Murdoch in the Jungle_7_Dark Forces
Standing together at her desk in the morgue, William changed the subject. "It's intriguing, this notion of bettering the human race," he said, his voice vibrating at his singular magical note that softly touched her core with his marveling at HG Wells' plan of Eugenics to rid the world of crime.
Glad the topic had moved from more mundane matters, such as whether or not he had taken out the trash, Julia's attention had been drawn to his lips as he spoke, and how much she wanted to kiss them, taste them, nibble on them. She stepped a little closer to him, and the magnetism flared. "Mm," she replied. "William Murdoch, it is you I find intriguing," her mind whispered seductively.
The look in her eyes caught his heart – and his groin – off-guard, jolting both into sturdy alert. His eyes dropped down, taking in the sight of her enticing curves, causing his pupils to dilate into dark pools. His breathing hurried and surged. Bringing his beautiful, brown eyes back up off of her body to meet her eyes with a tug, he went on, "But it's as if we were discussing a prize stallion breeding a mare… Not that that wouldn't be intriguing as well… Theoretically… I mean, the idea of a muscular, powerful stallion covering a luscious, silky-maned mare…"
Julia felt the slipping away of her control, spinning and spiraling downward as her knees grew weaker with the lustful urges that were clenching her insides tight. Her mind flashed it in front of her eyes – him on top of her, pushing in close, moving with his own, one, hypnotic, devastating rhythm. "Speak," she ordered herself, working to not draw his attention to her plummeting state. "Something about… What was it? – Eugenics! That was it…" her brain tried. "Well, husbandry has been practiced for centuries," she finally said, although she heard the hunger, knew he heard it too, in her voice.
Oh my God, the world flipped over as he stepped even closer. "Mmm. Yes it has," he answered her, his breath hot, close, engulfing over her skin.
Suddenly, they were in their bedroom, him pressing her back into the wall with such a lovely, primitive, 'thud.' And gathering up her wrists, pinning them above her head, trapping her, helpless, at his mercy, against the wall. His chest heavy and solid, pushing into her bosom, her body reaching for him with all its might, he whispered enticingly in her ear, "Julia, have you ever seen that male part of a horse?" His knee lifted up in between her thighs, insistent and pressing, pushing them apart and opening her to him.
She felt his hands, so rough, so harsh, take a firm hold of her hips, and she seemed to be sinking into him, and floating at the same time. And she tried to pull him closer, to pull him hard, to force him closer to her, but she couldn't free her wrists, and she moaned and she begged for him, "William… Please. Oh my God, William I want you closer… Much, much closer."
And then the pleasure gushed through her with the delicious, overpowering pressure as he made love to her, and he moaned in her ear, his thrusts so earthshattering, demanding groans of effort, rocking her, filling her, touching her in the one place only he could. So close now, "William! Please," she urged, "Don't stop. Please…"
And then he seemed to pour into her, flooding her very core, melting it, the deluge spreading outward in scrumptious wave after scrumptious wave. So wonderful… so very, very wonderful… And she wanted it to last forever, and she sucked up each last drop of the precious nectar… Seeming to feel a shift… Was she against the wall? "No, it's our bed," her brain's thought bringing her down, slowing the spin, down to be grounded – she was in the bed. Her body still twitched, once, then once more… And he was holding her… And reality sunk in. It was just a dream. And his lips were kissing her face and he was telling her he loved her. And she was so happy, so warm and happy, in his arms.
While her heart pounded, so hard against her chest, that he could feel its thumping within his own, they lay together in the dark. And he stroked her curls. And he told her that when she called out his name like that, during such a dream, that it made him so happy. And it reminded of him of the time so many years ago when they had argued and then ended up sleeping together in his office, in his reclining chair, talking it all through. And she had asked him then – when she woke as she had just now, how it felt to know that he was the only man in the world who could make her dreams come true. And he had loved her so much that it felt like his chest might burst – to the point that it ached. And it still did.
The alarm rang, and they remembered, he remembered, he had to meet the Inspector, and George, at Judge Peterson's office, to face the charges of breaking the law in the gathering of evidence in the meatpacking case, and then it would be decided by the Chief Inspector, whether or not they would lose their badges.
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The three men shared a cab to the judge's office. Nerves were clearly on edge, particularly the constable's. William found himself feeling grateful that he had called and spoken with George last night, following Julia's advice, sharing with the younger man his own similar mistake, taking chances by breaking the rules on the case when he tried to pick the lock to Mulligan's office and he and Jackson had been attacked. Yes, he was glad he had reconnected with him; they felt like a team.
The Inspector offered hope, "Chief Constable Fletcher is a reasonable man. It certainly could be worse – could still be Chief Constable Davis, from Stationhouse #5." The other two rolled their eyes with recognition of the unfair treatment they believed they would have received from Davis and nodded in agreement.
"Do you think I'll lose my badge, sirs?" George worried.
William reassured, "There will have to be some consequence, I'm sure, but there are grounds to argue for a suspension instead." His mind shot back to a time he had thought he'd lost his job, drowning him in a memory, of freeing Constance Gardner from the cells, and then never expecting to return to his job, or even Toronto… but then returning to find he had been suspended rather than dismissed, and that Julia was a married woman who would ultimately leave him completely when she ended up leaving the morgue to avoid the daily pain of working with him…
George interrupted the detective's thoughts, "I so hope… I mean I couldn't… Sir… I just don't know what I'll do if my actions end up hurting you, detective," George said, his heart exposed, out on the edge of his sleeve.
The Inspector's tone gruff, managing to convey a sense of confidence as a result, he commented, "Murdoch's job will be fine, bug-a-lugs." Interestingly, William found he felt a sense of relief with the Inspector's words – he must have been more worried about his own situation than he had let himself believe.
William decided not to say his next thought aloud, feeling a pang of distress with a flip of nausea that stirred in his gut keeping him silent. He was worried about the effect all of this would have on the case. "The case is not as important as George," he instructed himself. But, it irked him, to be so very certain of the truth, and yet helpless to accomplish the justice that should accompany it. The evidence, yes, illegally collected evidence – in the case of the letter-opener at least, convincingly revealed Mulligan's guilt. If the rug got thrown out too… He sighed to himself as the carriage pulled up to the impressive building, perhaps he was still too personally invested, still over-identifying with the victims, on this case.
Judge Peterson's aristocratically decorated office reflected his powerful connections with the most affluent members of Toronto society. Fortunately its size did as well, for there were quite a few men in attendance for this meeting – seven men in total, Judge Peterson, Inspector Brackenreid, Detective Murdoch, Constable Crabtree, Mr. Jeffers (the lawyer representing Davies Slaughterhouse), the owner of Davies Slaughterhouse, Mr. Thaddeus Davies, and his top manager, Mr. Liam Mulligan. They all sat in posh chairs dispersed throughout the vast, luxurious office.
William struggled briefly with whether to sit as he usually did, with one leg bent with his ankle over his other knee, or perhaps it would be better to cross his legs at the knees. He noticed the wealthier Toffs in the room crossed their legs at the knees. He grinned at his own rebelliousness, seeming to use this observation as a reason that he should sit, "his way." He took a deep breath to calm himself, and the resulting odor of the room registered the familiar smell of wealthy gentlemen – cigars. No one had one lit at the moment, but William observed a cigar butt in one of the ashtrays, instantly recognizing it as the brand of cigar Terrence Meyers used to smoke. Of course, Mr. Meyers was dead after blasting himself into space in Pendrick's rocket ship, so it must have belonged to someone else.
Only moments into the meeting, William was asked to present the evidence in question. Placing both feet firmly on the ground, he leaned forward in his chair and explained, eyes focused mostly on Judge Peterson, that the Constabulary had in their possession a letter-opener and a rug, both of which they had good evidence to suggest came from Mr. Mulligan's office. "We also have evidence collected from each of these items which…"
Right away, Mr. Jeffers interjected his lawyerly perspective, "With all due respect, detective, it is irrelevant what you have collected from these items – as they were obtained illegally, and thus, you have no right to use anything garnered from them as evidence in this case."
All eyes turned to the Judge as William and the Inspector both rallied to defend Stationhouse # 4's rights to the evidence. Stopping them, the Judge raised his hand in the air and said, "There are two matters we need to address here today gentlemen – whether or not these items were obtained legally, and if not, what the consequences will be to those parties who broke the law in obtaining them. If they were obtained legally, detective, then you will be able to use anything from them in the case that you would like, however, if they were obtained by means outside of the law, then you can use nothing from them."
The words came out of William's mouth before he considered censoring them, "And what about illegal actions taken against members of the Constabulary… like assault and abduction, and even attempted murder," his voice stern and growing in volume and confidence as his outrage steamed hotter and hotter from deep within him.
Mulligan was up out of his chair instantly, crossing the room to meet William, who stood to face the man head on. Things were definitely heating up fast. Mulligan uttered a veiled threat, aiming it directly at William, "If you hang around a slaughterhouse, sticking your nose where it does not belong, detective, you should not be surprised if you end up being mistaken for a PIG."
! Not a man remained seated.
William's eardrums pounded with fury! His memory of hanging on the meat-hook, between two pig carcasses, joining them on the overhead-assembly headed for the huge rotary saw, provided fodder that sent his emotions sailing immediately over any semblance of fear and landing firmly on anger and indignation with the man's insult.
Brackenreid jumped in, "That sounds like an admission of guilt Mulligan!" the Inspector asserted, his face red and his tone aggressive.
Mr. Jeffers piped in next, suggesting, "If the Constabulary wants to press charges against my clients for these wild claims, you are free to do so… But, gentlemen," his tone quieting, the lawyer slowed and took a deep breath, "this meeting is solely about the two items removed from Davies Slaughterhouse without my clients' consent, on the sixth of December." As Jeffers sat back down in his chair, the lawyer eyed Mr. Mulligan, who retreated to his chair on the other side of the room.
Taking a deep breath now that everyone had sat back down, Judge Peterson asked, "Chief Inspector, have you been made aware of Mr. Davies' and Mr. Mulligan's claims against Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree?"
"I have," Chief Inspector Fletcher said, "I believe time would best be served by allowing Constable Crabtree to tell us about his actions yesterday with respect to the two items in question."
The room's attention turned to George. He found himself looking for strength from his friend, mentor, and honestly, his hero, Detective Murdoch. Empowered by the man's nod, he took a deep breath. "Sirs," he started respectfully, "I must humbly, and with regret, tell you that, with respect to the letter-opener at least, the item was not taken legally…"
He was forced to pause as the men in the room reacted to his admission. Looks were shared, and a few nods, between the lawyer and his clients. It was somewhat telling, and did not escape the men from Stationhouse # 4's attention, that Mr. Davies shared a look with the Judge. For their parts, the Inspector and William sighed, acknowledging the anticipation of punishment.
George went on, "I want to make it clear that Detective Murdoch knew nothing of my actions in taking this letter-opener from Mr. Mulligan's office. However, I obtained the rug in question legally… It was found in the public refuse …"
"I must interject here," Mr. Jeffers stood to insert, "What evidence does the Constabulary have that this rug was previously in the possession of either of my clients?"
George stated plainly, "Well I saw it being dumped into the refuse wagon from a bin at Davies Slaughterhouse. I was there legally, asking some questions, I had just spoken with Mr. Mulligan in his office…"
"And stolen the letter-opener!" Mulligan threw in.
"But," George replied to the man, "I have admitted to that."
Chief Constable Fletcher said, "Gentlemen, the way I see it, the rug was obtained legally… And whether or not it provides sound evidence against either Mr. Davies or Mr. Mulligan is up to Detective Murdoch to prove. That includes how conclusively the rug in question can be linked to either man, as well as whether or not anything this rug has to offer will provide evidence of any one man's guilt in committing a crime."
The rounds of debate rattled on for quite some time, the meeting not ending until ten. In the end, Constable Crabtree was suspended without pay for a month for removing items from a private establishment without permission. Detective Murdoch received no sanctions. However, he was warned by the Judge to mind his p's and q's, because the detective's actions, previous to Constable Crabtree's gathering of these two controversial items, were seen as suggesting that the detective also may have been treading dangerously close to being in defiance of the law. Any use of the letter-opener as evidence was ruled out; however the rug was allowed in and could be used to provide evidence in the case.
While the Inspector, George and William rode back to Stationhouse #4 in a cab, it was relatively quiet, each man reflecting on all that had happened. It was not until they were nearly there that anyone spoke. It was George. His eyes catching William's he said, "I find I am constantly re-hearing in my head Mulligan saying that you deserved to be treated like a, "pig," sir. It makes me furious."
The Inspector answered, "I told you these boys were rough Murdoch…"
"And powerful too," William added. There was a pause.
William asserted, "I won't be intimidated though. Mulligan murdered Ieva Baltavesky – there were no one else's prints on the weapon…"
"Make sure to go by the book, though, me old' mucker," the Inspector insisted.
William sighed. Of course, the Inspector was right – he had strayed, and he had best not do so again.
The Inspector heard Murdoch's sigh, knew his point had been made, and moved on, "Crabtree, it's going to be rough, no pay for a month."
William added, "I must admit, I was hoping for a little less time than that," his mouth curling at a corner as he looked at George.
Trying to find the bright side, George answered, "It could have been worse," to which all of them agreed.
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Entering the stationhouse, the Inspector and William picked up their messages, and then the Inspector headed directly into his office to deal with all the paperwork for George's suspension. Before William went into his office, in his mind thinking of calling Julia, he stopped with George as the constable gathered his things to start his suspension. George's desk was covered with the multitude of train logs Higgins had been searching through yesterday. William remembered walking past George last night on his way out, and that the constable had been looking through those particular logs. William realized now, that his tantrum, his uncharacteristic outburst, had been aimed largely at Higgins when his anger and disappointment had really been with George. He was flooded with shame and regret. He would need to apologize – to Higgins – and to all of the lads, actually…
"Sir," George said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "I researched this problem with identifying the train Adomas Baltavesky's body was found on… to see why Higgins was having so much trouble…"
"Yes George," William replied, his tone betraying his regret at his earlier outburst. William's eyes met George's, and the younger man's curiosity lifted his spirits. "Back to the case!" he thought, relieved.
George flipped open a book and explained, "Well sir, in the summer months there are no passenger trains of any kind, from any location, that are actually anywhere near the reported stop at the reported time on Baltavesky's death report. He paused in leafing through the pages in the train records and looked at the detective, explaining, "Baltavesky's death report says he was found at nine in the morning on Tuesday, August 2, 1904, at the Wychwood Park stop. All passenger trains go through Wychwood Park much later than that, the closest one to that time stops at one in the afternoon. Prior to nine AM, the latest passenger train that goes through Wychwood Park is at eleven o'clock on the night before, sir."
"So that's what Higgins meant when he said he knew it was not a passenger train. I see," the detective replied, feeling even sorrier about the way he had yelled at Henry.
George nodded, "There isn't a passenger train for miles, anywhere near there at the right time." Returning his gaze to the train logs piled all over his desk, George searched for a particular one. "There are some fr…
"Perhaps there is a passenger train that goes through Wychwood Park without usually stopping, but it stopped there on that day for some reason or another… Perhaps because they found the body?" the detective asked, wrinkling a corner of his mouth.
"No sir. There are no passenger trains at all on that line that would be anywhere near Wychwood Park for hours," he responded, returning to his search. "But sir, there are some freight trains that go through there in the early morning hours, like five and six in the morning."
"I see," William answered, "So, it makes the most sense that Baltavesky was found dead on a freight train then… And it made an unscheduled stop at Wychwood Park because they found the body."
"That's the best I can make out of it, sir," George agreed.
The two men dwelled for a moment, not wanting to move to the more distressing matter of George's suspension. William was the first to speak, "I am going to miss your assistance on this case, George."
"Sir, I just wish I hadn't messed it up so…" George said. He took a deep breath and made sure to look the detective in the eye, "I am truly sorry, sir," he said.
"I know George," William told him. "We'll find a way to get Mulligan. There's always more than one clue," he reassured.
"Yes, I'm sure you will. If anyone could figure it out, it's you sir," George replied, pushing himself to sound cheerful. He sighed and added, "Well, I guess I'll take my leave."
Staring at the mess on George's desk William said, "It looks like you'll need to do a little straightening up first."
"Yes," George said, starting the task.
"Good," William said with a nod and headed into his office. Thinking of something, he turned back, "George, before you go, could you make a list of the freight trains that did go through Wychwood Park that morning and where they were traveling to and from?"
"Glad to, sir," George replied, happy to be able to help.
Once inside his office, William found a note to call Miss James over at the morgue. "Blood results from the rug!" he thought, quickly picking up the phone receiver. She gave him the good news – the blood on the rug was human. "Excellent!" William declared excitedly into the phone, "Thank you Miss James." He hung up the phone and immediately went to inform George and the Inspector.
Only a few minutes later, William sat at his desk talking on the phone with Julia. He informed her about the evidence that would be allowed in the case – and the new information that the rug had human blood on it – and then he told her that he had only received a warning, but that George had been suspended. It had been obvious that she too was greatly relieved that he did not receive any sanctions against him. However, quickly after her relief, she found her concerns fell to George. "A month without pay seems quite harsh as punishment, don't you think?" she asked his opinion.
She heard him sigh into the phone, giving a hint at his concern for George as well, before he replied, "Considering that he admitted to breaking the law, it certainly could have been worse. And I have to say, it seemed that Davies had this judge in his pocket. I guess with that in mind, it turned out much better than it could have…"
Listening from in their foyer at home, Julia could picture him with his mouth wrinkled considering the odds. She interrupted him, "William, a month without pay is likely to truly be problematic for George… financially I mean. It will be hard to find work for just a month." Here, she made herself stop. She was considering suggesting that they give George some money to help with his expenses, but she also knew that her husband had faced many demons in becoming a rich man when he married her, and further, she suspected he still encountered them from time to time. Upon quick reflection, she worried that making such an offer would risk putting William in a position that would highlight his wealth. She changed the subject. "William, you should invite George over for dinner," she finally said.
Instantly, William thought it was a good idea.
Julia went on, "I actually just spoke to Emily. She is back from London, has been for a few weeks. She is heading down to Toronto from York right now on the train… to come to the Baby Shower William. She is coming to dinner tonight!"
William's heart warmed hearing the joy in her voice. "And George would love to see Dr. Grace!" he reminded himself. "Yes, I'll ask him right now. Hold on," he said into the phone, feeling excited himself. William covered the receiver, so as not to harm Julia's ear as he raised his voice to call to George out in the bullpen, "George."
"Yes sir," George responded quickly, hurrying to the detective's office door. He leaned in, his face open and inviting and curious.
Lifting his hand away from the receiver so Julia could hear, William said, "Dr. Ogden and I would like to invite you to our house for dinner tonight. Uh, but before you answer, you should know we will be having two other guests, both of whom you are well acquainted with."
"Intriguing sir," George said, waiting.
William continued, "I don't think you were aware that Margaret Brackenreid is throwing a Baby Shower for my wife this Saturday…"
Such a big smile covered George's face, his care for Julia, and of course, also her him, so very obvious in that moment. "I am so happy for you both, detective," George said, still waiting to hear who the two guests would be tonight.
"Yes, uh… Thank you George," William answered, "Well some ladies are actually traveling to Toronto for the event."
Growing impatient, and yet his mind danced, wondering about the new clue – "ladies," George asked, "And?"
William was enjoying this greatly, for he had remembered that George was also fond of Ruby as well, "And Julia's sister is staying with us…"
"Oh, that is wonderful, sir. I would love to see the beautiful Miss Ruby Ogden again," he responded. He had nearly given up trying to guess who the other woman would be… It would have to be someone they all knew, "Perhaps Rebecca James…"
William smiled, the expression having a tinge of slyness, "And your old friend, and often co-conspirator, Dr. Grace," he finally revealed.
"Dr. Grace! Emily Grace! She's back from England sir!" George declared, his glee palpable.
Julia bubbled with happiness on her end of the phone. William spoke to her, and she knew George was listening…
"It seems, Julia, that you have found a way to make our friend George's day better," William said. Then, asking George, he said, "Shall we take that as a yes?"
"Oh, yes sir… and doctor," George said trying to be loud enough to be heard in the phone, "Thank you both, I am very much looking forward to it. Dr. Emily Grace… And Miss Ogden, now that sounds like the makings of an exciting dinner."
Hearing Julia's voice in the phone, William didn't have time to follow the spark of dread he felt pop up in his mind for the briefest of moments with George's observation about this female duo. He had gotten so far as reminding himself that, particularly these two women, when together, are quite the hell raisers – and there was this air of embarrassment that seemed to come with the association… before he forced himself to pay attention to his wife who had been speaking in the phone receiver.
"William, tell George to be here at seven o'clock," Julia said, which he did.
"I'll be there with bells on," George said, excitement still fizzing in his voice. "Well, not literally. Did you know sir, that the saying, 'with bells on' comes from a term used to describe peddlers in the United States. I have been researching them for my latest novel. They would travel as silently as possible through Indian Territory, until they got to a settled area. Then they would they put a string of bells around their horses necks to announce their arrival to sell their wares."
"Oh," William replied. He heard Julia giggle quietly on the other end of the phone. He knew she found it funny when George's stories tried his patience.
George went on, "The peddlers' arrival was a much anticipated event, not only because of the goods they sold that the settlers needed, but also for the news they brought from the outside world, sir."
"Very interesting George," William said, hearing Julia laugh a little louder at his efforts.
"George added, this time causing William to sigh as he realized the story would be continuing, "Although, this time it will not be me, really, who is bringing the news… So, I guess I shouldn't be the one with the bells. It would be more Emily… and Miss Ruby," he concluded.
William responded, trying to get back on track, "Great George, so we'll see you there at seven o'clock then…"
"Oh yes! Thank you, I will most definitely be there," he answered with a slight bow, and then he took his leave.
"My goodness, he is lovely," Julia said to William.
Once again, William felt his heart warm; she was right, George was lovely. "Yes. Yes, he is," William said. Remembering another reason he had called her, he sat up straighter in the chair, "Oh, and Julia, have you gotten a chance to call Dr. Reynolds. He was supposed to be back in Stationhouse #5's morgue today, right?" he asked.
She told him she would call the other pathologist right after they hung up, and she would call him back as soon as she knew anything about Reynolds' input on the case. They said they loved each other and they said good-bye, and William decided he would buy her flowers – and peanut brittle. "She so loves peanut brittle," he reminded himself, with a smile and shaking his head, for he had remembered their lovely laughing together on their couch in the Windsor House Hotel, as they shared the treat, and it prompted Julia to remind him of the look on his face when, during the death by peanut-butter-in-a-skull case, when he had first recognized Julia dressed as a man in a gentlemen's club.
"Back to the case," he instructed himself. It seemed the next move would be bringing Mulligan and Davies in for questioning, but he needed to be very well prepared for these interviews. His mind shot to the possibility of using his truthilizer, the pneumograph machine he had invented years ago that monitored heart rate and blood pressure in response to answering questions. He would talk to the Inspector about it. Also, remembering a loose end, he would have a constable bring in the owner of the burlesque club, "The Moons," that used showgirl costumes that matched the outfit they found Ieva Baltavesky's body clothed in. The owner had said he would check with the performers to see if any of them had had one of these costumes taken or missing.
After speaking with the Inspector, they decided not to use the pneumograph when questioning Mulligan and Davies, as they had been treading on thin ice, and didn't want to take the chance of having Davies get his lawyer to bring Judge Peterson back into the case again. He set up the interviews for tomorrow.
Julia called with news from Dr. Reynolds. She sounded excited, and William consequently felt his chest filling with hope. "He said the case was very 'odd' William," she explained, "Dr. Reynolds told me that in the end the death was ultimately ruled as accidental, and although he never officially performed an autopsy on Baltavesky's body, when he first examined the body… It was brought into the morgue, uh, Dr. Reynolds rarely goes to the scene…"
"You see, Julia, once again I have to say, I have the best pathologist of them all," William interrupted, taking the moment as an opportunity to tell her how much he appreciated her – in this case – professionally.
On the other end of the line, Julia smiled. It was one of those compliments that worked, swelling her chest with pride. "Always nice to know I'm appreciated, detective," she replied, a twinge of flirtation in her tone. After a slight pause, she brought her own mind back to the case – it truly was exciting, and she knew her news would light him up. "So, Dr. Reynolds said that Baltavesky seemed to have been stabbed." She waited to enjoy his reaction.
His gasp traveled through the phone line, "Stabbed! Now that is interesting. Did he say why it was ruled an accident then?" William asked.
Thoroughly enjoying this, Julia smiled, the grin big enough that her husband could actually hear its presence in the shaping of his wife's words through the phone. "I will get to that, William, I promise, but I believe you will be interested in what Reynolds said about this stab wound…"
Oh, he was. "Yes. Yes," he answered.
"He said the location of the wound was, and I quote, 'weird.' It was under the right armpit," Julia went on, mystery and intrigue in her voice, "Does that remind you of anything William?" she asked.
The memory was clear as day in his mind, although it started, not with the victim, or even the case at the time. No, it started with, as it seemed almost every really charged memory of his did, it started with him and her. They were in the morgue. It was back when she was about to be married to Dr. Darcy Garland. She had asked him to shake her hand, which he did, but then she startled him, pulling his right arm into her body sharply and reaching up with one of her metal instruments in her left hand and feigning stabbing him under his armpit with it. She had held him in that position, their bodies closer together than they had been for quite some time, her magnificent, big blue eyes looking into his, she had held him there too long, and the sexual tension had tugged on him so… That is what he remembered… first.
Julia remained patient, for she too had gone through the round of interconnecting memories she figured he was experiencing right now, when Reynolds had described for her the wound he had found on Baltavesky's body.
Finally, he spoke, "Mortimer Shanly," he said, his voice almost misty in the phone, "The Defense Minister from during the American Civil War who stole gold from Canada to send to the Confederates in the USA. He had been killed with a similar wound,"
"Yes, I couldn't remember the victim's name," Julia replied.
William continued, "It had turned out that Shanly had been killed by a Union spy, named Jacobson I believe, who was left-handed – as you had speculated the killer would have been. Your idea of how such a wound would be made was brilliant! I thought so back then, and I think so now!" he declared.
"Thank you detective," she answered gleefully, standing up on her toes with a little bounce while she spoke with him on the phone in their foyer, "We have always made a good team."
Now it was William's smile that was big enough that she could hear it, "Yes, yes we have," he responded. Again there was a pause as both minds tried to return back to the case. It was William who accomplished it first. "So, it seems plausible… Well, um, if this was a means of killing used by American spies in 1863…"
"Then it would likely be a method used by American spies in 1904! Of course," Julia exclaimed. "William! That makes the rest of what I have to tell you even more fascinating," she declared.
Not thinking it was possible, William bolted even more upright in his chair with anticipation, "What is it!?…"
"It's what Dr. Reynolds said about why he didn't perform the autopsy," she answered, rushing with excitement to get the words out. "He said that he never got to do the post-mortem because the body was taken by the federal government later that day… The man who came by… Listen to this William! The man who came into Reynolds' morgue and took over the case was tall, wore a coat with tails, and William, he smoked smelly cigars!"
"Meyers!" William's voice steamed in reply.
"Amazing… But it fits, in a way. This case has been so convoluted and involves such dark forces. It is no surprise to me that Meyers would be involved. Even worse – the Americans too," she added.
"But Julia, Meyers is dead," William wondered. "But… this all did happen back in the summer… It must have been one of the last cases Meyers worked on before the 'Doomsday Threat' with the rocket aimed at New York City. Remember, Meyers went up into space in Pendrick's rocket?"
Oh, she remembered, for her husband had also gone up – almost into space himself. And flew back down to Earth in a 'flying suit,' and then slid down into the 70-meter-deep barrel of a rocket to disarm it and save the world, thus, her husband had been a hero once again. Yes, she definitely remembered it. "I do," she answered, adding, "And you promised if you ever had such adventures again that you would be taking me with you."
Her words lingered… He rubbed his forehead, feeling a bit stressed by her request, and he sighed. He was never going to be comfortable with her being placed in such danger – and he was completely aware that having such feelings suggested that he was a hypocrite and might indicate that he wasn't as much of a 'modern man' as he thought he was– nor as she thought he was. "Julia… I have no way of knowing when 'such adventures' are going to happen. And besides…" Now, here he would risk exposing himself. "…You are pregnant, Julia." William cringed slightly, waiting for her attack.
Silence… "Not good," he thought, holding his breath.
"I see your point," she finally said, giggling to herself at the sound of his sigh of relief in the phone.
Then, with his deep breath preceding his words, William said, "This is all very exciting Julia. Was there anything else?"
It was quiet as Julia ran through her earlier conversation with Dr. Reynolds in her mind. Then she added some final details, "Baltavesky had a blow to his head and also multiple defensive wounds on his arms, and bruised knuckles likely from landing a few punches of his own. Of course, detective, he could have received these and the stab wound during different incidents. Without being able to do a post-mortem, Reynolds could not be sure whether it was the stabbing or the blow to his head, or even something else that had killed him. Further, he said that the men who had brought the body to him – constables from Stationhouse #5 if he remembered it right, had told him that the body had been found between two of the train cars… And William, he thought he remembered there was reason to think he had fallen there from one of the roofs of a train car. He said that he thought one of the constables had told him that he saw blood up on the roof of the train car, right above where the body was found."
"Very informative," William said, "Thank you Julia. You never cease to amaze me."
"I try," she responded happily, if not a bit seductively.
William turned to considering calling Detective Dermott…
"Oh, and William," Julia's voice caught his attention again. "Dr. Reynolds said he thought there were some effects collected with the body. Perhaps they still have them at Stationhouse #5… If they weren't taken by our friend Meyers, if that's who the government man actually was," she added.
"Wonderful, Julia," he responded. "I think I'll venture a call over to Detective Dermott, see what I can get out of the man," he explained.
"Good luck, William," she said. She hoped her tone conveyed her compassion for him in this strained situation. Besides her husband's own controversial and dodgy history with those at Stationhouse #5 over the years, she was fairly certain that William had also sensed that Detective Dermott had a tendency to behave inappropriately with her. She hadn't had to deal with Dermott since she had married William. She wondered if the man would behave better with her now that she was married – and to a fellow detective, but, truth be told, she doubted it. She pictured William, sitting at his desk, rubbing his brow and wrinkling his mouth with skepticism about having much luck with anything that involved Stationhouse #5. Wanting to comfort him, and to ground him, she said, "You know I love you William. I love you so very, very much."
Her words sunk deeper than she might have expected into him, accomplishing their goal. He smiled – and his mind drifted once again to buying her roses. And he was reminded to thank his lucky stars. "And I you," he told her. "I will try to be home early," he added before they said their good-byes and they hung up.
Later, William was on the phone with Ettie Weston when George appeared at his office door. He noticed the constable had a train log in his hands. He held up a finger, requesting a moment, and then put his attention back to listening to the Madame from Winnipeg, and his own first real lover, informing him of what she had found out about Ieva and Adomas Baltavesky. George gave the detective his space, going back to his desk to wait for him to finish the call.
Ettie's voice revealing her awareness of his concern with this touchy matter, she continued, "Ieva got the more recent "whip-lash" marks you had been worried about, Will, from prostituting with a very rough crowd while here in Winnipeg. Another woman who worked in the same circle said that Ieva had told her that her husband was coming into lots of money and she just needed to make it through till the money he sent arrived…" Ettie paused, but he asked nothing, so she went on, "Adomas used to work here in Winnipeg, and often all over Canada it turns out, for Edward Burns. He is…"
"He owns the biggest cattle and beef operation in Canada. Yes Ettie, I know of him. He has a business here in Toronto, northeast of here. I wonder if Mr. Baltavesky came to Toronto to work there," William asked, sounding excited.
A big smile covered Ettie's face. It had always brought her great pleasure to make this particular man happy. She marveled a bit now, many miles and so many years away from when she had been so very close to him, she marveled at the feelings doing so stirred inside of her, still. Ettie added, "Supposedly, Ieva's husband was big and strong, and had worked loading refrigerated meat onto trains for Burns for over a year."
William took a deep breath, drawing her attention and preparing her for a change in their conversation. "Ettie," he asked, "What can you tell me about these meat magnates, Burns and Davies?" He wondered for a moment if he should add the American meatpackers to his list for her to consider, thinking of the stab wound and its link to American spies. "Ettie would likely know about these men too. They likely travel to Winnipeg on business and would look for a woman such as Et…"
Ettie's tone took on a somber, serious ring, "Will, I really must remind you that I know these men… in this meatpacking industry, to be… ruthless, dangerous, almost dementedly vicious men. Perhaps it is because of the way they make their living… It is by its very nature ruthless, based on a dog-eat-dog, the more powerful living off of the weak, mentality, a whole industry built around raising living, breathing, feeling creatures for the sole purpose of killing them. There is inherently such a betrayal in what they do. I'm not really sure why, but, Will, I know that these men are like no others when it comes to cruelty and greed… and… power."
She heard him sigh into the phone. "Was it fear, reluctance to move forward with the case, heeding her warning?" she wondered, immediately knowing she was wrong to think so. She knew Detective William Murdoch well. No, this man would feel the need to seek justice for those abused by such powerful men even more so upon seeing that the abuse of power was so much worse in this case. No, she understood, his sigh was about how to handle her concern for him.
She would save him the trouble, "I guess my trying to warn you off is useless," she said with a slight giggle.
William reached up and rubbed his forehead, the pain in his shoulder from hanging on the meat-hook, and in his buttocks from all of Julia's injections, had surged into flaring alert, but… he too knew her efforts were useless. He would see this through, come hell or high water. William cleared his throat and repeated his question, "All the more reason for you to share with me what you know, Ettie."
So she did. Ettie told him that Burns and Davies were fierce competitors who seemed to adamantly hate each other. It seemed personal with them. That differed from our meat magnate neighbors to the south. The Americans were all greed. Every decision made by these men was made for improving profit. She wondered if any of them, Armour, Durham, or Brown ever thought of anything but money and power and gaining a stronger advantage over everyone else. She claimed that they seemed to lack any semblance of a heart, or a conscience. At least with the Canadians, there were emotions. They were fiery and dangerous and violent emotions, but they came from the heart.
He asked if she had any idea why Ieva would have been looking for her husband at Davies Slaughterhouse – he had reports that she specifically asked for directions to Davies' place – rather than looking for him at Burns' meat-packing establishment. They agreed there was a good chance that Adomas had been working at Davies Slaughterhouse, perhaps as a spy for Burns. Ettie told William, though he would have guessed at this point on his own, that it would have been very dangerous to be involved in any way with both Davies and Burns. If either one got a whiff of evidence that you might be double-crossing them by really working for the other, you would certainly risk ending up dead.
It nagged at William though, that the stab wound under Adomas Baltavesky's armpit was so firmly linked to American murder methods… He thanked her. She told him anytime, and she meant it. They left it that he might end up in Winnipeg at some point on this case, and if he did, he agreed to stop in and see her. They said good-bye.
William put questioning people at Burns' business on his list for tomorrow. He called George in. What George had discovered about the freight trains that travel through the town where Baltavesky's body had been found on the train, Wychwood Park, only solidified William's urgency to learn more about Burns' establishment. George showed him that the freight train going through Wychwood Park at a time closest to nine o'clock in the morning, going through around seven o'clock, traveled from Winnipeg directly to Burns' meatpacking complex, which it turns out, is also in Stationhouse #5's jurisdiction. This freight train carries only one item – refrigerated meat. He thanked George, who closed the book and headed out.
William's mind wound back to the summer. Trains carrying meat needed to keep it cold. From what he knew, there were 'ice stations' along the train route. Ice needed to be loaded into the roof compartments. The denser, cold air would sink down covering the meat in the car. The ice needed to be replaced often to ensure the meat didn't spoil. It would take big, strong men to load this ice… Then it hit him – hard! This summer! This summer people had died, from bad meat! George! He hollered, calling the man back.
His right-hand man stood instantly in his doorway, box in hand, reminding William that he was suspended. "Yes sir?" he queried.
"Oh," the detective said, disappointment in his tone and expression, "I forgot. Sorry. Could you send Higgins in?" he asked.
"Gladly sir," George replied. He couldn't help himself though. His curiosity steamed, for it was obvious – the detective had discovered something. "Can I ask sir, what you have found?" he wondered.
Faced with putting his thoughts into words, William quickly realized how speculative it all was. It felt like a structure built out of tiddlywinks that suddenly started to fall apart. Reaching up to rub his forehead – even George had come to know the subconscious meaning this gesture had in the detective's case – William said, "Of course it is all just one possible theory… Um, actually, I want to gather a bit more evidence before I explain it." He took a deep breath and continued, "I need newspapers from this summer, from when that spoiled meat killed some people – I think in New York City and maybe Buffalo, maybe here in Toronto too. I'm not sure…"
George got it, though – the link between this case and that event. It sent a chill down his spine. This was big – and very, very dangerous indeed.
))) (((
William had decided not to call Detective Dermott yet, now that he was beginning to understand how complicated and dangerous this case actually was. He needed a better idea of how Meyers had fit into it all. He was heading home now – in a cab. Happy to be early, yet he still itched with the wish to be riding his wheel rather than sitting still and letting the horse do all the work. He shook his head, he had trouble believing that it was only hours ago that he had rushed out of the house, not wanting to be late to the appointment with the Judge. It really felt like that had been days ago.
As the carriage reached his street, he imagined walking in the front door. He wondered if Dr. Grace would be there this early. Then the memory took shape, coinciding with a strange sexual excitement which mixed with a form of dread, in his gut. The last time both Emily Grace and Ruby Ogden visited himself and his wife, they had all been involved in quite a ruckus. He knew back then, had been able to correctly predict, that when these two ladies had Julia to themselves for a few hours, they would get her to share with them the more personal… sexual, aspects of their marital relationship. He chuckled out loud to himself with the memory. He had come home well-prepared, had 'interrogated the witnesses' – Emily and Ruby – in the case of Julia Ogden's "kissing and telling." It had really been great fun. But, it surely was also uncomfortable. He was already blushing, and the carriage hadn't even stopped yet. He worked to lower his internal temperature, breathing out through pursed lips, he reminded himself to breathe.
William stepped out of the cab, roses and peanut-brittle in hand, and reached up to pull his maroon scarf tighter around his neck. The December wind was harsh this evening. He noticed he could see the smoke of his breath as he walked down their front path, happy to see their remarkable house in the dusky hues. For just a moment, he remembered to thank God for all he had. Then up the front-porch steps, keys jingling, doorknob turned, he stepped into the cozy light…
No one came. He already had his hat, scarf and coat off by the time he had gathered all the clues – delicious smells and humming and clanking from the kitchen, Eloise is alone cooking; lights on and drinks on the coffee table in the living room, only two glasses, Dr. Grace isn't here yet, and they haven't gone far; then Julia's laugh, bubbling up the stairs from the basement – Julia and Ruby were downstairs together.
It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that he felt the familiar aching surge in his buttocks. The bright sounds of the sisters' talking was coming from Julia's lab-room, and he figured she was preparing his penicillin treatments for this evening and tomorrow morning, and he was certain he had really had enough of this. He rolled his eyes as he fought with himself about resisting letting Julia inject him anymore with the painful, thick, bruising medication, and he lost his battle to himself, and had already accepted his fate by the time he stood in the doorway, love trinkets in hand.
Funny, what things strike you… It was the wayward curl dangling around Julia's face that did it this time – took his breath away. She stood at the sink, mixing her concoction. Her eyes bounced between her work and her sister's eyes as she spoke. He would never remember what she was saying, so taken with the vision of her…
She caught sight of him in the background, behind Ruby, at the door. Their eyes met. Her smile bloomed. "William," she declared, with her eyes growing big and dancing back and forth between his beautiful brown eyes and his flowers, and that box, and she recognized it… "Peanut brittle!" she exclaimed, putting down a bottle of penicillin and rushing over to him.
She had every intention of keeping up the pace, hurrying to maintain the advantage of her head-start on Ruby, landing quickly into his arms.
William himself was glad for her efforts, not having to deal with Ruby's forwardness, at least not this time. He found her ear with his lips, sucked in the scent of her first, and then said quietly, intimately, "I did promise to never stop courting you." He kissed her ear, then her neck, softly, a light flicker, tempting and foreshadowing, before he pulled back.
The three of them talked together for a while, there in the lab-room. Julia suggested that she administer William's treatments now, to get it over with before Emily and George arrived. Ruby excused herself, heading upstairs to put the flowers in a vase and then freshen up before dinner, leaving the two of them alone.
William locked the door behind his sister-in-law and then took off his jacket. Pulling the knot out of his tie, William began to remove all the barriers of clothing blocking access to the wound on his shoulder. He noticed the tiny smile on his wife's face, prompting him to ask, "What?"
Despite enjoying the stirrings watching him undress brought inside of her body, her mind had somehow remained more practical. She took a deep breath, thinking she had him pretty well figured out. He was avoiding the most unpleasant part – the injection. She couldn't really blame him. She tucked her chin down and looked up at him, her big blue eyes sparkling, "If we are really going to get the worse part of this over with, you'll need to lower your trousers, detective," she said. She watched as his misery made it to the surface.
He swallowed, fighting back the dread, ensuring his voice wouldn't crack when he answered. He decided not to answer at all. He just reached down and undid his trousers, and then turned around and lowered them, revealing his derriere, feeling the cool air lap against his bare skin as he held his shirt tails up out of the way. Experience had taught him that it hurt more if he bent over, stretching the muscle that would receive the thick liquid. So he remained upright, waiting.
Julia regretted it then, her tendency to tease him about his aversion to these injections. His sexy, well-shaped, bicycle-riding bottom was heavily speckled with badly bruised, black-and-blue swellings spread here and there across his flesh, each one swollen, and she already knew without having yet touched them, hot with their store of blood. Part of her brain worked on dealing with the practical problem of finding a place to inject tonight's dose that wasn't already bruised, while another part another raced away with thoughts of saying aloud that she agreed with him, and that the treatments, at least this part of them, should stop.
William waited, unsure if he was glad for her delay or whether it just increased the sense of being tortured. Impatience won out. "Is everything alright Julia?" he asked, still facing away from her. He heard her sigh…
"It looks awfully painful William. I'm so sorry," she said.
He wrinkled his mouth; there was no denying that. He sighed and encouraged her, "It's all in the name of science."
"You are so very lovely William," she replied. She stepped closer, choosing a spot off to the side, and administered the shot. "I think we'll stop these after tomorrow morning," she said as he pulled his trousers back up. She helped him strip down all the clothing covering his top half, so that he was soon standing before her in only his underwear and trousers, and he sat gingerly on a stool, preparing for her to treat the wound on his shoulder.
She stepped in close to him, business-like. He enjoyed this part, the medication calming the sting and the care from his wife, her expert hands, soothing. "It is definitely healing faster and better than it would have normally," she said while she dabbed penicillin salve on the cleaned injury.
"Mm," he replied.
"It would be best if I had a comparison… Do you think it is too… tacky, to ask to examine Jackson's wound?" she wondered.
"It is good science to have something to compare results to… and Jackson would make a good control specimen in most respects, having the same type of wound as me, and at the same time, and he was treated in the same hospital… And he did not get penicillin administered while I did…" William reasoned. "He will be working tomorrow. You could come in and ask him if he would be willing to help you… with your… experiment," he suggested.
She leaned back to better see his face. He gave her a smile. It jolted her – she had been working to suppress her lustful urges since when he had first started to loosen his tie. She put her eyes back on his shoulder, and said, "Just the bandage to go," she said, "Then…"
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight between his legs, his face nestling pleasantly just above her bosom, he kissed her chest through her dress, dwelling on a button, and he whispered, "And then what, doctor?"
Julia wanted to say something striking, but nothing came to mind. Finally she settled on, "And then I'll show you how much I appreciate the flowers and candy you brought for me."
"Oh… But, are you not concerned… You, uh… tend to express somewhat, noisy appreciation, of such things…" he teased her.
She placed the bandage down on his shoulder, pretending not to be flirting, and said, "I will not deny it…" And then she chuckled with her thought before she added, "There is even a parrot that can provide evidence to attest to it – perhaps is still even doing so, as we speak, at this very moment over at the Windsor House Hotel…"
William's hands slipped down to admire and explore her curved and sensuous buttocks, and he noticed her wonderful smell as his face pressed against her, just before he joined her with a chuckle of his own.
She was sealing the tape around the bandage now. Oh, but it was a struggle not to moan in response to his delectable touching. Her insides clenched tight, and she could feel the lovely sensation of her insides growing with want for him. His hands traveled, riding the curves along the outside of her body, out over her hips, then, despite her advanced stage of pregnancy, still inward along the sides of her waist, and then out again up her ribcage, until they reached their destination, taking hold of her bosom, pushing her cleavage together enticingly, still hampered by the meddling presence of her dress.
Sitting on the stool, he found that her bosom was a perfect height, and William happily tucked his face into her cleavage. There were buttons, lots of buttons to contend with. It was Julia who started at the top of her dress and hurried to give him access to her supple, malleable flesh. Her dress soon slid to the floor, pooling at her feet. There was no corset, and her petticoat was soon gone as well, seemingly resting halfway across the floor, from having been slipped over her head and flung quickly aside.
Oh my God, delicious and heavenly, and so soft, and spongy, and marshmallowy, his mouth sucked and tasted every inch of her uncovered flesh and he grew desperate with need. Her bloomers, off, he stood, reaching down around her to pick her up into his arms and turn, resting her bottom on the lab-table. He wanted to taste more, to feel her warm body surround him. She spread and lifted her legs, bending them at the knees and he helped guide them over his shoulders, and he paused, allowing the exquisite sight of her, framed in such a lush forest of curly hair, and the scent of her nearly devastated him, as he forced her to wait for the magnificent moment when he would touch her, in the one place where she so very urgently wanted him to touch her…
Later, both re-dressing, William walking around naked, the one in charge of traveling the lab-room retrieving the various items of clothing, they heard the doorbell. William found his pocket watch with his vest and checked the time, "Six-thirty," he told her.
"Probably Emily then," she reasoned. Julia felt a tug of happiness at the thought of seeing Emily again, making note of her body's reaction, she knew she had missed her, more than she had acknowledged up until now.
They rushed to finish dressing, but figured Eloise would probably get to the door before either of them could. However, the pounding of hurried footsteps on the stairs up above them indicated that it would be Ruby who got there first. Julia said to William, "We should still hurry or there will be… consequences."
He shook his head and joined her with a quick laugh. He knew exactly what she meant… Ruby would take the opportunity to imply that they had been making love and that was why they arrived to the door late. There was a quiet glee in the fact that she would have been right, too.
"Is my hair a fright?" Julia asked, otherwise ready.
William's eyes dwelled on that same dangling curl that had hit him so hard when he first saw her earlier from the lab-room doorway, and he marveled at the resurgence of love in his heart. "It's lovely," he replied.
She couldn't help it – his chocolate-brown eyes melting her as they so often did, she told him, "My God, husband, your eyes just floor me sometimes. They are beyond gorgeous, William," she said, gazing into them.
He started to protest her compliment, but she stopped him, sliding her elbow into his arm, "Before you claim that they are not special, that your eyes are not any more remarkably beautiful than any others, I will remind you of at least two waitresses, whom I know of, who fell head-over-heels in love with those big, warm, brown eyes the moment they saw them."
"Two?" he questioned, certain to never forget the first, for he had responded lustfully to that particular young woman's flirtations, deeply hurting Julia as she watched him ogle the waitress in the process… No, he would never forget that first one, but he was not so clear about the second…
Julia spared him, explaining, "The second one was in the Indian Restaurant, William… the night we took George out to dinner… to make up for leaving his Author's Awards Dinner early… because of …"
He remembered now, and finished her sentence, the regret he still felt for hurting her so badly palpable in his voice, "Because of the first one. We had to leave George's dinner early, because I…" he would use Isaac Tash's words that suggested that his lustful imaginings were not only common among men, but also ultimately posed his and Julia's amazing love no threat, he would use Julia's friend's words to try to cope, "Because I behaved like a 'dog' when the first one, a waitress at George's dinner, flirted with me… I, um… Yes, yes it's true, she complimented my eyes."
Julia glanced sideways at him, already knowing he would have pinched a corner of his mouth into his familiar 'admitting-it-all' face, and she squeezed his arm tight. "I do so love you, William Murdoch," she told him.
As they headed up the stairs together, Julia remembered she had wanted to ask William about giving George some money to help him cope with his suspension without pay. "It will have to wait," she thought.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Emily exclaimed, leaning even further back to take in the look of her, "Julia! You are so enormously pregnant!"
A huge smile took Julia's face as she placed her hands on her hips, turned sideways and arched her back and wiggled her hips, exaggerating her swollen baby bulge, "I am," she declared through her grin.
Emily looked over at the detective, whose smile rivaled his wife's. "And detective, you look quite happy about it!" she added.
All eyes turned to William. "That I am, Dr. Grace," he agreed, taking his wife into an embrace, adding a quick kiss. He kept his arm around her until Emily stepped closer and Julia gave her a hug.
Ruby complained, "William! Emily! You two act as if you were at work, dealing with some grisly murder! For heaven's sake, address each other properly…" Eyeing William she elaborated, "Emily was the bridesmaid at your wedding, for God's sake."
Julia and Emily pulled apart and Emily said to the detective, "I am willing… William."
William nodded, and with a slight bow to her told her, "As am I, Emily."
Once George arrived, and hugs were shared between old friends, the five of them enjoyed a lively, long dinner, with a jolly atmosphere, celebration in the air. The mood only dampening briefly when talk of George's month-long suspension without pay came up.
William looked on as a fellow policeman, a man like himself from a humble background, suddenly had to deal with being amongst friends, who it turned out were also significantly wealthier than he. William held his tongue, for he realized that he was one of these wealthy friends himself now… and he felt it in his gut; he was not comfortable with it at all.
))) (((
Later than was probably good, at least for William who had to go to work the next day, the party finally broke up and George and Emily headed out to share a cab, him going to his home, her to her hotel. The others would never know, but George and Emily stopped at a bar for a drink together first. There were romantic stirrings. They both had seemed to accept their presence, to be willing to see what happened…
Ruby went to her bedroom, William and Julia to theirs. As they prepared for bed, William's mind was focused on a conversation he and George had had after dinner, about why George went to question Mulligan the day he ended up taking the letter-opener and following the refuse wagon to the dump to find the rug.
George had remembered, as now did William, that none of the men the Constabulary had questioned from Davies Slaughterhouse, the day after Jackson and himself had been attacked and hung up to be killed on meat-hooks, none of those men had fingermarks that matched those on the victim's locket and the garbage-pail lid. That's why George had brought the list Mulligan had originally supplied them with, supposedly complete with the names of all of the men who worked on that Monday when the attack occurred, to ask if Mulligan had left anyone off of the list. George told William that Mulligan had claimed the list was all-inclusive. George said that he had speculated that, if a name had been left off of the list, and both George and he had figured it would have been intentional on Mulligan's part to do so, then that would be the man who matched the fingerprints at the scene where Ieva's body had been left. He said he also figured it might be the same man Constable Hogan had questioned the Saturday before, at Davies slaughterhouse – the man Hogan thought recognized the pictures of Ieva and her husband, Adomas.
William leaned over the sink, brushing his teeth, marginally aware of Julia moving about around him. His mind flashed a memory. He and Constable Hogan had gone to Davies Slaughterhouse looking to see if Hogan could find the man he had questioned there… "Was that the same day, the Monday of the attack?" William strained to remember.
The flash continued. They were standing down at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the offices, speaking with Mulligan. William remembered he had hoped to be brought up to Mulligan's office, that he had wanted to check for the green rug. Mulligan had said that there would be three possible men who could be the man Hogan had questioned on Saturday. He agreed to give them their names and addresses. Then the important part replayed in William's mind, sending a chill through him, suggesting the significance of the event, Mulligan called upstairs to someone… to a man, who was out of their sight – Hogan had not been able to see that man! – "Mulligan called him by name… It was an Irish-sounding name – began with a 'K' or a 'C," William thought, wrinkling his face with doubt as he put the toothbrush away. When the man answered from upstairs he could hear that the man had an Irish brogue… And… yes, he was certain of it, Mulligan told this man the three men's names were in a book. William wanted to see that book. It would have the names of everyone that worked at Davies Slaughterhouse in it… And William still had this list of three men – "It would have the hidden man's handwriting! – maybe even his fingerprints! – It was back at the station…"
"William," Julia finally managed to say with enough insistence to pull him out of his thoughts…
He turned abruptly to face her in the bathroom doorway, "Oh… Sorry," he said.
She ducked her chin in and laughed as she approached. "What was happening in that beautiful mind of yours, detective?" she asked. She knew her husband well; he had been thinking about the case. "The wheels are turning, hmm?" she added, now stretching her arms up and carefully wrapping them around his neck, expertly avoiding hurting his injury. Her smell enclosed him, and her lips kissed and teased his neck and his ear. Instinctively, he took her in his arms, the luscious sensations of her warm, supple flesh so very enticing. They fit nearly perfectly together, the lack of perfection due to the presence of their baby nestled cozily between them, making her closeness all the more miraculous, and even better than perfect.
William took a deep breath, conflicted between straining to remember his thoughts, so sure they had been important, and yielding completely to her charms, already feeling aroused. Ultimately, he ended up stuck, unmoving, still not yet accepting the loss of his train of thought.
"Come to bed," Julia whispered, hoping to pull him away, to save him, albeit only for a time, from being swept up by the dark forces of his latest case.
"Mmm," he replied, and then he took her into a kiss...
))) (((
Total darkness. Horrid, horrid stench permeating into the nostrils through the darkness. Can't breathe! Cold, frigid cold, shivering relentlessly. So dark – blackness, only blackness. Can't move! Naked! Sealed, Wrapped like a cigar in the dark – Can't move. Clanging, in the dark… Clanging like chains. A moan… It's mine!
So dark. Sharp, piercing, pain in my shoulder. Tightly wrapped. The smell of Meyers' cigar. Magnified and echoing away into the cold, dank – Meyers' laugh. So dark! No floor! No walls! Only blackness. No boundaries – No ground. Floating in the dark, only pain and stink.
The Inspector's voice in the dark, "You're being warned off Murdoch… a nasty lot that sticks together, tough, like the O'Shea's crew down at the docks."
Must get free! "Kick, Kick! Struggle! Fight! Punch at the dark! Hands bound.
Julia's voice, convoluted, "Such Dark Forces!" Can't breathe. Julia – I want Julia. Sobbing, I hear sobbing in the blackness – My Sobbing! It's me! Chains clanging again – so close now.
Is that Ettie? Twisting, spinning, her words swim in the dark, "A whole industry built around raising living, breathing, feeling creatures for the sole purpose of killing them. Men like no others when it comes to cruelty and greed… and… power."
An evil voice pierced the strangling darkness – only needing to whisper, Mulligan's stinking breath pungent with feces and decaying meat, humid in my face in the dark. Close, very, very close, "Surprised detective… that you end up being mistaken for a PIG." Spinning.
Coming out of the darkness - not far away – the whirring started. So loud I need to cover my ears… Can't move… gravity shifting, flipping – Now the saw blades screaming below me. The clanging again … Breath stolen! Falling! Falling so fast – in the dark – into the saw blades… Oh my God, the sound, of flesh and bone striking the blade. Oh my God, No! It's mine. It's me against the cold, razor-sharp, blade…
William's legs kicked away from the blade below him, shining jagged metal spinning in the dark. The motion, his own motion, awakened him with a startle. Dark… Not cold… No stink… Bed… I'm in bed. Just a dream, only a dream. William's heart pounded so fiercely that he wasn't sure he wouldn't die from it. Julia! He propped up on an elbow, searching for her in the darkness. Gray outlines coming into view… It's her. She's there. She's fine.. She's asleep… Everything's fine. Breathe William.
William sat up in bed, in the dark. It was a dream… Thank God. "Pound, pound, pound," went his heart battering against his chest, and the blood throbbed blaringly in his ears. But, it was slowing. Breathe. He would be fine. Everything is alright. He reached up and rubbed his brow, the action comforting him.
"Get up," he coached himself, "Get out of here for a minute." Standing next to the bed now, naked, like he had been in the dream… he found his pajama bottoms in the dark, at his feet. "Oh yeah, we made love again," he remembered.
Downstairs, so grateful for the light, he made a pot of hot chocolate. It was intentional this time, his making too much. "Guess I hope she comes down," he realized. He sat at their kitchen table, in his usual seat, the warm cup of hot chocolate clasped in his fingers, offering him comfort. He exhaled, sending away the fear through pursed lips, relieving the pressure. Again. "That's better," he soothed himself. He massaged his scalp, lacing his fingers through his hair. His fingers eventually covered his bandage. That nightmare had really happened. Under this very bandage there was proof.
William gulped down the remaining chocolate in his cup. He needed to move. It was the only way to shake off the fear that was still trapped inside of him. He rinsed out the dishes, and then put them in the dish-washing cupboard. He knew what to do. He would go downstairs into his workroom, to work out with his weights. It would make him stronger, and it would burn away the dread. There was no doubt of the power of the dark forces he would have to face, that he was already facing. That they would not expect him to so boldly take them on was his only advantage. They would underestimate him. He would bring them into the light. In the light they would be powerless. He would need a plan.