18th October 1887
Dearest Eva,
Father said I would never do it! Nevertheless, here I am, a detective serving under the infamous magistrate Harding! I have never been so excited, in truth, and although modesty prevents me from saying so to my colleagues, I feel that this promotion is long overdue.
I must cut short this letter as Mistress Fanchion who runs the boarding house in which I stay is miserly indeed with her lodgings and we are allotted a measly two candles a week! With this concern in mind, I must bid you a fond farewell and hope that this letter finds you in the best of health,
Your loving brother,
William
23rd October 1887
Dearest Eva,
Today I was given my first case! A terrible situation, in truth; a child, murdered in her sleep. Strangulation, by all accounts. I pray you do not look upon me with disfavour for this, but I cannot feel grief for this turn of events. This will be the perfect case on which to make my name! Never have I been more excited!
I will write again soon,
William
29th October 1887
Dear Eva,
I have passed your condolences onto the Harrison family for their niece. They ask me to thank you and father for your concern.
So far, we have found nothing out of sorts. Annabel's room was locked securely, from within no less, and there was no sign of a struggle, although poor Annabel's body was bruised to suggest such.
My superior, mentor, and – dare I say it – friend, Magistrate Harding, believes that we are dealing with a madman. I, for one, find it hard to debate his words, although after a stroll through the grounds of the local asylum, I would be hard pressed to believe that a lunatic such as the sort I saw that day would be capable of the rational thought needed for this sort of murder.
The mother and father of Annabel return from a trip to the northern capes of Africa tomorrow. I intend to question them about potential enemies they might have, anyone who might wish to do the m harm. Although, by reputation, M. Gordon is a fair man who I would not expect of having acquaintances that would lower themselves to this level and I am thus uncertain how far this line of investigation can take us. M. Harding, however, believes that we may discover something. I will follow his lead in this - as always - as he has thus far proven to be a master of the forensic arts.
With love to Mother,
William
13th November 1887
Dear Eva,
It appears that the bureaucracy that maintains the fiction of organising 'justice' within this blasted town has decided that the death of a single child is not an event of significant magnitude to hold the attention of two senior detectives. I am certain Annabel's parents would claim otherwise, however there is little I can do to alleviate their suffering.
Since I have written to you, I must confess that very little has happened. Neither clues, nor suspects have raised their heads to face justice, nor has any significant progress been made. Against my wishes, Annabel was interned within her grave before I could examine her body for further signs of murder, ad thus I am forced to accept that Strangulation was the cause of death, despite some minor evidence that I saw to the contrary. I noticed upon her body signs of scratch marks, as if of a small animal… an animal that the Harrison's did not own. Although with the burial of their niece, we will never know the extent of that.
I intend to continue to follow this matter up in the spare time I have from my work. I will certainly write if more occurs.
Your brother,
William
18th November 1887
Dearest Eva,
Another murder! Another child, I fear, and in the same manner as poor Annabel! Poor Harriet Johnson fell prey to whatever lunatic is doing this in the same fashion two nights past. Learning from the mistakes of the past, I hastened to the Johnson house to examine the body where it lay, not two feet from its bed. Making note of those things that seemed odd, I noticed those same scratches on the young Harriet's body. After finding nothing else of oddity, I allowed the junior constables who accompanied me on my investigation to remove the body and take it to the city morgue for preparation for burial.
The Johnson's, as can be imagined, were distraught, but Mme. Johnson made a comment that struck me then, and continues to do so as I write this missive, as odd. Quoth Mme Johnson;
"But where's Mr Books?"
Upon hearing this statement, I queried the Johnson's about this Mr. Books, believing that it may well have been perhaps a man within their hospitality. This, of course, would have proven most useful in the case, as such a disappearance of a gentleman after a murder was committed would be telling indeed! I am certain then that you can imagine my chagrin when I was helpfully informed that Mr. Books was indeed the family cat! In disgust I left and it was not until I was near back to the station (in a cab ride that, I assure you, was certainly not worth the money that I paid for the privilege. The driver was rude, uncouth and smelled none too clean) that I thought upon this statement. After the death of your daughter, would you be distraught over a missing cat? Surely not! Further still, the scratches on the arms of both Annabel Gordon and Harriet Johnson could well have been the scratches from the claws of a cat. Hastening back to the Johnson household with speed unseemly, I asked Mr. Johnson of this Mr. Boots. He informed me that Mr. Books was a stray taken in by the family the very day that Harriet was murdered!
That such an attachment was formed over the course of a day is as incredible as to be unbelievable. I told Mr. Johnson this whereupon he immediately drew dark, as if I had delivered the most dreadful insult. In a voice as laden with violence as a springtime storm, he commanded that I quit his house lest he strike me. Faced with such I left immediately, of course.
Following a suspicion that was nagging at me, I retired then to the Harrison household whereupon I asked if they, at the time of their niece's death, owned an animal of any sort. Mr. Harrison informed me however, that they had never owned a cat, nor in fact, a pet of any shape nor size. In the background, however, I heard Mrs Harrison begin to say something, but a quick glare from her husband cut her off as surely as if he had threatened her with a loaded pistol.
Despite the apparent lack of interest by my superiors, this case is now again under my jurisdiction and I shall discover the felon behind these abominable crimes! I intend to return to the Harrison house upon the morrow and question further Mrs. Johnson when her husband is not around to silence her lips. I hope that I will find further answers there.
Until next I write,
Your Brother,
William
21st November 1887
Dear Eva,
Where to begin? It seems that in the three days since I wrote, this city has fallen to absolute madness! Perhaps only those parts of the city that I am required to attend upon over the course of my duties. Please, allow me to try to explain the strange events of these few days.
Upon the 19th of the month, I resolved myself to talking with the lady of the Harrison house, trying to gain answers from her. When I arrived at the house, however, her maid met me at the door and informed me, in no uncertain terms, that her employer was expecting nor seeing no guests today. When I attempted to gain entrance by informing the maid whom I represented, the police within this city, she continues to bar my way. Eventually, I managed to force my way through in a most ungentlemanly fashion, I admit, to see a strange sight. Mrs. Harrison was walking through the house calling out to someone referred to only as "My dear". When I approached her and asked if she was looking for Annabel, such delusions common in those recently bereaved, she answered me in the negative, informing me that Annabel was already dead. She showed not on her face nor in her voice, any sign that such distressed her. She clutched something in her hand, a small collar that might have fitted a cat or other small animal. Asking her then if she was booking for a cat, she informed me that she did not own, nor had she ever owned a cat.
For years, Father was proud of the fact that I could tell when a deliberate falsehood had been uttered directly before me. With almost perfect accuracy, as you will remember. When I stood and listened to this direct untruth, I could not detect, not in her voice nor posture, any traces of mistruth. Despite the evidence, that Annabel's body had scratches of what were certainly cat claws, and that Mrs. Harrison was walking through her house with a cat's collar searching for it, Mrs. Harrison devoutly believed that she had never owned a cat!
I left at this point, as Mrs. Harrison was becoming discomforted, I believe, by my presence. Nevertheless, before I left, I asked the maid whether the Harrison's had, indeed, owned a cat. She informed me that they did own a cat. A cat that ran away the night of Annabel's death! Given a description of the animal, it read directly as did the description of Mr. Books, the animal belonging to the Johnson family! Moreover did I discover that Annabel had spent only the one night in that house. Her first night sleeping in that bed was also her last. While it seemed that I was making progress, I was beginning to doubt where my conclusions were taking me. A cat capable of double infanticide? I could hardly credit it, and who would?
The following day, as I sat at my desk leafing through the copious notes I had taken, a gentleman was escorted to my desk. At first I was uncertain as to whether it was a gentleman or not, in truth. He was a Chinese, by the look of him, and wearing a silk dress as is the custom amongst certain of their kind. His hair was long and feminine and he smelt peculiarly of some sort of perfume. M. Smyth, who had escorted him to my desk, smirked at me and told me that this man might have a case I would be interested in taking up. Smyth, and a few other uncouth fellows whom I am forced to endure as part of my working environment, had taken the liberty of my inattention earlier on in the day to rifle through my case notes. The concept of a murdering cat had, apparently, sent them into stitches of laughter. And, as a direct result, they seemed to find it funny to send this apparent crackpot to me. Our conversation was unusual, to say the least;
Myself: Good morning, sir. May I be of assistance?
Him: I have a small problem, Constable…
Myself: Detective-Sergent, sir.
Him: Whatever! I have lost a creature of surpassing value within this town and I wish it returned to me without delay!
At this point, I sighed as the realisation of Smyth's joke settled in. Asking the Chinese for details, he gave me details that matched, directly, Mr. Books. Apparently, its name was Desdemona, rather than Mr. Books, but the odd part of this conversation proceeded as follows;
Myself (closing my notebook): Very well sir, I will have somebody search for your cat immediately.
Him: Cat? Whatever are you talking about? I'm looking for my Lamia, not my cat! I know where my cat is!
My first thoughts were that Lamia was the Chinese word for cat, or that it was a breed native to the Orient. When I voiced this, he took on a pained expression, much as you take when hearing the uneducated slang of a commoner, and informed me that if I was to persist in my ignorance, he would have to go to another department to find his missing pet. Not wishing this to look badly upon my record, I mollified him and sent him away. That night, I visited the Library and did a modicum of research into what the blazes he was talking about. It did not take me long to find this fragment in a text on the Ancient Greeks and their mythology;
"Lamia had once been the beautiful and happy daughter of King Belus, King of Libya and the secret lover of Zeus. Lamia bore many of his children but Zeus' wife, the jealous Hera, manages to make all of the children die (except the terrible Scylla). Lamia took revenge of having lost her own offspring by destroying the children of others and behaved in such a cruel manner that she was changed into a monster."
I retired straight away to my rooms and slept for a night, hoping that upon the morrow the world would seem a simpler place. I write this in the moments I have before I must leave, today is the day I hope to finally solve this perplexing crime, and incarcerate the man who committed these crimes.
Until I write again,
William
28th November 1887
Eva,
How do I write this without calling into question my own sanity? Do I simply say that a crime was committed and that it shall not be committed again? Do I say that I was the victim of an elaborate and intricate hoax that claimed the lives of two young girls? Perhaps I shall start where left off the last time I wrote and allow you to discern the facts from a written statement. Although I ask of you, my dear sister, that you do not judge me, but rather form your own conclusions.
That day I had pledged myself to seek out the truth of the matter, that this affair had carried on for far too long. I sought out Mrs. Harrison once again. Barging past her maid, I confronted Mrs. Harrison who was, once again, wandering her house searching. When she saw me, she commanded me to leave in a strong and steady voice but I remained and asked her of Desdemona.
A near miraculous change came over her then, as I uttered that name. Her face took on a cast of wonderment as she told me of her child, Desdemona. She then changed mood in a second, bursting into tears as she latched onto my jacket and wailed, sobbing that she would die if she could not find Desdemona again. In between her cries, I managed to gleam that Desdemona was her daughter, replacing the daughter that had previously died. In confusion, I retired to the parlour where the maid, Mary, was cleaning. I asked of her of the meaning of her lady's words. In a conspiratorial tone, I was informed that the Harrison's once had a daughter of their own, Elizabeth, who had died some years previously of consumption. Neither of the Harrison's had talked of it, Mary told me, and the staff were absolutely forbidden to mention her name on pain of immediate dismissal without reference! Moreover, Desdemona was brought into the house directly after Elizabeth's death on the insistence of a Chinese friend of the family! Coincidence, perhaps... but I am not trained to believe in coincidence. Desdemona was treated like a real person, even to the point of having her own room, unusual for a cat, yes?
Thanking Mary I left the house, leaving Mrs. Harrison weeping on the floor, unable to console her. Taking to cab at first opportunity, I hurried back to the station where I tracked down Smyth with all available haste. When I found him, wasting time as usual, I demanded of him the address of the Chinese who came to demand Desdemona the previous day.
Returning to the cab that had so excellently conveyed me to the station, I made with speed towards the quarter of town commonly referred to as 'Chinatown', that part of town that the Chinese had claimed as their own. I knew as soon as I arrived that Smyth's information was correct. Even from the street, I could smell that burnt perfume wafting from within the shopfront that I found myself outside. I made my way inside to see the Chinese sitting at a table sipping from a teacup, a large American gentleman in peculiar clothes sitting opposite him with a startled expression on his face. Upon spying my, the American let out a groan and asked the Chinese where he was this time in a manner that bespoke his common ancestry. The Chinese silenced him with a curt gesture, telling him that I was a customer and, thus, should be given priority.
Myself: "Sir, I come to peak to you about Desdemona, your Lamia"
Chinese: "Certainly, has it been found?"
Myself: "Not yet, but it is my belief that it was involved in two killings, that of Annabel Gordon and of Harriet Johnson"
At tis point the Chinese took upon a harried expression, as if I had told him news tat meant great trouble for him. In truth, I felt at the time, if my suspicions were correct, he was in grave trouble!
Chinese: "Tell me of these deaths!"
I told him in great detail of the murder of the two children, whereupon he took to his feet and exclaimed,
Chinese: "You have no time to waste, Detective! If this is true then she will no doubt strike again, and soon! As soon as another family decides to take her in. She is attracted to water, Detective, so go to the place of the last murder and make your way in the direction of the largest body of water and look for her before it is to late." His next words, I admit, I still do not understand the meaning of, but I shall record them here for the sake of completeness, "Why do they never follow the rules? Never keep her in a house with children… is that so complicated?"
American: "You know? I just don't want to hear this, D. Not on my vacation, understand? I'm just going to have another cup, close my eyes and when I open hem, I don't want to see this guy... understand?"
At this point, insulted and feared in equal measure, I left the store and returned once again to my helpful cab driver. We made haste to the Johnson residence where I retired to foot and made my way towards the nearest body of large water, the Hudson River.
I walked through alleyways and backstreets. My lovely new coat that you sent to me for my birthday ripped along one seam as I brushed against a pile of debris stacked rudely across one wall. But never did I deviate from that path. Soon, all too soon, I was walking past a house when, from within, I heard a chilling sound, the sound of a child's scream.
I burst in through the front door like a thunderbolt, charging past the two adults in the parlour that had only just jumped to their feet and were making towards the scream. I ran up the narrow staircase, pulling my pistol from its holster and checking that the chamber contained a round. Running up to the room from whence I heard the screaming, I used my boot to force entry where a horrifying sight met my eyes.
Perched over the body of a small child was a beast of monstrous appearance. Its face was that of a most beautiful young woman, and its bare torso the same. However, it's arms ended in the paws of some great cat and its legs and feet were of cloven accoutrement! The beast had its paws wrapped firmly across the throat of the girl and was choking the life from her with criminal efficiency.
In shock, I felt my reflexes take over as I raised my weapon and shot the creature, twice, through the heart. As the thing fell, my eyes watered as the illusion was shattered and I saw not a monster lying dead upon the ground, but a large ginger cat. As I staggered backwards, the mother of the near dead child ran in and took up the deceased animal, cradling it to her breast and calling out its name over and over again, with scant regard to her own daughter. In confusion and, I admit, some fear, I left the residence, unquestioned by the owners of the house.
I sit now at my desk penning this letter and trying to make sense of it all. What was it? What actually happened?
I do not know, my dear Eva, but I can say this and this one thing for certain… I will be keeping a careful eye on this Chinese. I have no proof that he was to blame for this series of events this time, but if he steps even once out of line, I swear that I will ensure that the full weight of law is brought to bear on his effeminate shoulders.
Your brother,
William.