Inspector Brackenreid checked his pocket watch once more. It had been the third time in the space of two minutes but it felt like an age.
"Where the bloody hell is he?" He grumbled. "The man's never late!"
"Yes, sir, that is unusual," Constable Crabtree commented in an agreeable, conversational tone. "It's most unlike him. Maybe his bicycle suffered a puncture?"
"And it chose today, of all days, to do it?" Brackenreid continued to fume.
"We're late starting too," Doctor Ogden turned a questioning eye to the large black and white clock adorning the wall. "Is that typical?"
Brackenreid lost his ill humour as he turned his attention toward Doctor Ogden. Detective Murdoch's absence had absorbed all his attention and although he had checked the time on numerous occasions, it hadn't yet occurred to him that they still hadn't been called into the court or the witness waiting room.
"Judge Matthews? No, I would say it was most untypical." He frowned as he considered any and all possibilities; all drawing a blank.
"Sir, doctor!" Crabtree piped up, pointing down the hall as he did. "Chief Constable Giles is here."
"Giles?" Brackenreid frowned. "What brings you here, sir?" He asked as Giles approached.
Giles sighed, sparing Doctor Ogden a brief sympathetic glance as he drew alongside the group.
"Good morning Doctor," he nodded, before immediately continuing. "Gillies has escaped, Inspector."
"Again?" Brackenreid stared in astonishment at the words. "How this time?"
"He was visited by a priest last night during the shift change over. He killed him, assumed his identity and simply walked out! He even used some of the priest's hair and some homemade paste to fashion a moustache to complete his disguise."
"How was it that the priest was visiting?" Brackenreid asked immediately. "The eve of the trial is a little early for last rites and I can't see him confessing his sins!"
"That's just it, Inspector, Gillies isn't catholic so I cannot see why he would ask for a priest. Where is Murdoch? We need to look into his death in case it's in any way significant other than just a man whose identity he can use."
"Sir, Murdoch hasn't arrived yet."
"Not yet?" Giles snapped. "It's gone eight, he..." Giles stopped mid sentence as he caught sight of the sudden distress on Doctor Ogden's expression. "We have to consider the possibility that his absence is no coincidence. Inspector, we must find Detective Murdoch immediately."
"Sir," Crabtee address the Chief Constable. "Where is the priest now, sir?"
"On his way to the morgue, I should think. Why?"
"Well, sir, Detective Murdoch always likes to observe the scene of the crime, if you will. It helps him gather all the facts."
"Really, then I suggest you visit the Don Jail on your way to the morgue, constable."
"Sirs, will another detective be assisting us?"
"Crabtree, we have no idea as yet if we need anyone to assist us." Brackenreid brought what he hoped was some perspective to the discussion. "What happened to your puncture theory?"
"Quite so, sir," he replied with a sheepish expression, with the sudden realisation that Doctor Ogden was standing at his side, and the unpleasant alternative was that somehow, Gillies had perhaps killed the detective.
"I will go to the morgue to see if I can assist Doctor Grace," Doctor Ogden spoke for the first time.
"I'm certain that won't be necessary, doctor. Shall I have a constable escort you home?"
"No, Chief Constable Giles, I am not likely to faint or be hysterical. I am perfectly capable of assisting."
"Doctor, I had no intention of..." Giles began, only to be interrupted.
"I'm certain your intentions were sincere, Chief Constable, but if your fears are founded and William is missing, then he will be best served if everyone is doing their best, don't you think?"
"Well put, Doctor," Giles offered an appreciative smile. "Crabtree, arrange for Doctor Ogden's transport to the morgue. Inspector we shall return to Station House Four and co-ordinate the enquiry.
Brackenreid nodded, praying they were all wrong.
"About time, constable! Do you realise how long I've been waiting for you to arrive? And in this heat."
Higgins grimaced; surely the beads of sweat on his brow had given some indication of how quickly he had cycled? Settling the bicycle on its rest, he took a deep breath and forced a thin smile.
"Yes, miss, I'm sorry to have delayed you, thank you for waiting. Can I take your name miss?"
"Amy Fairchild," she replied. "I do hope he's not badly hurt. Do you think you could keep me appraised of his situation?"
"Well, miss, it's usually just family, but as you've been so kind as to wait and all, I'm sure I can keep you informed."
Higgins breathed a slight sigh as, with his words, her ill temper faded into a smile.
"Thank you, constable, and I'm sorry I was so sharp with you."
"Quite all right, miss, this heat is enough to test the patience of even the finest of ladies."
"Thank you for understanding... Constable?"
"Higgins, miss, Henry Higgins. Perhaps you would prefer if we retreated to the shade to take your statement? Constable Worseley over there has the bicycle, so there's no need to..."
"Higgins!"
Higgins looked over to see Worseley urgently waving him over.
"Excuse me, Miss Fairchild, please could you wait for me over in the shade?"
"Yes, of course, Constable Higgins," she replied with a polite nod and another smile.
Worseley was once more kneeling on one knee, leaning over the bicycle as Higgins crossed the street, weaving in and out of the carriages and bicycles making their way down the busy thoroughfare.
"What have you found, Worseley?" Higgins asked as he arrived at Worsley's side.
"Higgins, this bicycle has been tampered with." He replied, looking up as he remained kneeling. "Look, there's some sort of mechanism attached to the rear that's clamped down on the wheel. It's jammed solid. If this man took a tumble from his bicycle, it's because someone intended it to happen. Also, there's this... Ow!" he cried as he pricked his finger on a sharp needle-like spike protruding from the crossbar.
"Worseley, that's Detective Murdoch's bicycle. See, here's the scrape on it when my bicycle fell into it!"
"Does he know about that?" Worseley asked with a wry smile.
"Worseley, you, me and Crabtree know about that and that's three too many already!"
Worseley chuckled at Higgins' obvious discomfort, but before he had chance to reply, a wave of dizziness washed over him.
"Henry... I... I don't feel..."
"Worseley!" Higgins cried as his colleague slipped suddenly to the ground alongside the bicycle.
"Constable!" Miss Fairchild cried, running to Higgins' side. "What on earth has happened?"
"Miss, I'm going to have to call for an ambulance and ask that you come to the station house, please?"
"Me? I had nothing to do with this?" she cried, both shocked and indignant.
"No miss, I think you're a witness to a crime."
With a soft groan barely moving over his lips, William Murdoch opened his eyes for the briefest of moments. A surprising amount of information filtered through into his clouded mind. It was dark, with the dimmest of lights emanating from high above and to his left. It was cold... No, there was a distinct chill in the air but the cold sensation came mainly from below and behind him. A few seconds of reasoning told him that he was seated on the floor and that and wall behind were made of stone. The whole room seemed unnaturally quiet, punctuated occasionally only by the eerie sound of water dripping somewhere off to the right. Finally, a terrible dehydration combined with a severe debilitating ache raged in his head, spreading down his neck, making him reluctant to try to open his eyes once more. But it wasn't an option. He had to figure out where he was and how he had come to be here. The very last thing he remembered was cycling to the court house, late and in some discomfort from the heat. Was that why he was dehydrated? But if so, it explained nothing else. Forcing his reluctant eyes open once more required more effort than he had expected with even the dim light permeating the gloom causing his headache to worsen considerably. Slowly gathering his senses and becoming gradually aware of his body's stiffness, he tried to adjust his position. Frowning, his brow creasing initially with confusion, Murdoch looked to his arms, only to find them suspended by chains roughly at shoulder height, with his hands secured in thick metal clasps. Balling his fists, he pulled on the chains with all the strength his body would allow him, but to no avail. A weak, almost numb sensation was overtaken by waves of debilitating pain as his muscles objected to the movement, having been held in one position for so long. He slumped back once more, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. Yes, he had been in this position a long time, certainly. But how long?
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and the pain subsided, he glanced around, slowly taking in his surroundings. The rows of racks, filled with bottles made it easy to identify the room as a wine cellar, but where was a mystery to him. Looking down at his ankles, he sighed to see that they too were secured, but this time with a simple length of rope. Whoever had him clearly had no intention of allowing him an easy escape. Racking his memory as to how he had ended up here was drawing a blank every time.
Murdoch could also now see that what little there was came from a single strip of light shining through underneath a door at the top of the stairs against the far wall. Licking his dry lips offered no relief and he closed his eyes once more. Resting his head back against the wall as he tried to muster the strength for another attempt on the chains holding him to the wall, but barely able to even feel his arms much less use them he didn't hold out much hope.
At the sound of the door handle turning, Murdoch's eyes were drawn upward. Light streamed in from beyond the cellar causing him to squint in the sudden brightness. A silhouette: a tall, somewhat portly figure of a man filled the doorway. The first sound out of his lips was a condescending laugh that kept going even as he took to the steps.
"Well, Detective, I see you're awake at last. I wasn't sure how powerful to make the drug, but I think I could have used a lot less."
"Drug?" Murdoch replied, squinting against the bright light as he tried to see who it was that was approaching. "You drugged me last night? That's why I was running late?"
"No, well, yes, of course last night. But I meant the drug I attached to the spring loaded lever on your bicycle."
"What are you talking about?" Murdoch asked, desperately trying to search his memory.
"You think you simply had an accident? That would be a little too convenient, wouldn't it? You know I'm an engineer, I made a few small adjustments to your bicycle. Firstly, the spring loaded lever injected your thigh with chloral hydrate, then as that took effect, a device attached behind the saddle clamped onto the wheel allowing Newton's First Law to do the rest.
"The bicycle stopped, but I continued," Murdoch nodded, finally remembering being thrown abruptly and somewhat painfully. "And you brought me here?"
"I did indeed."
"In full view of a crowd of people?"
"In view of them?" He laughed. "They helped me! It's remarkable what people will do to help a man claiming to be a doctor."
Murdoch nodded. The man, whoever he was, had planned his abduction in meticulous detail. All that remained was who and why?
"Show yourself, sir," he shouted up to the man still in silhouette.
"You don't recognise me? Not even my voice?" He mocked. "We have met on several occasions now. Well, not met socially, of course, but you have seen and heard me."
Continuing down the stairs, the man approached Murdoch who looked up, with a clear expression of recognition, but unable to place him.
"I'm disappointed, Detective. Would it help to tell you that we were to meet again today?"
Realisation dawned with a terrible sinking feeling.
"Rupert Gillies; James Gillies' father."
"The very same. Don't you think it's ironic, Detective that so much time and effort was afforded to guarding Doctor Ogden's home in the time before the trial, but not a soul was watching your room?"
"So," Murdoch sighed. "Like father, like son?"