The novel that sparked the hugely popular Murdoch Mysteries television series celebrates its 25th anniversary. Includes a new introduction and a previously unpublished short story featuring the young Detective Murdoch. In the cold Toronto winter of 1895, the unclad body of a young woman is found naked and frozen in a quiet laneway. Acting Detective William Murdoch, driven by pity for the girl and the desire to secure his promotion, is determined to pursue every lead and reveal the truth. Although influential people pressure the police to solve the mystery quickly, when the girl is eventually identified, it becomes clear that those connected with her life have secrets to hide. Murdoch must use every detective skill he possesses as well as his understanding of human nature as he pursues the mystery through both brothels and drawing rooms, desperate to untangle the case before more lives are lost. Shortlisted for an Arthur Ellis Award "No author has mined Toronto's past with the dedication to detail of mystery writer Maureen Jennings." —Toronto Star “A chiller . . . impressive. An engaging historical mystery.” —Houston Chronicle “Remarkable.” —Philadelphia Inquirer "A first novel enriched by the vividness of its period settings and animated by the lifelike characters caught up in its broad social sweep." —New York Times "Jennings creates more than a period mystery. She brings alive 1895 Toronto." —Publishers Weekly "A winner. Provocative . . . finely flavored, credible, and detailed." —Library Journal "Terrific . . . the best historical mystery of the year. . . . Murdoch is a fine creation. . . . We can't wait to meet him again." —Mystery Collector's BookLine MAUREEN JENNINGS was born in the UK and emigrated to Canada as a teenager. After a long career as a psychotherapist, she became an award-winning writer. She is the author of four series in the crime fiction genre—Christine Morris, Tom Tyler, Murdoch Mysteries, and Charlotte Frayne P.I.—as well as a book on creativity, one novella, and four plays. The Murdoch Mystery series has been adapted into the beloved television series Murdoch Mysteries shown in over 120 territories worldwide, and the Tom Tyler series served as the inspiration for the television series Bomb Girls . In 2011, Jennings was the recipient of the Grant Allen Award for her contribution to Canadian crime writing. She lives in Toronto with her husband and their dog, Murdoch. Chapter One   Saturday, February 9, 1895 The wind cut to the bone and Alice Black pulled her shawl tight about her head and throat. The hot gin was a fire in her stomach but no defence against the cold of the winter night. She grumbled to herself, trying to expose as little of her face as she could. She’d expected to do some business at the John O’Neil but none of the piss-makers wanted to pay for a bit of dock tonight. She wiped the back of her hand across her dripping nose. She hoped Ettie had fared better, else it was potato-peel soup for the next few days.   It was getting late. Although the hotel officially closed at the legal Saturday time of seven o’clock, there was a backroom where the regulars could go to top off, and for a cut of the dash, the proprietor, James McCay, usually allowed her and Ettie to stay on.   Alice edged closer to the houses. She was afeard to go past the churchyard where the bodies of the Irish immigrants were laid out in their eternity boxes. Even though the epidemic had happened almost fifty years earlier, for sure ghosts lingered in the area. Not so the cholera. She always held her nose as she scurried by. On this stretch of Queen Street the shops were interspersed with vacant buildings and the boarded-up windows were blinded eyes. The gas lights were few and far between and what with that and huddling into her shawl, she didn’t see the young woman walking in front of her until they almost collided.   “Mind where you’re goin’,” snapped Alice. She heard a muttered “Pardon” as the other one moved out of the way. She had a thick muff ler wrapped around her face, but Alice had an impression of youth, and she wondered where the girl was going by herself at this time of night. A country piece, by the look of that hat and valise.   Alice glanced over her shoulder. The girl was hovering on the sidewalk. She looked lost, and for a moment Alice considered stopping to offer help. But sod it, it was too cold. A gust of wind blew her skirts up about her knees and she struggled to hold them down. At that moment she heard the jingle of harness as a carriage came around the corner heading east onto Queen Street, going a good clip considering the state of the road. The iron-hard ruts had a light covering of snow and they were slippery and dangerous to the horses.   “Get out of the way, you bloody bint,” yelled the driver. Alice jumped back onto the sidewalk just in time. She lost her balance on the snowbank and fell backwards, landing on her tailbone. For a moment she rema