Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Julia Ogden was frustrated, though she tried to hide it. After weeks of experimenting and racking their brains, they were no closer to any solution in this strange case.
The explosions were bad enough, with no trace of incendiary devices, no clear way in which they could be executed. Now three people were dead, and despite her experience and vast knowledge, she couldn’t for the life of her, figure out what had happened to the victims.
There were no traces of poisons, no gun or knife wounds, no internal hemorrhaging, or signs of suffocation, no blunt force trauma. With the exception of the strange markings (and the obvious fact that they were all dead) the victims all appeared in perfect health. She wondered for the umpteenth time if she could get away with writing “unnatural causes” on their death certificates. No, she was at a loss. She sighed. She looked at the strange markings on Ebenezer Winters’s face and arms. She desperately wanted to know what caused them.
* * * * * * *
“I should have known,” muttered Detective Murdoch angrily. His day had just gotten infinitely more complicated.
Terrance Meyers had entered the building.
It was a truth universally acknowledged that Terrance Meyers always complicated things. Between his “government-approved” heavy-handedness, his "matters of national security," and the sheer complexity of the cases in which he was involved, Terrance Meyers always spelled trouble. He never failed to make a bad situation worse.
This time it appeared he brought some friends.
Murdoch did not know what to make of the man that followed Meyers into the Station. Something about him just felt...off. Something about his gaze was too intense, his posture too straight. He gave Murdoch the appearance of an actor in a role. Associated with the likes of Meyers, he probably was in some capacity - after all, spies and actors were quite similar in nature. He was impeccably dressed, but the cut of his suit was unlike anything Murdoch had ever seen.
Accompanying the two men was a beautiful young woman with curly blond hair, bobbed and artfully arranged in the latest fashion. She was elegantly attired in a flattering pale pink dress with a matching hat. Meyers handed her a stack of papers.
“You’ll post these directly, Miss Goldstein, and please inform the Ambassador that I’ll meet him at seven this evening at his hotel. Ah, Murdoch, there you are! Just the man! This is my associate, Percival Graves,” he nodded to the strange man, “My secretary, Miss Goldstein was just leaving.”
Murdoch inclined his head politely. Miss Goldstein smiled brightly then began to make her way out of the station.
“Graves, this is the Detective chap I’ve told you about.”
“Pleasure,” said Graves. He didn’t sound pleased. He didn’t offer his hand. Neither did Murdoch. Watts meandered his way over, shot Murdoch an inquisitive look, and scratched his neck awkwardly.
“This is Detective Watts. Watts, you’ve met Terrance Meyers. And this is his colleague Percival Graves.”
Graves eyed Watts carefully. Watts nodded politely.
“What brings you to Stationhouse Four, gentlemen?” asked Watts.
“A word?” said Meyers raising his eyebrows mysteriously, “In private?”
Murdoch blinked sarcastically, before collecting himself with a sigh. He nodded towards his office. Watts spun on his heel and led the way, Murdoch following after the two government agents.
* * * * * * *
Something about her was utterly bewitching. George Crabtree could not stop thinking about her. Nothing could quell the swell of his heart he felt in his chest when she’d smiled at him. She smiled! At him!!
He had been pouring through and compiling witness statements at his desk, when he glanced up by chance and saw the most beautiful creature, an absolute angel, with curly blond hair and gentle eyes. She practically floated, fluttering through the room like a butterfly in her rose chiffon dress, and elegant matching cloche hat. The hat drew his eyes instantly. Aunt Primrose would absolutely have adored it: The trimming was most expertly done, embellished with delicate silk roses, with a wide white ribbon tied into...he held his breath as he looked carefully...a knot? No! An elaborate bow (She was single! How such a divine creature could be single was beyond him!)
She had entered the station house with two men, though he couldn’t describe who they were or what they looked like, for he only had eyes for her. The rest of the world paled in comparison. She turned to leave a moment later. On her way out towards the door, she passed before his desk again. The air was filled with her perfume, it ticked his senses, something, soft, warm and floral. She glanced up at him and smiled. Time froze. His heart stopped. His breath caught.
He was totally smitten. He couldn’t even ask her name. He’d forgotten how to speak, forgotten he even had a mouth. She continued walking, taking his mind with her.
He would have sat there staring after her, long after she disappeared through the door...for the rest of his life even, if not for the ringing of his telephone.
* * * * * * *
As Murdoch closed the door, Meyers immediately shut the blinds.
Murdoch raised his eyebrows and shot an exasperated look at Watts who looked amused, a small smirk playing on his lips, before quickly schooling his expression.
“Top secret then, is it Meyers?” asked Murdoch sarcastically.
“Murdoch, you have no idea. This case makes all our previous ones look like child’s play.”
“Well,” replied Murdoch, “Let’s have it then.”
“We’re here about the Bombless Bombs case and the subsequent murders.”
“Of course you are. I presume they’re all caused by some top-secret weapon the Canadian government is attempting to purchase? Like that microwave gun all over again…” said Murdoch sarcastically.
Meyers and Graves exchanged a dark look.
“Something like that, Murdoch.”
Murdoch quirked an eyebrow, waiting for Meyers to continue. When he didn’t, Murdoch exclaimed: “If you know anything about these attacks, you must tell me - this is a murder investigation!”
“The specific nature of the cause of these attacks is not of import,” replied Graves coldly.
“I beg to differ.”
“Murdoch, this situation-” began Meyers, only to be interrupted by Graves.
“...is far larger and more complex than you can even begin to comprehend.”
Murdoch and Watts looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“Then help us to comprehend,” said Watts.
Graves scoffed, “We wouldn’t even be wasting time involving you in this case if not for Meyers - he seems to think you have a knack for seeing connections.”
Murdoch, whose temper was already running short, snapped, “We were already involved in this case due to the loss of life and destruction taking place in our city. For you this may be a game of international intrigue, but people are dying! If you have any information pertinent to this case, let us know now.”
At their firm silence, Murdoch continued, “If you keep this up, I shall have you both arrested for impeding a police investigation and wasting police time!”
Meyers responded, “Murdoch, we are not at liberty to say much. These are not just State secrets - it's a matter of international import. Whatever information you have to share with us, we need to move quickly - forces are moving around the globe that could spell disaster.”
“Meyers, you ask for our assistance, and yet you always keep us in the dark.”
Meyers looked at Murdoch and said, “The cases are all related - the explosions, the murders -we’re not sure of the exact cause, but we suspect it has to do with...a terrorist organization operating out of the Continent. That’s all we know...all we can say for now. What we need is any information you may have noticed - any connections between the victims. Anything odd that you’ve come across in your investigations.” He fumbled with something in his pocket distractedly. “We’ve hit a wall in ours. We need your help.”
Murdoch and Watts exchanged another look. They’d managed to keep the strange markings out of the papers, and neither was willing to share the information just yet. Watts began to speak.
“Gentlemen, our investigation is ongoing, and there is not much we can say either. We have on our hands three murder cases in which the cause of death is incredibly unclear, and a string of property damage cases, the causes of which are also...well...unclear. To paraphrase Socrates, the only thing we know is that we know nothing. We have no concrete evidence to suggest the cases to be connected beyond our own suspicions, and your vague assertations...the only clear connection is the glaring absence of details.”
He was interrupted by a knock on Murdoch’s door.
“Sirs,” said George as he walked in, then paused upon seeing the other gentlemen.
“...But, we’ll be sure to update you if we find anything else,” finished Murdoch quickly, “now if you’ll excuse us, we have another matter to discuss with Constable Crabtree.”
He ushered Meyers and Graves out of his office. Meyers paused at the door, “Remember, Murdoch. Anything at all - lives are at stake.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He shut the door after him, pausing to make sure they were walking away. He then turned to Watts and asked, “What do you make of that?”
“I’ve never witnessed a conversation in which less was said...An international terrorist organization from Europe?”
“Yet no specifics, no details to back anything up!”
“Hmm, yes. That Graves fellow was a bit unsettling.”
“It’s inevitable that Terrance Meyers will make a complicated situation worse.” Murdoch sighed, then turned and said, “What have you, George?”
“Sirs, Dr. Ogden called, she has completed the post-mortem…”
“Excellent! I hope she has some more information for us,” said Murdoch. He opened the door and began to walk out, Watts on his heels. Crabtree followed quickly as well.
“Sirs, there is more - I was able to find more information on the victim, the Reverend E. Winters. He led a congregation, the New Salem Society, whose headquarters are located not far from where the body was found.” He handed a slip of paper with the address over to Murdoch.
“Thank you George, we’ll head directly to the New Salem Society after we stop at the morgue.”
“Sirs, one more thing,” said George, “We’ve been interviewing locals to see if anyone has seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. Many claim to not have seen anything, though there were a few who report being awoken from sleep around two in the morning by a strange noise and a strong wind.”
“A strong wind, George?” asked Murdoch weakly.
But Crabtree was not deterred. “Detective, one woman, a Lottie Saunders - a ‘lady of the night’ if you will...she has quarters with a window overlooking the alley where Winters was found.”
“Excellent, George. Perhaps this is the break we’ve been waiting for!” said Watts excitedly.
Murdoch was not as optimistic, however.
“And did she witness anything, George?”
“Yes, Sir- I have the notes here!”
They entered the morgue as George pulled his notebook out of his pocket.
“Well?”
“Sirs, Miss Saunders had opened her window, as it was quite balmy last evening. She was just seeing out a...well...visitor at around two in the morning, when she heard the most peculiar sound from the alley below. She described it as...a sort of crashing and a pained howling noise - like a “great wind” or “an injured hound.” She ran to the window, but it was too dark to see. All she could make out was what appeared to be a haze of dark smoke ascending above the rooftops. She was so unsettled that she shut the window. She’d never heard anything like it in her life…”
Murdoch just blinked.
“Sirs, I think we should not be so quick to dismiss the Smoke Monster theory.”
“Smoke Monster?” came Julia’s voice. She turned the corner drying her hands on a cloth, and greeting the three with a smile. “Have you had any developments, gentlemen?”
“No,” said Murdoch definitively.
“But Sir, the witness” started George.
“George, she didn’t actually witness anything…Julia, have you found anything for us?”
Julia’s smile faded; she looked frustrated. “Nothing of note. Mr. Winters was killed sometime between one and three in the morning. His face is covered with the same strange markings as the other victims. There was a slight burn mark on his chest, it could have been from spilled pipe or cigarette ash. There are no outward signs of violence - no wounds to speak of, no known poisons, no signs of asphyxia, or unnatural clotting. If not for the fact that he is dead, the good Reverend appears in perfect health.”
“Any additional thoughts on the markings on the victim's faces and arms?” asked Watts, “We’ve found similar markings on the wall in the alley where the victim was found.”
“The same markings on the wall? That certainly is strange,” said Julia, “Unfortunately, I'm completely out of ideas of what could possibly have caused them.”
Murdoch paused, looking at Julia.
“Upon reflecting on something Detective Watts said earlier...and with our discussion with Terrance Meyers and his associate,” Murdoch turned to Watts looking uncomfortable. “I’m wondering if this could have been caused by some new...electric weapon? These markings - they look like lightning, or as Detective Watts said, the scarring caused by jellyfish tendrils - perhaps someone has invented a device that…” he extended his arms and hands a few feet apart and pushed his fingers forward, “that...shoots...an electric field - like an electric rifle, or a lightning gun - generating a small electric phenomenon...?” Murdoch trailed off.
George, Watts, and Julia all looked at Murdoch incredulously.
“It would explain why the victims and the wall behind Winters all exhibit the same markings - if they’d been blasted, for lack of a better word, by an electric field - perhaps at different intensities - it could potentially create those markings…and I’m sure there must be some kind of weapon involved for Meyers to take such an interest in the case,” Murdoch continued, a bit defensively.
“But that kind of device...how could it possibly work? The science of it is just...and who could possibly create such a weapon?” started Julia, “Perhaps we should reach out to Nikola Tesla. If anybody could explore the plausibility of such a device it would be him.”
They all stood in silence for a short while pondering the possibility.
George looked decidedly unconvinced.
“With all due respect, Sir, I find the Smoke Monster explanation infinitely more plausible.”
* * * * * * *