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"Agnes is the murderer," Murdoch said.
Which, George realised meant, "She's got the arsenic!"
"And she's at the fair right now with the man who arrested her father," Murdoch said.
Watts.
"We have to hurry," George said and they ran from the morgue.
*
"What do you want to do first?" Watts asked. The girl pointed.
"Food, please," she said. Watts led her past the amusements to the far end of the fair where a vendor was serving up freshly cooked hot dogs.
Watts ordered two, held onto his own while he fumbled in his pocket with his free hand. He handed over the coins to the seller. Agnes was still staring at her hotdog.
"Oh, you first," she said, with a giggle.
Watts was glad she was having some fun after everything she'd been through and what lay ahead. Dead father, murderous mother. He pitied her.
"If you insist," he said and took a large bite, chewed, swallowed. "Delicious."
Agnes wasn't convinced and disposed of her hotdog after one bite, though Watts finished his. He glanced around, a little light-headed. "What would you like to do next? The ring-toss? Or the man who guesses your weight?"
She pointed to a stall. "That one!" She gave him an odd smile. "I think it will be fun to watch."
Watts let her lead the way, frowning a little. The hotdog wasn't sitting well. He hoped it wasn't off.
Murdoch and George cycled furiously towards the fair. The last person they suspected had been the young girl and now Watts was in danger. No-one wanted his obituary to come true as it had for the other victims, but if they didn't hurry it might well be the case that today was the day Detective Llewelyn Watts died.
They parked their bicycles at the top of the hill, both scanning the busy fair laid out below.
"Do you see them, George?"
"No, sir."
Murdoch set off grimly, George following and using his best polite but not to be ignored tone to move people out of the way. "Excuse me, police business. Move along there."
"Detective Watts?" Murdoch called, looking around anxiously. "Watts?"
Watts and Agnes were at the ring-toss when they finally found them. Murdoch dashed over to apprehend the girl, George at his heels.
"You, Miss Swift, are under arrest," Murdoch said as she struggled in his grasp.
"What's going on?" Watts asked. He was pale and seemed short of breath, one hand pressed against his stomach.
"Her mother took the blame," Murdoch explained. "Agnes is behind the murders. She poisoned Sister AnnaMaria."
"Oh. I see." Watts stumbled, righted himself.
"Sir?" George asked, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"You're too late," Agnes said with cold satisfaction. "He'll die too. Like the rest of them."
Murdoch exchanged a horrified glance with George. "Watts?"
"We had hotdogs," Watts said distantly. "I thought they were off." He clutched at his stomach and leaned over, vomiting onto the grass.
"George," Murdoch began.
"Fetch help, yes, sir" George said without needing to be prompted. Murdoch handcuffed Agnes around a nearby fence post while George began running back through the fair. He wished they had a portable telephone they could carry with them rather than having to race for the nearest phone box.
He'd nearly reached the steps when he ran, almost literally, into Higgins, who'd followed them.
"Go and call for an ambulance," George said, pointing back the way Higgins had come. "Watts has been poisoned."
"What?"
"Just go, Henry," George panted. "Hurry."
Henry did as he was told, freeing up George to head back to Murdoch.
Agnes was putting on a scene, sobbing fiercely, but Watts was on the ground now, Murdoch crouched at his side, and more attention was on this spectacle than her crocodile tears. George shouldered his way through the gathering crowd.
"Sir, Henry's calling for an ambulance."
"That's good." Murdoch gave an encouraging smile to Watts. "You'll be fine." He stood, moved to talk softly to George. "Stay with him. Keep him calm. I'll try and quiet down the prisoner."
He'd have done so anyway. George nodded. Matching Murdoch's volume he said, "Yes, sir. You think he'll be all right?"
Murdoch lifted his eyebrows in a sort of facial shrug. "I don't know, George. It's not good."
While Murdoch headed over to talk to Agnes, distracting her from her performance as she returned to bragging about her crimes, George took off his helmet and placed it on the grass. He knelt down alongside Watts. "How are you doing?"
Watts gave a strangled laugh. Both hands were clasped around his abdomen as if to hold his guts in. "I've been better." He gave a moan of pain, writhed as another wave of agony passed over him. George couldn't help but wince in sympathy.
"Hey, do you remember," George said, as the pain seemed to subside a little and Watts could focus on him again. "When I got shot, I thought I was dying. And you made sure that I lived. You saved me, and then we saved Detective Murdoch. So now it's my turn to help you. The ambulance will be here soon. You just hold on, Detective."
Watts gasped a few times and George reached out to help as the stricken man tried to roll onto his side, fetching up fresh vomit. This had the benefit of making the crowd step back a little, though George was doing his best to ignore them, his attention being mostly on Watts.
When Watts had finished retching, George helped him lie back down. With sudden inspirations George unbuckled his belt, pulled off his jacket, and slipped the folded material beneath Watt's head.
"Might be a bit more comfortable while we wait," George said with forced cheerfulness.
"Thank you. George, if I don't make it-"
"No, I don't want to hear it," George said firmly.
"My sister, Clarissa. You'll tell her?"
George nodded. "I promise we'll inform her."
"Good." Watts closed his eyes.
"Sir, no. Stay awake," George begged. He pressed his fingers to Watts' neck. There was a pulse, though weak and rapid. "Watts?"
With considerable effort Watts opened his eyes. "Everything hurts," he mumbled.
"I know," George said, trying not to let his desperation show. "But you have to hold on a little longer." He took Watts' hand chafing it between both of his own. "Stay awake for me."
It seemed an eternity before Higgins led two stretcher bearers to them and George could step back to let the men work.
As they left, he picked up his jacket and his hat and followed before anyone could tell him otherwise.
Murdoch only noticed George's absence after handing his prisoner over to Higgins, by which time both Constable Crabtree and Detective Watts were long gone.
*
George had clung to the bench seat of the ambulance as they'd raced towards the hospital, bell ringing. Watts had thrown up twice more and was increasingly incoherent and practically unresponsive by the time they arrived.
He'd followed them as closely as he could, still giving encouraging words to Watts as they moved down a corridor. At a doorway however George was forbidden to accompany them further and had to wait, turning his hat around in his hands as he watched helplessly.
Inside the room a number of staff worked to save Watts. His shirt was opened, one doctor pressing a stethoscope to his chest, while another rolled back one sleeve to give what George hoped was an injection of painkillers.
Watts, barely conscious, nonetheless moaned and tossed his head when his abdomen was palpated.
George bit at his lip in sympathy. There'd been little anaesthetic when Miss James had dug the bullet of him and it had been a necessary agony she'd inflicted. Watts had held him down, soothed him, while she worked. George wished he'd been allowed to stand at Watts' side now but there were too many people in the room already and he'd have hindered their efforts.
George frowned, puzzled, as two of the staff began to shift Watts onto his side. He understood when a long length of rubber tubing was brought over and an iron pail was placed on the floor.
Unable to look away, equally fascinated and horrified, and wanting to bear witness in return for Watts assistance all those months ago, George watched as the rubber tube was forced down Watts' throat. He swallowed while Watts gagged, writhed, was held still by an orderly.
A large brass syringe was fixed to the tube and its handle forced in before being pulled back, suctioning out the contents of Watts' stomach, what he hadn't already vomited at least, along with any last traces of the poison.
It seemed to go on for hours, the bucket filling with soiled water, fresh water being pumped down the tube. Finally however the returned water was clear enough that it satisfied the doctor in charge of the procedure and the tube was removed, inch by careful inch. Watts was rolled onto his back. A nurse wiped at his face with a damp cloth.
Then, on seeing that the next step was to fully remove Watts' clothing, George found he could move again, unwilling to violate the man's privacy.
He didn't go far, just stumbled a few steps away, where he sank into the nearest chair. Police officers saw a lot of terrible things but when it was one of their own who was hurt it hit hard. He'd seen Henry injured, and that had been difficult. He'd never thought to see Watts brought low, nor how much the sight would affect him.
Watts was an odd one, but so was Murdoch and George liked and respected - admired - them both. He'd come to consider Murdoch a friend and he'd started to think of Watts that way too. He hadn't realised how fond of the man he'd become until now, when Watts' life hung in the balance.
Today was supposed to be a good day. Paris beckoned. But George's heart was heavy.
Murdoch arrived. If he'd been about to scold him for leaving the fair without a word, the notion left him immediately on seeing George's despair. He took the seat next to him. "Is there any news?"
George shook his head. "Not yet."
Murdoch nodded, gave a sigh. He clasped his hands, possibly in prayer. Couldn't hurt, George thought, offering up a silent entreaty of his own.
At last a doctor approached them, and they stood, exchanged brief, professional, greetings.
"Will he live?" Murdoch asked, blunt and to the point.
"I'm hopeful. So long as there are no complications, yes. We'll know more tomorrow."
George heard the unspoken 'so long as he survives the night'.
"May I talk with him?" George asked.
"I'm sure you have questions," the doctor said, assuming police business when it was personal, though George made no attempt to correct him. "Let him rest for a time while we monitor his condition. An hour or so, and then you can see him for a very brief period."
"Thank you, Doctor." Murdoch looked to George.
"I'll stay," he said.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir. I'd like to wait here."
Murdoch's expression softened. "You and Watts became well acquainted when you were trying to clear my name."
"Yes. And he doesn't have anyone else," George said. The sister wouldn't leave her female-only sanctuary, from what he'd heard, not even to sit with her possibly dying brother. Someone ought to be here for Watts and it was better it was him.
Murdoch inclined his head, put a hand on George's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Keep me informed."
George agreed and when Murdoch had left, paced the corridor for a while. After maybe an hour had gone by Higgins showed up with a flask.
"Thought you might need this," he said and George gratefully shared the hot tea with him.
"Constable?" A nurse approached him. "You may see Mr Watts now."
"Detective Watts," he corrected. "Thank you." He followed her to a small room, barely noticed her leave, relieved to see Watts conscious though still taken aback by how pale and tired he looked. The hospital gown, the tubing in one arm hooked up to a glass bottle of fluid added to the look of vulnerability.
George approached, suddenly dumbstruck. "Hey," he said softly, idiotically. Some writer, some constable, to be reduced to a monosyllabic greeting.
Watts gave a half-smile. "George. You arrested Miss Swift?"
"We did, sir. Don't worry about that."
"Good."
George perched on the edge of the hard wooden chair at the side of the bed. "You're going to be fine," he said, only a slight exaggeration he told himself, and one made in an attempt to bolster Watts' spirits.
"It doesn't feel that way," Watts said.
"Well, no," George said. "You were poisoned. It will take some time but you'll recover." Between the effects of the arsenic and the terrible looking treatment it was no wonder Watts looked and felt terrible, but George clung to the hope of a full recovery.
Watts swallowed, which seemed painful. "Perhaps by the time you return from Paris I'll be back at work."
There was the hint of a question so George nodded fervently. "I'm sure of it. And I'm going to send postcards."
"That will be nice."
On impulse, George took Watt's hand, squeezed it. "I'm going to miss you while I'm away. I mean, miss I'll everyone at the station house. But it won't be for long. So you get better and when I come back we can talk about Paris some more."
"I'd like that." Watts closed his eyes, forced them open. "Sorry."
"No, you need to rest. I'm not supposed to stay long anyway." George released Watts. "I'll try and see you again before I leave for France."
"Thank you. For everything."
George nodded. He and Higgins went back to the station house, though he didn't hear a word Higgins said the whole way.
Brackenreid, angry and upset over the whole business, made George have a drink with him. He'd visit Watts as soon as the doctors said he could, but there was little else for him to do. George nodded, sympathising with Brackenreid's sense of helplessness.
When he brought up the notion of Paris, Brackenreid didn't argue. "You should go," he said. "After all that's happened…seize the day and all that."
It brought to mind his earlier conversation with Watts. George nodded, gave a sad smile. Then Brackenreid launched into a spiel about French women and one in particular named Celine, and things seemed almost normal again.
*
Weeks later, George handed Watts a bottle of French wine from his travels. Watts placed it down on his desk and got to his feet.
"It is a fine gift," he said. "We can share it later while you tell me about your time in Gay Paree?"
"I'd like that," George said, thankful that someone seemed eager to hear his stories.
"George!" Murdoch called, sticking his head out from his office.
George sighed. "But right now, duty calls."
"It will keep," Watts said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thank you, George. Until later."
"You mean, à bientôt," George quipped back and was gratified to see Watts smile.