Murdoch in the JungleT

by Romantic Nerd

In 1904 Detective Murdoch and George Crabtree investigate a murder involving the abusive world of the meat-packing industry. Posing as hobos, they encounter Upton Sinclair researching his novel, "The Jungle." Sinclair helps them with their investigation and to learn how to survive in this dark, depressing and soul-torturing world of the early twentieth century jungle. M version.

9. Chapter 9: So many Strings

Murdoch in the Jungle_8_ So Many Strings

The alarm clock rang, its trumpeting, noisy, disturbance growing louder and louder in the darkness as its human targets fell out of sleep. Julia's mind began immediately, "It's Friday. He has to go to work…" she thought orienting herself. The alarm's demanding call continued, "He's slow to rouse," she wondered, propping up on an elbow, checking her belief that he was there, right there, next to her in their bed.

William had had a difficult night, plagued by nightmares and their resulting insomnia, only having finally fallen back to sleep about an hour ago. She heard him take a deep breath first, or was it more of a sigh? She felt the mattress shifting now, her eyes sufficiently adjusted to the early morning dim that she could see the shadow of him rise and extinguish the blaring alert.

William settled back down into his warm spot in their bad, his brain already planning the day. "There were the interviews of Mulligan and Davies – at eleven," he reminded himself. Odd, a sure sign that he was stressed, he hadn't even thought of her until he felt her move closer. "Julia!" his heart soared with its remembering, happy.

As she slid her long, silky-smooth, bare leg up his body to drape it over her husband's hips, her, "yummy, luscious, gorgeous husband," she noticed he had his pajama bottoms on. Her own nakedness attested to it – they had made love again last night, and when she fell asleep he had been naked too. "He must have gotten up in the middle of the night," she reasoned, yet her focus was strongly, urgently, on the here and now, and so she pushed the thought aside and continued in her seduction. She moaned softly as her fingers glided along the sturdy rippled muscles of his chest, grateful for the feel of his skin.

Her breathing was amplified, the rhythm hurried, each exhale hot and long and humid in his ear, attesting to her state of heightened lust. He felt it instantly, tugging at him, filling and lifting his groin, rushing his own hunger.

Her voice was misty as she whispered, "I think you're going to be late this morning, detective." Her fingers pinched him, evoking a small gasp, and he felt her mouth smile against the flesh of his neck as she took a warm, velvety hold on him, before she sucked him in, firmly, and he felt his head begin to fall and spin.

Needing to clear his throat first, his voice was still raspy as he teased, "Oh, so along with all of her other talents, my wife can predict the future now."

"Mm-hmm," she answered, hampered from elaborating for her mouth was full.

He felt her melt heavily down into him in response to his taking her in his arms, and he opened his neck to her advances, and she sucked harder and harder on his flesh, with a rhythm that called to his most primitive core.

William, quickly losing his mind as it rushed ahead, his own breathing flaring, imagined the delicious feel of her wildest yearning for him, sultry, slippery and throbbing with heat. And then, Julia moved her knee higher over his stomach, luring him, giving him even easier access, and his hand travelled the scrumptious curve of her bottom, following it inwards, to her lush offering. His moan was big with the discovery of her burning need for him. "Oh my God, so ripe," the thought swirled and swam inside of him, all his blood dropping away to flow into just one place, that one central and powerful place which flared, both agonous and eager.

Passion, wild and out of control, drove her. Fists grabbing hold of his pajama bottoms, she leaned back with a heave towards the mattress, pulling him over on top of her as her back plopped into the bed and she squirmed and maneuvered to tuck under him. "Make love to me William. It's your duty," she begged and then demanded before her fingers crawled into his hair and she grabbed hold tight and pulled him closer, taking his lips from below him, with such force, her teeth grazing and holding his lower lip snug. She moaned into his mouth, and wiggled and pumped her body under him, the primal vibrations seeming to push him rapidly towards the edge.

He felt her hands release his hair, leaving his scalp tingling, and then ride downwards until her fingers seized his pajama bottoms, pushing and shoving at them, lowering them while he lifted his weight off of her just enough to allow her success. Julia rolled onto her side, aiming her backside at him in the dark, and then bent at the hips, gliding her bottom up his thighs, spooning with him, placing what his instincts reached for most desperately dangerously, dangerously close… Her skin, he felt her, sumptuous, soft skin underneath him. He was so close to her… And, oh, my God, now she is right there, right there in front of me, and there is nothing between us, absolutely nothing blocking me, and she wants me… His breathing fast and strong… And, I want her… I want her now! My God, I want…

"Slow down William," he demanded of himself. But Julia's voice begged in his head, from only a moment ago, tempting and taunting, "Make love to me William. It's your duty."

He chuckled, for My God, it was so difficult to restrain it, his self-control dangling so precariously, just hanging on, barely – as if from a string. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew he would not follow through on his urge, her request – No, only Plan C. He chuckled again at how much effort it was taking to pull it back…

"Some chores are so much harder than others," he finally said, out of breath with struggle through his chuckles, the sounds, the gusts, rustling in her ear from behind, and his engorged, solid, need pressed firmly into her, ever so close. But, he was in control now.

He pulled her towards him, returning her to lie on her back, then covered her, cautious to keep his weight off of their baby. His first kiss to her lips was demanding, provoking a moan from her.

She joined his chuckling, "Like taking out the trash," she snuck in between kisses.

"Somebody has to do it," he taunted, feigning complaint and suffering on his part, receiving a playful shove in response. There were more, lush, deep, passionate, wild kisses.

"Well, it had better be you, William Murdoch," she threatened, winded.

Stopping suddenly, he raised an eyebrow at her briefly in the early morning shadows, insisting, "Oh yes, Julia Ogden, it had better be," before he went back to devouring her lips.

She was going to threaten him… to tell him she would do the, "chore," herself if need be… But… the thought dropped away from her so quickly, swirling away in her lustful dizziness.

"Oh my God, William," she said between another kiss. "I so want you… Oh my God, William I want you," breathlessly she uttered, between another kiss, "But my God, I want you all the time. And I want you so much I can't stand it. Please William."

Oh, he had her right where he wanted her, and he was enjoying every minute of her ferocious craving. "The lads will tease me mercilessly, you know, for being late," he explained between the barrage of kisses, "I will end up blushing in front of them again."

Her bosom heaving delightfully as she tried to catch her breath, "So, who's predicting the future now, detective?" she bantered, and then threw her head back into the pillow with the effort needed to withstand the pleasure as his hands captured her bosom, molding with his fingers, and forcing the handfuls of jiggly, marshmallowy, flesh together, forming two perfect cream orbs, separated by the most delicious cranny of cleavage, and then putting his succulent mouth on her, drinking her malleable flesh in so fiercely he was sure to leave a mark. "Oh my," she declared, "I believe you should blush, detective."

"Oh, milady, it only gets worse," he warned, releasing her creamy flesh, and kissing her so very enticingly down her body, lowering himself, until his kisses and nibbles teased the inside of her thighs, and she plummeted towards her very edges with voracious speed, only the bed-sheets to her hold back from his onslaught, as he flickered and fluttered, and pushed, and pounded into her, riding her shuddering waves, and basking in her cries of erupting ecstasy as their resonance filled the dimly lit room.

It was with similar thunder and lightning that she made stormy love to him soon afterwards. The power of his pleasure announced with roaring, devastating, moans, such a rare treat to come from him, making them both so very, very glad to be alive.

Later, when they went down for breakfast, Julia nearly fell off of her chair with laughter when Eloise asked William if he had taken out the trash. She wondered sometimes how he managed to control his laughter at moments like that, playing the serious role so very well, dropping his chin down and giving her a dirty look through those magnificent long, thick, black, eyelashes of his, as he hurried to do the chore. It always made her laugh even harder. My God, she loved him so much.

And… Ruby's eyes bulged so hysterically with curiosity at her outburst. Predicting the future again, Julia figured her pushy sister would get it out of her eventually – Ruby somehow managing to entice her into telling her how it could possibly be that Eloise's asking William if he had taken out the trash yet was so funny. She even suspected that William knew this would happen too. "My God," she thought, "I hope he doesn't interrogate her when he gets home tonight – like the last time she was here."

Before he left for work, late… they kissed good-bye in the foyer, and she reminded him that she would be coming to the stationhouse to ask Jackson if he would let her examine his meat-hook wound. He told her that in the afternoon he would be taking a few constables with him to Burns' abattoir and business near East York. After having put Constable Jackson in such danger at Davies Slaughterhouse earlier in the week, he planned on leaving him at the stationhouse this time, thus even if she arrived in the afternoon Jackson should still be there.

She asked him about having lunch together. He wrinkled his face, like he does when he doubts something. He explained that he would be interviewing Davies and Mulligan at eleven. Actually, he had insisted that his whole day was quite packed… And yes, he was getting a late start, so late in fact that he would take have to take a cab rather than ride his wheel, which he most definitely would have preferred to do. William did have the wherewithal however, to whisper into his wife's ear just before he walked out the door, "I'll have you know though, Julia, it was quite worth it," sealing his words with a surreptitious smile.

"Good," she responded, sounding to her own ear a bit like him.

))) (((

Arriving at the stationhouse door, almost an hour late, William braced himself for the lads' teasing. He pushed the door open and headed for the front desk, as cavalierly as possible, to get his messages. He heard it in the background, and saw it out of the corner of his eye, the men were quite aware of his arrival. He took a deep breath, already feeling a rush of blood up his neck and into his cheeks. Higgins called out, "Isn't the instigator always Higgins," he thought, the constable's voice seeming unduly loud, "Inspector, Detective Murdoch has finally arrived. I guess you were right sir, he didn't know."

The Inspector quickly stepped out of his office, just as William found himself wondering, and trying to decide whether to question, what it was he supposedly 'didn't know.'

"Murdoch," the Inspector called across the station, "I was concerned that you had not been notified, but…" The Inspector shared a few glances around the room, eliciting some men to repress giggles, "Well, once you weren't here on time – I mean you have always been the most punctual, upstanding man I have ever known…"

A mocking voice from a constable somewhere in the room called out, "That was until he got married to the good doctor, sir," causing the room to burst into rounds of eyes-down laughter.

The Inspector paused, pretending to consider the comment, "You have to admit, me old' mucker, you can't deny that that is true."

William's face had blushed, and he felt everyone's eyes on him, and he dropped his chin and shook his head and giggled a bit and then sheepishly said, "I don't deny it, sir," prompting the room to fill with even more giggles. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, something he had done since he was a young boy when being teased, and bravely brought his eyes up to meet the Inspector's. "What is it that I don't know, sir?" he inquired, somewhat reluctantly.

The room fell apart with hilarity in response to his question. Amongst the laughing, William noticed the Inspector's eyes dart to his office. Following them, he noted that the blinds to his office were all down – not as he had left them…

Inside the Inspector's mind, he was bubbling with glee, for the lads' plan was truly going better than he had ever expected, and it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to fall apart himself – his composure seemingly bound by the thinnest of strings. "The lads insisted that you already knew, but I couldn't think of how you possibly would," he said.

"Know what?" William asked.

The Inspector replied, "I suppose you will see for yourself soon enough," once again looking to William's office.

William looked around the room, finding only bright red faces, all down, unwilling or unable to look at him. He walked to his office door, and with great trepidation, opened the door. A gasp escaped his lungs at the sight. Hanging from the ceiling by a bunch of strings, he saw his desk, complete with his blotter, and his statue of the blind lady of justice, and his phone, all perfectly placed on top… And his chair hanging from the ceiling right behind it, aligned perfectly, as if one could sit in it, at the desk, floating in the air. Such puzzlement filled him…

"What on earth?" he declared, almost in a whisper. There was a sign on the side of the desk. He read it and the words sunk in… "Looks like detective Murdoch got suspended after all." "Suspended!" his mind yelled the pun at him… "Of course, I almost got suspended. Very funny," he said sarcastically.

"You should have seen your face, sir!" Constable Jenkins declared, to a hearty round of laughter and shared celebration.

Deciding it was best to let them have their fun, William waited, giving them credit for their, "joke." He couldn't help it though – it was his nature – he had a lot to do today, and now his desk was tied to the ceiling by a bunch of strings! He reached up to rub his forehead, aware of the beginnings of a headache. He didn't want to be party-pooper, but…

"It is quite impressive lads," he said, trying with all his might to be a good sport. "But, um… Well, could you please get my desk down, I have… Well, I have a lot of preparation before I have the Davies and Mulligan interviews at eleven," he asked, his mouth wrinkled in the corner, offering apology for spoiling the fun.

The Inspector bellowed, "Good job men. Now let's help the detective get to work, hey." Suddenly a sea of blue constables' uniforms swarmed into William's office. Only a few moments later, all was returned to normal.

The first thing William needed to do was find the note that Mulligan had handed to him, when he first visited Davies Slaughterhouse with Constable Hogan, accompanying the young constable in an effort to find the man he had questioned that Saturday, and that he had thought recognized the photographs of Ieva and her husband Adomas. He remembered that Mulligan had called up the stairs, to the area where the Davies offices were located, to a man up there, out of sight, to get the names and addresses of the three men working on Saturdays. Mulligan had called the man's name, told him to get the names from, 'the book,'…

"There was a book!" William's mind screamed with the memory, "a book that had all of the names and addresses of the men who worked at Davies Slaughterhouse." Realizing he had drifted off, he reminded himself to focus on the note. He had thought it would have the fingermarks of this unseen man. George had remembered, and he agreed with the significance of the thought, that the man whose fingermarks were on Ieva's locket and the garbage-pail lid that they had found behind the brothel where her body had been dumped, that those fingermarks did not match any of the men who they had questioned after he and Jackson had been attacked and hung up on the meat-hooks. That was what George had gone to question Mulligan about when he stole the letter-opener and he saw the rug being taken to the dump. William suspected that the unseen man was the same man who had moved Ieva's body – Mulligan's right-hand man so-to-speak. And he also suspected that this was the man that Constable Hogan had questioned on that Saturday.

"Higgins," William called loudly out to the constable in the bullpen.

Immediately, Higgins appeared at his office door, "Yes sir."

"Check George's desk for a small yellow handwritten note with three names and addresses on it, please," the detective instructed.

"Right away, sir," Henry replied.

Higgins found the note quickly and brought it to him. William would conduct the retrieving of fingermarks himself. He searched through his papers, finding the fingermarks from the locket and the garbage-pail lid for comparison. "Oh, and Henry," the detective added, "Let's see if we can get Constable Hogan in." Then he remembered that he also wanted to question the manager from the burlesque club, The Moons, where they use the same showgirl costumes as the one that Ieva's body had been dressed in, the evidence indicating the costume being placed on her sometime after she had been killed. "Oh yes, and Henry, find out if we already have the manager of The Moons burlesque club coming in for questioning. I need to see him before we go over to Burns' abattoir way out in East York," he added.

"Yes sir," the constable replied hurrying off to get to it.

William examined the note. The three names on it did not look familiar. This was one of the strings of the case he had not yet followed. They should locate these men, he advised himself as he pulled out the dusting powder and began removing the fingermarks…

Blood surging through his brain with the excitement, William exclaimed out loud, "Yes!" as he lined up one of the fingermarks lifted from the note with the fingermark from Ieva's locket, "A perfect match! This is him!" He ran it through his mind again, the man Mulligan called up to, who he and Hogan could not see, was the same man who had moved Ieva Baltavesky's body, dumping it behind the brothel. "What was his name?" he prodded himself to remember, "Mulligan called it out… The man answered – had an Irish brogue – the name started with a "K" or a "C" I think," his thoughts raced.

William rushed to tell the Inspector about this new discovery. As he passed Higgins' desk, he asked Henry to try to get Constable Hogan in right away. William hoped the constable could remember the name that Mulligan had used. Almost to the Inspector's door, William had another thought. He stopped and turned and said, "Also, Henry…" but then he thought better of it. He was going to have Henry send a constable over to stationhouse #5 – he was thinking it should be Jackson because way back when Jackson had worked there, back when the Inspector stole the large man away from Stationhouse #5 thinking he was getting a ringer in their upcoming baseball game with their rival station – but maybe it would be best for him to call Detective Dermott first…" With Higgins staring up at him, William's mind chased down the two opposing paths, ask Dermott about Adomas Baltavesky's case first, or send Jackson over to see if Stationhouse #5 has any of Baltavesky's effects stored away before calling Dermott. With a sigh, he decided to send the constable. "Sorry," he apologized for the delay, "Please send Jackson over to Stationhouse #5 to try to get any personal effects they might still have from Adomas Baltavesky," William requested.

"Yes, sir," Henry replied, standing and heading upstairs to find Jackson.

"Perhaps Jackson will have better luck if they are not pre-warned about it," William counseled himself, now knocking on the Inspector's door. As he stepped in, William fought away the feeling of being overwhelmed, for there seemed to be so many strings to follow, and these interviews were now only about an hour away.

He reminded the Inspector about the evidence they had against Mulligan that they could not use, the letter-opener from his office that was a perfect match for the weapon and had only Mulligan's fingermarks on it, making it clear to the Inspector that he knew to stay away from mentioning it in any way. William reminded him about the green rug found in the dump, the rug that both he and George had observed as being a match for the one in Mulligan's office. Fibers from this rug matched those found in Ieva Baltavesky's nasal passages and mouth. Also, the blood on the underside of the rug was human, suggesting it was the victim's. He believed they could conclusive show that this rug retrieved from the dump was the same rug as the one from Mulligan's office, based on George's testimony from the day he found it and on the location of evidence found in the pile at the dump, from both below and above the rug. This evidence consisted of burlap-roll centers with catalogue numbers matching those sold to Davies Slaughterhouse and various forms of packaging labeled as being addressed to Davies Slaughterhouse as well.

William also shared with the Inspector about the matching of the fingermarks on the victim's locket and a garbage-pail lid from the scene of where they found Ieva Baltavesky's body with those of the man who he believed had moved and dumped the Ieva Baltavesky's body after Mulligan had killed her, and that those fingermarks matched the ones on a note written by an unseen man who worked closely with Mulligan… Further, there was a book in Mulligan's office that would have this man's name in it… If they could get that book, and check the names against his and Constable Hogan's memories, he believed they could get the name of this accomplice.

After William caught the Inspector up on the evidence they would use during the interviews of Davies and Mulligan, the two of them decided that the Inspector would question Davies in his office, while William questioned Mulligan in the interrogation room.

Hogan arrived before Davies and Mulligan. William spoke with him in his office, finding the constable offered possible names that came to his mind when he strained to remember the name Mulligan had called up the stairs that day, suggesting, "Clancy… or maybe Connor."

"I also remember that the name stated with a "K" sound," William said. "Do you remember anything else?" he asked, calmly, though his heart was a bit fast in his chest. There was a lot riding on this interview.

Hogan answered quickly, "I remember that the man sounded Irish."

William nodded, "As do I," William responded, "Very good." He thanked Hogan for coming in. After the constable left, he decided to review his notes.

Disturbingly, just before William stepped into the interrogation room, his mind replayed Mulligan's threatening voice from the day the men met in Judge Peterson's office, "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." He exhaled sharply, working to send away the anger and the fear his body conjured up in response to the memory. William opened the door and stepped in.

Nearly half an hour later, concluding his interview, hoping to intimidate Mulligan into confessing, William laid out his theory and its supporting evidence, "Ieva Baltavesky asked for directions to your slaughterhouse, she showed up looking for her husband, who you had killed last summer because either you or Davies had found out that he had been spying on your business for Edward Burns, and when she threatened to go to the police, you stabbed her… in your office, explaining how fibers from your rug got into her nasal passages, and how her, human, blood got on your rug. You had this man, who you claim you don't remember, remove Ieva's body from your office, dress her up to look like a prostitute, and dump her behind the brothel, where he left his fingermarks on her locket and on a garbage-pail lid."

Mulligan denied it. William goaded him, "Then provide me with the book that you instructed this man…" snidely, "who you say you don't remember… to use to compile this list of names," tapping the yellow-colored list on the table.

"Gladly detective," Mulligan responded, grooming his trousers, keeping an air of calm, "I have nothing to hide. You can come along with me right now if you would like."

"And I want the date that this other man, David Bradley, who you claim bled all over your rug, which you admit is the same one we retrieved from the dump, I want the date that this man Bradley went to the hospital after cutting off a finger as you claim," William added.

"I will need the records, but that should not be a problem either, detective," Mulligan said, smugly.

After William had finished the interview and stood to leave, Mulligan said, "You know detective, it would seem to me that your evidence actually helps exonerate me…"

William paused to hear him out, raising an eyebrow.

"It seems you have your murderer detective – the man with the fingermarks matching those on this…" Mulligan waved his wrist, dismissing the item, "…locket. What's to say that this man didn't kill this… Ieva girl… And what's to say that those green fibers in her nose are not actually from a different rug than mine, a similar green rug from wherever this man killed this…" and again he waved away her importance, "whore."

William felt his jaw clench as he fought the anger. "Because I have the weapon you used to kill her!" clanged in his head, "And she was NO…" My God how the word plagued him, reminding him of Darcy's words right before he had punched the bastard in the mouth… "…whore!" Managing to keep control, William walked to the door. "I will have a constable escort you back to the slaughterhouse. Please give him the book with all of the employees' names, and the name and date for the man who cut his finger off and bled in your office. We will want to question him," William said. As he stepped out of the room he added cynically, "Oh, and if you should remember the name of the man who wrote this list," he said, lifting the yellow note in the air, "please let me know immediately." It took everything William had not to slam the door.

Once back in his office, grateful the blinds were still down after the lads' prank this morning, William punched his worktable - hard. Gritting his teeth together so tightly he imagined he might chip a tooth, he slammed his fist into the table again. The power of his punching would surely bruise his knuckles. Still, he had to fight the urge to land a third blow.

Trying to focus on moving forward, considering his next steps, William sat at his desk with a sigh. He would send a constable out to bring in the three men on the yellow list, who worked at Davies Slaughterhouse on Saturdays, for questioning and to get their fingerprints… Annoyed, he reminded himself that they would not likely be the man they were looking for, as none of their names began with a "C" or a "K." William picked up the yellow note, his thoughts turning to still needing to call Detective Dermott… William frowned, he was too aggravated right now to deal with anything from Stationhouse #5, not to mention the obnoxious detective, whose unwanted sexual advances aimed at Julia sent his fists instantly into a subconscious curl. He sighed again. He read the three names on the list, "Tadas Banus and Herkus Soulis and Tommy O'Connor." He wrinkled a corner of his mouth considering, "Perhaps the name 'O'Connor' could be remembered as starting with a "K" sound?" He got up and walked out to Higgins, handing him the list and instructing him to have the three men brought in.

Back in his office, William decided to call Julia. As the phone rang, he remembered that she would be coming to the station today, to examine Jackson's meat-hook wound…

))) (((

Ruby sat at the kitchen table watching her sister as she prepared a picnic basket lunch for herself and her husband. Julia was reminiscing about why she was choosing to bring peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. "Remember I told you about that first time William and I kissed – during a picnic he had prepared, complete with absinthe…" she said with a little giggle, "Well, William had prepared peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for that dinner." "It's amazing," Julia thought, "But I don't think either of us will ever smell or taste or even think of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches without also thinking of that magical night."

"Jules," Ruby started with curiosity in her voice…

Sending Julia's thoughts immediately to this morning when she had laughed so hard after Eloise had asked about William's "chore…"

"You know you have to tell me don't you," Ruby continued, "What was so funny this morning."

Her eyes rolled upwards to the sky as Julia acknowledged to herself that she would ultimately give in. She turned and found her sister's eyes. Taking a deep breath, her tone threatening a lecture, she said, "The last time I confided such things to you, you told William that I 'kissed and told,' remember?"

"Jules, you are married to Detective William Murdoch – a finer detective I'm sure does not exist. Surely, the man already knew that you were guilty of 'kissing and telling' long before he got home that night at the Windsor House Hotel," Ruby defended and flattered in the same breath. Adding, "As I'm sure he already knows you will do again – about this very thing," before she waited, holding fast to her sister's eyes.

"Oh very well," Julia said, exasperated, and yet struggling to hide her smile. Diverting her eyes back to packing the picnic basket, she told her, "As I'm sure you already know, William and I made love this morning…" Her mind snapped with the memory, of not only how loudly she had declared her passion, but that William had done so this morning as well – something he only rarely did. "My God, did she overhear us?" she panicked with the thought, "Did she overhear him?!" Suddenly, she and Ruby had locked gazes! She could see it on her sister's face! She had! Instantly Julia blushed.

Her lips curled into a coy smile as Ruby said, both trying to reassure and to bask in her sister's embarrassment at the same time, "Oh, come now Jules, it's not like I haven't heard you two in the throes of passion before." She tilted her head with puzzlement and quickly said, "Although it may have been the first time I have heard William so…"

"Ruby!" Julia hollered, unable to tolerate her sister speaking of, even thinking of, William in such a state.

Knowing if she didn't back off now, she would never get the story, Ruby diverted, "I don't see how this is related to what Eloise said – about William taking out the trash."

Julia felt her temperature cooling, somehow out from underneath the intensity of the magnifying glass – though of course she wasn't, but maybe at least, William was, for now. She sighed and went back to working on the basket. "It was because of a conversation we had had while…" Julia tried to start again, realizing she would be revealing more than she had intended, finding herself struggling with marveling at her sister's skills and wanting to kill her at the exact same time. "Oh my God, Ruby, this is so personal!" Julia exclaimed, "I don't think I can tell you." Julia's heart began to pound, for she instantly knew uttering such a thing was a mistake, one that would only cause Ruby to become even more relentless. Julia closed the basket, finished with it, and braced her hands down on the countertop.

"Jules," Ruby said, her voice remarkably sincere, "You know how happy I am for you and William. You know that the fact that the two of you have such a magnificent sex-life – and clearly that you can even have so much fun with it too – you know how truly happy that makes me for you. Who else will you ever be able to tell such wonderful things to?"

Deep down in her inner-sister soul, she knew Ruby was right. She sighed and joined Ruby at the table. "It was because we were teasing each other about how William making love to me… You know we can't make love the traditional way right now – not with me so pregnant and, well uh, Isaac told us not to – so anyway, William said something about how some 'chores' were so much harder than others…" Julia smiled at Ruby and added, "I think he found the hard part was mostly about keeping control over his wish to make love the way we used to – the way we can't." Ruby nodded, she got it.

"Well I teased him that it was like taking out the trash," she said.

"Really!" Ruby squealed, "And then Eloise teased him only a few minutes later about forgetting to take out the trash! That's unbelievable," Ruby declared, both sisters laughing in amazement at the coincidence of it all.

The phone rang. Eloise was out until later when she would return to make dinner, so Julia hurried to get to it. It was William. "Speak of the devil," Ruby thought. Julia held her hand over the receiver and waited for Ruby to give them some privacy, which she did, heading up the stairs to her room. She would go out for lunch, "George is free now that he's been suspended… And maybe Emily…" she considered.

William told Julia about his frustrations with the case, particularly with his not being able to bring justice to a man who he knew was guilty.

"William, you will get him eventually. I'm certain of it," she encouraged. She was so grateful for his profound trust in her, sensing that hearing those words from her had managed to ease his burden. She brought up offering money to George to help him make it through the month without pay. She pictured her husband sitting at his desk, rubbing his brow as the phone remained silent.

"I don't think he would take it, Julia," William finally responded. He didn't say how uncomfortable he would feel being seen as wealthy enough to offer such a thing, but Julia heard his sigh.

"Do you think he might… if the offer came from me rather than from you?" she asked. Her proposal did ease some of the burden – after all, she had always been a wealthy woman in George's eyes, whereas he had been akin to George in status and financial stature.

"Perhaps," William's voice, still reluctant, uttered into the phone.

Julia smiled, admiring her husband for his struggles with always trying to do what was right and with being self-aware. "Well, let's consider it, hmm… We'll talk about it again later?" she asked.

William sat at his desk as she had imagined, now his hand, thumb under his chin, covering his mouth, thinking. He nodded, and then replied, "Good," trying to sound more cheerful than he actually was.

"I have packed up a lunch for us," she changed the subject.

"Um, yes but…"

"But you think you will have left for Burns' place before I arrive?" she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Mm," he replied.

"Well then, look for a delicious treat on your desk when you get back," she said.

William chuckled into the phone, remembering the sight of his desk floating – suspended in the air – this morning…

"What is it?' she wondered. His heart smiled, for he could hear the smile on her face.

Describing the sight, William told her about the lads' prank, and teased, "It would have been quite a challenge for you to get your lunch gift up that high, especially now that you are so…"

"So what, husband? You do know it is your fault that I am in this state, do you not?" she badgered gleefully.

William was beaming with joy and some strange sense of pride that he always felt in knowing that the world could see that they had made love, that the whole world could see that he had made love to such a magnificent woman as Dr. Julia Ogden. "Glad to take responsibility for it milady," he said.

He heard her sigh into the phone. "I will miss you," she said.

"And I you," he answered.

Not long after William had hung up the phone, Constable Jackson returned from Stationhouse #5. Triumphantly, he knocked on the detective's door. By the time he presented William with the spoils of his trip, Higgins and the Inspector looked on.

"One of my old buddies was on duty," Jackson explained. "He took me down into their evidence room… Found all this for me… Even let me take it all," he said with a proud grin, "he said none of these things ever made it into the man's file anyway, so no one would ever miss them." One by one Jackson placed the items collected from Adomas Baltavesky's body on the detective's desk, first his immigration papers from Lithuania, then some photographs, one of Ieva and one of the man's young son Matis, then he put down the man's wedding ring and a keychain with nine or ten different keys on it.

William nearly gasped aloud – it was the same St. Valentine keychain that Ieva had had. Something bumped as it settled deep inside of him. Adomas and Ieva had been soul-mates! They really had been… like himself and Julia. They had been profoundly in love, and these realizations, once again, made his heart ache.

Jackson read the pain on William's face and, looking confused asked, "I thought you would be happy detective?"

William's eyes met the man's… his memories flinging around in his head. This man was the one hanging behind him, strung up on a meat-hook too, bound and restricted in the cold and the dark, facing death. This man had heard him sobbing. Perhaps he would understand? Jackson was married – had a family…

It was the Inspector who broke the silence, seemed to put the oxygen back in the room. "I'm sure he is Jackson. Knowing Detective Murdoch here, you just provided the keys to the case."

"Yes! Yes Jackson," William at last managed to speak, "This is wonderful. Well done Jackson, well done," his words returning a proud smile to the man's face.

Deciding he would have to work on the clues garnered from Adomas' belongings later, William prepared to head out to Burns' abattoir, wanting to be there when the majority of the workers were still on the job. Constable Worsley returned from having accompanied Mulligan back to Davies Slaughterhouse after his interview. He had the two pieces of evidence Mulligan had said he would provide, a hospital bill from November 23rd, from when David Bradley had been stitched up, having cut off his finger, unfortunately giving strength to Mulligan's claim that there was an alternative explanation for the human blood found on the green rug from his office, and the book with Davies Slaughterhouse employee names and addresses.

William rushed to look for the section with names starting with "C" and read through the names. None rang a bell for him as matching the name Mulligan had called up the stairs that day. "Perhaps Constable Hogan will recognize one of them," William considered. He turned to find the "K"s. "Hanlahan," was the last entry on one page… and "Lundy" was the first entry on the next page. "No "I"s, "J"s, or "K"s?" William wondered, quickly checking the seam of the book to see if any pages had been ripped out. "A page is missing," he declared aloud, "The "K"s have been ripped out!"

Despite Constable Worsley standing right next to him, William uncharacteristically punched his desk, causing the constable to jump back with surprise.

"Constable, did you see Mulligan retrieve this book yourself?" he asked with urgency.

Worsley stuttered with the pressure, "Uh… uh, n… n… no sir. He went into his office while I waited downstairs… Sorry sir."

Constable Worsley's obvious distress stirring compassion in him, William calmed himself down. "It's alright constable. I should have been more clear in my instructions to you," he said. Dropping his eyes back to the book, William made a plan to use a pencil to try to raise the impressions that might have been left on the next page in the book back when the names had first been recorded. He sighed loudly, telling himself that the man they were looking for would probably have been working for Davies and Mulligan for a long time, and thus his name would have been recorded in the book a very long time ago, rendering the chance of finding such impressions unlikely. Another string he would have to chase down later…

))) (((

Burns' establishment was very impressive. It was much bigger than Davies Slaughterhouse, and although both businesses were directly on train lines, Burns' place seemed melded with the train line. Perhaps this was because one of the major reasons for Burns' success was that he was awarded the contract to feed the men working on building the train line from Quebec down the eastern seaboard of the USA. Further, Burns' business, which centered on cattle much more so than hogs, was firmly established all across Canada. Still, the stench, the inherent sickening brutality of the meat industry, battered the senses.

William had sent the two constables to different buildings with a picture of Adomas Baltavesky to search for anyone who recognized him. He went directly to the management with his questions, finding no one who claimed to know Baltavesky. Stepping back out into the sunlight, William heard a train breaking, the sound coming from one of the buildings. "Perhaps," he thought, "Baltavesky's body was found on a train."

It was quite a long walk to the last building on the complex, where he believed the train had arrived. When he finally entered the building, he noticed it was even colder than the December air outside – it was a refrigerated building, but it was huge. Men were in the process of loading humungous sides of frozen beef onto the train, into refrigerated train cars. Each of these men was strapping and healthy, much like it seemed Adomas Baltavesky had been. William approached two of the men who seemed to be taking a break and showed them Baltavesky's picture. They said they did not recognize the man. After he had questioned each of the men to no avail, he headed out.

Once outside, he heard a man whistle from behind the outhouse. Although the hair went up on the back of his neck, William fought the fear and talked himself into going to the secluded spot, hoping the man there would provide an important clue. It was one of the men he had questioned inside. He spoke with an accent, William recognized as Lithuanian, refusing to give his name, and making it clear he wanted no one to ever know he had spoken with a detective.

"I knew Adomas," he said, "Not from here – from Winnipeg. We worked together loading frozen meat onto reefers, refrigerated train cars, at Burns' place there."

William noticed he had said he "knew," Adomas, causing him to suspect this man also knew Adomas was dead. "Have you ever seen him here in Toronto?" he asked.

Fear flickered across the man's eyes. He hesitated, then answered, "Yes, but not alive…" He gave William an intense, frightened glance. He went on, "He was… on a train… dead. Here, last summer."

"Here?" William clarified, certain the death report said that the body was found on a train at the Wychwood Park station quite far to the west of here.

"Yes. I was working that morning, loading meat. One of the men noticed a body between the cars. It was Adomas… Adomas Baltavesky. He was also from Lithuania, like me. I recognized him from when we worked together," he replied.

Excitement surged through William's veins. Trying to stifle the sound of intrigue in his voice, he said, "Go on."

The man took a deep breath, working to calm himself. Whispering and hunched over in secrecy he continued, "Adomas was dressed like a hobo. But… well, er… I thought that was odd. You see, last I saw him in Winnipeg, he had started working on the trains – as an icer."

William raised an eyebrow, "An icer. What's an icer?"

"Reefers need to have ice to stay cold enough. Men ride the train and when it gets to an icing station, they load up the ice in the compartment in the roof," he explained.

"I see," William said, "So, if you ever found Adomas on a reefer, you would have figured it would have been as a worker, not as a hobo," his conjecture receiving nods of agreement from the man. William started putting the pieces together in his mind – Adomas worked for Burns' on the reefers, got an opportunity to get a job at Davies and took it to spy on them for Burns. Davies and Mulligan found out he was spying and had him killed, then covered up the murder by dressing his body up in hobo clothing and dumping it on a train headed right back to Burns' place – sending a message as it were. But, then why did Stationhouse #5 write up the report as being at Wychwood Park?"

"Did the police come that morning?" William asked.

"Oh yeah," the man answered. "They were here all day, it seemed."

"Can you describe the man in charge?" William asked, wondering if it was Detective Dermott or Inspector Sanford from Stationhouse #5.

"Their leader was… an unusual man. He smoked these god-awful cigars… and wore a very fancy long-tailed suit," the man replied.

"Meyers!" William's head yelled, "Of course. Of course he would have been tied up in all of this. The coroner had said he was at the morgue too. Of course." Then William remembered the rare stab wound the coroner had described under the body's right armpit. "No wonder this case is such a mess," he told himself, "It's all tied up with these spies and their crazy spy-games."

William sighed, now aware of the myriad complications he had to deal with. If Meyers weren't dead, he would have expected to run into the man at the very next turn… "Is there anything else you can remember?" he asked.

The man nodded, and then looked seriously into William's eyes and said, "I knew Adomas. He loved his wife, and they had a boy he loved so much too. Detective, he would not have let himself fall so low as to become a drunkard hobo. He never would have abandoned them like that… Adomas was a good man. He deserved better."

William curled up a corner of his mouth and added, "We all do. Thank you for your help." He waited behind the outhouse while the man snuck back around the other side of the big, meat-packing refrigerated building, before he walked out and found the constables.

))) (((

Knowing she would not be able to meet up with William for lunch, Julia didn't rush to get out of the house. She went to say good-bye to Ruby, up in her room. Ruby told her she had made plans to see Emily, and she hoped George would be joining them. She let Julia know that she might even be out for dinner. The conversation moved to Julia's concerns about William.

"William tries so hard Ruby. To be honest, I think it's one of the reasons I love him so much," Julia said.

Ruby sat down on the bed next to her sister. "You know Jules, I actually researched quite a bit into these meat-packing companies… for my story last summer… at least the ones in the United States. Remember, the story about the people who died from eating spoiled meat?" she asked, receiving a nod from Julia. "And they are really, really nasty," Ruby said.

Julia's face paled a bit. "I was getting that impression, to tell you the truth. I mean Ruby, they knocked William out, drugged him with chloroform, bound him, naked, and wrapped him up in a burlap sheet and hung him from a meat-hook destined to be sliced in half by a huge rotary saw," she declared, her eyes wide with the horror of it. She realized then, that she hadn't felt comfortable telling Ruby how truly terrifying an experience he had been through, now only five days ago. She could see it on Ruby's face, her compassion for William – for her.

Ruby took Julia's hand and said, "I'm so sorry Jules. That's awful."

After it was quiet for a time, each of them drifting through their own thoughts, Ruby asked, "Does William know about our cousin…" Julia's eyes shot up to meet hers. She knew from the look that she had not told him… And that she didn't want him to know.

Julia looked away. Somehow, the tone had changed, now so serious, almost grave, and floating between them was such an odd air of collusion and guilt…

Her gaze and her voice distant, Julia said, "William is still… quite uncomfortable with, um, with being a member of, uh, our class. It would be so much worse if he had to walk around in the world seeing himself as related to such a…" Julia shook her head, trying to push it away, wishing with all her might that it weren't true, that she could deny it.

Next to her, Ruby's heart raced with the memories of the pressures of writing that story last summer, memories of her anger, and her shame, not to mention fear, for she was painting very powerful men in a very unflattering light, and one of them was a man she was personally related to, one who she had played with as a child. She decided to push the whole thing aside, saying, "Well, William's investigation isn't into American meat companies anyway. There's no reason to think it's something you will have to worry about. There's a good chance he will never come to know the significance of Jonathan Ogden Armour." She stood up, offering her pregnant sister a hand, "Come on, you have a picnic lunch to deliver."

"And research to conduct. Did I tell you I am using the constable that was abducted with William as a control for the study on the effects of the Penicillin glaucum mold on stitched wounds?" she asked as they headed downstairs together.

"Amazing," Ruby thought to herself, "She's brighter and more boring, all in the same moment." Giving in to the urge to roll her eyes, she begged, "Jules, can you spare me the same old "pencil- thing" talk."

Her sister giggled, and took her arm with a squeeze. "You see Ruby," she said gleefully, "That's another reason I love William so much – he gets excited when I talk about my work."

"You're right," she agreed, "Yours is a match made in heaven, it has to be, because for anyone else but William, listening to such detailed…" she shook her head, "gibberish would surely be nothing more than…" Ruby paused, stopping them on that very step and smiled, "a chore," with a laugh, bracing for Julia's playful fury.

…Which she quickly received, in the form of a soft shove. As they started down the stairs once more, Julia triumphed though, saying, "Now then, what was it that won me William right out from underneath you all those years ago, at that low-handed dinner you invited him to – when you tried to seduce him. What was it you had said? Oh yes, that he was a fine specimen and you wanted to probe his intriguing mind… And yet, he didn't seem to have the slightest bit of interest in whatever it was you had to say, did he? Certainly not once I brought up… What was it…?"

"Poisons," Ruby scorned, "You and the man went on and on for nearly an hour – through the entire meal – about poisons of all things." Shaking her head, still marveling at the amazing nerdiness and boringness of it all she added, "It's true, you two really are perfect for each other."

))) (((

On the long carriage ride back to the station, the sun dropping low in the sky, William sat with the two constables, considered what it would feel like to have another detective go over his files from a case where Meyers had been involved. "So often, Meyers forces an unjust outcome," he thought. The list of guilty culprits that had avoided the scales of justice because of the man was long. First, there were the men responsible for the airship that was deceptively portrayed to the public as a spaceship complete with three-toed aliens (with this memory, he smiled, for it was intricately linked with remembering seeing Julia for the first time with her beautiful, wavy, shiny, hair cascading down over her shoulders and teasing and dangling, golden and enticing, around her beautiful face – "My God, he remembered, "I was so close to kissing her then, when we sat together on the bench in the pagoda…" And then there was the microwave death ray, the true felon in that case being Sally Pendrick, or should he say Sally Hubbard (and with this memory, his heart ached… for it was looped and strung together with Julia's leaving him for Buffalo…

How did you stomach it, detective?" Constable Jenkins asked William.

Momentarily confused, his brain thinking to answer the question based on what he had been thinking, about how he had coped after Julia had left him, his big, brown eyes wide, trying to soak in the clues to the situation at hand, he found an awareness of the background conversation the two men had been having. "How did I stomach the horrible smells and all the blood and death at Burns' meatpacking complex?" he asked, trying to ground himself in the here and now.

"Well, yes sir, um today too, but what I really meant was, uh, how did you stomach it at the slaughterhouse…uh, that night? um… You know…?"

William frowned, "Not that well, constable," he answered.

The two constables returned to their discussion of the disgust they felt as they had encountered each of the various atrocities and carnages of the detailed workings of meat producing places. William worked to remember what he had been thinking about… "Oh yeah, Meyers." Upon reflection, he decided to leave Detective Dermott out of this investigation.

Half expecting to see Mr. Meyers in the Inspector's office when he walked in, William collected his messages and headed into the bullpen reminding himself that Meyers had died, probably soon after this case involving Adomas Baltavesky's body on a freight train – at Burns' meatpacking establishment, sometime after having it staged to appear to have been an accident discovered at Wychwood Park on a passenger train. Higgins and Jackson were in the Inspector's office, so he joined them. The conversation at first centered on how remarkably pregnant his wife was, reminding him that Julia had come in to examine Jackson. He felt again, that odd pride at having been the one to impregnate her. It was undeniable as it filled his chest.

Getting back to the case, the Inspector told him that Higgins had questioned the manager from the Moon's Burlesque Club. Then Higgins informed him that a woman named Dora Hart – Higgins and Jackson shared a look, and then shared that they both speculated that that probably wasn't the woman's real name. "Well," Higgins continued, "Miss Hart had told the manager that she believed that her boyfriend had taken her outfit, the one with the white feathers."

William remembered the showgirl costume clearly, and replayed in his mind the look of it on Ieva's dead body, animal blood poured over it, and a stab wound that didn't line up with the actual wound on her body, all done in an effort to make it appear that a prostitute had been killed right there behind the brothel… "Yes, constable, I remember it," he replied.

"The manager said she was preforming tonight at the club. She starts at nine o'clock, sir," Higgins added.

Constable Jackson offered to go question her tonight, explaining that he was on duty tonight as well.

William quickly decided that it was really the only lead left on the case, and he had best question the woman himself. The realization caused him to sigh, disappointed, for it meant he would get home late. "No, no thank you Jackson. I think I'll go," he explained.

The Inspector used the moment as an opportunity to irritate him, joking, with a light punch in the shoulder, obviously forgetting William's injury, and forcing William to man-up and act like it didn't hurt, "Like to get a little extra-marital looksee, hey me' old mucker."

William's face blended a mix of disdain and embarrassment as he replied, "Oh yes. Very good, sir."

As they left the Inspector's office, William asked Higgins if he would mind making some tea.

In his office, about to sit at his, fortunately, now solidly on-the-ground desk, he found, on his desk, propped up between a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie, there was an envelope. Written on it, in Julia's handwriting was his name, simply "William." Although happiness pumped through him with the sight of it, a deep sense of despair lingered in his breaths. He remembered why, taking his seat, lifting the envelope in the air before his eyes… It was reminiscent, of another, sadder time, when she had left him a note, so extremely and magnificently and devastatingly revealing, telling him that she had learned he had intended to ask her to marry him, and that she would choose him over Darcy, in what seemed to be a heartbeat, if he would only let her know that he still loved her, before she said her vows… And he could not… And so he lost her to save his own soul, for he needed to free Constance Gardner, or he would lose himself. William sighed, long and deep, and noticed, that there was a knot in his throat, and an inkling of tears in his eyes, and he told himself it was alright, that she was his and he was hers, as it had always been meant to be. He opened the envelope and unfolded the note.

Sometimes, this profoundly wonderful feeling flows inside of me, like it is now, as I sit here at your desk, missing you, thinking of you, and the love seems to surge so powerfully, so enormously, creating a white, luminous, glowing heat that floods out of my very center, showering every cell, every atom with such a delicious warmth, all stimulated by thoughts of – you, William – of you, the one and only, absolutely perfect man, for me, Detective William Henry Murdoch. Each piece of your name resonates at the perfect pitch vibrating my inner ear, giving spark to my very soul… My God, I love you so. And I know you feel the same for me. And how I wish you were right here with me now, for I know you would feel it. It would seep into you, under your skin, down through your flesh, into your very bones, igniting you into a blaze, bound to me, burning with me. Such heaven only lovers like us know. Sometimes, so perfectly aligned it makes time stand still and infinity seems to be obtained, for a second, for a lifetime, for all of time.

My fingers have found Adomas' wedding ring, here on your desk, and I can't help but think of yours, wherever you are right now, my ring is on your finger, as yours is on mine. So rare, for a man to be willing to, to want to, wear one. Yet, you do – he did. I see why you are struggling with over-identifying with the victims in this case, William. Their love seems to have been similar in kind to ours, making its loss, the suffering of the one without the other, so much more striking, breathtakingly agonous and devastating. For them, it was Ieva trying to go on without Adomas, as I would have to try to go on without you. It seems she could not bear it, searching for him until the end. Yet, she had to know, don't you think, that she was alone?

Our baby just rolled over inside of me William. I think he, or maybe it is she, turned to try to get away from feeling the pain. Is it crazy to think that when I feel such sadness, or even such joy, that somehow the emotion flows through my veins, in my blood, and it fills our baby as well? If that is true, this baby already knows astounding love, William.

Please William, eat your lunch, let me care for you in this small way, today, now. Let the memories of the first time we shared such a delicacy flow through you, making you awash with the feeling of love, so pleasurable, so reassuring, so invigorating, even if it is for just one short moment in your day, think of me, and know I love you, with all of my heart, all of my body, all of my soul, for all of our days. Until tonight, please take care.

PS: And Jackson's wound is not doing well at all. I instructed him to go to the doctor, or back to the hospital. I am embarrassed by the part of me that responded to the sight of his, swollen, red, lesion with delight, and yet, the researcher in me was excited by the discovery, as I collected this data from what must serve as the control specimen for my experiment, for the findings will surely support my hypothesis, that topical, oral, and intramuscular applications of Penicillin glaucum mold decreases the occurrence of infection and increases healing rates. On this note, I'm sorry to have to remind you that there were some strings attached to our arrangement… And you husband, must submit to my taking of precise measurements of your wound this evening. I promise that afterwards I will kiss it and make it better… A lot better.

J

The smile on William's face was not big, yet it was deep, reflective and warm. He did feel it, the white, luminous, glowing warmth of which she spoke. He tucked the note back into its envelope, and then into his inside pocket. "Mmm, peanut-butter and jelly," he thought as he unwrapped the sandwich, and the smell hit his nostrils and tingled his senses, and it did remind him of their picnic, with absinthe, and green ferries, and her fingers in his hair, and him on top of her…

Higgins knocked on the open doorframe to his office. "Your tea, sir," he said.

))) (((

The carriage pulled up to the Moon's Burlesque Club in the cold dark of a December night. The ground cold enough to crunch under his feet as he stepped away and the horse pulled off, William noticed that the music was loud and raunchy, but the yellowish-glow of the light looked inviting and warm. He stood at the doorway, door handle only inches away, and steeled his resolve before he walked in. "Stay focused on the case, William," he advised himself, "Make sure your eyes hunt for clues, not naked bodies… We need a name, of the man who moved Ieva's body. Find the woman whose boyfriend stole her white-feathered showgirl costume, notice William, if she is Ieva's size." He pulled the handle, feeling the warmth blow across his face, the brightness squint his eyes. He stepped in.

Rounding the corner, his coat over his arm, drawn by the noise, the music, the men hooting and hollering, William scanned the area, and his eyes caught on the stage. Oh, they were women alright, beautiful, their bosoms, jiggling and creamy. So immediately he felt it, the tug in his trousers. He jolted his eyes away, anywhere but there – to the bar. "There's an empty stool," he thought with relief. He placed his folded-up jacket on the bar after inspecting it and determining it was dry, and sat on the stool. He caught the bartender's eye. He would ask the bartender, about Dora Hart.

He spotted her, the heat rising, out of the corner of his eye. Somehow he knew that he was her target. William swallowed, reminded himself to breathe, thought to pray that the bartender would approach. Later he would wonder, why he didn't think to ask her about Miss Hart, so intimidated, all his energy fighting the helplessness.

His eyes betrayed him, as she turned away, her back to him now, seducing him into feeling safer. But then she bent forward, lying over the table in front of her, displaying herself to him. All air gone from the room, only a dizzying spin when he saw it, "My God, she has no knickers," and he felt the pull of the vacuum, for her buttocks were so round, and in between the supple orbs, it was so… delicious. The urgency surged in his groin… and pouring in with it, the sinking, dreadful feeling of regret as he saw the memory of it flash again before him, Julia collapsed into sobs, so powerful, so earthshatteringly devastating that she sat on their bathroom floor, after having vomited into the toilet, and she still cried, and he had to stop her, for it was intolerable to know he had hurt her so, and her cramping threatened the health of their child, growing inside of her.

"Don't you dare look!" he warned himself, although it was too late. And yet he managed it, to turn away. He took a deep breath, exhaled the essential air back out through his pursed lips, praying for it to lower the pressure, and threw his hand up in the air, waving the bartender over.

She approached him more directly. A quick glance and he saw that she was pretty, a brunette.

"What can I get you?" the older man behind the bar asked.

William tried to focus on the man's eyes, but they too were tempted, pulled to the woman's flesh, gazed elsewhere than at him, upon the scantily-clothed woman. William's effort at attaching to him, flailing, he swallowed again, and said, "A birch beer." William's strange request helped though, for the bartender's eyes shifted, focused on William, trying to determine whether or not he was joking, prompting him to add, "Or water, please."

The brunette placed her hand on William's knee, and pulled, causing him to slide and rotate on the stool, until he faced her directly, his face perfectly aligned with the woman's chest. Then she lifted a thigh, and slipped into his lap. His mind twirled and sputtered as he fought against the memory of what he had seen that now covered him, only his garments between them. Her hands were all over him, his stomach, his chest. "You're a handsome one," she whispered in his ear.

"Tell her to get off," his own voice screamed, so feint, so far away.

He felt her fingers, pinch at his skin through his clothing. "What exquisite eyes, melty and chocolaty… yum yum," she said. The smell of her perfume wafted around them, sickly and stifling. Then she found his badge. Briefly, she reacted, hesitating. Quickly recovered, she leaned in closer, her breasts against him, just below his mouth, so soft. "You constabulary? You can interrogate me anytime? Her lips kissed his neck.

"Constabulary… yes. Yes, I am Detective William Murdoch… of the Toronto Constabulary," his mind reminded him how to say it. "Say it out loud. Out loud!" he ordered,

Her hand pressed down his stomach, lower, lower…

William grabbed her by the wrist – stopped her. His brown eyes glaring now with alarm, and annoyance, "Get off of me, please," he said.

"Sure copper," she said, appeasing. She backed off, dismounted, and then turned to go.

William cleared his throat. He reached out for her wrist once more. "Sorry," he said.

She smiled and nodded.

"I'm looking for a woman, Dora Hart," he said.

The brunette's eyes darted to the stage, then settled back on him. "That's her. The blond," she answered.

"Thank you," he replied. She moved on to the next customer. William looked back to the stage. Currently Miss Hart was wiggling her naked buttocks at the rowdy men in the audience. William gratefully noticed the birch beer on the bar. He found some coins, using it as a distraction from being drawn in to the temptation of looking at the women performing on the stage.

Not much later, William stepped back out into the cold. "Aiden Kempsey," he trumpeted his success in his head. Finally, he had a name for the elusive man, Aiden Kempsey… and an address. He was almost certain Mulligan had called out the name Kempsey that day. He was getting close! The address wasn't far from the burlesque club. He would walk. William pulled his maroon scarf higher, tucking his chin down into its plushy warmth. He would go quickly, the exercise warming him.

The small building was dark, William noticed standing on the sidewalk across the street, not a light in any window. "Probably isn't home... maybe though, it's late. If he is the man Hogan questioned, then he works on Saturdays," William thought as he battled with himself about whether or not to continue, alone. He reminded himself that Julia's Baby Shower was tomorrow, and he had planned on working anyway, to leave the house to the women for their shower. He would come back tomorrow – bring some constables with him.

))) (((

It was nearly eleven when William crawled into bed next to her. The bed felt magnificent under his tired body, prompting him to moan softly with the relief. Julia stirred, and he admitted to himself in the dark that he was glad. Every cell in his body wished for her.

She was so warm as she snuggled close to him, her cushy soft body sliding across his and pushing in, her moan harmonious with his, chasing mystically after it, in the darkness. He heard her breath in his ear, took her in his arms. His mind found the memory of reading her note…

Julia suddenly sniffed, noticing his odor wasn't right, it was unpleasant… smoky, with a similar stink to the one he had had on his clothes from slaughterhouse after that disturbing night. She focused, taking in the scent of his hair. "What's that smell, William?" she asked.

He reminded her that he had gone to Burns' meatpacking plant, and then he had to question someone, "Um, just now… at a burlesque club."

Her mind played the scene… an uneasiness engulfing her slowly from all sides. And then the particular scent dropped into her recognition. "Perfume!" her brain screamed, "Some showgirl's perfume on his neck and chest!"

Julia sat up, bolting into alert. "That explains the smoke, William, not perfume," her voice searing him, for she sounded angry, suspicious.

William's heart raced, panic set in. With all his might, he tried to sound calm, "One of the women sat on my lap… and kissed… um, parts of me… before I made her get off," he offered to explain.

Julia's voice was sharp, threatening a sting, "And this woman, William, she was nearly naked, young, and you found her to be attractive… And she was just one of many. Pretty, sexy women, all around you," she seemed to ask, but fear told him it was best not to answer. "Well?" she pushed.

He wanted to speak without clearing his throat first, knowing doing so would only add to his demise, so he swallowed. Still his voice cracked as he responded, "Somewhat," he chose, holding steadfast to the truth, the one thing that served as his compass in the world, besides her.

He felt her shove at him. "Well go take a shower and wash their stink off of you… it's disgusting. And while you're in there you can take care of whatever… arousal, you got from them too," she ordered.

He couldn't really believe she said it, his mouth dropped, silently, unseen in the darkness of their bedroom. "Julia!" he pleaded, begging for her to see reason. She rolled over, seeming to pound and slam each of her limbs on the bed, and faced away from him, and his mind began to race… "Am I going to be sleeping on the couch for this? Really?" he thought as he sighed and got out of their bed.

In the bathroom, the door closed, he removed his pajamas, distracted and hurt, heaping them in a scattered pile on the floor. Suddenly, the door jerked open. He turned to see Julia standing there, worry in her eyes.

"I'm sorry William. I'm sorry. Please understand. Ever since I've been pregnant my sense of smell has been, outstanding… and I, um…" Julia looked away, her rush slowing, "I have been so insecure. I know you know this," she said, returning her stunning blue eyes to his.

He stepped closer to her… his body language so familiar to him, reminiscent of when he had worked on the ranch and he approached a scittish horse that had spooked, knowing both of their hearts raced, knowing she didn't want to run, didn't want to fight, but… He held her eyes, seemed to duck, staying low, unthreatening, slow movements, "Shh," his own voice quieted his being, inside his head…

Her voice squeaky, like it gets when she's upset, she went on, "And I just… I truly know you wouldn't go into a burlesque club at all, if you weren't working on a case. And you wouldn't want a sexy woman to sit on your lap… Well at least conscio…"

Gently, tenderly, he scooped her into his arms and tucked his mouth down into her neck, nestled under her golden curls – he had her, she was safe, she was his, she loved him, he breathed her in and then said, "Unless that woman is you Julia. Not unless she's you." His smile was warm, and it brought tears to her eyes. And he kissed her. And he reassured her that everything was alright. And he stepped back, and then turned on the water, for he did need to wash off the pungent and sickening and unfamiliar smells. He stepped into the shower, soon letting go of a moan with the pleasure of the wet, warmth falling over him.

Feeling much better, Julia stayed to talk with him as the air filled with the steam of the shower.

His soothing tenor tones reverberated off the bathroom walls as he told her how much he loved her note.

"I was touched William, by the personal things that belonged to Ieva's husband, on your desk," she said.

He remembered the beauty of her describing the permanence of their wedding rings.

She moved on, "He had the same keychain as her, the St. Valentine one, that you told me protected soul-mates."

"Mmm," his lovely voice replied.

"You know, William, his keys could be the key to the whole case," she said, giggling at her own joke.

William pulled the shower curtain aside a tad, peeking out from shower. Her joke seemed impervious – his mind, as usual, on the case, "How?" he asked, then dropping the curtain back and returning to the task as he listened.

"Well, because I was thinking about keys, like yours and mine, and well, mostly none of them look the same. I mean some are small, and some are big, and they are different colors, and when you look closely they were made in different places, and…"

William peeked out again, "And Adomas' keys weren't like that?"

Julia pushed away from her temporary perch, her buttocks lifting away from the sink countertop, "No," she said approaching, "there were five of them that looked basically the same – not for the exact same lock, but, just everything else the same about them except that the specific tooth pattern was different… Like he used them all at the same place. Perhaps he was a janitor?"

"Or a night watchman at a slaughterhouse!" his voice charged from behind the shower curtain. He peeked out again, "Julia, you are amazing! I knew there was a reason I married you!" William exclaimed, his face beaming with excitement, "Get in here Mrs. Murdoch."

They hadn't showered together since Isaac had told them there should be no more lovemaking, at least, not in the traditional sense. But, she obliged. Her nightgown joined his on the bathroom floor, while they indulged in sumptuous, soapy, slippery lovemaking, of the Plan C variety.

Later, their pajamas still remained on the cold, damp tiled floor, as the Murdoch's fell asleep entwined together, clean, and fresh, and bare-skinned. There were still so many unraveled strings to deal with, but they had retied the most important ones, their heart strings.