Reach of Destiny

Untitled Part 34

CHAPTER THIRTY- FOUR

1815 hours Monday July 3rd, 1922

Miss Henny's Rooming House

"Argyle Hudson, I am arresting you for the murders of Howard Knox and Conrad Landswell, and the attempted murder of Randolph Swift."

The cackle of laughter erupting from Hudson's bed sent an electric current up Murdoch's spine to his hair, enraging him.

He and his men caught a break in finding Hudson, working the problem until Higgins came back after two hours at the main telephone exchange, knowing where the call to Swift originated. They cross-checked it with the bank where Hudson cashed his war veteran's pension cheques, granted him, after much difficulty, for being gassed. Constables went door to door, street after street, block after block asking about Argyle Hudson, until, finally, Miss Henny admitted he was her tenant and she knew for a fact he'd come in and remained in his room, "feeling poorly," as she called it.

Out of an abundance of caution, it took almost another hour to remove bystanders and get men in place. Brackenreid stayed back at the Station House, but Julia came along to help secure forensic evidence.

Murdoch was wrung out and not amused at Hudson mocking him. "Mr. Hudson," he growled, "this is not a joke! We have an accusation you provided poisoned alcohol to all three of them, except Mr. Swift did not drink enough to die."

Julia looked at him, startled by his vehemence, but she said nothing, appearing to assess Mr. Hudson with her physician's eye. The room had a sick-bed smell to it. Something was wrong with the man, perhaps with more than his mind.

"Me? Do in Knox and Landswell? Not me!" Hudson continued to laugh harshly until Murdoch ordered Crabtree and Higgins to get him to his feet. Hudson jerked away, rising unsteadily, a wild-eyed and sharp-toothed set to his nature. He spoke again derisively. "Detective, the joke is on you. It's that rat bastard Randolph Swift what killed me!"

His dark brows rose towards his hat. Hudson was apparently as deranged as Swift suggested. "Come again?"

"After all I done for him and all we been through, Swift turned on me. I still can't believe it! He's poisoned me."

Not just deranged, full blown paranoia. "How is that?" Murdoch, asked. "Mr. Swift is concerned for your state of mind, sir. What happened?"

Julia eyed him, gesturing for him to wait, then approached Argyle Hudson when she got permission. "Sit down, Mr. Hudson. Please." He did as she bid him to. She checked his colour, his pulse, respiration and pupils. He had a sheen on his pale skin and his thin blonde hair was plastered to his head. "Mr. Hudson, what did you mean that you have been killed by poison?"

Hudson gestured towards the floor. "Them toadstools they call the Angels. Fed me them Saturday night is what I figured. I was sick as a dog yesterday and now the awful bad part has passed. But I know my fate. Saw soldiers die from it in the Great War if they was hungry or stupid enough to add them to their grub."

"Why should he do that?" He did not understand where this was going.

"To shut me up!" Hudson's mouth and eyes were hard and his lungs heaved with shouting.

"You are certain, Mr. Hudson?" Julia interjected quickly with a worried look. "Amanita ocreata?"

"No idea what you just said, Miss, but if that's a toadstool, yeah. Saw 'em myself when I visited his place the first time. Set himself up as if he were a toff. He's got this big glass house you see, likes to show off ex-ah-tic things in it. They were not there anymore the last time I was there."