Reach of Destiny

Untitled Part 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

1100 hours, Monday July 3rd, 1922

Station House No. 4

John Hodge's smile was a welcome sight -- he sidled through the cluttered office, bringing Murdoch a butter tart to go with his coffee, placing it on the desk with a surreptitious glance towards the bullpen. Murdoch followed Hodge's gaze: Brackenreid was animatedly conversing with -- or bullying -- Crabtree and Higgins, who stood at attention under the onslaught.

Hodge's lifted eyebrows were his sole commentary on the tongue lashing happening a few feet away. Instead, the Hodge held the huge grin on his face. "You must be getting better sleep lately, sir."

"What...?" Murdoch nearly choked on a swallow of coffee. What does Hodge know?

"Well, you came in all bright eyed and bushy tailed and then there are your chalkboards -- I can tell you've had one of your brainstorms, sir. Everything is rearranged."

"Ugh... yes..." He put his cup down and rose, pointing to the chalkboards. "Worcester claimed he was only investigating a fire, when Swift's squad walked up on him and arrested him."

"The only physical evidence was a burned painting? Not much of a case, sir," Hodge pointed out. "Er, not one you'd move forward with."

"No. A large quantity of unexplained money was found in Worcester's possessions when they searched his kit -- that clinched it."

"He insisted he was framed. What if it is true?"

"That, Hodge, is an excellent question. If Worcester was railroaded, it was expertly done. Regardless -- if revenge for Worcester's fate is a motive to kill Knox and Landswell, or for Knox to kill Doulton --- we are out of suspects. No... I think it is something else entirely, just as I am sure this is about those men in that squad -- I just know it. The military police were not as well-received by other soldiers as we in the constabulary are by the public."

Hodge winced. "Desertions, you mean. Were any of that squad ever involved in a firing squad?"

"That's my first call this morning for the names of every squad member and for details of their deployments. I want you to follow up more on our Mr. Salt today, especially his background." He rubbed his forehead and was about to pick up the telephone receiver when Julia approached his office, knocking on the doorframe. He straightened up as the ringer in Brackenreid's office went off -- his boss ignoring it in favour of whatever was going on with Crabtree and Higgins. "Hodge, help me make room then can you please answer that call in the inspector's office for him?" The man's eyebrows migrated into his hairline, but Hodge compiled by moving the chalkboards, making more room for Julia to enter.

"Good day, Doctor. I was hoping to see you." Her smile made his stomach flutter. For the first time ever, he hated that his office was essentially a goldfish bowl.

"I was hoping for a word with you as well. May I?" She gestured to a chair. He saw she also took in the total lack of privacy. She shrugged and sat. "I came to thank you for Miss Pink's name. She works quickly, already making progress with my quest to find the parents of my suicide victim. I was also curious how it went with the boat rental, I...."

He could not hear the rest of her sentence because Inspector Brackenreid started shouting his name. "Murdoch. My office. Now."

That doesn't sound good. He excused himself to get to his boss, but behind him Julia was right on his heels. Hodge, Crabtree and Higgins were already crammed in there. "Sir?"

Brackenreid's entire body bristled. "Forget what you've been doing. That was Randolph Swift. Says he thinks he knows who poisoned Knox and Landswell," Brackenreid announced. "He believes one of his old squad, Argyle Hudson, is behind this whole bollocksed mess. Says Hudson called him in a terrible state and threatened him, even thinks Hudson tried to kill him, with -- get this -- poisoned cognac, except Swift didn't drink enough other than to get sick. Says he thinks Hudson cracked because of the war, might try to kill himself or do a runner out of guilt."