My Soul To Keep

[CosmicCavalcade]

My Soul To Keep- Part 1

I haven't been liking S5 that much, so here's my interpretation of how the ending of its premiere should have gone.


Murdoch knew what he had done was right, or at least that's what he kept telling himself; had to tell himself in order to get through the day. Sometimes following the honourable path in life meant giving up that which was desired the most, even if the pain it caused was all consuming, like a wildfire that engulfed a forest; never to be tamed or satisfied until it wreaked utter havoc, destroying everything it touched; burnt to a crisp and unrecognizable. Much like this, there was an inferno holding his heart hostage to it's every devilish whim, slowly devouring his already stunted emotions so that he could barely function anymore. But function he must, for he had a job to do and no one else could do it quite like he could. Of course, he'd never admit this out loud, for he was far too modest for that sort of self pride, it was vain and unseemly and not at all like a proper Catholic should act.

If there was one thing his mother taught him before her untimely death, it was that. He never forgot their time together and the lessons learned and so was forever shaped into the man he had become, or so he had thought. Murdoch had been as unyielding in his beliefs as the granite that made up the Canadian Shield. However, all of that carefully groomed correctness had slowly been chipped away at; his edges smoothed over until he was a new man. Everything had changed after he had met her, had loved her.

No, he wouldn't allow himself to think of such things. Those memories only gave the fire more fuel with which to scorch his already damaged heart. He felt like he had been teetering on the brink of an abyss for the past three months. By some miracle he had managed to avoid the plunge and complete breakage, something that took all his will power to sustain. As a result, he was constantly exhausted, more so than any other point in his life, including the death of his fiancee. All he wanted was a chance to rest and catch his breath. Maybe with a little more time he would. That was all he hoped for now.

With these thoughts in mind, he almost turned his bike around half way to the station house. Fleeing back home would be so much easier than facing her for the first time since her marriage to that odious man. At home he could get lost in the bottle again, as he had done so many times before during his stay in the Yukon. He stopped riding momentarily, and shook his head vigourously as if to clear that idea out of his mind. For who was he kidding? He never took the easy way out of anything. He would make himself go, no matter what. The sooner he accepted the consequences of his actions, the better.

Parking his bike outside the precinct, he tugged on his vest to straighten it out and took off his hat so that he was holding it in his left hand. Then he took a moment to collect himself into the orderly man that everyone had come to know and admire. After one last deep breath he finally headed on in, forcing himself to smile.

As he made his way to his office, all the lads in the station approached him in order to shake his hand. They all had big grins across their faces. It was nice to be surrounded again by people who cared for him; he hadn't realized how much he had missed it.

Murdoch had a bit of trouble getting into his office because Crabtree had set a large plant in the doorway, for some mysterious reason. Then again, most of what Crabtree said or did was baffling to him. But he liked him all the same. Crabtree was like a beloved dog. He was trustworthy, loyal and kind and he always came running when called for.

Murdoch stood in the doorway for a second, just watching Crabtree fiddle with his typewriter. Typical Crabtree to go breaking it. Then Crabtree noticed him and quickly came over to embrace him like a son would a father, all the while exclaiming his joy at Murdoch's return. Soon he launched into a description of the case he had been working on but Murdoch paid him no mind. For the first time that morning, his mouth formed a real smile and he laughed quietly to himself. Oh, Crabtree, how I missed your incessant babbling.

Unfortunately, now was not the time to be happy, for he had a much more unpleasant matter to attend to. While he already knew it was pointless, he had to at least try to do it, his conscience demanded that much of him. And so it was with a heavy heart that he entered his bosses office.

Brackenreid was the only one who appeared to not be happy at his return. As soon as he saw Murdoch, his brow furrowed deeply and he went to go make himself a drink. Murdoch closed the door behind him so that they could discuss his horrible deed in private.

Brackenreid took several gulps and then turned around to face him. In his usual brusk manner he said, “So you came back after all. I wasn't sure that you would. You were gone so long I thought you had taken up prospecting for good.”

“I can't deny that there weren't certain charms to that lifestyle. It was uncomplicated and peaceful.”

Brackrenreid eyed him closely and said, “Don't give me that bollocks, Murdoch. You and I both know that there was nothing peaceful about your little trip.” Murdoch said nothing but averted his gaze. “I expect you want to start working here again. Well, the fact is, we need you back, on the double. If anything's clear in this world, it's that Crabtree's no William Murdoch.”

Ignoring his flattery and simultaneous put down of his protege, he said, “Actually, sir, I wanted to discuss my situation.” He took a deep breath for show and said, “I've had a lot of time to think about it and I've decided to confess my sins.”

Brackenreid whirled around and glared at him. “You can't do it, Murdoch. It'd ruin me. Hell, it'd ruin my family. I lied for you, protected you. It's not an option. I can't believe you'd even think so! If you need to confess so badly, go see a priest, or whatever it is you Catholic blokes do. You'll get no absolution here.”

He responded exactly the way that he expected him to. Murdoch had already thought of all the repercussions of his actions. He knew that he could never reveal his crime to the chief of police, or many other innocents would be irrevocably tainted in the process. His conscience would just have to deal with it, somehow. He nodded his aquiescence to his boss and left the room.

Now for one last terrible idea. He knew he shouldn't go there but he just couldn't stop himself. It was like there was a magnet attached to his soul that was forever pulling him towards her and her to him; unavoidable like the laws of physics.

As he entered the morgue, his heart leapt inside his chest. Whether this reaction was caused more by joy than by fear, he couldn't be certain. All he knew was that the two emotions were overwhelming him. Therefore, he halted briefly before rounding the corner to where she undoubtedly would be; where he had seen her so many times before.

Yes, she was there. Even though her back was to him, he would recognize her anywhere. Her hair glimmered in the lighting like diamonds, at least he perceived it so. He wanted so badly to call out to her but when he tried, found his mouth had gone as dry as sand and was therefore unable to make a sound. So he just stood there and gazed lovingly at her for as long as he dared. She would most likely notice him at some point and he wasn't sure he could handle getting closer to her than he already was. This was a worse idea than he had previously thought, he had to leave. It was imperative that he got out of there before she spotted him. He just couldn't deal with this right now, he only foolishly thought that he could.

In his mad rush to get out of there, his shoes squeaked on the tiled floor. The sound was deafening to him and his heart felt like it plummeted into his stomach. He closed his eyes, grit his teeth and prayed that she hadn't heard. Unfortunately, he would have no such luck. For when he opened them, she was staring directly at him. She looked extremely startled to see him there. However, neither of them made a move but neither of them broke eye contact either. They remained this way for several moments. Finally Murdoch manned up and walked over to where she sat. He would have given anything to avoid this confrontation right now but he knew it was going to happen sooner or later, and apparently fate had deemed the former to be just. It serves him right for his past crime.

“Doctor,” he said awkwardly. “You're looking well.”

Following suit, she didn't use his Christian name but only just managed it. “Wil- Detective,” she stammered. Regaining her composure she continued with, “How nice to see you've come back. Did you enjoy your sabbatical?”

He was confused momentarily but then understood. Of course this was what Brackenreid had told everyone. Why else would he have gone off for three months? He hoped that she didn't think it was purely because of her. But he wasn't going to ask and there was no way he could tell her the truth anyways. So he let the matter die in his mind as soon as it formed.

“Very much, indeed. It was refreshing to have some time to myself.”

“I can imagine,” she said softly. Her look made him think that she didn't buy his story for a second. However, in the next instant it was gone and she was talking normally again. “Isn't it strange that at the moment you gained so much freedom,” she laughed, “I myself lost it.”

She was trying to be funny, of course. Like she always did when the situation was unbearably awkward. “Ah, yes, your marriage. Let me congratulate you now on that.” He took her hand in his and began to shake it. Her touch was so warm and familiar that he wished he could hold on to it forever, but as it was, his hand had already lingered for longer than was appropriate. Dropping her hand quickly he said, “I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner but-”

“It's okay. You don't need to explain, I quite understand.”

Oh, no you don't, Julia. You don't understand at all.

She must have taken his silence as confirmation that her suspicions were right, for she now changed the topic. “So, what can I do for you today, detective?”

Leave Darcy and marry me.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I don't actually have any cases at the moment.”

Smiling, she said, “That's what I thought. I didn't think there were any dead bodies that I was unaware of.” Then she winked and said, “Well, I'm sure there are but you know what I mean.”

He smiled politely at her joke like he always did. Turning slightly as if to leave, he found that he couldn't. To his horror, he was rooted to the spot! Little did he know, his soul magnet was the cause of his woes. The more he tried to struggle against it's pull, the stronger it became and the more he perspired. Now what was he supposed to do?

Julia stared at him for a little while and then said, “Is something the matter? You don't look well.”

He tried to say that everything was fine but no words came out. Oh, no! My voice isn't working again!

When he didn't respond she looked at him with growing concern. “William,” she said, “Why aren't you answering me? What's wrong?” She stood up and felt his forehead. “Oh, dear! You're burning up!” She grabbed his hand and said, “Here, take my seat while I go get a thermometer to check your temperature. I fear that it could be dangerously high.”

Once he was sitting, she headed off in search of a clean thermometer, preferably one that she didn't use on dead bodies. However, it was at this point that he began to feel extremely woozy. And so it was that within seconds of leaving him, he collapsed off of the chair and landed noisily on the ground.

“William!” she exclaimed as she came rushing back to him.

Her perfect face hovered over his as he passed out and all went black.

TBC

[barbarama]

I really like that story and hope to read more soon. You have an interesting idea here so let's see what is going to happen next!!

[CosmicCavalcade]

thanks, i'm glad you enjoyed it! It was fun to write.

[CosmicCavalcade]

My Soul To Keep-Part 2

Let me just apologize in advance for the lack of W/J scenes in this part. I promise to make it up in the 3rd installment though.



When Murdoch next awoke, he was extremely disoriented and his head was killing him. So much so that it felt like a horse had repeatedly kicked his skull until it had split open. He placed a hand to his forehead as if that would stop the world from spinning and found that there was a damp cloth there. Next he noticed that his body was freezing even though he was under several layers of blankets. On top of this, he felt very weak, like he hadn't eaten in days. Plus his mouth was extraordinarily dry. A severe fever would explain his symptoms so he decided that was what he suffered from.

Even though the pain became almost unbearable when he tried to remember what had happened, he still forced himself to. How had he gotten here? The last thing he could remember, he was at the morgue. He thought he had spoken with Julia but he couldn't be certain. Everything was all so cloudy. He hated it that he didn't know what was going on, after all, it was his business to know things.

Therefore, even in his delirious state of mind, he felt compelled to play detective. So he started to observe his surroundings. He found that he was in a small room he didn't recognize. It was sparsely furnished to be sure but there was a table with some white bowls and cloths on it. There was also a wooden chair next to the bed in which he lay, but it was vacant. Judging by the position of the sun, he estimated it to be around four in the afternoon. None of this was helpful in solving the mystery of his whereabouts. Mind you, the cross above the door told him he was likely in a hospital. Which made perfect sense given his condition.

Of course, being who he was, he wanted to know for sure, so he decided to go find someone. However, when he attempted to get out of the bed, the movement sent cascades of agony throughout his entire body, stopping him instantly and making him puke. Even though it had been more of a dry heave than anything else, he was still happy that he had managed to do that over the side of the bed. Maybe that wasn't the smartest idea after all. He would stay put for a while longer and then try again.

As more time passed, the pain in his head lessened until it became only a dull throb. Consequently, his mind began to clear. Slowly but steadily, he was able to remember what had happened. Not that it explained anything. He still didn't know why it had happened. For some reason he had been unable to leave the morgue when he endeavered to. This issue vexed him greatly because he couldn't come up with a rational explanation. And everything could be explained with logic. Supernatural events didn't exist. Anytime his cases seemed to be inclined in that direction, the answer was always something logical. One just needed to know where to look.

Before he could ruminate on this topic some more, the door to his room opened and a kindly looking elderly woman entered. She appeared to be a nun, which all but confirmed his suspicions of where he was. He was in the Toronto General Hospital.

When she saw that he was awake, she first looked surprised but then smiled serenely at him. “I'm glad to see you have awoken, my son. We had feared the worst. You were not responding to the treatment at all.”

This was distressing news to hear. He tried to respond but all he mananaged to do was make a croaking sound.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said. “Let me get you something to drink right away.”

She left but it was only momentarily. When she came back she had a big glass of water in her hand. Murdoch had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his life. If he had been capable of producing spit at that moment, he would have salivated profusely. Luckily for her, she was very observant, noticed the tiny barf puddle in time and avoided it. He almost grabbed the glass out of her hand but managed to restrain himself. Many greedy gulps later, he felt somewhat normal again. While he had been drinking, she had removed the cloth and felt his forehead. Apparently she was pleased because she smiled widely. With the soiled cloth in hand, she next went over to the table and deposited it there. Then she retrieved a clean one and began soaking it in one of the bowl's water.

“How long have I been here?” he asked, his voice still a little raspy. He had the sneaking suspicion that it was much longer than he originally thought.

“Four days, my child. I have never seen a fever act as strongly as it did in you. It's a miracle that you've recovered so quickly.” She came back over and placed the fresh cloth on his forehead.

“I do feel pretty good right now. So the medication must have worked after all.”

“It's quite possible that you are correct. Or maybe the Lord heard our prayers and answered them. Maybe he deemed that it was not your time yet.”

He nodded politely at that. “What caused my fever?”

“We ran several tests but were unable to determine the cause of your illness.”

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. How could they not know? Any explanation would have been better than none at all. If Julia had run tests, he was sure that she would have located its cause. Unfortunately, not everyone was Julia. In fact, there was no one else quite like her.

“When can I go?”

Narrowing her eyes slightly, she said, “You are still unwell. It would be prudent to keep you here for another night. However, I believe you should stay here for at least another twenty-four hours for observation. We have no way of knowing if the fever will return, especially since your case is so strange.”

It wasn't in his nature to argue with people, let alone a nun, so he let the matter go. Besides, she knew what was best for his health better than he did. Still...while staying another day wouldn't have been a big deal to others, it was to him. It meant he would have nothing to do for all that time and therefore would be confined to his innermost thoughts. Which is exactly where he didn't want to be right now. That's why he came back to Toronto. The murder investigation he had conducted in the Yukon had reminded him how much he missed doing his job. A large part of it involved keeping his thoughts focused on the puzzle at hand, so that they could rarely wander to the battered corners of his mind. He needed that distraction once again. But how could he work a case if he was trapped here? As a result, he decided then and there to sneak out at night so he could go to work in the morning.

Before his nurse left, he remembered to ask her something else that had slipped his mind. “Can you please tell me who brought me in?” He already knew the answer but wanted to hear her say it.

“It was a woman, about your age. She stayed with you for several hours before she was called away. A constable came and told her that a body was found.” She tsked loudly. “What a terrible business for a young lady to be in.”

“Did she come back?”

“I'm afraid not, my dear.” He must have looked extremely disappointed at this news for she said, “I'm sure she had a good reason. Your sweetheart wouldn't have abandoned you like that unless she did.”

“She's not my sweetheart. She's married.” The nurse appeared to be mildly shocked by this information. “What made you think that?”

“It's just...I saw the way she was looking at you and I just assumed...forgive my impertinence.”

Her words made his heart hurt so badly that it was all he could do to hold back the tears. “No,” he said quietly, “don't apologize. I'm sure it was an easy mistake to make.”

She gave him a pitying look and then left the room. Only a small span of time elapsed before she came back carrying a tray laden with food and more drink.

“Thank you for bringing this but I'm not hungry,” he said.

“You have to eat to regain your strength. Your body was severly weakened by the fever. Please at least try to eat something.”

He sighed, picked up the spoon and began to slurp the tomato soup, for it was still too hot to eat outright. Although his original intent was to only pretend to eat so she would leave him alone, he soon found that the small amount of food ingested had awakened his digestive system up with a fury. His stomach growled hungrily and so he began to devour everything in sight. The nurse smiled and exited the room again.

*

Murdoch waited until midnight to make a break for it. He had never done anything like this before and consequently felt guilty about his actions. The nurse had been so nice to him and this is how he repaid her? It was too late for remorse now. He had already changed back into his clothes and was slowly making his way down the stairway out of there. He hadn't put his shoes on yet so he could avoid making any sound. So far this tactic had worked marvelously, for he hadn't been caught yet, even though he had been very close to the patrolling nurses on more than one occasion. Finally he had reached the main floor, undetected. All he had to do now was find an unlocked door and he was home free. The first few were no goes but eventually he found one that was somewhat ajar. He put his shoes on and opened the door fully.

Suddenly someone behind him yelled 'hey!' in the distance. He didn't stop to see who it was, he just started running away as fast as his legs and weakened state would let him. Which as it turned out, was not particularly fast. However, it was quick enough to outrun whoever was behind him, assuming anyone was actually chasing him. He didn't think so because he couldn't hear anyone. But it was hard to tell above his own heartbeat, breathing and footfalls if this was truly the case. While he could just look behind him to know for sure, he wasn't going to. That's how fleeing suspects always fell. When they tried to judge their progress, they just ended up tripping on something in front of them. He couldn't count the number of times this had been the reason he had caught a perp because there were just too many.

After half a minute of sprinting, he was completely spent and had to stop, regardless if someone was right behind him or not. Now he looked back and was able to confirm that there was no one there. He had been running away like a fool when there wasn't even any danger of being caught. Oh well, at least no one else had been privy to his idiocy. At least, that's what he thought until he noticed a couple staring at him strangely as they strolled by.

C'est la vie.

*

The next morning he awoke stiffly. This was something he attributed more to his jail break romp than to any lingering afflication caused by his rampant fever. Perhaps that was a faulty assesment but he didn't care. He wasn't going to allow any vestigial affects of his illness prevent him from going in to work today. So he dressed in a fresh suit, slicked back his hair and was on his way.

*

“Good morning, George,” Murdoch said as he neared his desk.

Crabtree looked up from his typewriter and smiled warmly. He was very dishevelled and judging by the bags under his eyes hadn't gotten much sleep in recent days. “Oh, sir,” he responded wearily, “It's good to see you out and about. Dr. Ogden told us what happened. I stopped by myself to see how you were doing.” Here he looked guilty and rubbed his neck. “Well, truth be told, I had to go in order to fetch the doctor. But I wanted to stop by again but just didn't have the chance. There's been a slew of murders recently and-”

Murdoch smiled and waved his hand. “It's quite all right, George. What do you have for me today?”

Crabtree handed him several folders. Murdoch flipped through them and his eyes popped. There must be at least eight murders here! So this is why Julia didn't come back, not because she thought it was improper. At least, he hoped that wasn't the reason.

Crabtree must have noticed his reaction because he said, “I told you there were a lot.”

“Do we have any suspects yet?”

Crabtree frowned. “Not a one, sir.”

“Are any of the murders connected?”

“Yes,” said Crabtree. “They all are.” Murdoch raised his eyebrows. “Well, at least I think they are. But it's all very strange.”

“Oh. How so?”

“All the victims died in different ways.” Crabtree looked off into the distance.

Murdoch waited for him to continue and when he didn't said, “Why do you think they are connected if the murders are all different?” When this failed to get his attention, he snapped in front of his face.

“Wha-, sorry, sir. I was just thinking about a plot line for my next book. You see there's this ghost who-”

“Focus, George. The cases?”

“Right, right. What I meant to say before was that even though they all died differently, there was something similar about all of them too.”

“Which was?”

“There was no evidence left behind at any of the crime scenes.”

Murdoch was so bewildered that he didn't respond at first. In all his years on the force, he had never come across anything remotely as strange as what Crabtree had just said. How could someone be such a versatile killer but at the same time never leave any clues? The obvious answer was that they were dealing with a professional. Most likely an assassin. But from what he had glimpsed in the case notes, none of the victims would be likely targets. They were all just regular folk. So why would anyone want them killed? And why kill them all over such a short span of time? Doing it this way all but guaranteed that the connection between them would be made. Why would anyone want this to happen? Clearly he was missing something important and would need to investigate further. It was at this point that his head started to throb but he refrained from touching his forehead, lest Crabtree pick up on his distress. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to check out early after all. It looked like he was getting much more than he bargained for.

“You're sure that there was no evidence at all? Absolutely positive?”

“One hundred percent. We combed the areas at least three times a piece but came up empty handed every single time.”

Regardless of what Crabtree said, he would need to take a look for himself. After all, detective Murdoch was renowned for seeing things that no one else did.

TBC

[shangas]

Impressive!! I shall keep reading.

[CosmicCavalcade]

thanks! I really appreciate your comment. This is my first fan-fic for anything and so i didn't know if what i wrote would actually be any good. I hope the story lives up to your expectations because i'm mostly just coming up with this as i go along. Hopefully it ends up working out and making sense! ;D Don't get me wrong, i do have an end game planned out already, i'm just not sure the details will all add up.

[shangas]

It can certainly do with improvement. I spot spelling mistakes and a few issues with style and delivery, but it's not bad. If it was terrible, I wouldn't bother looking at it. I'm a writer myself, so I know what is is to work on big projects. Things you should always remember...

1. Consistency and continuity. It has to make sense all the time. If it doesn't, your readers will get confused.

2. No anachronisms. If something ain't right, it'll trip the story up.

3. Show, don't tell. I'm not interested if the sky is blue. I'm interested in what it looks like, not what it's colour is.

[barbarama]

And what exactly is that mysterious sickness that William is suffering from? Could it be that he is lovesick

If this is your first time writing a fanfiction, you are doing a very good job, I have to admit that I read a lot of them but I have no talent to write myself and I really admire people who are able to do that I have no such gift!!

Keep up the good work

[CosmicCavalcade]

My Soul to Keep- Part 3


“All right, George,” said Murdoch as they made their way to the nearest crime scene. “I want you to tell me everything you know.”

“It's not much, sir.”

“Tell me anyways.”

“Okay, well, for starters, there's been two murders every day.” Murdoch had been ill for four days. This would add up to the eight bodies they had discovered. “Some of the bodies have been found in out of the way locations. And the rest have been found in quite prominent areas, that a lot of people pass through.”

“Were there any witnesses?”

“There was one, sir, but by the time they got there, it was too late. They only saw him as he turned the corner and so didn't get a good enough look to identify him.”

Not what he wanted to hear. “Please continue, George.”

“None of the bodies had any defensive wounds on them, suggesting that they were either drugged first or that they knew their assailant.”

He didn't like the sound of that either. It meant that there was probably no evidence on any of the bodies as well. How on earth was he supposed to catch this person if he wasn't leaving any clues?

“Which one is it?”

“Neither, sir,” he said sighing.

“How can that be, George?”

“I don't know but I have a theory.”

Not another one of your theories.

“Maybe, he's a ninja.”

“A ninja, George?”

“Yes, sir. They're masters of stealth. Maybe he snuck up on all his victims unawares.”

“All of them, George? There's been eight murders so far.”

“Why not, sir? It makes as much sense as anything else does in this case.”

“Fine. What else?”

“They've all been killed expertly. This person knows what he's doing.”

“You're sure it's one person doing all this?”

“Dr. Ogden is sure.” That was good enough for him.

“What about the victims? Were they all men or all women?”

“A mixture, sir. There's been five men and three women, so far.”

“Are there any connections between them?”

“As far as all the station houses are concerned, there aren't.”

Of course they were all coordinating together, why wouldn't they?

“What steps have we taken to apprehend the suspect?”

“We've been doing sweeps for suspicious characters, specifically anyone who has recently come into town. We've already brought in several lurkers. But we couldn't get anything out of them and we had no evidence to hold them with. We've also had constables pulling double duty on the night patrols but haven't had any luck with that either. So I'm afraid that we're still at square one.”

“What did Dr. Ogden determine the murder weapons to be? Anything distinctive?”

“Yes, sir. Some of them were hardware tools, but there was also a fork and a pair of scissors and a piece of glass.”

“How odd, George.” It was seeming increasingly unlikely that the murderer was an assassin. But he wanted to avoid thinking of the alternative for as long as possible. He wanted to explore all avenues before he went down that road again.

“I know, sir.”

“Have you located any of the murder weapons?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Did you compile a list of the hardware weapons and show it to the hardware store owners?”

“Yes, sir. None of them recalled anyone purchasing more than two of the items. And none of those descriptions are similar, so we know he didn't go around to different stores in order to get them all.”

“Tell me, George, did you happen to use the day light in a box with the ultraviolet filter attached?”

Crabtree looked hurt at his lack of faith. “Of course, sir. When we couldn't find any evidence, we checked for hidden clues.”

“And?”

“There weren't any.”

Of course. “What else?”

“That's it, sir. You know as much as I do now.”

Murdoch looked at him incredulously for a few moments and then gazed straight ahead. He remained in brooding silence until they arrived at the scene of the crime.

*

This is unbelievable!

Murdoch had just visited the last crime scene and to his dismay had come up as empty handed as Crabtree. Could someone be that meticulous that they didn't leave any evidence behind, ever? Of course it was possible, just highly unlikely. The only other explanation he could come up with was that these weren't the actual crime scenes. Maybe the victims had been killed somewhere else and dumped in each of the other locations? However, as far as he could tell, this wasn't the case. There was absolutely no indication of this at any of the scenes. It was as if their bodies had just dropped from the sky, like their deaths were the act of God. Nonetheless, he wouldn't believe that this was the answer. Realistically, how could he? So what was he missing? For now he was at his wits end and would need to try a different approach. He had purposely avoided it until he absolutely had to go there again. But go he must.

*

“Doctor,” he said amiably as he entered the morgue. However, once he caught sight of what lay ahead, his demeanor changed drastically and he became much more somber. The room was filled with corpses, more so than he had ever seen there before. He had been so focused on keeping his cool when next he saw her that it had completely left his mind to expect this. The bodies were so tightly packed that he found it difficult to make his way over to her. To make matters worse, some of the older ones had begun to give off a foul stench and the smell almost knocked him out. How could she stand it?

“William!” exclaimed Julia, beaming. Her arms were covered in blood up to her elbows. She appeared even more worn out than Crabtree had in the morning. She must have been working non-stop on examining all the bodies. “I'm so glad you're feeling better. You had me quite worried.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. It came out sounding like he had a cold because he was pinching his nose closed so that he would remain standing. “It looks like you've had plenty to deal with without me adding to the mix.”

“Nonsense.” She averted her gaze and said quietly, almost to herself, so that he had to strain to hear, “Even though things turned out the way they have, I will always care about you, William. I won't have you apologizing for that.”

He didn't know how to respond to that so he didn't respond at all. He tried his hardest to remain impassive but it was no good. His face contorted into a grimace at her words.

“William?” she said anxiously. “Are you okay? Has your fever returned?”

He decided he would try using her own tactic to salvage the situation; he would make a joke of it. “Have no fear, Julia. I haven't lost my ability to speak today.” And then for good measure he forced a laugh out.

She seemed taken aback by his reaction and giggled nervously.

Damn it! What a stupid idea! I just made things worse!

“Ahem,” said a voice from behind Murdoch. He turned around to find a young woman standing there. Unlike everyone else he had seen today, she didn't look the least bit tired. Ah, the joys of youth.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything important.”

“Oh, not at all, Emily,” said Julia awkwardly. “Allow me to introduce Detective Murdoch. Dr. Grace here is my protégé. She's been very helpful these past few days. Without her, there's no way I could have kept up with all the autopsies.”

Emily smiled mischievously as they shook hands. “I've heard great things about you, detective. I hope you can live up to them. From what I understand, the constabulary is floundering. Apparently you're the only one with half a brain.”

Julia gasped and exclaimed, “Emily!”

“It's fine, Julia. She didn't mean anything by it.”

“Julia?” Emily murmured, eyebrows raised.

“Anyways,” said Julia, wanting to quickly change the topic, “why don't you tell the Detective your theory? I'm still finishing up with this body but I should be done momentarily and then I'll join you.”

Another theory? These seemed to be replacing the clues in this investigation. Could he really blame them though?

Even with his nose pinched shut, he was beginning to feel light headed from the fumes. He wondered if his extreme sensitivity to the smell was due to the fact that he wasn't quite in tip top shape yet. So he said, “Before we get started, do you mind if we remove ourselves from this area?”

“Of course,” Emily said, eyes laughing.

They headed over to Julia's office. Murdoch felt instantly relieved when he released his nostrils, as he had been pinching them so hard that his nose was now sore. As well, his mind was less cloudy away from all the stink.

“You're going to think me very foolish when I tell you my theory, detective, but just hear me out. Okay?”

Murdoch nodded that he was all ears and gestured for her to proceed.

“I think we have a serial killer on the loose.”

No, it can't be! It was just as he had feared.

Murdoch was disillusioned with this idea for obvious reasons. It had only been three years since the last time he had dealt with a serial killer. To have another one here so soon after, causing far more havoc than the previous one was almost too much to bear. To make matters worse, there was no clear connection between any of the victims. They didn't follow any expected pattern besides the number killed every day. How was he to proceed if she was correct?

When he didn't object she continued, “I know what you're thinking. Preposterous! This person doesn't even kill the same way every time. Besides which, we've never seen anything close to this magnitude before, especially when you take into consideration the rate at which they've been killed. Even Jack the Ripper took much more time than this man. For some reason, this fellow is in a hurry to display his handiwork. Like he has something to prove. Either that or he wants to be caught. Think about it for a moment. What if somewhere deep down inside, he's tired of feeling the way he does and so decided to try and get caught by killing so frequently?”

This notion was unsettling to him because it was very reminiscent of the last serial killer he had come into contact with. All he said was, “Did you study psychology in college, Dr. Grace?”

“No. I just do a lot of reading in my spare time. So what do you think, detective?”

“What you said makes a certain amount of sense but I have one major problem with it.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“If he wanted to be caught so badly, why would he leave no evidence behind at any of the crime scenes?”

Emily looked shell shocked at this news. “No evi- You mean, there wasn't anything?”

“No, absolutely nothing I'm afraid.”

“Damn! And I was so sure!”

“It's quite all right, Dr. Grace. You couldn't possibly have known unless you had been conducting the investigation yourself.” Julia appeared in the doorway at this point. He turned to her and said, “George already informed me that you believe one person killed everyone. I didn't get him to elaborate though. Would you be so kind as to do that now?”

To his annoyance, Dr. Grace answered instead. “It wasn't obvious at first glance, far from it. But yesterday when we explored the way in which all the wounds were inflicted, it became obvious to us.”

“Yes,” said Julia. “He kills with a such a deliberate purpose that one can't help but notice it. As well, there's never even a trace of hesitation in any of the injuries. And he always targets critical areas that cause the victims to die instantly, or at least painlessly.”

A compassionate serial killer? Or at least someone who was familiar with human anatomy.

Murdoch considered everything that had been said. If it was someone killing indiscriminately, a serial killer would fit much better than an assassin killing people who had no reason to be targeted. However, he had never heard of a serial killer behaving the way that this one was. Everything appeared to be completely random, there was no logic anywhere. It was then that he made an unsettling connection, one that he should have made earlier. Harland Orgill had killed eight victims in every city he had went to. Was this some sort of bizarre copycat? Why was this number so significant to these type of killers? Had they missed their chance to catch him? Was he going to flee now?

“Why didn't you discover this earlier?” he asked, more harshly than he meant to.

“Look around you detective,” said Emily brashly, “we've been rather busy. It was only yesterday that we finally had a bit of time to breath.”

“Forgive me. Say you are correct, Dr. Grace. Say we are dealing with a serial killer.” He shared a look with Julia. He could see how frightening this idea was to her. After all, she killed the last one they had come into contact with. “In your professional opinion, is it likely that this is his first time going on a killing spree?” He already knew the answer but wanted confirmation, just to be sure.

“Not likely at all, detective,” said Emily. “This was clearly a practiced hand. There's no way he's never killed before this.”

“She's right,” said Julia in a strained voice. “Whoever is behind this has been doing this for a very long time.”

As perverse as it may seem, this was actually good news. In fact, it could well end up being the thing that breaks the case. For if he's been at this a long time, it likely meant that there was a trail to follow. And if he could find the beginning of that trail, maybe he could find the culprit. Only God knew how many more bodies this would uncover.

TBC

[CosmicCavalcade]

Apr 4, 2012 13:56:59 GMT shangas said:

It can certainly do with improvement. I spot spelling mistakes and a few issues with style and delivery, but it's not bad. If it was terrible, I wouldn't bother looking at it. I'm a writer myself, so I know what is is to work on big projects. Things you should always remember...

1. Consistency and continuity. It has to make sense all the time. If it doesn't, your readers will get confused.

2. No anachronisms. If something ain't right, it'll trip the story up.

3. Show, don't tell. I'm not interested if the sky is blue. I'm interested in what it looks like, not what it's colour is.

I'm sorry about the spelling mistakes. I hate those too. I always seem to think I have perfect spelling and so forgot to use spell check. Hopefully this won't be an issue in future.

I'm also sorry that I've gone and used an anachronism or two. I realize that the term serial killer didn't come about until much later but I couldn't find an alternative one that people would understand. The only other one was stranger killer and I didn't like the sound of that at all. Also, I couldn't remember the name of the UV ray box that Murdoch invented. If you could remind me, I'd gladly change it.

Anyways, thanks for the tips! I've heard of the show, don't tell one before. Not sure I really understand it though....

[CosmicCavalcade]

Apr 5, 2012 16:55:42 GMT barbarama said:

And what exactly is that mysterious sickness that William is suffering from? Could it be that he is lovesick

If this is your first time writing a fanfiction, you are doing a very good job, I have to admit that I read a lot of them but I have no talent to write myself and I really admire people who are able to do that I have no such gift!!

Keep up the good work

to answer your first question, could be!

thanks! I'll probably be posting a lot soon as I've been working on it a lot lately.

[barbarama]

Ok now I am getting hooked to read what will happen between W/ J but also what is going on with this case!!! I hope I will be able to read the rest soon

[CosmicCavalcade]

your wish is my command.

[CosmicCavalcade]

My Soul To Keep- Part 4

After going through all the case notes, he positively came to a conclusion.

“A serial killer?” Brackenreid said, disbelieving and shaking his head. “You've got to be kidding me! I can't handle this again, Murdoch. I just can't. You must be mistaken. There's got to be another explanation. They're just so rare that I can't believe another ones' fallen into our laps.”

“I'm well aware that they aren't the most common type of killer out there but I think in this case, it fits.”

His boss studied him for several seconds and then took a sip of his scotch to steady his nerves. He looked like he had been to hell and back. There was a nervous tick playing in his left eye every few seconds. The strain of this case had severely wore him out.

“You're sure though?”

“As sure as I can be at this stage of the investigation.”

“Bloody hell, Murdoch!” After another slurp he said as calmly as he could, “What do you need?”

“Time. I need to see if there are any records of mysterious, unsolved killings like this anywhere else in the world. I'll probably need to go back several years, possibly even decades earlier in order to find a trail.”

Brackenreid looked at him like he was crazy, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
“But that could take forever! And besides which, don't you think we'd have heard about something like this before, Murdoch?”

“Not necessarily. This killer is extremely versatile. For all we know he changes tactics in each new area that he decides to terrorize next. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to anything he does. He just appears to enjoy killing.”

“Use as many lads as you need to get to the bottom of this. I know they're all exhausted but don't feel bad about pushing them. It can't be helped, this is too important. I want to catch this bloody bastard before he strikes again! Though I don't have much hope of this seeing as he's been killing so bloody often! He's making a mockery of the constabulary, Murdoch! The press is having a field day! The public is terrified!” Murdoch didn't respond. “Nothing to say? Oh, bloody well off with you then!”

*

He would have to stall his plans to investigate any records, for at that very moment a constable burst through the doors and yelled, “There's been another one!”

Crabtree grimaced at the news but didn't appear to be the least bit surprised. Then they both ran over to the constable and he led the way.

*

They found her in a dead end alleyway, far away from prying eyes, which was ironic because her own eyes were wide and staring. Murdoch crossed himself as he approached the body. There was an object protruding from her right ear and a trickle of blood had formed a small pool beneath it. Already this crime scene was different than the others. It was the first time the killer had left a weapon behind. When he was closer, he was able to determine that it was a screwdriver with a dark red handle. As well, she didn't appear to have any defensive wounds, just like all the other victims. But he would need to wait for Julia's expert opinion before making any concrete conclusions.

This was Murdoch's first chance to investigate a scene with an actual body in it. He wondered if maybe somehow this would allow him to see something that he hadn't seen before. So he carefully observed the body and it's relation to the surrounding area. Did she look like she belonged there?
Yes. She was exactly the sort of person who would live in the area, maybe even in one of the buildings surrounding the alleyway. Was the body positioned strangely in any way? No. She looked like she had simply fallen backwards after her death. Was there anything at all odd about her? No.

It was as he expected. The weapon was the only thing that would hold any clues. So he focused intently on it, crouching down to get a better look. It wasn't apparent at first glance because of the colour of the screwdriver's handle but it was definitely there.

“George!” he cried.

He came running over from the middle-aged man that he had been questioning.

“What is it, sir? Have you found something?”

“I believe so. Do you see this blood drop here?”
He was pointing to the top side of the screwdriver's handle.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “What about it?”

“It doesn't follow the expected blood spatter pattern. In fact, it's completely out of place. It couldn't be sitting in this position because the killer's hand would have been in the way. This means that the killer purposely put this drop of blood here.”

Crabtree frowned and said, “What does it mean?”

“I'm not sure, yet, George. But the killer appears to be giving us our first clue.”


*

“What are your findings about the body, doctor?” asked Murdoch.

“It's just as you suspected,” she answered. “She suffered no other injuries than the fatal blow. This is definitely the work of the same killer.”

“And what about the blood drop?” he inquired, ever hopeful.

“I'm sorry, detective,” she said sadly, “there's nothing unusual about it. At least, I can't determine if there is or not, as it was far too small a sample to do any real tests with. It's definitely human blood, but that's all I can tell you.”

He tried not to let his disappointment show. “Thank you, doctor.” He was about to leave the morgue and then thought better of it. She was so forlorn looking that he desperately wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. He settled for the latter. “Don't worry, Julia. I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this. I promise I'll catch this man.”

“Thank you, William,” she said, smiling weakly. “I needed to hear that.”

*

After dusting the screwdriver handle for finger marks and determining that there weren't any, he was left with no other choice. It was time to begin the search.

*

Five hours later, Crabtree exclaimed, “I think I've got something, sir!”

All the lads looked up, bleary eyed. Some were startled badly as they had fallen asleep. But none of them bothered to go over there because they were too exhausted to move.

Murdoch stuck his head out of his office and said, “Come in here, George, so we can discuss it in private and avoid distracting the others.”

Crabtree did as he was told and closed the door behind him. He was holding a newspaper clipping in his hand. The date said Wednesday, April 16th, 1897.

“What have you, George?”

“Well, sir, I've just been reading this rather interesting article about a series of unexplained killings in Philadelphia.” Murdoch gestured for him to continue. “Apparently there were nine people drowned in mysterious ways.”

“Why were they mysterious?”

“There was no water anywhere near the victims.”

“Were they killed somewhere else then, and then dumped at the locations they were found?”

“The article's not too clear on that.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” said Crabtree smiling. “There was never any evidence left behind.”

“Very good, George,” said Murdoch, also smiling. “I believe you have just found the beginning of the trail.”

*

Murdoch was chasing the suspect in near darkness. With every stride he gained a little ground. It was only a matter of time before he caught up. Finally he grabbed his shoulder and tackled him to the ground. Turning him over, he gasped at what he found. The man had no face! Where there should have been eyes, there were only two blood drops. As if this wasn't unsettling enough, his whole head was bathed in the glow of ultraviolet light, revealing hidden writing.

It said, “You'll never find me, detective. Not before it's too late.”

Then the man produced the same screwdriver that had killed the most recent victim and plunged it into one of his own blood drop eyes. The man screamed hideously and then fell silent. Murdoch was relieved that it was over. Suddenly the man grabbed him by the right shoulder, pulled out the screwdriver and spoke directly into Murdoch's mind saying “Your turn, detective.”

The screwdriver point was just about to pierce him in the ear when he awoke abruptly at his desk.

He must have screamed because Crabtree came bursting into his office and said, “Is everything all right, sir?”

“Everything is fine, George. It was just a bad dream, that's all.”

“Was there a giant spider, sir? I've been having this recurring one about a giant spider that-”

“George,” he said irritatedly. “I'd like a moment to myself if you wouldn't mind.”

“Sure thing, sir,” he said as he closed the door.

What a bizarre dream.

As much as he tried to shake it, he couldn't quite seem to. The image of the man plunging the screwdriver into his blood drop eye kept playing over and over again. All of a sudden, he thought he knew what it meant.

Maybe the blood drop we found belonged to the killer himself? But how does this help us?

A few minutes past and his thoughts turned to the hidden writing.

Is it possible that Crabtree was wrong?

There was only one way to know for sure.


*

“Sir, I already told you, there's nothing here.”

Murdoch paid him no mind and began shining the day light in a box (with the UV filter) around the first crime scene. After scanning part of the ground, he came across a dark area. This is where the victim had bled out. He crouched down over it and was surprised to see another blood drop there that had definitely not been there before. It was clearly separate from the rest of the pool.

Curious.

He next began working his way across the wall nearby. And lo and behold, there was something there! At shoulder height, right smack in the middle, a number appeared. It was a brightly illuminated number one.

Murdoch swung the box around so that it was illuminating George's face. He appeared astonished by this revelation. “I swear, sir,” he said pointing at the wall, “that wasn't there before!”

“It's quite all right, George. I believe you.”

“But how did this happen, sir?”

“Our killer must have come back and put this here sometime after you searched the area.”

“What does the number mean, sir? Why would he need to tell us that this is the first victim? We already knew that.”

“I don't know, George, but let's go investigate the other scenes before the sun comes up.”

*

It turned out that all of the crime scene's had an extra drop of blood and a number. At first the numbers appeared to only confirm Crabtree's suspicion; that the killer was just counting up the victims. But once they reached the fourth scene, they knew that this wasn't the case. There was a number one again.

When they came to the most recent crime scene, there was something additionally strange about it. As well as the single blood drop on the ground, (which he noted was at about the same location as it would have been on the screwdriver), there was a whole circle of them at evenly spaced intervals on the wall. They had all run down a bit but the number inside was still clearly visible. It was the number six.

*

As they made their way back to the station, with the sun rising directly ahead, they discussed their recent findings.

“Do you have any idea now, sir?”

“No, George, I'm still just as much in the dark as you.”

“Then why are you smiling, sir?”

“Because, George, I believe our killer is finally finished.”

“What makes you say that, sir?”

“There was only one murder yesterday. It breaks the pattern. Maybe nine is his magic number.”

“I see what you mean, sir. He certainly made a big show of the ninth crime scene. Like it was his grand finale.”

Murdoch nodded. There was silence for several minutes and then, “George, I think I've got it!”

He began running back to the station with George hot on his heels.

TBC

[CosmicCavalcade]

My Soul To Keep-Part 5

Again, I apologize for the lack of W/J scenes.


Murdoch began explaining his findings to Brackenreid and Crabtree. Behind him was the chalkboard and on that was a list of all the weapons used to kill the victims, starting with the first crime scene and working their way up. They were as follows: scissors, fork, axe, glass, mallet, knife, hammer, pliers and screwdriver. Beside each weapon was the number that had been found at each crime scene.

“It was the final crime scene that helped me figure this out. If the killer hadn't been quite so elaborate in his design, I probably never would have solved this.” He left out the fact that his dream had given him some inspiration as well.

“What are you trying to show us, Murdoch? If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with this so I can catch the bloody bastard!”

“I believe that the numbers correspond to a position in each of the weapons' names.” Crabtree and Brackenreid shared a look but didn't interrupt. “If I'm right, it means the first letter is an S.” He wrote it on the board in a third column. Then he proceeded to write out all the remaining letters. The end product spelled SOEGTNALD.

“But it doesn't mean anything, sir,” said Crabtree confusedly.

“Quite right, George. But if we rearrange the letters like so” -he just rewrote them in a different order in a fourth column- “we get this instead.”

“Gladstone,” said Brackenreid. “As in the Gladstone Hotel?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Isn't this rather far-fetched, Murdoch?” asked Brackenreid.

“There's only one way to find out, sir. We need to go there.”

“Have you considered the possibility that this could be a trap?” said Brackenreid. “Or that he's purposely wasting our time with meaningless clues so that we're busy chasing our tails while he's free to kill again, undisturbed?”

“Of course, I have, sir,” said Murdoch. “But we don't have much of a choice, now do we?”

“No, I guess we bloody well don't. Come on, let's get going then. But first, Crabtree, pay a visit to the armory. I want to be properly prepared when we see what's in store for us.”

*

They entered the hotel with guns at the ready. Needless to say, this frightened quite a few people, especially since it was so early in the morning. A few of the women in the lobby even screamed out loud. The hotel clerk looked rather shaken as well but he sounded calm enough when he spoke.

“What can I do for you, constables?”

“I'm afraid we're going to have to search the premises, sir,” said Brackenreid.

“Whatever for, sir?”

“That's none of your concern,” said Brackenreid. “This is official police business and I suggest you co-operate fully.”

“Of course,” he responded. “But before you go tearing apart our hotel, could you answer me one question?”

“Fine!” Brackenreid snapped. “Go on.”

“There wouldn't by any chance happen to be a Detective Murdoch among your number, would there?”

Murdoch, Crabtree, and Brackenreid shared a look.

“I take your reaction as a yes?”

“I am Detective Murdoch.”

“Good,” said the clerk. “I have a letter for you.”

All three of them approached the front desk as the man scrounged around below. The other three constables that they had brought along were staying put by the entrance. After what felt like forever, he stood upright again, holding the envelope in his hand. Murdoch cautiously took it by the corner, hoping to avoid contaminating any finger marks. Though, it was highly unlikely that there were any (besides the hotel clerks) as the killer hadn't left any on the screwdriver. He held it up to the light to see if he could discern anything unsavoury within. There appeared to be something but he couldn't quite make it out because the envelope was too thick. He'd have no choice but to open it up outright.

“Do you have a letter opener I could use, sir?”

The clerk was already clutching one in his hand and now handed it to him.

“I must say, this is rather exciting! I've been wanting to know what's in there for quite awhile.”

Brackenreid glared at him until his smile faltered and finally went away all together.

Murdoch carefully cut through the envelope to avoid damaging anything inside. As a consequence, it took many seconds to open it fully. He unfolded the paper and a key fell out into his hand, which he only barely managed to catch.

The other two leaned in on either side of him in order to read along. What was written on the paper was this: 'Good job, detective. You're doing quite well. I'm afraid the game isn't over yet. But cheer up, bucko, for things are about to get interesting!'

As if they weren't already? He dreaded what those last words meant.

Looking up from the letter, he said calmly to the clerk, “Who gave you this letter? Can you describe him for me?” The clerk seemed puzzled by what he had said. “What's the matter? Can't you tell me what he looks like?”

“No, sir.”

“And why the bloody hell not?” yelled Brackenreid.

“Because it was a woman who gave me that letter.” he said irritatedly.

*

“What do you mean it was a woman?” said Brackenreid, loudly.

“What do you think it means?” said the clerk hotly.

“Don't get snippy with me!” barked Brackenreid, looking like he was about to knock him out.

“Sirs,” said Crabtree, “this isn't helping anything.”

Brackenreid made a non-committal grunt and fell silent. The clerk had a smug grin across his face.

“Now, sir,” Murdoch said. “Can you please describe the woman who gave you this letter?”

“Yes,” he said. “I remember quite well because she was acting so strangely.”

“Strange how?” said Murdoch.

“She seemed to be rather withdrawn. Almost like she wasn't aware of what she was doing.”

“I see. And what did she look like?”

“She was a pretty sort of girl. She had shoulder length brown hair, very curly. Her eyes were a piercing blue. And she had a mole just above her left eyebrow.”

The three of them shared a look again. The clerk had just described the first victim.

What is going on here?

“Was she staying here?” asked Murdoch. This hadn't come up in their investigation. No one had known her whereabouts in the hours leading up to her murder.

“Yes, as a matter of fact she was. She didn't stay very long though. Why? What's so important about her?”

“She was murdered six days ago,” replied Murdoch.

“Oh dear,” he said, the blood draining from his face, “how dreadful.”

Murdoch held the key up to the hotel clerk. “Does this belong to the Gladstone?”

He appeared to be shocked by it. “Why, yes, detective, it certainly does. I've been looking for it for the past week. I've been forced to use the spare this whole time. The woman you're refering to was staying in that room.”

“Which room, you tosser?” growled Brackenreid.

The clerk turned his head sideways and started to sulk. Before Murdoch or Crabtree could do anything, the inspector grabbed him by his coat collar until they were almost nose to nose.

“Which room, you git?” hissed Brackenreid menacingly.

Murdoch had a strong sense that he already knew the answer to that question. And his suspicions were confirmed when the clerk answered.

“Room 9.” he squeaked.

*


It took longer than expected to discover what was left for them. There was another envelope taped to the backside of the dresser. On it was another location. But this one was different in the respect that it gave a very specific address. It was clearly the location of a building of some sort. They all stared at it in wonder. The next location was in France.

*

“How the bloody hell are we supposed to go there next!” exclaimed Brackenreid.

Murdoch ignored him and allowed himself to be swallowed up into his own innermost thoughts. He refused to believe that the killer had all of a sudden decided to stop giving them meaningful clues, for he appeared to be immensely enjoying this game they were playing. Surely he didn't want it to end? So what did it mean? Then he thought he knew the answer.

“I don't think we're supposed to go there,” he told the other two.

“Then what are we supposed to do?” asked Brackenreid

“I think we have to investigate this location from afar. We need to dig up whatever we can about what the building is used for, as well as it's history. Hopefully that will lead to more clues.”

“And then what?” shouted Brackenreid. “Are we supposed to just chase clue after clue until this maniac decides he's had enough fun and ships out across the sea to God knows where?”

“It's like the detective said before,” said Crabtree, “do we really have a choice?”

Brackenreid snarled and stomped out of the room.

*

Back at the station house, Murdoch wanted to confirm that there were definitely no additional finger marks on the first envelope. He had made sure to take the clerks finger marks before they left the hotel, and the finger marks of the first victim were already catalogued and ready for use. After revealing all of them with a little powder, he diligently worked his way through them, the magnifying glass aiding in his endeaver. His brow furrowed deeper and deeper as he laboured, until he was scowling at the end of his comparisons. All of the finger marks belonged to the clerk! There weren't even any partials to indicate that anyone else had handled it. They had been duped!

TBC