Chapter 1

Dark, soupy rain blanketed the dim streets. A lone figure was outlined by a streetlamp, which casted a veil of shade over his hunched form. A cold mist followed behind him as he walked, and it settled firmly into the street as he entered a small cafe.

“Awful weather tonight, eh?”

The man turned to face the voice. A stocky, bald man with a sagging features greeted him with a thick new york accent. His face looked as if he’d been in one too many fights.

“Sit down, have some coffee.”

The man took a seat in the last booth at the end of the cafe. Signaling to the waitress for two coffees, he settled in the booth and began reading a newspaper he pulled from his overcoat.

Exactly 15 minutes later, a woman entered the cafe. A large brimmed hat, dripping with rain, shielded the better part of her face. Upon entering, she turned and walked to the end of the empty cafe. Noiselessly sliding into the man’s booth, she stared at the coffee in front of her.

“You’re late,” the man said. “It’s cold by now.”

“I didn’t come here for coffee.”

“We shouldn’t have come here at all. I don’t understand why we couldn’t have met at my office, it’s perfectly safe there.”

“I haven’t even presented you with the case, and already you’re complaining.”

“Then have it your way.” The man leaned in. “What’s the job?”

The woman too leaned in closer, but not before turning to check the adjacent booth, making sure they were alone. “I want you to follow my husband.”

“You suspect he’s cheating?”
“I know he’s cheating, he cheats with everybody. That isn’t why I’m here.” She lowered her voice to a slow whisper. “I believe he’s up to something much, much worse.”

Before she could continue talking, the man quieted her. He looked up and around at the cafe, catching the leering eye of the cafe manager who greeted him on the way in. Turning back to the woman, he gestured to the door. “What do you say we take a walk?”

By this time, the rain had dried, but the dense fog remained. The pair had made their way out of the narrow city streets and into a park, where the few others there were making haste to get out of the coming cold. After wandering silently for quite some time, the man settled down on a bench in a desolate hollow of the vast greens. Upon joining him, the woman asked why he’d wanted to come here.

“I didn’t like the looks of that manager. Seems like the kinda guy who would sell out his own mother for a cheap buck, and probably has.” He turned to the woman. “What did you want to tell me?”

The woman leaned in close, despite that the park was completely devoid of human life, much less prying ears. She whispered in a slow, hesitant voice, “I believe my husband is a murderer.”

The man hesitated for a moment, his expression remaining placid. “Tell me more.”

“A week ago, I found an article in the newspaper about a man who had been shot in an alley beside a movie theater, with a 9mm pistol. There had been no witnesses, and the police had absolutely no leads. That night that he had been shot was a Tuesday. My husband always goes out that night, he says for work, but I know that it’s the night he meets with his mistress. But the next morning, I found a ticket stub in his pocket for a horror movie that had been playing at that same theater Tuesday night. Now, this was odd because my husband hates horror movies. I know this for a fact. I confronted his mistress about it, (we have an understanding), and she had said he cancelled on her at the last minute, didn’t give any reason why. So at this point I was suspicious, so I was snooping around his office when I found his day planner. For Tuesday evening there was written, ‘Boris, 11 p.m., Millennium Theater’. That was the name of the theater where the man was shot, you see. And, no identification was found on the murdered man, but the police did know that he was Russian. And... my husband’s brother owns the same type of gun the man was shot with. I don’t know how definite all this is, but surely you understand why I felt I had reason to come to you.”

“Your story is compelling, I agree, but there is one thing I’m confused about. Why did you come to me? Why not the police?”

“My husband works for the mayor. If I went to the police with this story, the publicity would cost him his job, and jeopardize many other people’s jobs too. If he’s guilty, well, then it has to be done. But if it turned out that he wasn’t... I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Your situation is precarious, but I’ll have it cleaned up in no time, don’t you worry. I only need the name of your husband’s mistress, and of your husband’s brother.”

“His name is Wilson. As for his mistress, I only know her first name: Sandra. But I have her telephone number.” The woman produced a folded slip of paper and clasped the man’s hands around it. “Do have this matter sorted out quickly. There isn’t much time to waste.” She arose from the bench and soon disappeared into the thick fog still lingering about the park.

The man stayed for a while, tossing this facts of the case around in his head. It was strange, yes, but it seemed nothing he couldn’t handle. Presently, he too arose from the bench and sauntered off into the fog.

The man had scarcely opened the door to his office when the voice of Lucy rang out throughout the room.

“Good eeevening, sir. I trust you had a fine time with the lady?”

Lucy had been his secretary for only a little over a month now, and he was beginning to grow quite fond of her. His past experiences with secretaries had been extremely rocky and unpleasant, and not hours after his last disaster had quit, Lucy had showed up out of the blue, let herself in, saying she heard he needed help, in more ways than one. From that moment, he had taken an instant liking to the girl. She had a peculiarly different way of speaking, which took to her personality quite well. She was intelligent, he knew that much. And as tempted as he was to persuade her to get a job that was better suited to her abilities, he had never held on to such a fabulous secretary for so long.

“It was fine, I suppose.” He lingered at the door for a moment before closing it behind him. “Yes, it was fine. Better than fine, actually. The case seems very simple. I need to do a bit more digging before I get back to her, of course, but it’s simply a fine case.”

Lucy followed him with a skeptical glare.

“Yes, fine, just fine indeed,” he continued musing as he passed Lucy’s desk and went into his office to hang up his coat. Pacing back out, he slumped onto the couch opposite Lucy. “Just... fine...”

“But?”

“But something isn’t right.” He said, springing to his feet, and pacing furiously about the small reception room. “First of all, this woman has ample enough evidence to go to the police. I’ve seen less than what she’s got hold up in a courtroom. Second of all, I comb the papers, you know this, Lucy, you know I do. I always go through them for cases like this. And I would have seen this. I’m sure I would have. And even if I did miss it, the police never release things like the type of gun he was shot with. They never do.” He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. “Something is definitely wrong, Lucy.”

“Curious happenings afoot, sir.” Lucy placed her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand, staring intently at the man. “What do you plan to do?”

The man stopped pacing, and met Lucy’s gaze. “I’m going to do... nothing.”

Lucy, obviously puzzled, sat back in her chair and began twirling her thumbs.

“Not entirely nothing, of course. I’m going to continue with the case as if nothing were suspicious at all, and I’ll go back to her in a couple of days and say that her husband is definitely guilty.”

“That’s a good plan, sir.”

“Alright then, Lucy, that is what I shall do. But I only came back to the office because I forgot something.” He walked into the adjacent room and pulled something from a file cabinet, and was about to leave the office when he turned back to Lucy. “It’s late. Will you be going home soon?”

“Soon enough, sir. But there was reading I had to do, and your office is much quieter than my apartment. Good night sir.” Lucy smiled at him, and proceeded to pull a book from her desk.

The man smiled, and without another word, closed the door and started down the long hallway towards the elevator.

Arriving back at his tenement, the man started a kettle of boiling water, and went to sit down in a large armchair, one of the few pieces of furniture decorating his small, but still empty apartment. He pulled out of his coat the newspaper from last Wednesday that he had gone back to the office to fetch. If the woman claimed that there article involving the murdered man was in there, then by golly, he was going to find it.

Humphrey Benjamin James hadn’t the least idea how he was going to handle himself on this case, despite what he had told Lucy. If he had ample enough evidence to prove that Mrs. Watson’s husband was guilty, then there was no reason why he shouldn’t have simply told her so on that bench. Perhaps, it wasn’t the case he found so intriguing as much as it was the woman. Humphrey decided that he would investigate the case as he would a normal one, and then, once he had informed Mrs. Watson that her husband was indeed guilty, he would follow her. Only to see what she would actually do with the information.

A high-pitched whistle halted Humphrey’s train of thought. As he started to the kitchen to prepare his tea, a thought occurred. It was painfully obvious that Mr. Watson was guilty. Even the most devoted wife would know that. So if she decided to go to a private detective, she must be expecting him to come back to her with the sad truth that her husband was guilty.

But Humphrey didn’t trust Mrs. Watson. Her case was too peculiar to be taken lightly. So he decided precautionary measures should be taken if she was expecting the news that her husband was guilty. He would go to her in a few days, but instead with the information that her husband was innocent. To follow her then would be much more revealing towards her true intentions.

Satisfied with his sleuthing for the day, Humphrey Benjamin James took his tea and set it on the nightstand next to his bed as he reached for his pajamas. Tomorrow, he decided, I will look into the Watson case. I will indeed, I most certainly will. Exhausted, he turned out the light and immersed himself within the bed, leaving the full cup of tea still steaming on the stand.

On the other side of town, Mrs. Watson entered a dimly lit bar that smelled of absinthe and despair. Still covered with the large brimmed hat, she nodded at the bartender. Without looking up, the strong scent of her perfume alerted him as to her arrival, and he cringed and backed away. Continuing to the back of the bar, she pushed through a black door whose paint was sporting slashes of wood from teeth and fingernail marks.

On the other side of the door was a well furnished sitting room, with wood paneling and plush couches. A man was waiting for her, and he sprung to his feet as she entered the room.

“Kitty, my dear.” He took her hand and sat her down at a couch. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Wilson, please. We have important matters to discuss.”

The man shrugged, and poured a glass of whiskey. Sitting down opposite her he asked what became of the meeting.

“It went swimmingly.” She smiled, and quickly drank the entirety of Wilson’s drink. “You do very good work, I must say. I couldn’t have found a better candidate if I’d tried.”

The man scowled at his empty glass, and rose to pour another drink. “But what exactly did you tell him?” He returned to the woman with two glasses, and set one in front of her.

“Exactly what you told me to. For how well you planned this, you seem very tightly wound.”

“Well, maybe I just haven’t had enough to drink.” He shot the woman a glare, and continued. “Anyway, it’s dangerous to get too cocky this early. It’s too late to back out now, and I would appreciate quite a great deal if we didn’t get caught.”

“You’re such a downer, Wilson.” Kitty drank the second glass in one gulp. “I don’t even know why I came here.” Kitty got up, and started to walk out the door. “I’ve done my part. Just please don’t screw up yours.”

Wilson watched from the door as Kitty sauntered out of the bar. The bartender acknowledged her with a faint ‘Goodnight Mrs. Watson’ and Kitty ignored him in return. Wilson smiled and retreated back into the sitting room. Although he was tired of Kitty’s arrogance, he knew it was justified. The plan was foolproof, provided that Kitty, or, god forbid, himself, didn’t make a mistake. He leaned back into the couch and smiled. Yes, it was foolproof. Wilson just had to make sure not to doubt if it was worth it.