Except the Dying

“Therese was a young girl in trouble, and she was French-Canadian. In times of need I think we all seek out the familiar. What represents home to us…” He indicated a mark on King Street. “Here is the old Methodist church. Currently, it is being used by a small settlement of French-Canadians who live nearby. I’m guessing that’s where she was going.”

He knew he was opening himself up to trouble by presenting this theory, and he regretted saying it almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. The inspector hooted.

“Blamed thin, if you ask me, Murdoch. If you were to find me walking up Bay Street, you couldn’t assume I was going anywhere in particular. What if I’d gone that way home on a whim, for a change of scenery?”

“Not quite, sir. If I found you walking north on Bay Street, I’d assume you were going to the National Club.”

“What? Oh, I suppose so, but regardless, my point stands.”

“I’m just trying to work logically from what we know of the girl’s character and her circumstances.”

“Are they the only two sightings, two guttersnipes?”

“Yes, sir, so far, but I consider them to be reliable witnesses. They both gave a good description of the girl.”

“All right. Go on. Tell me about the rest of your artwork.”

“Here, with the blue squares, I’ve traced Owen Rhodes’s route. He left Birchlea at approximately nine o’clock to take Miss Shepcote to her home. He said he travelled across Bloor Street to Church, down to Gerrard, along Gerrard, then south on Berkeley to the Shepcote house, which is just below Queen Street. He claims he dallied there with Miss Shepcote until midnight, then went home via the same path. If in fact this was not the truth and he left Miss Shepcote earlier, he could easily have met up with Therese and taken her somewhere.”

“Doesn’t Miss Shepcote verify his alibi?”

“She does, sir, but she seemed very uncomfortable and I wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Murdoch. She is a well-brought-up young woman. She was probably shy about the fact they were unchaperoned at that hour. Besides, why should she lie?”

“To give young Rhodes an alibi.”

He waited for Brackenreid to comment, but he merely grunted and pointed to the map.

“The circles are Dr. Rhodes, I presume?”

“Mr. Shepcote and Dr. Rhodes, actually. The two of them left Birchlea shortly after nine and the doctor was dropped off at his consulting chambers at Church and Carlton. He says he was working on a report for some medical journal until one o’clock. He likes the quiet. Then he walked part of the way home until he found a cab. I’ve put Constable Wicken onto collecting all the cab driver’s dockets for the past week, so we should be able to verify that part of the doctor’s statement at least. However, we have only Rhodes’s word that he stayed late in his office. He could have had a rendezvous with Therese. She was alone when Jimmy saw her, but if the doctor was walking quickly he could have met up with her on Queen Street. Or he could have hired a carriage. He certainly can come by opium in great quantities if he needs it.”

“For God’s sake, Murdoch, you’re snatching at straws. According to you nobody is telling the truth about anything.”

“Sometimes it feels that way, sir. However, the girl’s condition is not a lie. Somebody impregnated her.” Murdoch indicated the wall again. “That is the journey that Mr. Shepcote’s carriage took when he left Birchlea. After dropping off Rhodes, he proceeded to his club on River Street. The coachman made a point of telling me that he went via Wilton.”

“What do you mean ‘made a point’?”

“It seemed rather like that. I didn’t ask him, he volunteered. However, that puts the alderman in the same vicinity as Therese and at about the same time. If he had actually gone along Queen Street he could have encountered Therese Laporte here, anywhere between Berkeley and River streets.”

“Good Lord, Murdoch, you’re not suggesting the alderman has anything to do with this affair.”

“I’m not suggesting anything at the moment, Inspector. I’m simply trying to get straight the various movements of the parties who were in any way connected with Birchlea and the life of Therese Laporte. The steward has confirmed to one of my men that Shepcote was at the club from about a quarter past ten until midnight.”

Brackenreid leaned forward, peering at the wall. “What’s that?” He pointed at a small pockmark in the lower part of the map.

“That’s actually a hole in the wall, but I thought I may as well use it. I’ve drawn a balloon around it. I meant to represent that from this point on Therese vanished into thin air.”

“You’re getting too fanciful for me, Murdoch.”

Murdoch kept his voice as flat as possible. “Here is where I believe we’re onto something, sir. Constable Wicken is a very capable young officer and he questioned every householder along Queen Street. At number four ninety-five a woman named Philips swears she was sitting at her window from nine-thirty that night until at least midnight. Her husband is a teamster and she was expecting him in from a journey at ten. Apparently one of his horses went lame and he didn’t get home until late. Mrs. Philips says Therese Laporte did not pass by. She lives here, on the southwest corner, which means she would have seen anybody turning north or south on Sumach, or continuing along Queen Street.”