and George had come back to her, giving her money as well as directions to a place to hide for the next several days. It was hard to believe that this had all happened less than a week ago and not for the first time, her mind swam at the stunning speed everything had happened.
But this didn't allay her immediate and pressing concern of George's safety. She feared Archie had hurt George or something even worse in retribution for sending her and Simon away. It wasn't like George not to keep his promise, and she grew increasingly concerned by the hour as the morning wore on. She wanted to go back to Toronto, find out what had happened to George and try to patch things up with her husband. Simon deserved his father, and she'd promised long ago to do right by the boy regardless of what it cost her. But she'd promised George that she would stay until he came for her. She was at a loss.
Wincing in disappointment at the broken promise, she could take the uncertainty no more. At first, she called George's apartment repeatedly, never getting an answer. At shortly past nine, and in desperation, she called station house #4, desperate to know something, anything. Reaching Constable Higgins, she pleaded to speak with George, embarrassed to be bothering him at work.
There was a slight pause, before Higgins informed her that George Crabtree was no longer with the Toronto Constabulary.
"I see," she barely whispered in response, stifling a sob. Apologizing for bothering him, Edna was about to disconnect the call, when Higgins asked her to please wait.
A few brief moments later, another man came onto the line.
"Mrs. Brooks, it's Detective Murdoch. Where are you? It's imperative that I speak with you at once."
Edna paused. She'd also promised George that in addition to staying hidden, she'd also tell no one of her or Simon's current location, but sensing the concern in her reticent pause, the detective implored her to let him know where she was. She'd also remembered all of the stories George had shared of the detective, and the high degree of respect and esteem in which he held the man, and knew that if she were going to trust anyone, William Murdoch would be the one to trust. Pushing away the guilt at breaking yet another promise to George, she gave him the pertinent information as well as a time, and ended the call, waiting for the detective's visit.
Her worst fears had been confirmed: something had befallen George.
As soon as he'd hung up the phone, William immediately called his wife informing her that he would not be able to meet for lunch-he'd call later on his way back into town. Grabbing his hat and coat, he grabbed his bike and pedaled as fast as he could for Union Station-if he hurried, he could make the 9:42 train for Mimico.
Shortly past 11:00 am, William met Edna Brooks at a park not far from the train station. Wearing a large hat with wide brim that was perhaps more suitable for summer and keeping the sun off her face, she took care to avoid people, and once William saw the garish bruises of blues and purples that were only now beginning to fade to yellow and green around the edges, he understood why: she was still reluctant for others to see her battered face. William bet that her arms and hands -concealed with coat and gloves-told a similar story. Pushing down his rage, he did his best to school his face into a calm passivity. He abhorred men who were violent with women, and thought that if George had indeed killed Archibald Brooks, perhaps the homicide was indeed justifiable. He typically disapproved of the common man taking the law into their own hands, but even William conceded that the law was often too tolerant of such cases of domestic violence. He'd seen it happen too many times in his experience as a lawman.
It was only one of the reasons he wholeheartedly supported Julia in her quest for equality, despite the risks and danger in which she sometimes put herself.
Walking around the park, William thought that he'd begin by seeing what Edna Brooks knew-which wasn't much as it turned out. Her husband had beaten her, George had gotten wind of it, and sent her and Simon away for a few days until it was safe for them to return-which was three days ago. She'd become concerned when George hadn't contacted or visited as he said he would, and had broken her promise not to contact anyone that morning when she called the station. Situation wise, she was in the dark and was desperate for news of George's safety and her husband's whereabouts.
William studied her for a minute, and he knew she was telling the truth. She didn't know about the death of her husband (a confirmed fact this time) or about George's alleged role in his murder. Sighing, he took her arm and carefully led her across an icy path to a secluded bench. He was not looking forward to being the one to tell her about the events of the past few days.
Late that afternoon on the train back to the city, William mulled over the details he'd just learned. Mrs. Brooks and her son were already in Mimico at the approximate time when Sgt. Brooks was estimated to have been killed, and Mrs. Brooks had given details about the train they had taken and the carriage driver that had met them at the station to take them to an isolated lake cottage. She accepted her husband's death calmly, but was inconsolable when she learned that George was awaiting trial and prosecution for his murder. It seemed that she couldn't accept that George had done such a thing, and William sympathized, as he couldn't either.
After he had insisted that she take all the money he had on his person (save for enough for his return train ticket) with the promise to send more shortly, he also gave her the pseudonym of Betty White, and told her to contact only him at the station house or at the hotel as well as Julia's contact information at the asylum in case he couldn't be reached. William wasn't convinced that she was in danger, but if George had gone to this much trouble to hide her and Simon, the least he could do was look after her for his old friend. Besides, he was just returning the favor as George had often looked out for Julia when he wasn't around for varying reasons.
While he was in Mimico, he'd also corroborated Mrs. Brooks' and Simon's accounts of what had transpired, and just as he suspected, they checked out: the train staff remembered her bruised face and nervous demeanor and easily directed him to the carriage driver who shared a similar account of events.
William had hoped that Mrs. Brooks and Simon would hold the key to exonerating George, but it seems that he would have to take a different route. Not only did they fail to provide the missing information he needed, they raised a nagging problem: if they hadn't killed Sgt. Brooks, who did? That made George the prime suspect once again, and William didn't know if he could accept that. Still, he figured that he might still be able to make George talk and get the break he needed.
If he were armed with the correct information, that was.