Mrs Kitchen's boarding house at 22 Ontario Street was a large well kept building near the corner of the intersection with Adelaide Street. With no signs or plaques to identify it as such, it was only by recommendation that boarders came to find rooms there. That way, Mrs Kitchen believed, a better class of tenant could be maintained as only trustworthy and respectable boarders would be suggested by current borders. Or in William Murdoch's case when newly arrived in Toronto, by the local constabulary. To her mind, possibly the highest recommendation short of the Prime Minister himself. Today, members of the local constabulary were a particularly welcome sight. On opening the door to Chief Constable Giles and Inspector Brackenreid, Mrs Kitchen ushered them both inside with surprising haste.

"Thank you for coming so quickly!" She began, leading them through into the shared parlour used by the residents.
"I'm sorry, Mrs...?" Giles replied with confusion clear in his voice.
"Kitchen," she stared back, equally confused. "You came because of my call to the station house? No?" She shook her head, preemptive of their response.
"No ma'am," Giles replied. "We're here concerning Detective Murdoch."
"He lives here, does he not?" Brackenreid clarified, mindful that it was possible that Murdoch had moved and he had not paid attention.
"Yes," her hand flew up to her head in distress. "Oh, how is he? I didn't see him this morning. It was awful, everyone was so ill, even me. At first I thought it was my cooking, but then I found out you see and I called straight away."
"Found what out?" Brackenreid frowned at the need to keep guessing where the conversation was leading. "Mrs Kitchen, could you please start from the beginning?"
"Yes, but, Mr Murdoch, is he well? I feel so bad."
"Please, ma'am," Brackenreid dodged the question and indicated a seat. "Tell us what happened."
"Yes, yes of course," she nodded, taking a seat and indicating that the two policemen did the same. "I was making dinner last night. I was a little later than usual as I got held up on my way home. You see, a woman stopped me for help at the market. She had lost her purse and needed help finding it. If you ask me, it was a strange thing to do as she didn't strike me as all that poor sighted and, as you see, I'm not exactly in my prime! Nevertheless, we found the purse easily enough and she offered me a reward..."
"Is this relevant to what happened last night, Mrs Kitchen?" Giles interrupted impatiently.
"Well I was going to say, I wouldn't take any money so she insisted I take a lovely piece of gammon that she had in her basket for my trouble. At the time, I thought it was too kind of her to tell the truth, it was large enough to make a decent meal for everyone and if I'm honest, I didn't have anything near as appetising in the house last night, so it would have been..."
"Ma'am, if you could keep it concise, please?" Giles sighed, visibly impatient.
"Of course," she nodded. "Well, I cooked it. I was going to boil it, but she suggested I roast it. It was such a fine piece that I agreed it would be better."
"Mrs Kitchen," Giles motioned for her to move the pace along. "If you please?"

All the while, Brackenreid remained silent. It may have sounded like trivia to the Chief Constable, but it was starting to sound all too familiar to him.

"Well, looking back, it tasted a little odd. Maybe saltier than I would have expected from such a good piece. Everyone seemed to enjoy it though but it wasn't long before everyone was feeling quite strange. So much so they had to sleep. I didn't notice because I was too! Right there on the couch!" She pointed, as if they would be able to see an image of her from the night before. "I didn't wake until just before nine the next morning! That's not like me, and I wasn't the only one. Poor Mr Murdoch had to go without his breakfast! You know what he's like, wouldn't make a fuss. He left me to my sleeping and went out. But one of my boarders is a veterinarian and he did some sort of test and thought it may have been laced with laudanum! I mean, who would do such a thing? That poor woman was going to eat it. She would have been ill for days. i mean, that sort of thing doesn't happen by accident, does it? if Mr Murdoch had been here, I would have gone to him, so that's when I called you."
"Yes, you said Detective Murdoch, he ate it, but yet he managed to wake?"
Mrs Kitchen shook her head sadly. "Something's affecting his appetite. He's never eaten what I'd call heartily, but recently he's barely touched his food. I hoped last night would be different and he did eat a little more, but he left about half, I'd say."
"Why is that, do you think?" Asked Giles.
"I imagine he has his reasons," Brackenreid interrupted before Mrs Kitchen began to speculate on relationship troubles, which would be too near the mark.
"Do you have any idea what time Murdoch left today? Was he alone? Had anyone been enquiring after him?"

Mrs Kitchen stared blankly for a moment at so many questions. Even Giles raised an eyebrow; it was clear from Brackenreid's haste that concern for his detective was affecting his interviewing. Giles considered taking over the questioning for a moment but changed his mind. Brackenreid clearly had an agenda and despite his approach, he decided to let him run with it.

"I'm afraid, as I said, I was still asleep when Mr Murdoch left, so I really couldn't say. Only Mr Filbert was awake before me, perhaps you could ask him?"
"And has anyone been asking after him?" Brackenreid pressed.
"No, he's not received callers for some time, not since that dreadful business when he was convalescing."

Brackenreid nodded; he remembered the case well, not least because he'd managed to put his foot through Murdoch's ceiling. He pondered on the rather solitary life that Murdoch led. It was little wonder he knew so many things, the man had a great deal of time on his hands. It was small wonder he gave so much to the constabulary; it really was all he had. Pulling himself from his thoughts, Brackenreid was about to ask another question when Mrs Kitchen raised a finger.

"We'll, of course, there was the bicycle repair man who came around on Sunday when Mr Murdoch was at the church."
"Bicycle repair man?" Brackenreid frowned in the full knowledge that this man probably tampered with Murdoch's bicycle.
"Yes, he said that Mr Murdoch has asked him to fix the brakes as they were a little... Oh, what did he call them? You know it's on the tip of my tongue."
"This man, can you describe him? Did he do anything to Murdoch's bicycle?"

Mrs Kitchen gave a puzzled stare; it seemed an odd question to ask.

"No, he didn't do a thing, he just asked which one it was and left. There are three you see and I suppose he just wanted... Soft! That's what he called them."
"What?" Brackenreid shook his head slightly.
"The brakes, he said they were soft and needed to be fixed."
"Oh, right," he rolled his eyes. "So he didn't do anything?"
"No, he said he'd come back."
"Last night," Brackenreid turned to Giles who nodded. "And can you describe him?"
"I'm afraid not, I wasn't really paying attention. I'll admit there was something familiar about him, but I can't say what."
"All right, Mrs Kitchen? When did you meet this blonde lady?"
"I told you, yesterday."
"What time?" Brackenreid asked.
"Hmm, I'd say maybe just after four. Yes, something like that."

Brackenreid frowned. From what he had gathered from earlier reports, the priest had visited Gillies at 7pm so the earliest he could have arrived at the market would have been approximately 9pm. The woman couldn't have been Gillies in disguise, as had happened before. Best to take a description and try to find her.

"Could you describe this woman?" Brackenreid asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, yes," Mrs Kitchen nodded. "I'd say she was about fifty, but very blonde, which I thought was odd, actually."
"Odd how?" Brackenreid asked with Giles looking on, somewhat confused over the line of questioning.
"Well, it was obviously not her own hair. Coloured in some way, or even a wig. Not something you see every day on a woman of her age."

Brackenreid nodded thoughtfully. She seemed to be describing someone wearing a disguise. It wouldn't have been the first time Gillies had passed himself off as a woman, but it couldn't have been him. So who could it have been?

"And her appearance?" Brackenreid pressed. "How did she seem to you?"
"Plain," she shrugged. "If you don't mind me saying so. Bordering on unattractive, I'd say. Big hands, but soft. Navy blue dress trimmed with white lace and shawl."
"Hat?" Brackenreid asked, making notes.
"Just a simple straw hat, with a ribbon, it don't recall the colour but it must have been dark as it don't remember thinking it didn't look right. Oh, and no gloves. I didn't see her boots."

There were simply too many coincidences for the two incidents not to be related. Whoever this woman was, she must have been related in some way to Gillies. Perhaps there was a way to work out who and better still, perhaps she could make an identification? He could only hope.

"Thank you, ma'am, you've been very helpful. Do you have any of the gammon left, by any chance?"
"Oh, I wouldn't risk it, gentlemen," she shook her head vigorously.
"I mean to test it for laudanum," Brackenreid explained.
"Oh, of course!" Mrs Kitchen offered an embarrassed laugh. "Let me fetch you some."

Both men watched as Mrs Kitchen left the room.

"You think this is connected to Gillies?" Despite having realised the purpose of the questions, Giles still sounded sceptical. "It couldn't have been him."
"Chief Constable, the entire household was drugged. It may not have been Gillies himself, but I suspect a connection at least."
"Someone acting on his behalf? Yes, I take your point, inspector." Giles nodded. "What do you propose?"
"I would suggest gathering all the statements together. There has to be something in there somewhere."

oOo

Doctor Ogden pushed a set of papers away, leaned back from the desk and sighed loudly. Doctor Grace had long since finished the autopsy of Father Conlan and had kept as quiet as she could as Doctor Ogden worked on, rarely moving or speaking except in frustration.

"Can I get you some tea, Doctor?" Dr Grace asked, finally climbing the few steps to address her mentor.

Doctor Julia Ogden looked up, pushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes. Her stare was almost unseeing and her exhaustion more than apparent.

"No, thank you," she sighed again, but this time giving away some of the hopelessness she felt. "I really need to keep working."

Dr Grace pursed her lips, uncertain what to say, or rather, she knew exactly what to say but was hesitating over whether or not to say it.

"I think you need to stop for a while," she finally decided to bite the bullet.
"No," Dr Ogden insisted forcefully. "I can do this. It just may take some time, that's all."
"I believe you can do it, doctor," Dr Grace smiled and took Dr Ogden's hands in hers. "But you need to rest. You're exhausted! You've been at this for hours, now."
"And I will keep at it!" Dr Ogden pulled back and pushed a hand through her hair. "How much, do you think, did William rest when he was trying to find me when I was buried alive or when he was trying to save me from the noose when Gillies framed me?"
"That was different," Dr Grace implored. "He was under a strict deadline, he couldn't stop."
"But we don't know what deadline we have, do we? There has been no contact at all. For all we know, he's..."

Dr Ogden's hand flew to her mouth as if to prevent herself from saying the word, but it was in fact to hold back the emotion that she knew she was tenuously holding at bay.

"No," she told herself sternly. "He's well, I feel it and I will not fail him."
"Then allow me to help you," Dr Grace encouraged. "If only as someone to sound ideas against. It's like that sometimes, isn't it? When explaining something, new ideas present themselves or existing ideas are clarified."
"Yes, thank you," Dr Ogden nodded appreciatively. "You're quite finished with the autopsy?"

Dr Grace smiled sympathetically and in a moment Dr Ogden saw why. Not only had she finished the autopsy, but the body had been stored and all the instruments and table cleaned and stored.

"Some time ago."
"What time is it?" Dr Ogden frowned in surprise.
"Just after two. Perhaps you would care to stop for some luncheon. It might help you concentrate."
"No, I'm quite fine, thank you. You go, Dr Grace; I don't want to keep you from..."
"Nonsense," Dr Grace offered a determined smile. "I will send out for something simple, perhaps a few sandwiches, and we will continue working together." She reached out and covered Dr Ogden's hand with hers again. "We will find him... Julia. I promise you."
"You can't promise that."
"I have," Dr Grace nodded firmly. "So, let us get to work, shall we?"

Dr Ogden smiled with deep gratitude. Dr Grace was remaining so positive and driven, it refreshed her resolve that all would be well with William and that she could help him as he had so often helped her. She loved him with an intensity she had never felt for anyone and it tore at her that since Darcy's murder she hadn't uttered the words except when she was standing with the noose about her neck. She desperately wanted to tell him how she felt. That she loved him. Always had. Always would. The idea that she might never be able to tell him crushed her like a stone slab weighing heavily on her heart. But it was time to put those thoughts away, to lock them up tight. She had work to do. Work that she fervently hoped would help save his life.