October 10, 1849—The police in three days have gone from being prepared to dismiss the murder of Miss Donovan as unsolvable, to having Mr. John Thiroux virtually TRIED and CONVICTED of the crime even prior to his arrest. No attempts have been made to investigate alternative suspects, and official police reports read by this reporter indicate sights are firmly set on the prosecution of the artist, philanthropist, and quiet scholar.

Temperance advocates, gather your arguments, as this case will prove to be a testing ground for the tolerance of the citizens of New Orleans to excessive drinking and pharmaceutical use. Choose your side and line up accordingly, as the impact on our local businesses, residences, and the very tenor of our city could be drastically altered by conclusions drawn regarding the crime of murder and its correlation to alcohol consumption.

“So just like that, they arrested John Thiroux?” Sara asked Gabriel, seated across the table from her at Brennan’s restaurant on Royal Street. “With no evidence?” She ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass and turned the facts around in her head. It was interesting to sit and talk through the case logically, detached, removed by more than a century from the grim reality. For the first time, she could see the appeal of what Gabriel did for a living. Playing Hercule Poirot, but with no one to let down if you couldn’t actually reach any conclusions. Much easier than thinking about her mom.

The sudden change of tenor in the original Anne Donovan investigation struck her as odd. Was Thiroux’s arrest really media driven? The police were afraid of negative press? It seemed too broad a leap to make so early in her reading and research, but there had been a clear shift in the four days from murder to arrest.

“Well, there was evidence. He was in the room, he had blood on his hands. No one heard a struggle. No sign of any forced entry. Circumstantially, it would appear that John Thiroux was the logical suspect. As for motive, well, that’s dicier, but he certainly had the opportunity.” Gabriel spread a thick glob of butter on a piece of crusty French bread and bit it.

He’d already had three equally burdened slices and Sara was eyeing the butter with longing. It wasn’t fair that Gabriel was tall and lean, yet he could eat half a stick of butter without batting an eye or seeming to gain a pound. If she ate that, she would sprout love handles spontaneously by the time the check for dinner arrived.

“If you think about it, under the exact same circumstances today, they would definitely take the person present at the scene in for questioning. You have to admit, he looks guilty.” Gabriel bit the second half of the slice of bread, finishing it off.