Murdoch and Brackenreid waited outside the office at the university. A lamenting look came over the Inspector's face, "I suppose we should have contacted Mrs. Best," he spoke.
Murdoch shrugged, "We'll see her soon. Our direction of investigation hasn't led to her yet," he stated.
Brackenreid drew his lips tight, "That's not what I meant!" he exclaimed.
"Sir?"
"I meant as a grieving widow," the Inspector stated.
"Oh, my, yes!" Murdoch almost seemed embarrassed at the over sight. Just then a man opened the office door, "May I help you?" he asked in a rather formal tone.
"We're hoping you can," Brackenreid said as he showed the man his badge.
"You're here about the theft?" the man questioned.
"In part," Murdoch stated. "When was Councillor Best last here. I understand he was on an antiquities committee," the Detective continued.
"I'm not here all the time, so you'll have to ask Dean David Miller," the man stepped back into the door and directed the two policemen to the man at the end of the large room; it was an office for more than one, it appeared. Both Murdoch and Brackenreid acknowledged with a sharp nod before they too entered the room. Their foot steps couldn't be masked; they obviously wouldn't be able to sneak up on everyone. The two men glanced at each other as they made faces as they tried to walk lighter. To anyone who might have been watching, it looked like a scene from a vaudeville act.
Dean Miller looked up from his book, "May I help you?" he asked as Murdoch and Brackenreid approached the table.
Murdoch flashed his badge, "We'd like to talk to you about Councillor Best," he stated.
"What of him?" Miller enquired.
"When was he last here?" Brackenreid jumped right in with the question.
"Let's see," Miller leaned back in his chair. He was an older man. As he thought he stroked his grey goatee. It seemed to be a habit of his. "Two days ago," Miller finally gave an answer. "Yes," he then leaned forward, "we had an antiquities meeting about a theft," he stated.
"The theft was out of our jurisdiction. Did another station house look into it?" Brackenreid asked.
"The police were here, but I can't say they did very much," Miller said as he stood.
"What was the nature of the theft?" Murdoch was curious to know what was taken.
"There were a few items stolen from the University's historical collection," Miller handed the Detective a sheet of paper. "This is an itemized list," he added.
"I assume that these objects are worth a lot of money," Murdoch said as his eyes scanned the page.
"Some are worth more than money," Miller corrected him, "they carry great historic value," he added.
"I see," Murdoch stated as he handed the paper to his boss. Brackenreid looked at the list, "A lead bullet?" he looked up at Miller.
"It was the first bullet fired in York, now Toronto in the War of 1812," Miller stated with pride.
Brackenreid made a face, thinking Miller was off his rocker. "Sure," he stuffed the page back at Murdoch.
"What was Councillor Best's reaction to the theft?" Murdoch looked from his boss to the Dean.
"Like all of us, he was quite concerned. Clearly it was an inside job, but as I said, the police have yet to produce any evidence of who or when this happened. Not to mention the location of these," Miller flicked the edge of the page in Murdoch's hand, with this fingers.
"May I keep this?" the Detective held up the page.
"Yes, and I hope that you are better than those other ones," Miller said with his nose slightly in the air.
"Station House No. 4 will solve your theft," Brackenreid said with pride.
"We will have to work with the station house that first got the case," Murdoch reminded his boss, who seemed annoyed by the idea. "Let's see what Julia had found out," Murdoch changed the conversation. "Yes. Let's," Brackenreid even sounded annoyed at the thought of working with another station house, and clearly one that seemed incompetent. "Thank you for your time," Murdoch smiled slightly as he touched the brim of his hat as he excused himself from the Dean.
"We'll be in touch," Brackenreid stated as he followed the Detective to the door.
Miller sat down again and watched as the two men left, "I bet they won't find a damn thing, either," he stated before he returned his attention to the book on the desk.
Constables George Crabtree and Henry Higgins were sitting in the bullpen, comparing they few notes they had on the Councillor Best case, "Perhaps he was struck by lightening," Higgins offered.
"I would think Doctor Ogden would have noticed something like that," Crabtree replied.
Henry frowned, "How can someone just up and die with not signs of what it was?" he asked.
"Must have been something internal, I suppose," George shrugged. He then spotted a well dressed older woman talking to the desk sergeant; she looked quite animated and worried. The desk sergeant appeared to be perplexed as he pointed toward the bullpen. The older women turned and looked at Crabtree, "Looks like we might have a visitor," the Constable announced as he watched the woman walk toward him. Both constables stood, "May we help you ma'am?" Crabtree asked.
"My husband's missing!" she poke, almost in hysterics.
"Oh?" Crabtree glanced at Higgins. "What's your husband's name?" he then questioned.
"Maxwell Best. He's a town counsellor," the woman held he head high as if asking such a question wasn't necessary and that everyone should know her and her husband.
"Oh," Crabtree swallowed. He then did a quick look over to Murdoch's office and noticed that the Detective wasn't there. Neither was the Inspector in his office. "Perhaps you should wait to talk to Detective Murdoch," Crabtree motioned with a swoop of his right hand for the woman to enter the Detective's office and take a seat.
"Where is the Detective?" Mrs. Best asked.
"He should be along shortly," Crabtree was quick to answer, hoping what he had just said was true. Mrs. Best did not look amused. The constable backed out of the office and went back to work leaving Mrs. Best on her own.
Murdoch and Brackenreid entered the morgue and found Julia standing in the middle of the room with a most perplexed look on her face. "Julia, have have you?" Murdoch asked. "Doctor," Brackenreid greeted her.
"I have nothing, William," he looked up to her husband.
"Nothing?" Murdoch glanced at this boss.
"Nothing. Not even a body!" Ogden exclaimed.
"Pardon?" Brackenreid asked.
"You heard me," Julia stated. "Look," she opened the heavy wooden door to the cooler. There it was; an empty gurney with a sheet tossed aside and no Maxwell Best in sight. Murdoch and Brackenreid stood staring at it, gobsmacked.
"Julia?" Murdoch's brown eyes locked on to his wife's blue eyes. "Honestly, I don't know! There was no sign of forced entry," Ogden explained.
"Bloody hell," the Inspector sputtered as he took a further look into the cooler, poking at the crumple sheet on the gurney with his walking stick. "A dead man just can't get up and walk away," he further stated as he turned on his heels and looked at the doctor and detective. They both shrugged at the same time. "It appears that Mister Best did just that, Sir," the Detective sheepishly said as he slowly looked over to his wife.
Clearly Julia was at a loss for words. Slowly she moved to the gurney, "Perhaps he wasn't dead after all," he looked over to the two policemen.
"I just knew this wasn't going to be an easy case," Brackenreid fumed. "Bullocks," was all he could say.
