George was still a bit stiff and sore from all of his hunching over the previous day in the forest. That didn't stop him from jumping out of his chair when the detective came in from the morgue later that morning.
"Any more leads, sir?"
"Other than the fact that we now know without a doubt that he inhaled an unknown toxin, no, nothing."
"What do we do now?"
"We'll have to retrace his steps to find out where he was. Hopefully that will point towards his killer."
"I'll get started on that right away, sir!"
Murdoch nodded and then was called into Brackenreid's office.
"How goes it?"
The inspector listened patiently to the same thing he had just told Crabtree.
"And if retracing his steps leads nowhere?"
"Then we take another approach, sir."
"And if you don't have time to, Murdoch, what then?"
"Then I suppose you are on your own, sir."
Brackenreid was not happy at the prospect of having Crabtree as their lead detective for the foreseeable future. Most likely it meant he would have to do a large amount of the heavy lifting. And he would never admit it to Murdoch's face but he had gotten fairly lazy over the past few years.
"It's like I always say, Murdoch, when in doubt, follow the money. People are always killing over their petty squabbles. Do you have someone working on that angle?"
"Yes, sir. Henry is currently sorting through Mr. Dasgard's finances. So far he has yet to ascertain anything out of the ordinary."
"Well, if there is anything there, it's not likely to be out in the open, is it?"
"No, sir."
"What are you working on yourself?" He smirked. "Other than your latest thingamajig that is."
"It's called an induction balance machine, sir. If I am successful in building it, I will be able to locate metal buried beneath the ground."
"Really?" asked Brackenreid quizzically. "How is that possible?"
The instant he said it, he regretted it. Number one rule when dealing with Murdoch, don't ask questions you don't want the answers to! You were bound to be bored silly by the time he finished explaining something and you still wouldn't be the wiser for it!
"Well, sir, there's an electrode attached to a powerful magnet-"
"Don't you have something more important to be doing?" he barked. "Like solving this bloody murder before your wedding!"
"Of course, sir. I will go assist George in his efforts."
Dasgard had apparently been all over the place in the hours leading up to his death. Even more frustrating was the fact that none of these places seemed likely locations for his chemical exposure. They were currently biking back to the station house for a late lunch. George was a bit wary of Murdoch, he had been rather irritable today.
Must be pre-wedding jitters.
This idea lead him to another.
"Remember the Jewish maiden case, sir?"
"Refresh my memory, George."
"Well, sir, there was this young lady who was caught up in a bit of a love triangle, something straight out of a Shakespearean play, two lovers from different sides of the tracks, secretly in love, while this other fellow, her fiance, was also desperately in love with her, but she wants nothing to do with him-"
Unbeknownst to George, he had managed to say all of that in one breath, while exerting himself on the bicycle.
"The point, George," said Murdoch tersely.
"Right! Well, sir, her secret lover was murdered by her father because he wanted to make sure her wedding to the rich doctor went off without a hitch." He smirked while glancing at the detective, "Sort of like you and Dr. Ogden," Murdoch glared at him, "but not really I suppose, Mr. Ogden would never try to kill you. At least I think he wouldn't, I've never personally met the man-"
"George!"
George realized he had said something wrong.
"Actually, I think I've got that mixed up. The father wasn't trying to kill her secret love, he was trying to kill this other bloke who was attempting to set up a union because the working conditions were absolutely abysmal-"
"Dumbass!" yelled Murdoch, pedalling ahead of the constable.
Dumbass? What on earth did that mean? Something to do with donkeys?
George frowned at the outburst and then hurried to catch up to the detective.
"Dumbass, sir?"
"Forget about it," said Murdoch evasively. "Forgive me, George, I didn't mean to lose my temper like that."
"It's fine, sir, I'm sure I would be stressed out too if I were to be getting married tomorrow."
"You were saying, George?"
"Long story short, the secret lovers had been rendezvousing by a steam press laced with arsenic. Do you think it could be something like that this time as well?"
"Have we uncovered a single shred of evidence linking Mr. Dasgard to such a device?"
"Well, no-"
"Then obviously there is no connection!" he snapped. "Why don't you learn to think a bit before speaking?! You'd save everyone a great deal of time!"
George gawked at the detective, frowning again. He was acting more like the inspector lately than himself. Most peculiar.
The detective sighed. "I'm sorry, George, I don't know what came over me."
They rode in silence the rest of the way back.
After debriefing the inspector on their findings, or rather lack of them, Crabtree stayed behind, with a troubled expression across his face.
"Sir, I'm a bit worried about the detective."
"How so?"
The lad glanced around and closed his office door.
This should be good.
Whispering, "I think he's suffering from cocaine withdrawal."
Brackenreid had been expecting something stupid but this comment had exceeded his expectations.
"Bloody hell, Crabtree!" chuckled the inspector. "Murdoch despises the stuff! There's no way he would be using cocaine!"
Very seriously, "Then how do you explain his mood swings?"
"What mood swings?" he said frowning, "I haven't noticed any."
"Well, you wouldn't have. It was only while we were looking into Dasgard's whereabouts that he lost his temper...many times."
Brackenreid wanted to say, 'Has it ever occurred to you, Crabtree, that you can be bloody annoying?' Instead he said, "And you suspect cocaine because..."
"He's acting very similar to how...you were, sir, when you went through your little problem."
"Look, Crabtree, I'm sure Murdoch is just feeling the stress of his upcoming nuptials. It's been a long time coming."
"I thought that too, sir, but now...now I think there's more to it than that. He called me the most peculiar word earlier-"
Pointing to the door, "Get the hell out! I'm done talking about this nonsense!"
Julia came across William while he was just finishing up his lunch of bread and cheese and water. Not for the first time, she felt a bit guilty because she had eaten a most scrumptious mixed salad with an assortment of fruit and vegetables in it and a nice Chateau Margaux to wash it all down. This was just one of the ways that she was reminded about their class and income differences. Of course she didn't care about such things in the slightest and always did her best to pretend like there wasn't a wall between them or that their social circles were even remotely in the same realm, but the sad truth was that there was and always would be, even after they were married.
Very few of her well to do friends had RSVP'd for their wedding. Whether this was more to do with her divorce from Darcy or who William was, she couldn't say, but it did hurt to think her so called friends could be so unfaithful. Then again, was it less than she deserved? From the instant she had married Darcy, she had realized what a terrible mistake she had made and no matter what she did, she couldn't stop thinking about William. And when he disappeared she had been inconsolable. And since Darcy was no fool, he had known what about, or rather who. As soon as William returned from his unbelievable time travel experience, she had kissed him! In the heat of the moment, it might have been understandable but after that, and there were plenty of times after that, she had no such excuse.
Being around Emily and dead bodies had caused her clinical mind to take over. As such she had forgotten to ask William a basic question.
Smiling, "How are you fairing today, William?"
He looked up, smiled, stood up and went over to her. "Better, now that you are here." His eyes looked her up and down in such a way as to make her blush slightly. "I must say you are looking absolutely ravishing today. I could eat you up right here and now."
"Eat me up?" she asked bemused. "Is that expression taken from Little Red Riding Hood?"
William thought for a moment. "To be honest I have no idea." He smiled. "But you could be right. You look more delicious than usual."
Before she even had a chance to respond, he yanked her closer, in a most immodest way, especially considering where they were and the blinds weren't even drawn!
Then he whispered in her ear in a most husky manner, "I can't wait until tomorrow night," and she felt shivers run down her spine and despite her best efforts, her breathing began to quicken.
He pulled back slightly and brought her in for a searing kiss that left her seeing stars. He was doing something with his tongue that she had never experienced in her life but that only served to increase the pleasure of the situation. Before long there was a knock at the door, interrupting them, as usual.
"Terribly sorry to interrupt, sir," said Henry, in that same smug way that she knew meant he wasn't sorry in the least.
Normally they would have jumped apart long before this but William had yet to move a muscle. So it was left to her to break up their close contact. For all of her modern minded notions, she still found it awkward when people caught them like this, what William alluded to as being PDA's in the future. Apparently in the heat of this particular moment, (and indeed it was quite steamy and reminded her of a fantasy from long ago) he no longer had this issue.
Though she was currently out of breath and flustered, Julia managed to peel his hands off of her.
William glowered and without looking at Henry snapped, "What?"
For once the constable seemed a bit taken aback and she was a bit surprised by his actions herself. "Uh, well, I was able to uncover a financial discrepancy in Mr. Dasgard's records."
"And?"
"And I thought you would want to take a look...sir."
When William looked over at the constable, she was again surprised, this time by the level of cold fury in his eyes. It had only been there for a second and then it had disappeared. She wondered if maybe the light had just illuminated them in a peculiar way.
"Give it here," he said more normally but still a bit gruffly.
Henry practically tip toed over and placed the folder in his hand. William flipped it open, stared at it intently for about ten seconds and then headed over to get his hat.
"I'm sorry, Julia, but I have to attend to this."
And just like that, he was gone.
Though the inspector thought nothing of it, George couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was off with the detective. So when Murdoch left, taking Henry with him, (the doctor leaving shortly after and Brackenreid busy on the phone) George went into his office and began riffling through his things. He knew it was wrong, had even chastised Ruby once for being so disrespectful, but it was the only way to try and locate the source of Murdoch's strange behaviour.
Not finding anything in Murdoch's desk, George moved over to his storage area and searched through there. He even went so far as to open every single book to see if there might be a secret compartment in one. After all, he had given the detective this very idea once and since no one would ever be interested in the subject matter, no one would ever think to look in them. So to George this was a plausible and ingenious hiding place. However, when he reached the last book and had still found nothing, he determined that he had been wrong in this assessment.
Mind you, this didn't completely rule out his theory. It was just as likely that the detective could have stashed his remaining drugs at his apartment. It was one thing to go through the detective's things at work (since they sometimes shared pens and typewriters and even clothes) and an entirely different one to do so in his home. If he went that route, he would be no better than a criminal, breaking and entering. But George was determined to get down to the bottom of this mystery and therefore would need proof.
George pocketed the detective's skeleton key, grabbed his copper topper and was about to leave the station house when he was called back by Brackenreid.
"Crabtree! Where the bloody hell do you think you're going?!"
He turned around to face the inspector. "Um, I was...uh..."
Brackenreid frowned at him. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
"Uh, nothing, sir! Nothing at all!"
"Look, I know you've been getting friendly with the coroner but you can't go leaving your post every time there's a lull in the case! And especially not when it causes you to slack off on your goddamn paperwork! If you can't handle your station now, how do you expect to when Murdoch leaves and you have even more to do?"
George didn't know what to say.
"Man your desk, Crabtree, and do your goddamn job!"
"Yes, sir!"
It appeared George's criminal activity would have to wait. He just hoped it wouldn't be for long because this nagging feeling was here to stay until then and it was most unpleasant, not unlike the good detective's demeanour today.
