George Crabtree entered the imposing yet austere office and looked around. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves carrying old, important-looking and highly decorative books. Each bound in leather with gold leaf decoration down the spine. Crabtree couldn't help but notice, however, that all of the volumes appeared rather dusty and neglected. The appearance of the office seemed to be designed to inspire awe, conveying the intelligence and importance of the man in the office beyond, but it all appeared to be simply for show. Rather an impressive show, but a show nonetheless.
It was a strange feeling. In his own clothes he might have felt intimidated to be in the outer office of so important a man, but in his blues, he felt quite comfortable and ready to approach the woman sitting at the desk, already peering over he spectacles at him.
"Can I help you..." She paused. "Constable?"
The addition of the title almost sounded derogatory and it ruffled Crabtree's feathers somewhat. He was a simple, polite constable . One day, he hoped to make detective under Murdoch's tutelage. He regarded himself of deserving of at least civility, if not simple respect.
"I'm here to see the Warden, ma'am," he nodded politely, as much as to show how easy it was, as anything.
"Do you have an appointment?" She asked, opening a large book. "The Warden is quite busy, you know."
Crabtree took a deep breath; she seemed determined to be rude and obstructive.
"Madam, I am investigating a murder and the escape of a dangerous criminal from this establishment. I trust he's not too busy to discuss that?"
"The man you're referring to hadn't yet been to trial, constable," she replied with an air of disapproval. "You can't be certain he's a criminal."
"Yes madam I can. This man has been tried for other crimes and been sentenced to hang twice before but escaped. In addition, he made his own full confession. This trial was more a formality than a necessity."
The woman closed the book with a sudden snap, making a noise that reverberated around the room, despite the many volumes to absorb the sound.
"I'll see if he's free," she replied in a clipped tone.
"That will be excellent, thank you," Crabtree replied in a most courteous tone that, from her expression, seemed only to inflame her irritation more.
Crabtree rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He was only doing his duty and she would have plenty more to say if he didn't. Of that he was certain.
It only took a few moments for her to return. To Crabtree she looked even more angry than earlier. How sad it must be, he thought, to live your life in varying degrees of anger.
"You may go in, but he has another appointment in twenty minutes."
"I'll try not to take up too much of his time, ma'am. Thank you."
Crabtree pushed open the heavy mahogany door and looked over at the man sitting across the room who immediately smiled. It was such a welcoming smile that Crabtree had walked in even before he realised it.
"Constable Crabtree, Warden. I'm investigating the priest's death and Gillies' escape."
"Ah, yes, Constable," the Warden was already calling from in front of his desk. "Come in, I've been expecting you."
Compared with the outer room, the Governor's own office seemed light and airy, even welcoming. There were yet more books lining one entire wall, but unlike those in the outer room, these looked both used and cared for. The substantial and grand desk in the centre, under the impressively large window took up most of the space, but there were a few other chairs, a small mahogany table and what appeared to be a drinks cabinet.
"Can I offer you anything, constable?"
Crabtree turned a virtually blank expression in his direction.
"A drink? I have a particularly fine brandy," the Warden added, confirming Crabtree's assumption about the cabinet.
"Er, no, thank you, sir. Not while I'm on duty."
"Tea then?" He offered.
"Oh, yes, sir. Tea would be most welcome, thank you."
"I'll ask Mrs Ross to get you some."
"Oh... But..." Crabtree frowned. "I think she might be busy." He suggested, generously not mentioning her rudeness towards him.
"The only thing Mrs Ross is ever busy doing is complaining." He smiled knowingly. "Take a seat, Constable. Mrs Ross," he called from the doorway.
"Sir?" Even with her employer her tone barely changed.
"Some tea for the constable, if you will."
Not even bothering to wait for the grumbled response, the Warden turned and closed the door.
"Don't worry, constable, she's like that with everyone."
"Even you, sir?"
"Especially me!" He replied with a tilt of his head.
"If you don't mind me asking, sir..."
"Why do I keep her? I don't have much say in the matter. She's my wife."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir." Crabtree grew suddenly flustered. "No, I don't mean I'm sorry she's your wife! I mean..."
"I know," he cut in with a hearty laugh. "Felix Ross," he extended a hand to the surprised Crabtree who shook it almost without thinking about it. "What have you discovered?"
"Yes, sir," Crabtree nodded, glad to be back on familiar ground. "The priest was murdered in the cell. By my reckoning, the two were kneeling when Gillies slit the priest's throat."
"Whatever with?" Ross replied lowering his glass.
"That I can't tell you, sir, it would appear he took the murder weapon with him. He then tipped the priest into the bed, took his clothes and covered him up."
"Wouldn't his clothes have been covered in blood?" Ross asked.
"Yes, sir, I would have thought a substantial amount, but it was dark by then and the priest's clothes were black, it could easily have gone unnoticed unless someone made a specific point of looking and who would do that?"
"Quite so," Ross frowned thoughtfully.
"Warden Ross, Gillies asked for a priest, but he wasn't Catholic. Did he specifically choose that priest or was it just a local priest? Was there a similarity between them?"
"I can tell you he specifically asked for a priest called Father Conlan, but as to why? That I can't answer, constable. You'd have to ask the guard on duty in that wing."
"And is he..."
Crabtree paused as Mrs Ross entered with a tea tray. Even before she had set it down, the Warden was speaking.
"My dear, who was on duty in E wing yesterday, before the night shift?"
"Penrose," she replied, placing the tray on the desk. "He's supposed to be on duty today, but he hasn't come in yet."
"Oh, is he ill?" The Warden asked.
"I don't believe he's given a reason, sir."
"Get someone to look into it, will you?" Ross smiled.
"I already have. I know my responsibilities," she frowned.
"Of course. Will you be mother?" He asked waving a hand over the tray.
"I'll see if there's any more information on Penrose," she replied, her curt tone returning.
Crabtree was beginning to understand why she had such a churlish outlook. in the few minutes since he had met him, Crabtree had noticed that Ross, despite being personable, was somewhat dismissive of his wife and he imagined that as a consequence, over the years, her disposition had soured.
"Go on, constable," Ross encouraged as he poured the tea.
"Well, sir, it appears that he also used clippings of the priest's hair to fashion a moustache to disguise himself further."
"Clever chap, this Gillies, isn't he?"
"I'm afraid so, sir. He's proved quite a match for the Detective three times now. Quite the slippery customer."
"I must say, constable, I assumed that a detective would be accompanying you, if you don't take that as a slight against your abilities."
"Oh, not at all, sir," Crabtree responded with a smile at his courteousness. He couldn't help but wonder how this man had come to marry such a complete opposite to himself, but as he'd often thought - it takes all sorts. "The detective is, er... elsewhere at the moment," he answered as truthfully as he could.
"I understand that maybe you can't divulge everything to me," Ross replied with a nod.
Crabtree took a deep breath, wishing more than anything that he knew exactly where Detective Murdoch was, and that he was well.
"Can you tell me how it is that Gillies asked for the priest?"
"Yes, that surprised me too," Warden Ross replied with a thoughtful expression. "Gillies was not a practising Catholic to to the best of my knowledge. Certainly none of the guards recall him attending Mass in the chapel."
"You have mass here?" Crabtree replied, genuinely surprised.
"We have a significant enough proportion of inmates who are Catholic to warrant running a Mass."
"Ah, so the priest was the one who said Mass for the inmates?"
"No, surprisingly he asked for Father Conlan specifically."
"So, no one really knew Father Conlan?" Crabtree questioned.
"No," Ross sighed. "I suppose that made it easier to assume his identity, especially as he visited as the day shift changed to the night shift. No one would have any idea what he looked like."
"Did he have a moustache? Father Conlan?"
"I don't know, Constable, you'd have to ask Penrose."
Crabtree nodded. The moustache was almost certainly more to hide his own features, than to look like someone else.
The door opened once more and Mrs Ross appeared, subdued and even pale in the doorway.
"Felix," she began, immediately alerting the Warden to her distress. "Penrose has been discovered dead in his home this morning. His throat was cut. Apparently Station House Five are investigating. They're treating it as suspicious."
"I should say so!" Crabtree announced.
"I should take care of my wife, Constable. She's had something of a shock. Do you have any more questions?"
"Not at the moment, sir. I'll be on my way."
Murdoch tried moving his arms, but his muscles screamed their objections from having been held in one place too long. Grimacing with determination, he started with his wrists, slowly flexing them and ignoring the chafing of the manacles against his skin. Now trying to extend his right arm, he realised immediately that he was trying too much too soon. A heat spread up his neck and down past his shoulder blade to his spine, taking his breath away. Pausing, gasping as he allowed his head to flop back, Murdoch tried to slow his racing heart as he willed the pain to subside. His chest rose and fell quickly as he relaxed once more. He knew, of course, that he would have to move, and soon. If there was to be any chance of escape, he wanted to be ready for it, but this was more pain than he had endured in his life. gritting his teeth, he was about to begin again when The door at the top of the stairs opened once more revealing one of his captors. From the silhouette, he guessed the younger and possibly more dangerous of the two. At the sound of light mocking laughter, he knew he had guessed correctly.
"In case you didn't realise, Detective, you're being watched."
Gillies pointed up to a small fixture mounted near the ceiling. Looking up, still pale and exhausted from his exertions, Murdoch spotted what looked like the end of a telescope aimed at him.
"You're wasting your time, detective. What do you think you could possibly need your arms for? Your jacket is over there," Gillies pointed to a chair near the opposite wall on which hung Murdoch's suit jacket. "All the equipment that you've so carefully secreted inside it is still there. My father decided it best to relieve you of it rather than try to find everything. I wouldn't put it past you to have a secret pocket and we can't have you escaping. Only one of us can survive, detective and I assure you, it will be me. You see, this time, I've bested you and it will be the last time. Unlike you, I don't have to wait for the law to take its course."
"You've bested me?" Murdoch saw an opening, however dangerous. "Are you sure about that?"
Gillies offered a superior smile and gestured towards Murdoch. "I have you chained to a wall in the wine cellar awaiting your fate. Yes, I would say I've bested you."
"And I would say you had nothing to do with it. Did you sabotage my bicycle?" Murdoch could see the change in his expression and pressed on. "Did you abduct me? Did you bring me here? Did you even fasten the locks?"
"Enough, detective," Gillies snapped.
"How can you assume the credit for any of this? All you have managed to do is escape from jail and I wager that your father engineered that too! As I suspect he has for all your escapes!"
A dark expression descended suddenly over Gillies' face and the back of a half clenched fist connected sharply with Murdoch's cheek. Kneeling at his side, Gillies grabbed Murdoch's neck viciously and pushed back so hard as to slam the back of his head into the wall. Murdoch's senses reeled but he knew he'd hit a raw nerve - hopefully it was worth the pain.
"Are you suggesting I can't destroy you, detective? You know better than that."
"You've tried and failed," Murdoch choked out, "three times. Now your father's come to show you how it's done."
"I could kill you now!" Gillies laughed. "But you wouldn't suffer enough."
"You can't kill me," Murdoch's voice was barely audible under the pressure of Gillies' hand cutting off just enough air to weaken him. "Not without your father's approval."
"I decide!" Gillies ranted.
"James!" Gillies Senior ordered from the top of the stairs. "Let go of him at once!"
Gillies hesitated for a few moments, the frustration and humiliation building on his face.
"I said at once!" Gillies Senior roared as he descended into the cellar.
Pulling his hand away almost as roughly as he had seized him, Gillies glowered at Murdoch who simply stared up and uttered one word that had more power than even he could know.
"See?"
Infuriated, Gillies rose and turned only to receive a clip around the ear from his father.
"I don't expect to have to tell you twice, James. Now, we're expecting guests; I'm told that the local constabulary will be visiting shortly. Go to the library and hide yourself."
"Yes, father," Gillies muttered; humiliation crushing him.
"Now then, detective. This cellar isn't nearly as soundproof as I'd hoped. I could hear James's ranting all the way upstairs. I can't risk you shouting for help when our guests are here can I?"
Pulling a long, thick strip of cotton from his pocket, Gillies Senior forced the centre of the material deep into Murdoch's mouth before crossing the two ends at the nape of his neck and pulling them forward to tie a double knot almost filling his mouth. Despite being weakened by Gillies' attack, Murdoch put up a fight, trying hard to resist being gagged but with so little movement allowed to him, there was little he could do. Finally Rupert Gillies pulled Murdoch's hand up nearer to the wall, revelling in the muffled scream of pain as he did. Murdoch's mind reeled, overtaken by the severity of the pain washing over him as Gillies fastened a padlock through two links of the chain, shortening it so he couldn't reach to remove the gag. Murdoch steeled himself for the same level of pain as he moved his left arm, but no amount of preparation was going to help and he let out another cry of agony as the pain left him hanging limply, barely conscious.
"There," Gillies Senior smiled. "I can't see you making much of a sound with that to contend with. I will present my usual shocked and appalled self at the shameful and evil behaviour of my son and they will go on their way satisfied that I will be a good citizen and inform them should he appear. You see, detective, my son might have the advantage when it comes to imaginative schemes, but I consider the long game in ways he never could. You have to admit, I fooled even you. And if I can fool you, I don't see anyone else seeing through me, do you?"