Chapter I

Scientific advances had never caught his attention, to tell the truth. Even when his father let him play with his stethoscope as a child, he had never been much for science. However, that did not mean that he didn't find merit in those inventors and dreamers who dared the unimaginable like Mary Shelly's "Frankenstein ". That was a characteristic that he shared with them. He's always been fascinated by imagining and putting his creative yet logical brain at use. That was what influenced him to study and work as a-

Repeat it once more, Mr. Loughty, I think I didn't hear you.

The young man's body fidgeted as he stood in the spacious office. From the start, he knew his boss wasn't going to be pleased by the news, so he was expecting this reaction. That said, his impotence was present for there was nothing he could do to stop his superior from confessedly sticking out his ear and make him repeat himself for the third time.

The young man adjusted his spectacles nervously. I said that we found a dead end, chief inspector. His quiet voice repeated in front of the intimidating stare of Mr. Brown.

Oh, piss off, Loughty. He closed his eyes after his lash out. It's been nine days since the last homicide, and we've got nothing on this man!

His superior turned around, obfuscated. That gave him a brief time to take a deep breath, unconsciously placing a hand on his beating chest. Mr. John Brown had this effect on him on regular basis, but today he seemed more agitated than usual. And he just knew he was no match for Mr. Brown, or anyone for the matter. But that man, barely taller than himself, was certainly not someone you want to make angry. Sadly, for him, he was always angry. And the size of his immense body only accentuated his colossal presence.

Oh, he could feel his blood pressure dropping, knees going weak, and voice getting caught on his throat. At this rate, he was going to catch a syncope. A hand went for his pocket and snatched a white handkerchief he used to clean his foaming spectacles and started crushing it in his hands.

Still, the subordinate had to clear his name, and so, he stood up straight, praying to not stumble on his word for this important message.

C-Chief inspector. Curses!I can assure you that we'd analysed the room from top to bottom, searching for clues, but we found none, no hairs, no stepping marks, no weapon. Nothing that could help us link the murderer.

Regardless of his stuttering, he thought he defended himself quite well.

I don't care about that! A swift newspaper flew through the air, crashing into his face.

Young Loughty took it so he could conserve part of his dignity, but his eyes widened at the sight of it.

Like what you see? That is how people sees us.

The date marked November 18th, a fresh paper. He would like to say he was unfamiliar with the printing, but he would be lying. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time he saw a draw of the police being mocked by their ineptitude. This time it was a police officer, blinded by a scarf and people playing around him; the headline saying, "turn around three times and catch whom you may". He had to say that printers were becoming quite bold nowadays.

And all for what? For not being able to catch one bloody murderer! He spitted with disappointment. If this continues, not only will we be the laughingstock of London, but we'll also lose legitimacy. He got serious, placing his body weight on his hands over his desk.

Mr. Loughty's pressure turned into understanding and sympathy for that he also felt his concerns perfectly. That is how he found conviction to speak. Chief inspector, this is why I think we should cooperate with the "Whitechapel Vigilance Committee". But before he could finish, he was interrupted.

OH! Never bring those drunks to the table. This is the criminal investigation department, and we take pride in our work. His fist stumbled on the desk. We can't be seen working with those amateurs. Remember what I said about legitimacy? We need that to keep control over people; they need to trust us, but no one will if they cannot see results. And I could say the same about you, Mr. Loughty. He narrowed his blue eyes.

The novice inspector swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he was implying.

Don't forget that your current rank was an exceptional event. John Brown pointed a fat finger at him from his desk. The only reason you're here is because that damn recommendation letter we got from that Manchester elite school. It was all praise and bragging about being the first in your class.

The big man held the lapels of his jacket while walking around his desk.Well, good grades will get you nowhere in real life. Since your arrival we haven't move one single inch from this quicksand. It's been three months, five victims, and I haven't seen nothing to praise that godly brain of yours.

His eyes followed the figure until he faced him. And with a low voice, almost like a whisper, he warned him. If you don't start bringing good news about this case, you'll have to put that "intellect" of yours to write one of those cheesy detective novels.

A sigh passed out his lips. That was the scariest Mr. Brown has ever been and he never raised his voice. Loughty was mentally exhausted. A part of him felt deeply responsible for his ineptitude in the case. He knew his boss, harsh as he was, was correct. But on the other hand, how dare he call his dear literature "cheesy"?

His fatigued feet carried him to his office. Unfortunately, his misery was not about to be done.

Oi, Loughty. Did the chief chew you out a little bit?

You must work harder if you want to live up to his expectations.

Or if you want to live at all.

Far from his road, a couple of officers were being unproductive, or as they liked to call it "resting in case of an emergency." It was infuriating to receive that type of mockery from the very same people who were being mocked in the newspaper. No wonder they had a damaged public image. Not to mention how undisciplined they were; he was their superior, for crying out loud!

Well, have you tried to practice what you preach? He replied. Or at least that's what he'd wished he could do if he weren't a coward. Instead, the young inspector kept walking.

It put a frown on his face to see, hear or even smell that sly fox of Harry Walker, the leader of his little crew of "resters". Nothing about that man was affable. He had no convictions, morals or ethics; it was a mystery how he became a police officer at all. And regarding the matters of heart, the man fit perfectly in the description of "gorilla" he read in the dictionary once. Sometimes he felt pity for the poor woman who fell victim of being his wife.

Oh, before I forget. You have a lovely visit waiting for you in your office. Harry announced with a funny tone.

A visit? He was not expecting anyone to come. Could this be another trick on his part? It wouldn't be the first time. And why did he felt compelled to add the 'lovely' part? The last time Harry Walker had told him he had a young lady's visit waiting in his office, he greeted her as such only to find out he was an old man.

Loughty kept his integrity intact and kept walking to his humble office. Although 'humble' was an overestimation. The place could not hold a candle next to the chief's inspector office. It was a small square with a tiny window that used to get stuck during winter and the rest of the seasons. Only an old gas lamp in his desk compensated for the lack of light that the window did not provide. There couldn't be said much about the furniture, mostly because he only a desk and two chairs older than the building. But there was one small benefit from this deal, the books. The walls were covered with shelves of books about criminology, forensic science, medicine and even some of his favourite novels.

It was an old closet, but it was his office. And when he turned the rusty knob, he found his mysterious visitor. For the first time in three months, he had to agree with Harry Walker. It was a lovely visit, indeed.

Please excuse me for my delay, Miss. I'm the inspector Finley Loughty. The young man held his hand to the red figure which rose in perfect coordination with his entrance.

Once she turned around, he was left on edge by the young woman in front of him. But it wasn't her undeniable beauty what left him speechless, it was those eyes.

Scarlett Crimson. It's a pleasure.

He barely felt their handshake at all for that he felt drowned in the red pools of her eyes, both concerned and fascinated by the sight. At this rate, he'd trample on his good name as a gentleman, that's why Finley straightened his posture and firmly gripped her hand. The pleasure is mine.

She quietly took a seat, and he went to the other side of his desk. The young girl surely caught his attention with her peculiar appearance, her long red cloak specially.

Quickly his mind began to work. That was a characteristic element of the countryside, the red cape of the regency, although it was old fashion nowadays. She could not be a schoolgirl; they would have worn a Bonnet in their heads. Maybe that cape belonged to an old relative that had lived during the regency era. Now he had no doubts this young lady came from the countryside, belongs to a lower class and, judging by the lack of escort, she must be in a hurry.

So, Miss Crimson, how may I help you? He followed the protocol in order to shake the intensity of her look.

But it seemed that his question gave him a brief rest since she casted them down her lap under her thick eyelashes, her lips pressed together in a line. He had to say he's never seen anything like this before. Her big cloak covered her completely, but the second most intriguing characteristic of her outside was her long black hair falling loose over her shoulders. He's never stepped out of the city, maybe all women in the countryside looked like this young one.

Her biggest attribute would be her pretty face, for all the rest, she did not present herself to be consider a lady for the high class. Nevertheless, she sat with composure regardless of her pondering. There was something holding back from speaking, something important, surely.

Are you a detective?

Finley blinked. That was not what he expected from such long pause. Um, the correct term is inspector. He awkwardly replied. But you could say that we do the same job, yes.

What´s the difference? She blurted.

For the second time, he was puzzled about these trivial questions. Nevertheless, he satisfied her curiosity. Well, it´s a matter of official titles, really. You see, an inspector is a higher rank than an officer, and we take care of the investigation of a crime. On the other hand, a detective is an extraofficial investigator who is not related with the police department. Although they can work along with us if it is needed.

He had to say he felt amused by her curiosity, and this little recapitulation animated his spirit.

So, you are like a detective. She stated seeking a confirmation.

…Yes, Miss. He confirmed.

Really? You don't look like one. You're too young. Her soft voice exposed her honest thoughts.

That understatement rubbed him the wrong way. Ever since he started working for the metropolitan police, he's been accused of the same. But he repressed his irritation because she didn't say it in a disparaging way like his boss.

Once more her eyes lowered. You see, I've travelled from far away for the sole purpose of helping me solve a crime.

He guessed as much; they were inside the police headquarters in New Scotland Yard. Overall, she had yet to share her issue, or they would get nowhere. Clearly, she was not from the city, or even from a medium class place judging by her lexicon and her manners, but he could see how much effort she was putting, trying not to be rude.

So, what kind of crime are we talking about? He politely inquired.

Homicide.

Finley gave a small jump in his seat when her gaze rose, piercing his with an icy mood. W-Where are you from, Miss? He cleared his throat.

Kent.

Again, he jumped from his seat in shock. That far?

On the other hand, his guest was unimpressed by his bafflement and calmly added. It's a day and a half on cart, three by foot.

He was baffled by her easiness; it was a long journey for a lady and expensive, he guessed. She was just a countrywoman, so she probably couldn't afford a ride. Did you come here by foot? He questioned concerned.

She remained silent for a few seconds. …It took me a day and a half.

Her final answer lifted a weight off his shoulders and he rested on his chair where he could spy the quality of her shoes. Her leather boots were intact, so he knew she wasn't lying.

The girl started talking again, but the inspector paid no attention, getting caught against his will by her lugubrious eyes. He recognized what she had; a dear friend of his would call it haemorrhage. That explained how her blue-sky orbs were swimming in the same red as her cloak. But even so, he could not look away from such extravagant sight.

if I could intervene, Miss Crimson. He finally snapped out of his trance. Living so far, wouldn't have been better to contact the local authorities? That was the most logical action, after all.

The maiden started at him for a moment before opening her mouth. Could I have trusted them to do the job, I'd have done it already. That is why I'm here now. You must have deduced it yourself, right detective? Her dry voice carried a tint of offense.

The inspector only laughed anxiously because she was right about it. Following the trace of her thoughts, he spoke. You must have found obstacles and limits there in your town.

She agreed in silence. And with a bust of confidence, he asked her to continue. Who was killed?

But without need for that answer, he imagined it was someone dear.

Grandma.

Finley was growing accustomed to tragedy in testimonials, but that was the most miserable and hurt tone he's ever heard in his short career. That would explain the complete desolation in her comely face. This girl had come from far away, probably spending lots of money for a cart ride to solve the murder case of her dear grandmother. Finley felt sorry for her.

Can you tell me more about it? He asked gently.

I don't remember.

The inspector rose an eyebrow. What do you mean?

I was not home when it happened. I left my cabin early in the morning and was out until the night of October 5th.

Finley felt of stone. She waited that long to report the crime?

The country girl fell silent again, sensing his confusion. It took me a long time to recover from the attack.

Attack? His inner voice escaped from his lips.

A Wolf. She hissed.

His blood ran cold. That explained the irregular color of her eyes. This poor girl suffered more than he had imagined. I'm very sorry for having asked. He reflected on his insensibility.

There's no need for that, detective. It's your job. She murmured insouciantly.

She seemed to be a strong young woman. Her serious character and steely temper were far from the image of a London lady. The way in which she could talk about her hardships without blinking or wrinkling her eyebrows was very strange to him, especially when compared to other citizens who have sat in the same seat as her, recounting with hysteria and tears simple experiences of theft. Then, could you elaborate, Miss Crimson? He cautiously queried.

She did justice to his vision of her and described the events. The night of October 5th a wolf ambushed me on my way back home. My neighbour rescued me and informed me of my grandma's perish when I woke up on October 12th.

Finley listened to her story, but he couldn't put his finger on why she waited for so long to come here. He didn't count the day and a half of her travel, and he could conjecture that what was keeping her were monetary issues. Nevertheless, that was irrelevant in comparison to the crime scene. In all this time it must have been…

The crime scene must be ruined by now. She painfully recognized, reading his mind. But I can assure you that it looks the most loyal to that night. She interjected. Although, since I was unconscious for so long, the… she stumbled on her words. body, and the cabin might have been altered. Her head couldn't be hold high no more.

He felt for her, but he needed to hear more, given the unfortunate circumstances. Could you tell me more about the body? In which conditions did they find it?

The girl in the red hood attempted to answer with her characteristic seriousness, but stopped midway unable to speak, her hands holding her cloak tightly. Finley realized his insensibility as she looked at the corner afflicted.

He was about to apologize when her dark locks flew over the air to lock her eyes with his. This why I want you to come to my town. My neighbour can explain everything; he was the one who found my grandma. And you could also see the cabin with your own eyes. Her voice carried a new tone: frustration and pleading.

This has been the most expressive he had seen her since her arrival. He could tell this mean a lot to her. Sadly, he was in a tight position.

Miss Crimson, I am amazed by your conviction and passion towards this case; your grandmother was surely a remarkable woman to have gain so much love from you. The inspector praised genuinely. But I'm afraid that we're currently facing a busy and challenging situation. The whole police department is confronting a very stealthy enemy terrorizing the streets of London and this case requires all our attention.

He felt bad about rejecting the poor thing, but he believed she will be able to understand. Although he hated to see women cry. That´s why he had prepared his handkerchief for her.

On the opposite side of the desk, however, the young woman rose an unamused eyebrow. It didn't give me that impression. She moved her eyes to his desk.

He followed her gaze and color was drained from his face at the sight of the newspaper he clumsily let on display with the mocking draw at full view. But his cheeks were tainted with red to make him look like a fool, of course. How embarrassing! Finley used his white handkerchief and started wiping the sweat from his forehead.

To make matters worse, the seemingly calm young woman leaned forward and place her hands on his desk.

Mister Loughty, I've travelled from very far away to get a detective and I'm not leaving without one. Her soft tone suddenly turned rough.

A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the "lady" standing from her chair and placing her body weight on the table. The breaking sound of the furniture, he swore to hear, made him jump. And the way her vicious blue eyes stared at him resembled the ones of a feral animal looking at its prey. As a matter of fact, he found himself shivering like a bunny. Oh, he was not cut off to deal with this sort of people. Please God, don't make him stutter.

M-Miss Crimson. Curses! There's no need to feel obfuscated. He pushed his seat back for safety since the lady had not withdrawn.

I assure you there's plenty of reasons. She sat down, dejected.

Finley observed cautiously before fixing his unprofessional posture in his chair. He couldn´t discern her erratic feelings, although now he felt assured that this time, she looked frailer than before.

…I've already lost trace of the culprit, and if I lose more time, I'd never find my grandmother's killer. Sorrow was hidden in her weak voice.

It was an unfitting sight for such a young girl, but the inspector couldn´t help but ponder on her words. Um, what do you mean by 'lost trace'?

At that moment her eyes widened and stared at him in shock, almost as if he had caught her. But suddenly, the girl turned her body and covered her face with her hands, starting to weep in an odd fashion.

He fidgeted in his seat, punishing himself for making her cry. Oh, how unmanly of him! The poor girl spied from the crook of her cloak and raised her hand at him, demanding his white handkerchief. Stupefied by his mistake, he swiftly obliged. But his guilty didn´t outweigh his uncertainty when he witnessed his guest shoving his handkerchief on her nose, instead of her… dry eyes. Were all country women this… brute?

Finley decided to give her some privacy, mostly for his own stomach, and started searching in one of his drawers for a small paper that could come in handy for her. Once he looked up to her, disappointed that she had not move his handkerchief from her nose, he reached out and placed a rectangular card on his desk.

Miss Crimson, know that I am sorry that I cannot assist you but there is no reason to be alarmed. Here is the address of a private detective who can return with you to Kent and look for the culprit. The inspector drew a reassuring smile on his face. Worry not, he is a trustworthy man and I know that you will be able to reach a fair monetary agreement.

Finley had faith that this time he solved the problem magisterially. So why was she looking at him like he was insane?

The cloth on her face was furiously squeezed between her fingers as she rose to ferociously face him. Mr. Loughty, I don't wish for any other detective. You're from an elite school. Manchester, isn't it?

Finley was awestricken by her insistence and slightly flattered as well, but mostly confused by her terrifying accuracy about his scholarly. Pardon me, Miss Crimson, but how do you know that?

The calm young lady didn't share his confusion, and only raised her index finger to tap her ear. Embarrassment was not long in coming when he realized their agitated conversation, or rather, scolding in his boss's office reached the ears of his visitor.

I beg your pardon, Miss. It seems that the whole building witnessed my shameful earful. He nervously laughed, wishing to have his handkerchief back so that he could clean his hot forehead.

Finley was starting to behave unprofessionally now that he was aware that everyone knew about the altercation with his boss. But he found it hard to believe that the girl waiting in this room with the door close could hear them. Were they so noisy?

As I was saying, detective Loughty, I don't wish to work with nobody else. This is an important matter to me, and I need the best one. Her confident voice carried across the room.

His brown eyes lightened with pride. Contrary to how he left the chief's office, he now felt important and needed. He almost reminisced about his days in Manchester Collage when he worked hard and fantasized about solving cases in the name of justice.

Well, the best one I can afford. She added unscrupulously.

He had decided to ignore that.

Is there any way I can convince you to help me?

Apparently, she changed her approach to negotiate with an officer. This young woman was persistent, but her obstinacy was fruit of her deep love for her family and that was an honorable trait to have, although it was being a nuisance to him.

I'm afraid that's impossible, Miss. His brown eyes locked with her singular ones. It might sound as a fallacy to you, but I was speaking with nothing but the truth before. The inspector straightened his posture and reached out his hands to grab the newspaper. This is how we´re viewed by the citizens, and it´s imperative we do something to change it. He rose his eyes from the paper. I'm compromised to prove myself, catch the infamous serial killer, and save the metropolitan police´s reputation.

He realized he sounded like an incredulous dreamer, but those were his genuine feelings. He could only hope that she understood, and by the look in her face, he knew he succeeded.

I see. She whispered, her expression intact. It seems it is futile to pressure you in this office.

Scarlett Crimson reached out for the card in front of her. In silence, she rose from her seat, he clumsily followed her, uncertain about what was she thinking.

In that case, I´d have to wish you luck, Mr. Loughty.

He blinked a couple of times. Till the very end, he did not comprehend this young woman's demeanor at all. One moment she was menacing, then disconsolate, then hopeful, then disappointed and now she was smiling. His reflex compelled him to adjust his spectacles just to confirm he was seeing right.

Well, if this is the case, I´ll take my leave, Mr. Loughty.

The inspector hurry to open the door, but she was already grabbing the knob. I wish you luck with your duty.

Unable to stop her, he quickly greeted her. S-So do I, Miss Crimson. My best wishes.

Her response was a cryptic smile drawn on her pretty face. Until we meet again.