Reach of Destiny

Untitled Part 6

CHAPTER SIX

1810 hours, Saturday, June 24th, 1922

Station House No. 4

"...and you won't be constable first class for much longer if you keep that up, do you hear me, Sunshine?!!!"

Murdoch didn't bother to chastise Crabtree for tardiness. Inspector Brackenreid did it loudly enough for the whole station house. Crabtree took the dressing down manfully and immediately started examining the box of clothing and personal items from Mr. Landswell he'd brought with him from the morgue. The whole station house was happier when the inspector jammed his hat on his head and left for the day.

Murdoch gathered the men in his office where he could make notes on his chalkboard. Hodge and Worseley had already given him information on the additional presumptive "Bootleg Booze Deaths" as the afternoon edition of the papers was calling it. His chart was filling up fast, necessitating a second one be scrounged and soon. He picked up the chalk and wrote, 'Alkaloid poison' under cause of death in the column next to Mr. Landswell's name.

"Constable Higgins, let's start with you." Higgins, whose otherwise baby-face was improved by a rakish scar through his right upper lip, nervously extracted his notebook from his uniform breast pocket. Murdoch hoped Higgins was going to be better organized than the last time.

"Sir. I did a gander through city records and at his office. There is nothing that says he was ever dizzy for a dame enough to put a ring on it. Mr. Landswell made his nut with a small electrical shop he opened about five years ago. He did jobs for the telephone company. Last year he bid for work on the Toronto Transportation Commission for the electric street cars." Higgins turned a page. "He got a small job out of it but a nice piece of dough. He has no full-time guys, hires day-labour and uses subcontractor fellas for the larger jobs. He rents his office space on the cheap, but he owns a small warehouse down by the docks where he keeps his supplies. Oh, he hired out his bookkeeping."

Crabtree rubbed his chin with his hand. "Could a warehouse be the connection with Rocco Perri, sir? Or the city contracts?"

Murdoch was thoughtful, looked at his chart as if it would give him an answer. He wrote 'connections?' on the board, reluctantly. "Any business debts, or perhaps lawsuits going against him, Higgins?"

"None that I can find, sir. Although the city records are well...er, bewildering. Sir."

"Thank you. I am sure you were thorough. Please look over the bookkeeper's records as soon as possible. We could use your understanding of business, and if he was slow paying his workers." Murdoch was exaggerating of course; it was Higgins' father who had a small family-run piano store, but he was trying to encourage Higgins to use his resources and his brain. "And visit his banker, as well, first thing Monday..."

Murdoch was about to move on when Higgins spoke up. "I think he was behind the eight ball, busted, sir. He has bankers, plural. Not a fakaloo artist exactly, but he was circulating cabbage from one to pay the vig from the other."

Crabtree got to Higgins first. "Which means...?"

"He was floating a lot of loans," Higgins said, as if it had been perfectly clear the first time.

"I see. "Murdoch was not surprised by the information, although he was surprised Higgins discovered it so quickly. "Very good, constable."

"And that may just be money from the, er, more legitimate sources," Crabtree suggested. "Loan sharks? Gambling?"

Murdoch nodded, making more notes on the board for 'loan shark' and 'bookie.' "A good point as well. Constable Higgins, you have more work ahead of you. Keep digging into Mr. Landswell's private life on Monday. Crabtree, what else have you found?"