"Now then, Detective, let's discuss my mother, shall we?" Gillies threw Murdoch's jacket to the floor and dragged the chair over to sit opposite him.
Murdoch tried hard now to show his dismay at Gillies' complete disinterest in his father's body lying in a pool of blood only feet away. Almost reading his thoughts, Gillies turned his head slowly to stare at his father, lying face up, his eyes staring at nothing. Turning his eyes to glance, once again, at the detective, Gillies smile broadened into an impish grin.
"Why, detective, I do believe you're scared."
Murdoch said nothing.
"Yes, but of what, specifically. You've faced death before, even at my hand, so what is it this time?" Gillies looked over his shoulder towards Constable Crabtree lying unconscious at the back of the cellar, still at the foot of the stairs near the body of Heath, the butler. "Your lapdog? Surely not? Or is it that he might bring your... No, you're actually afraid for my mother, aren't you? Oh, Detective Murdoch! How very public spirited you are! You truly live for your position as a detective, don't you? You're afraid I'll find out where she is? That I can torture you or your constable enough that you will divulge her whereabouts." Gillies laughed heartily. "Don't be afraid, Detective. Of course, you will tell me, but it won't be your fault, not really. But when I bring her here," he paused, enjoying the expression of disbelief on Murdoch's face, "and I make you watch as I kill her too, what will you think then?"
"You'd kill your own mother?" Murdoch spoke the words with difficulty; barely believing he was asking the question.
"Well," Gillies waved his left arm expansively, "I killed my father. That wasn't difficult. Why not? They both abandoned me in their own ways. Why not make them suffer?"
"Your sister?" Murdoch pressed. "You'd leave her alone in the world?"
"She won't be alone," he laughed. "She'll have me."
"She won't..."
It was all Murdoch managed to say before Gillies flew into a rage and pushed his head back against the wall sharply, pressing the gun into his neck.
"Well there are ways to deal with that, aren't there!"
"You'd kill your entire family?"
"They let me down. They deserve nothing. You see, in many ways, Detective, you're the only person in my life who has never let me down. Are you going to let me down now?"
"You want me to beat you?" Murdoch's brow creased in puzzlement.
"Try," Gillies offered a faint smile. "You can only try this time."
At the sound of a faint groan coming from the back of the room, Murdoch heaved a relieved sigh as Crabtree slowly moved a hand to his head as he came to.
"He's still alive," Murdoch looked past Gillies, the tension in his body easing at the sight.
"For now," Gillies replied as he stood. "All that means is he's left me the job of killing him for later, hasn't he?"
"Gillies, let him go," Murdoch pleaded. "I'm the one you want. Kill me."
Once again, Gillies smile broadened into a grin as he dragged the still semi-conscious Crabtree over to the far wall, only yards away from Murdoch, before kneeling and binding his hands and feet tightly.
"Oh, I will, Detective, I promise you. But I can keep you alive for a very long time, while I kill all your friends... slowly. Bear in mind, Detective, that you brought this on yourself. Remember as each one dies that this is entirely your fault."
oOo
Racing through Station House Four's duty room, Constable Higgins barged straight into Inspector Brackenreid's office without even pausing to knock, throwing the door open with such force as to cause the glass to rattle loudly.
"Sirs!" He began breathlessly.
"Higgins!" Brackenreid began only to halt his angry response before it had even begun. There was something about the concern in the eyes of the breathless constable that demanded attention. "What is it, lad?" He asked.
"Sirs, Doctors, it's Rupert Gillies. He has Detective Murdoch!"
Withdrawing the now slightly crumpled drawing of the man that witnesses claimed they had seen. Quickly he smoothed it out and handed it to Inspector Brackenreid.
"Sir, one of the witnesses stated that he thought the moustache looked false. See, sir, without the moustache... It's Rupert Gillies."
"Good work, Higgins," Brackenreid reached behind him for his hat. "This is the proof we've been waiting for."
"Inspector," Giles cut in, "we still don't know where Gillies is holding him. If we go in now, we may never find him."
"Sir, if we don't go in now, he may be dead when we do!"
Giles sighed in frustration; there seemed to be no easy solution, no definite right thing to do.
"Brackenreid," he nodded calmly. "You know both of these men much better than I do. What is your recommendation?"
"We go in, arrest Rupert Gillies and get him to tell us where Murdoch is. Beat it out of him if necessary!"
Giles rolled his eyes; Brackenreid's less than subtle methods combined with his obvious concern for the detective left little room for coherent thought.
"Think man!" He retorted. "If we arrest Rupert Gillies, his son will most likely kill Murdoch anyway."
"We can't do nothing!" Brackenreid protested.
"Where's Crabtree?" Giles asked, with a creased brow.
"He's returned to the Gillies house, sir."
"Returned, why?" The Chief Constable pressed.
"Sir, Gillies has no idea that we suspect him. George... I mean Constable Crabtree thought that if he could take more of his time with additional questions that the detective would remain unharmed and he might even get to have another look around before bringing him in."
"The bloody idiot's going to get himself killed!" Brackenreid stormed. "Doesn't he realise that if they are both there, he's put himself in a house alone with two murderers?"
"I... I don't think he was thinking about that, sir. Neither of us were. We just wanted to help Detective Murdoch."
Brackenreid sighed and put a hand to his head in frustration. The men were loyal, there was no doubt about it, but placing themselves so recklessly in danger helped no one.
"Higgins, break out the armoury."
"Sir!" Higgins replied, turning on his heels.
"Chief Constable, I know it's a risk, but it's one we have to take. We don't have a choice."
"Your mens' rash actions have forced the issue. There will be consequences when this is over."
"Those consequences I can accept, sir, but not the ones we will certainly have if we do nothing."
"Very well," Giles replied with a brief nod as Higgins and three other constables returned armed with hand guns and rifles. "Doctors, you will remain here."
"We most certainly will not!" Doctor Ogden replied indignantly.
"You will not interfere with a police matter, Doctors. It's not safe for you. Now please wait here!"
Doctors Ogden and Grace watched, their expressions pinched with anger, as the men headed for the door. Watching them leave, Doctor Grace turned with an expression that was simultaneously worried and infuriated toward Doctor Ogden.
"I don't want to wait."
"We're not going to!" Doctor Ogden replied, still brimming with outrage, bringing a relieved smile to Doctor Grace's lips. Grabbing a handful of her voluminous skirt, she nodded decisively before leading the way. "Let's go."
oOo
Waiting until Gillies had once again headed upstairs, Murdoch turned concerned eyes toward Constable Crabtree, struggling against his injuries to fully wake. At first confused and distracted by his inability to move, Crabtree didn't register Murdoch's presence until he had called his name a fourth time.
"George?" Murdoch called again, rolling his shoulders as he spoke to maintain the movement and blood flow to his arms. "George!"
"Sir?" Crabtree replied, his voice croaky and with forced attentiveness.
"Are you all right, George?"
"I've had better days, sir," he replied, trying desperately to retain his humour despite their dire circumstance. "My helmet came off when I reached the bottom of the stairs, sir, but I think it protected me as I fell."
Murdoch heaved a sigh of relief; the good old constable's helmet doing the job it was designed for.
"Can you move, George?"
"Not easily, sir," Crabtree frowned. "What do you need?"
Murdoch smiled; even despite the terrible situation in which they found themselves, Constable Crabtree was ever loyal and willing to help in any way.
"Can you see, lying between us, my lock-picking kit? Gillies placed it there to taunt me, but with your arrival, he seems to have forgotten all about it. Can you get to it?"
"More likely, sir, he doesn't think we can do anything about it anyway."
"Well, he's wrong then, isn't he, George?" Murdoch stated in a rallying tone.
"That, he is, sir," he answered, picking up on the sentiment and replying with a confidence and surety that he hadn't thought possible under the circumstances. "Let me try."
Despite his tortured muscles, Crabtree tried to shuffle over towards the kit, only to cry out as he pushed himself backwards.
"What is it, George?" Murdoch asked quickly, a look of deep concern furrowing his brow.
"Sir, my left wrist. At least I think it's my left. It seems silly, but because they're tied together so tightly, I can't seem to work out which is hurting."
"That's perfectly normal, George."
"I'm not sure I can pick it up, sir," Crabtree added apologetically.
"Don't worry about that, George. Can you make it over here? Perhaps I can untie you?"
"I'll try, sir."
Taking a deep breath, Crabtree clamped his jaw tightly and thought about the logistics of moving roughly ten or twelve feet. He lay on his front and knew he would have to turn onto his side to make the shuffling movement possible.
"George," Murdoch cut into his thoughts. "It might be easier if you could turn to face me, then you'd be on your right side. It should be easier to move forward than back and there would be less pressure on your left wrist."
"Yes, sir," Crabtree replied, grateful that the initial problem had been solved for him. "I was just thinking along those lines," he added.
Rolling over onto his right side, he teetered slightly as at first he struggled to maintain his balance. Once settled, and forcing himself to ignore the dull ache at his wrists, he began to shuffle his feet and knees in an attempt to turn around to face the detective.
"That's it, George, you're doing well," Murdoch encouraged, masking his concern over the young constable's pallor.
"Nearly facing you, sir," Crabtree managed to spit the words out between snatches of breath.
Finally with the pair facing each other, Detective Murdoch could see the strain and effort Crabtree had gone through to merely to turn around. That had only been part of the battle. Now he had to try to shuffle over to the wall where Murdoch was seated and to try to kneel. It was a tall order, but Murdoch had faith in Crabtree's ability, not just to try, but in his determination to see it through no matter what the odds.
"You can do this, George," he encouraged.
"Of course, sir," Crabtree nodded. "I just need to get my breath back."
Resisting the urge to press the matter, Murdoch pulled his lips into a thin line. He knew Crabtree was doing absolutely the best he could; the best anyone could. Pushing him into moving before he was ready would help neither of them. Now, not only could he see his pale, almost grey skin, but he could see the drying blood caked to his temple and down his cheek. Grateful that he had not simply passed out again, Murdoch waited with anticipation for him to find the energy to begin to move again.
It wasn't long, possibly only a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity to both of them. Swinging his legs forward roughly six inches, he followed the motion with an awkward shuffling of his shoulder, grimacing as the action pulled sharply on his bound wrists.
"Sir, I think it may be broken." He announced breathlessly after he had managed to travel a few feet toward the detective.
"You may be right, George, but..."
"I know, sir, keep going."
"If you can," Murdoch replied, both sympathetically and hopefully.
"I will, sir. I'll be there presently."
With grim determination etched on his increasingly pallid features, Crabtree edged closer and closer. Finally after just over ten minutes, he arrived at Murdoch's side.
"I'm sorry, George, I can't lower my arms to help you. Can you sit up?"
"It might take some doing, sir, but, yes, I'm sure I can." Turning a grave expression towards the detective, he added: "I have to."