Thunderstorms – Continued
Chapter 4: Tuesday, August 5, 1913
His only warning was the excited yell of, "Daddy!" before there were three children bouncing on top of him. He quickly grabbed the edges of the sheet he had been slumbering under as he slept on the couch and captured the children inside of it. Well most of the children, as many arms and legs stuck out at various angles. The giggling and screaming escalated once he started his tickling rampage.
There was an escape – William Jr. had wiggled free.
"Run," he shouted as he pulled an end of the sheet open to release one of his sisters.
Eloise walked in the door to be greeted by William, child in a blanket slung over his shoulder, as he barreled around the corner in pursuit of the little ones running up the stairs. "Good morning, Eloise," he welcomed.
"Sir," she responded.
Almost immediately after William's, Chelsea's voice could be heard from within the blanket, "Good morning Eloise."
Recognizing the child's voice she said, "And the same to you Miss Chelsea."
Eloise shook her head, but her smile betrayed her true reaction. To be honest, the happiness was contagious. "Well, the good news about Miss Julia's sentence surely lightened the mood in this house," she thought as she headed for the kitchen to start their breakfast.
There it was on the ice box, a calendar. Today and over a month's worth of the next days each had a line drawn through them. Eloise knew it was to keep track of when the mistress of the house would come home. The pounding of little footsteps above her brought her to chuckle and shake her head. "I do hope Claire-Marie gets here soon. They're going to wear the poor detective out before he even has a chance to get dressed for work," she thought.
While the family ate breakfast they worked to help 5 year-old Chelsea understand how long 36 days would take. William Jr. said, "Thirty-six days is one day more than five weeks, right Dad?"
William was impressed how quickly his 8 year-old son had done that math in his head. He nodded, "Um-hm."
The boy continued, "That means you and Katie will have taken about 5 riding lessons before Mom comes home."
"Five," Chelsea complained, "That's soooo long."
William frowned, "It does seem long," he thought… "But try to take comfort in remembering that it could have been so much worse," he advised himself.
Katie asked, "Daddy, will we be back in school by the time Mommy comes home?"
William nodded his head, chewing and swallowing before he answered, "Yes, for a week or two." He looked over at Chelsea and said, "You will be starting your first time going to school, Sweetie." He realized that he would need to take them shopping for new clothes. Oh, how he wished Julia could do that for them. "She is quite a good shopper," he thought to himself with a little smile – until now he hadn't really seen shopping skills as a very valuable trait.
William Jr. asked if they could cross off today on the calendar. His father explained that it would be best to do so when the day was nearly over. The family agreed to make a tradition of it before they went to bed each night. He hugged and kissed them all good-bye.
Standing with Claire-Marie in the foyer, hat in hand and ready to head off to work, William organized the children's day. All three children were going to the Club with Dr. Tash for swimming lessons. They needed to bring their bathing suits along, and Claire-Marie was to take them in a cab to Club, where they would wait out front to meet up with Dr. Tash. (William found it particularly unsavory that it was the Club's policy not to allow anyone but members on the premises. Upon reflection, William felt he had adjusted fairly well to his maritally-induced higher social status, but he felt ashamed of the exclusivity that accompanied it). Dr. Tash would escort the children home. They should be back by five o'clock. Once she safely dropped the children off with him, she was free for the rest of the day. Eloise would be in charge of caring for the children from when Dr. Tash brought them home until William arrived.
He tapped his jacket pocket to ensure that the watch-bracelet, or watchlet as he decided to name it, he had made for Julia was still securely inside, he put his hat on his head, and grabbed the bundle of medical magazines he planned on bringing to her later. Along his bicycle ride to the station he stopped and bought a copy of all the different newspapers. Julia would probably want to read what the press had to say about her sentence – and it would help pass the time.
The Inspector called for him the moment he walked in the station and was picking up his messages. "Murdoch, we just got a call about a body over by the college. Would you rather have Kingsley from stationhouse #3 or Reynolds from #5 for the post-mortem?" he asked.
William sighed. Losing Julia seemed to affect every aspect of his life. "Reynolds, I guess… Kingsley seemed quite… overwhelmed," he responded. The Inspector would make the call. Crabtree was out, so Higgins joined the detective to investigate the scene. The Inspector reminded him that next week he would be working with the new detective. William nodded. He was hopeful that the young man, supposedly trained by the best in the USA, would be an enthusiastic apprentice.
The body was left in a stairwell in one of the more modern buildings at the University. It seemed the man, appearing to be around 25 years of age, in very good health, and taller than average, had been shot in the back of the head. He had no notable scars on his face, "Not our Irish man with a scar," Murdoch thought. The detective guessed he had been dead for about 24 hours as the body lacked rigor. It was most likely not the scene of the killing because there was no blood. There was nothing on the man to indicate who he was – no identification, watch, papers, nothing, although the clothing suggested he was a laborer. Higgins commented that the man's clothing seemed to be covered in a white powder-like substance. William collected a sample of it using some adhesive tape and tucked it into an envelope. The bottoms of the man's shoes were nearly drenched in black ink. Although it seemed dry, when touched, it left stains on the fingers. The detective shared with Higgins, "It likely would have left a trail of shoeprints. Take a look at all of the floors in the building to see if you find any evidence that this man had walked anywhere in this building before he was killed." The detective tilted his head to the left and seemed to enter a trance. He was imagining something relevant. William remembered seeing similar shoeprints at the visiting room at the Don Jail. Further, he remembered that they were not on the floor when he and the children first arrived. Perhaps the man had been visiting someone – it would have to have been a woman, at the same time that he and the children were visiting Julia. "I'll examine the floor when I visit later," he thought, "I'll need to get a visitor's list from Saturday too."
Dr. Reynolds arrived. William found himself surprised at how old and frail the man seemed. "I guess I haven't seen him for quite some time," he thought. He greeted him, "Dr. Reynolds, it's been awhile. Thank you so much for helping us with this case."
"Glad to help detective," he replied. "Things must be particularly difficult for you with Dr. Ogden locked up… So sorry to hear about that. Wish her well for me when you see her."
"Thank you sir. I will … Um, how soon do you expect to be able to perform the post-mortem?" he asked.
The doctor strained to crouch down over the body. "Looks like a bullet to the head detective. Dead about 24 hours… I won't be able to get to the post-mortem today – I have an appointment, my heart's been acting up I'm afraid. First thing tomorrow morning," he said with a nod.
William made an effort not to look frustrated with what he saw as a delay. "Thank you sir," William responded, "And I hope you feel better."
Higgins found no shoeprints in the building. William also noticed there were not any scuffmarks on the floor as there likely would have been if the body was dragged to the spot. He figured the white powdery substance on the dead man's clothing may have been from whatever the body had been wrapped in for transport. The man who had reported the body – a professor, had come in early and found the body on his way up the stairs. The night watchman claimed he did not have any reason to enter that particular stairwell, so could not help with what time it had been placed there before early morning.
Back at the station, Murdoch sent Higgins to question Jane, the prostitute he had encountered when looking for the Irish man with the scar. He still felt flustered by the woman's seduction and by his reaction to it, "Better to send someone else," he had thought. Higgins reported back that she was no longer there. The place was cleared out. She had moved and told no one where she was going.
"Oh, and sir," Higgins said, I hit a dead end on the Aasen Corporation of America. No one knew anything – claimed to never have heard of Flate. I was referred to the owner, a Mr. Niels Aasen, but he is reportedly out of the country.
"Thank you Henry," the detective responded. "He thought for a moment and said, "Please compile a list of American companies that produce weapons… Perhaps their competitors will have something to say," he explained.
"Right away, sir. Um, sir?" Higgins said leaning in, "George tells me your middle name is 'Henry' sir…" The detective nodded. Higgins smiled, "Well we share in a very famous name then sir, Henry the VIII and Henry Ford, for instance."
"Yes, I guess so," Murdoch gave, although for the life of him he could not see why it made the slightest bit of difference. "There's also Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Henry Raeburn," Murdoch added.
Higgins looked lost," Who sir?"
"A famous author and a famous painter, Henry," Murdoch taught.
Higgins nodded, "Oh yes, of course sir."
Murdoch talked things over with the Inspector and then decided he would return to Flate's boarding house. It was unlikely, but perhaps there was a connection between the dead man found this morning at the University and Flate. Murdoch turned to go, but then turned back. He took a deep breath, drawing the Inspector's attention and said, "Uh, after getting knocked on the head last week, um … Well sir, for my wife and for my children …"
"Bring a constable with you, Murdoch," the Inspector answered for him. William looked relieved that his desire to take such precautions was not met with belittlement or teasing. "Oh, and Murdoch," the Inspector said, lowering his voice implying secrecy, "That Meyers …"
William nodded at him, "Sir?"
"Well, generally I'd say don't trust him. And your instincts that he, uh … Well, let's just say he seems to have figured out that your Mrs. is just that –Your Mrs. But I think he did you a good turn there Murdoch," he said.
"Yes sir. I intend to thank him when I see him," Murdoch revealed.
Detective Murdoch and Constable Jackson shared a carriage to the docks to further investigate Flate's room in the boarding house. William's mind drifted once again to thoughts of Julia. This time he was enjoying the warm feelings flowing through him as he remembered the feel of her hand on his chest - pressed over his heart, and re-heard her words, "William Henry Murdoch, with every beat of my heart, every drop of my blood, with every breath I take, and every cell in my body… with all of my soul, and the very essence of my being, It is you that I love." Jackson talked, seeming uncomfortable with the silence. "So, Higgins seems pretty excited about having something in common with you sir," Jackson said.
The detective rolled his eyes in disbelief. He sighed and pushed himself to find his patience. "Yes," he replied, wrinkling the corner of his mouth, "A common name."
"My wife had wanted to name our son Henry, after her father, but I find the name annoying – I guess it reminds me too much of Higgins," Jackson explained. They shared a chuckle.
Once they gained access to Jane's room, Jackson checked the drawers of the dresser, asking what they were looking for. "Anything that could indicate where the man worked, or relaxed for that matter… Anything that could tell us more about him," the detective answered, knowing that it would be of little help – It was nearly impossible to explain the myriads of ways a single piece of "evidence" could be used to learn something. Murdoch went immediately to the man's closet. He remembered the ink on the shoes. There was a pair of shoes in the closet – And there was a small amount of ink on the bottom of one of them that seemed to match. He collected the shoe in a bag. Then he moved on to the clothing. None seemed to have the white powder that was found on the dead man at the University.
Jackson moved on to search a pile of clothes on a chair. "Wait," Murdoch called out. He approached. The detective lifted the top pair of pants delicately, causing as little disturbance as possible. He held them up to the light and stared intently at the surface of the fabric. "Yes," he said, sounding quite satisfied. "This looks like a match," he continued, "Jackson, open up one of those bags in my "Murder Bag" please so we can collect this." They packed up a few more items of the man's clothing to take back to the station. Murdoch was optimistic that the evidence would connect the dead man at the University to Flate.
Arriving back at the station, Murdoch immediately noticed both Meyers and Clegg in the Inspector's office. "Not good," he thought. The Inspector spotted him and signaled for him to join them.
Tension filled the room, Murdoch exhaled through pursed lips, trying to keep cool. The Inspector started, "Well Murdoch, it appears that Mr. Clegg here has not been being honest with us…"
Clegg stood from his chair and declared, eyes burrowing into those of Meyers, "With good reason. There are assets involved – American assets."
"And these assets are on Canadian soil," added Meyers.
Clegg sat back down and sighed. He hesitated, contemplating his choices. Unfortunately, because of Jane's involvement in this case, he knew his emotions were steering the ship – and that was never a good idea. Yes, she was an "asset – an amazing spy of high value to her nation, but to him she was so much more. He had broken the major rule of being a spy – He had let himself fall for her. Now she was missing, and, he believed, in danger, as a result of her efforts to gather information on the Canadian man running an illegal weapon's business, and the subsequent requirement of having had to form a relationship with the man to gain access to his shady world. Clegg sighed again, he needed Murdoch's help. "Detective Murdoch," he said, deciding to address the man he actually needed, "I misinformed you about the identity of the American spy involved with this … weapons business. It is not the man with the scar…"
Turning a chair to face Clegg, Murdoch sat, "Oh?" he said.
Clegg took another deep breath. "No. Actually that man is the target of our investigation," he explained.
"So why did you tell us he was your spy?" Murdoch asked.
Clegg looked first at Meyers, then the Inspector before he returned his gaze to the detective. "We had a spy very close to him. I didn't think I would need your help – I wanted my spy to have the space needed to gain the essential information without having to share it with Canada," he revealed.
The Inspector assertively said, "And now you do need our help."
Clegg dropped his eyes and said, "Yes." Lifting his head and seeming to stare off, he explained, "The spy is missing. I believe our operative to be in danger – planned contact has not been completed…"
Murdoch finished his thought for him, "And you want our help finding your spy." Clegg nodded, finally regaining eye contact with Murdoch.
Murdoch stood and began to pace, "Of course, we will need to know everything you know in order to be successful," he stated. "Who is this spy? Who is the man with the scar? Where is he operating from? For a start," he said.
Clegg reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out some photos. He handed the first one to Murdoch.
He recognized her immediately – "Jane." His body felt a tug as he remembered her enticement of him. Murdoch's eyes seemed fixed on the photograph, "The spy I suppose?" he said, not lifting his eyes off of the woman's picture.
"Yes. She is a top notch operative. Her country owes her a great deal," Clegg answered.
Murdoch passed the photo to the Inspector who made a gesture indicating that he found the woman to be very attractive and commented, "Quite a looker," before he passed it on to Meyers.
Meyers said, "Oh yes," as he ogled the woman's picture, slowly inhaling on his cigar.
Murdoch went on, "Now I'm sure Mr. Clegg, you know that this woman lived at the address where you found me knocked unconscious. Was she still there when you arrived?" he asked. His mind raced to a thought, "It could have been Clegg behind me with the gun! He could be the one who hit me!" Murdoch turned to eye Clegg suspiciously.
Clegg threw his hands up in the air, "Oh no! No Murdoch, you were unconscious when I arrived, and there was no one else in the room."
"I'll have to verify that with the desk clerk," Murdoch answered.
Clegg waved him off, "You are very welcome to. He will verify it."
Murdoch began pacing again, "And how is … What's her name?" he stopped and asked.
"Jane," Clegg answered, "Jane Wolfe."
"And how is Miss Wolfe related to our Irish man with the scar?" he continued his questions.
"Look Murdoch," Clegg explained, leaning forward, "Jane had been in the field investigating weapons companies for any signs of their dealings with foreign countries. She had come upon a man who had stolen many ideas from a major innovative company …"
"Aasen Corporation of America?" Murdoch verified. "And the thief was our man with the boat, Agdar Flate," he added.
"Yes," Clegg answered. The Inspector and Meyers shared a look – Murdoch seemed to know much more about the case than they had figured. Clegg continued, "Yes Murdoch. It seems Flate had fled to Canada with his stolen plans and here he found a man, Jane came to know him as Connor, who would pay him dearly for helping to build the inventions – offered him part of the profits. Jane struck up a …relationship with Connor in the hopes of learning more about his business. She found he was quite a treacherous man with many deadly and dangerous connections – It seems many tied to Russia. Your having stumbled upon her, likely when this man, Connor was with her, seems to have put her in grave danger."
The inspector stood up, challenging Clegg, "Now you look here Mr. Clegg, I will not have you implying that the best detective in the Toronto Constabulary … No, in all of Canada "stumbled" upon anything. Murdoch here was doing good police work…"
Meyers interrupted, "Gentlemen, if Mr. Clegg here has the impression that all Canada can do is bungle the investigation, well then, I say we just leave it to the Americans."
Clegg's mind and heart raced. He feared for Jane. He sat back in his chair and made an effort to calm down. He admitted, "I'm worried about her …" After a pause Clegg added, "The USA needs her …expertise. We want her back – safe."
Murdoch's instincts told him Clegg had romantic feelings for Jane. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you know where we can find this Connor, or his weapons building business?" Clegg shook his head. "But I do have a photo," he added as he passed it to Murdoch. The picture was blurry; you couldn't even make out the scar, making it of little use. Murdoch passed it around and none of the men recognized the man.
Murdoch sighed. He looked to his superior and said, "I have a few leads. I'll get on it." William bid the men good-bye, pausing to say to Meyers, "I wanted to thank you for your help on that other matter."
Meyers nodded, "Of course Murdoch, one good turn deserves another," he said, taking a puff on his cigar and then clouding him in smoke.
William's fingers sub-consciously twitched as the scent connected in his brain, conjuring images that flashed in his mind of the repulsive odor in his wife's hair. "Very good," he replied with a slight bow, then turning on his heel and leaving the room.
As Murdoch passed by Higgins on his way to his office, he asked what he had found with respect to Aasen competitors. Higgins had found two that had been in patent disputes with the company. "Call them and see what weapons designs were involved and whether they have heard of Flate," he instructed. "Oh, and please leave George a note to make many copies of these photos to use for a search tomorrow morning," figuring he was running short on time to do it himself.
Murdoch quickly went to analyzing the white powder found on the two dead men's clothing. They matched and he determined it was mostly tiny cotton fibers. That combined with the mutual presence of ink on their shoes, led him to think both men had been around factories involved in mass producing clothing. He called Higgins, who leaned in the office door, "Yes sir?"
Putting on his hat, Murdoch said, "Henry, I also need a list of all of the textile factories in Toronto – particularly any on the docks. Thank you. I'm heading back to see if we missed anything of importance in the prostitute's room. Then I'll probably go to the Don Jail to visit Julia…" he said, turning back to retrieve the newspapers and magazines for her he had nearly forgotten. "Um, please put the results of your search on my desk for the morning. Thanks," he finished with a nod good-bye.
The desk clerk confirmed that Clegg had arrived after Jane and another man left. In her room Murdoch found a small amount of blood on the floor where he had fallen, likely his own, prompting him to rub the spot on the back of his head. He noted that the only remaining evidence of the blow was a small cut. He also found blood splatter on one of the walls and a smear of blood low on a dresser. He imagined that such evidence could result from Jane being struck or beaten. There was no evidence of such wounds on her when he saw her. It was a sufficient amount of blood that he thought it might have required stitches. He decided that tomorrow he would have the constables check the hospitals for anyone who might have treated a woman looking like Jane for such wounds – They would have the photos by then.
He also found a shoeprint with similar black ink to that found on both dead men's shoes, as well many other black smudges on the floor. He wondered if it might be the dead man at the University, although he remembered his feet as being bigger than average while the prints here looked to be average – size ten or so. "Or even Flate?" he considered, "Before he died." He would need to ascertain Flate's shoe size after tomorrow's post-mortem. The large number and varying degrees of darkness of the prints suggested the same man may have visited Jane often. Remembering Clegg saying that Jane was in a "relationship" with the man called Connor, William also thought it might have been Connor. The clerk claimed he didn't see Jane's face when she left, and so was unable to say if she had been injured, but thought she did look like she was being hurried along by a man. Once again he claimed he did not recognize the man and that he did not have a scar.
William needed to rush to catch the women's visiting hours at the prison. He would have to leave his bike at the station until tomorrow. He took a cab. Trying to calm down from the rush of the day, he pulled out a newspaper, The Toronto Gazette. Julia's sentencing had made the cover. The headline read, "Citizen Ogden, Canadian Heroine Gets 36 Days for Contraception Education." He thought Julia would be pleased with this one. The largest photo with the article was of him, and George, entering the court. Much of the crowd of protesters against contraception could be seen in the picture. He noticed one man who seemed to be yelling, recognizing him as the one who had said Julia should have been hung the first time. He had a visceral reaction to the memory, mentally thanking George for urging him along. It had been a while since he'd had such a feeling, "Since Gillies," he thought.
Wanting to push the feeling away, he examined the other photo. It was of Julia from years ago. If memory served him – as it usually did, then it was from when she was married to Darcy. He even remembered the original story it was from. Julia had organized a protest against the illegalization of contraception. A man had approached a woman who was protesting with her and threatened his wife with a beating if she did not stop protesting. When he had tried to actually hit his wife, Julia had intervened and shoved him. He had fallen to the ground, knocking over a vegetable cart.
William wrinkled up a corner of his mouth. He remembered his reaction to the story when he first read it. The same feeling glowed inside him then as it did now, this many years later – love. He so loved this woman. At the time it had sent an agonizing pain through his heart as well, to be so strongly aware of the powerful extent of his love for her and at the same time to know she would never love him, that she loved another … A big sigh surged out of him. Folding up the newspaper, he realized they were nearly there.
When he first came in, he asked the guard if the Warden was there. He would be able to meet with him after he was done visiting with Julia to request the list of visitors from Saturday, thinking he might be able to get a list of possible identities for the man from the University through the shoeprints. Completely alone in the visiting room waiting for Julia, he looked for the prints. He found many black smudges and two fairly clear shoeprints. Their locations suggested the man had been in the back of the room. William couldn't pull up a useful memory of anyone in particular from that area. He was further disappointed as the prints looked to be from a normal sized shoe – "Not the man from the University…Can't be Flate, he was already dead. Perhaps this Connor?" he thought.
William was still crouched down over the shoeprints when the guard brought Julia in. He lifted his head and their eyes met across the room. Coquettishly, she dropped her head, tilting it to the side and thanked the guard as he closed the door. The man stood rigidly at attention against the wall. When she looked back to William, he had not moved. He stayed put as she walked towards him. Each seemed charmed and transfixed by the other. "Detective," she acknowledged.
Still squatting and never loosening his hold on her magnetic blue eyes he responded, "Doctor."
"As usual, I see your interest has been captured by some case or another," she said with a slight hint of a pout.
"It was," he admitted as he rose to stand, his brown eyes sparking and twinkling as their gravity seemed to draw her in.
"And now?" she asked, stepping towards him, the charge between them growing exponentially.
She had taken his breath, rendering his voice dry and smoky. "Now there is only you," he said.
She stepped very close. "And you," she added.
William gasped softly and then cleared his throat, inside his brain the room had begun to spin. He both couldn't tell where he ended and she began, and, was acutely aware of the mere inch between them. The attractive force pulling them together teased exquisitely. Neither moved, exhilarated by the tension.
William gave in first. Their eyes still linked, she felt his fingers move across her jaw, his thumb caressing her bruised cheek as he reached deeper into her hair, cradling her head with his fingers, deliciously tracing her ear under his thumb. His other hand slipped between her arm and her waist, then spread out across her back and pressed firmly into her flesh, moving her forward, adding inertia to gravity. Breathing, each taking in oxygen while their souls tugged at the other, heads tilted, lips touched. Slow, glowing fireworks bloomed within them. She fell into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, deepening their kiss, adding fuel to the fire.
He broke off the kiss and guided her to the wall behind him, turning her to tuck her between himself and the wall. The kiss was lustful, rougher, demanding. His body pressed heavily against hers. When the kiss broke, Julia dropped her head back into the wall. She swallowed, her breath was hurried. William's mouth found her ear, nibbling seductively, flooding her with warm breath. Her head was swimming, "Remember where you are," she warned herself. Her mind flashed with memories of her dream last night, her delightful mid-night visit from this man she loved, with whom she was totally smitten. "William," she said, voice breathy and weak, "Oh William…" She turned her head to him, slid her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. She pulled his hair, nudged her face under his, hunting for his lips. "Oh my God," she thought as they kissed more passionately than her restraint could contain. She sensed William's strong urge for her by the force of his breathing. "Stop," she fought with herself in her head, "You have to stop." Finally her inner voice instructed, "Turn from him…Turn away." She did so, breaking off the heated kiss. "William we can't," she said as, once again, her head fell back into the wall, her chest heaved, craving air.
His thoughts swirled around and around in his head. He tried to catch one, feeling his stomach flip as it pulled him along, gradually slowing, allowing him to perceive the prison wall behind them, remembering where he was. His voice close to her ear, the sound of it still surging lust through her, he instructed, "Look for the guard." He moved back from her, allowing her to see. While she looked for the guard, William reached up and unbuttoned the top button of her prison dress.
"William," she warned with an air of surprise in her voice.
He unbuttoned the next one and asked, "Can you see the guard?"
She found it hard to stay focused on the task as he slid his hand over the fabric of her dress to squeeze her soft, warm flesh, evoking a gasp from her. His other hand popped the third button free. She saw his eyes darkening with desire and felt his breath flowing down her skin. She wanted him, desperately. Her eyes quickly darted to the door where the guard stood. He was out of sight. "The column is blocking his view," she said, aware that William already knew this – that he had intentionally brought them to be in the one place in the room out of the guard's sight. Her husband was brilliant. "How far will this go?" the thought thrilled through her. The next button opened. His fingers teased her… And then the next button broke free. "Oh my God," her inner voice swam in her brain. With the next button, he was able to push the dress out of the way, opening the skin of her bosom to the air. He explored, pressed and pushed, thumbs flickering over her acutely sensitive skin. He lowered his face to lay it within the pillows of flesh. Although she tried with all her might to be silent, a moan – low, from deep in her throat, burst out. So soft, warm, damp his velvety tongue and lips pushed into her as he kneaded and molded her malleable bosom. "William, please," she whispered, not herself sure whether she was begging him to stop or begging him to go.
Julia grasped the top button of his trousers and undid it. Getting this close to what they both yearned for startled him. He pulled back, quickly regaining control. He knew he would not go this far – Not here. Julia caught his eye. He thought she looked grateful.
"Yes," she said, "We need to stop." They each re-did the buttons on their clothing and then moved apart.
"Thirty-five days," he whispered to her as they walked together to sit at the table, completely within view, but hopefully not within earshot, of the guard. Speaking quietly, the feeling of intimacy and importance magnified as a result, they talked. Julia told him about her dream. He shared that Katie seemed to no longer be plagued by nightmares, but when she asked after his, he confided that they still happened nearly every night – He still slept on the couch.
She told him about her dinners with the three ladies, and that they also got to spend some time together in the prison yard. She weighed whether or not to tell William about Countess Fausta knowing about her having had her abortion, deciding to do so. He told her that the Countess's real name was Sally Smoot, and that he had gotten the impression that, although she was quite rough around the edges, she seemed to have a good heart. Julia agreed.
Their attention turned to the newspapers. "William," Julia said, voice filled with concern, "Nearly all of them question your integrity as a police officer, suggesting that you knew about, and covered for, my actions."
He nodded, knowing this was true. "I will be fine, Julia," he calmly said.
She found an article with Dr. Tash's picture. Quickly skimming it, she was worried for him too. She whispered to William, "Isaac was asked about whether or not he provided education and contraceptives to his patients. He had to lie, William. He told them 'no' and it gets worse, they asked about abortions… It makes me sick to think that his friendship with me could get him in so much trouble."
William sighed. "Do you want me to go see him?" he asked.
"No," she answered, "But perhaps a phone call…Let him know I'm sorry and find out if he is alright?"
"Consider it done," he replied.
Each entertained their own thoughts for a moment. Julia slid her chair closer to his. He wrapped an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.
Another visitor came in.
Her voice just barely above a whisper, she said, "The note you wrote me William, It was beautiful…" She turned and kissed his neck. In his ear her voice sang, "Your love sustains me." He kissed her.
Remembering the watchlet he had made for her in his pocket, he broke off their kiss. He pulled out the small gift, took her wrist and strapped it on her. "Ten o'clock," was all he said.
Before he left, William collected the list of visitors to the prison last Saturday and then headed for home. Waiting for a cab, William checked his watch. He would likely make it home in time to eat dinner. The sight of the watch in his hand triggered a memory of being in the court as Julia tenderly returned it to him. Tonight as well, they planned to watch the moon together. His eyes lifted to the heavens, clouds were gathering to the west. "Looks like storms are rolling in – maybe it'll be thunderstorms instead", he thought.
(Storms were definitely brewing).