Chapter 3: A Little Case of Murder
Disclaimer: Before I forget, I don't own them, but that's the way of the world. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I am always surprised when I get mail!
This is the last chapter before the 'holidays'; please enjoy your winter/summer and I'll post up after January 1, 2004!
It was a few weeks short of spring and the wharf was shrouded in heavy fog; the weather had been warm that morning but the usual evening breeze from off the river had failed to arrive and thus fog had rolled in, covering everything in a pall of moist white. London was used to the ever-present wash of fog and rain that courted her each year, but many who called London home were not. Even long-time police investigators would pull up their collars and wish for a summer day.
Captain Cashiel stood at the entrance to Dock 23 warehouse and chewed on the stub of his cigar. At a little under six feel tall, he was built more like a bulldog than a man, with pulled down lips and eyes. Thinning hair was hidden beneath a plain brown Fedora and he wore the usual uniform of the investigating detective – plain grey overcoat, rumpled off-white shirt, brown slacks, and black shoes. He watched as two of the local constabulary pulled the tarp from the latest in London's death toll. This one was an old seaman by the look of his clothing, but now the old tar was just another casualty.
"Same as last one?" he asked the constable.
The officer nodded, indicating the rips along the old man's chest. "Yes sir, something sharp across his neck and then down his front; neat as a pin."
Cashiel sighed. This was the fourth such in as many weeks. The last had been a call girl; the one before that a house wife. There did not seem to be a pattern for location or victim; but the modus operandi was the same each time. Someone, or something, was slicing these people up and taking … Cashiel bit down on his cigar stub and it broke off in his mouth. Spitting it out, he indicated the body.
"Have him taken in; same checks as last time. Anything we can find out about how this is being done …" he was speaking to his lieutenant, Carter.
"Yes, Captain. What about the newspapers? They'll want a statement."
"Humph!" Cashiel grumbled. "Let 'em wait. I need to buy us time to solve this thing."
"You know they already are comparing this to Red Jack."
"Bugger 'em!" Cashiel growled. "You didn't hear that!"
"No, sir," the lieutenant said with a slight smile. "I'll notify the coroner."
Cashiel stood aside as his men did their work and watched the fog roll through the docks; ships carrying much needed war supplies were berthed throughout the wharf and each boasted a full compliment of sailors. Could this old man have known any of them? Maybe shared a drink this evening? Or maybe one of them saw what happened? With several hundred men in just this one berth alone, his men would be hard-pressed to catch everyone for a statement. And it might not have been any of them; there was also the casual labor to consider. Maybe it was some lunatic who worked as a laborer and got his kicks out of murder.
Cashiel mentally reviewed the locations of the first murders. The first had been less than a mile from the docks. The woman, one of the local prostitutes, was sliced and left in a back alley, her heart and other vital organs removed from her chest. The wife and mother met a similar fate about five miles from the wharf, but the same description of huge slashing wounds along the chest, the throat cut and then the organs removed … Cashiel shuddered. Either it was a raving lunatic or a monster. The Chief Inspector didn't want to hear that word 'monster' ever uttered in the precinct. But Cashiel had seen enough in his early years on the force to know that such things did exist – and right here in London. But his personal theory right now was madman; human and perverted as all hell, but still a man; and he prayed to God he'd not be proven wrong.
Captain Cashiel read the coroner's report once more before tossing it onto his crowded desk. It didn't tell him anything that he didn't already know about the recent homicides. Each victim, whether male or female, had been unescorted. Each victim had been attacked, their chest ripped open by a sharp object, possibly a claw or claw-shaped metal weapon. Each one had their throats cut and their hearts and organs removed. With the massive amounts of blood loss, the coroner could not say if someone drank the blood as well. That would put a small rest to the vampire stories circulating now. But beyond these obvious clues, the method of this murder's deeds, Cashiel was at a loss to find a reason. None of the victims knew each other. Furthermore, the only link seemed to be the area around the wharf. There was no set time; nor place. It could be a sailor, or it could be a service person within the docking areas.
Cashiel scratched at his stubble of a beard, wondering absently when he would get home to shave. Perhaps the next day would bring more for him to work on; unfortunately that also meant it might take another victim before he could puzzle the pieces together; unless it really was a monster. Maybe he should look up an exorcist while he was at it, just in case.
The next day did indeed bring another piece to the puzzle, and another victim. Cashiel chomped hard on his cigar as he viewed the latest, this one a young pregnant woman. Only a slight difference in the modus operandi; slit belly to throat and the heart removed, but the belly had been slit again cross-wise and the baby … Cashiel turned away, praying it was a monster.
"This is one sick fucker," he muttered as Lieutenant Carter joined him. He looked up at his officer, noting the pale face, the drawn lines around his mouth. "It's what I thought, isn't it? The baby…?"
"Yes sir. I'll have the coroner on it right away." The young lieutenant shook his head. "What kind of sick bastard are we dealing with Captain?"
Cashiel shrugged, one hand indicating the body now covered with a coroner's tarp. "I'm not at all certain. Any word yet from Brittey?"
"Yes, he checked in not half an hour ago. He said he'd meet you in your office. Has some interesting stuff; his words."
"Great. I hope it's useful; not like the last time he went chasing geese."
The lieutenant smiled. "I'll take care of this, Captain. And fend off the newspapers. They'll be here any second, I'm sure."
Cashiel nodded again, chewing on the cigar. "You're a good man, Carter. No transfers, ya' hear?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," the lieutenant said with a grin and turned to direct the local officers. Cashiel made his way to his car, telling the driver to get him back to the Yard. If Brittey had anything useful he'd rather see it now. Five dead bodies - five bodies missing vital organs; and one baby. Gods! What could go wrong now!?! His thoughts wanted to refuse to encompass that there was more to this than his own Commander was willing to view. As his car pulled away from Lollard Street, Cashiel said a silent prayer.
"What do you mean this has been going on for months?" Cashiel growled at Brittey. The smaller man was hunkered down on the guest chair, a pile of folders loosely grasped in his hands. Brittey had not the usual look of an investigator; in fact he looked like a scholar, which is what he was. Cashiel found his skills useful for research and often included the young man in his cases. It was unfortunate that Brittey was also the strangest scholar Cashiel had ever seen. He was small of build, almost dwarfish, with grey hair and pale washed-out blue eyes lost behind a pair of over-sized wire-rimmed glasses.
"Exactly, Captain; I checked back through the records; deaths of similaritude have been occurring for nearly a year; I have even followed the trail of murders into the West Country. These have been few I will admit, with the local officers issuing certificates of death by accident or foul means; however I trust my research."
With a flourish he placed a file on Cashiel's already cluttered desk; the file was filled with papers, photographs and small pouches with samples. Cashiel looked through it briefly before looking back at the young researcher. The mess within the file belied the man's abilities.
"Accidental death; with bodies eviscerated? Is there something else?" he asked.
"Yes. But I hesitate to bring it up; it is much, much too fantastic."
Cashiel reached into the small box on his desk, withdrawing a cigar. "You've got my attention, Brittey. Spit it out!"
"Well, do you remember the incident last year; the one with the unusual sightings that began in the West and even went as far as France?"
"Incident?"
"Yes; the strange … uhm, I don' know what to call it: a building I suppose; the one that rose up from the Irish Sea?"
Cashiel thought a moment, placing the incident. "Yes, I remember. Last summer; no one knew what it was, where it came from, or what it was doing. There were some huge explosions, like a battle was taking place, and then the whole bloody thing came crashing down."
"Yes, and that light above us, above the earth? Well, I think this is related."
Cashiel was skeptical. "How?"
"The incidents of murder began shortly after that thing blew up. And furthermore, there have been reports of murder and carnage from that area of Wales, near Aberystwyth going back over fifteen years. There used to be a monastery there, but now it's all ruins. At first I didn't think it possible, but it's too close to be a coincidence and I think our killer came from there."
Cashiel sat down with a thud into his chair. He pulled the file closer and took a more methodical approach to its contents.
"You think so, do you? And your opinion of the murderer?"
"Not a murderer, Captain, a killer; a monster. Awakened or created at that place. You find the people involved in that incident and maybe you find your monster too."
'That's what I was afraid of,' Cashiel thought. 'Damn! Why me!?!'
Later that day found Cashiel pounding his way back to his office, his feet hitting the floorboards with authority. He was not happy. Not that he was ever truly happy, but today was by far the absolute worst. He had studied Brittey's folder with its notes, samples, annotations and personal speculation. He had also re-read the coroner's reports; all of them. Then he had approached the Chief Inspector. He was unsure if Chief Inspector Harris was a total psychopath or just volatile. He opted for the later as the former was much more frightening by far and, hat in hand, had fled back to his office. Harris had not wanted to hear the utter nonsense of monsters from Wales and floating buildings. Cashiel had to admit that both would be difficult at best to accept under normal circumstances, but he himself had seen both, even if Harris had been State-side at the time. And there was no denying that something not human was involved; just how involved Cashiel didn't know just yet.
Yuri's days had become routine. Up with the sun, grab a quick bite of breakfast and run for the trolley to work at the docks. Two evenings a week he stepped in for English lessons at the home of Matthew and Ann Monroe. At least that's what he told Alice. He did in fact attend the lessons exactly once, before he stomped out the door with a tirade of Russian vitriol that would have buried the listeners if they had understood. So instead of attending to English, Yuri attended to more work; or an occasional visit to English cultural sites like the Fox and Goose, Barney's Bout and Cobber's Cove, all notorious hangouts for the local dockworkers. With the cultural exchanges attended to, Yuri would often miss his trip home and spend the night in a back alley or snoring in the shadows of the crates waiting in the warehouse for loading. Alice had said nothing of his nocturnal absences and thought Yuri would tell her when he was ready; she sincerely hoped it was for work and not something else.
One morning in March Yuri told Alice he was taking some extra work that day and would be working late. He showed her the admit slip that would get him into the warehouse that day and Alice sighed.
"I wanted to have supper with you sometime this week, Yuri."
"Oh, well. I am sorry. I can change it maybe?" he asked, curious of the occasion.
"That's all right. Your work is important; especially since you are bringing in a great deal of money and mother is pleased as it is helping to restore the house," Alice said with a small smile. "I was just hoping to celebrate our anniversary. Did you forget?"
They were in the dining room, Alice finishing her eggs while Yuri stood over his plate of toast. Yuri thought a moment as he downed his cooling cup of tea and crammed the last of his toast into his mouth, chewing loudly. He shook his head.
Alice sighed. "I thought not. We were reunited a year ago this week. In Bistritz."
Yuri's eyes widened.
"You remember when it was?" he said, clearing his throat. "I tell you, Alice. We do it tomorrow night, yes? I take you to dinner out maybe?"
Alice rose from the table, taking a few quick strides to be at his side. She straightened his trench coat collar, pulling back the ubiquitous buckles. "I was going to cook; some of your favorites; rice, Kung Pao chicken, and broccoli."
Yuri laughed. "You, cooking Chinese? That is good. I like that. Okay, you cook; I eat and tell you how great a cook you are, all right?"
Alice smiled and, standing on tip-toes offered her lips for kissing, and with a lop-sided grin Yuri bent down to give her one, his hands taking her by the waist and pulling her closer. Alice didn't demur and Yuri let the kiss become longer as he felt Alice's hands on his shoulders.
"Ah-hum!"
"Oh damn!" muttered Yuri and he looked up at the Reverend Mrs. Elliot as she stood in the doorway to the kitchen. "Hello, Reverend Misses."
"Hello Yuri. Just leaving?" Alice's mother asked pointedly.
"Yup, going, I-am-going, I am, sure ..." flustered he looked down at Alice and sighed. "I be back soon, Alice," and Alice could almost but not quite hear the 'sweetheart' he offered under his breath.
Alice turned to her mother after Yuri left.
"Mother, please try to be more patient with Yuri," she said, picking up the dishes and heading for the kitchen.
"Oh, I am patient, Alice. But if I let him get away with even a small thing, he'll be running over us in no time. He is that kind of person," her mother answered.
"He's not that bad," Alice said, knowing full well he was. "His upbringing was a bit different is all."
"How different can it be, Alice?" her mother queried as she put the kitchen to rights after breakfast. "It's not like he didn't have parents!"
"Well, actually, he didn't. Yuri is an orphan. His parents were murdered when he was but ten years old."
Mrs. Elliot hesitated in her work before continuing as if nothing had been said.
"That's too bad," she finally commented.
"He's not a bad man, mother. He's a perfectly normal twenty-five year old."
Alice's mother refrained from further comment.
Yuri reported to the harbormaster and was assigned to load cargo along with other foreign workers. He spent the day stacking and carrying boxes, barrels and crates along with several Hindi's, a brace of Negroes from Africa and a pair of Swedes; these later he had worked with before and were also known for their ability to hold liquor. Bart and Hamel, a couple of longshoremen, had long wanted to find their limit and exploit it, but as yet no one had been able drink them under the table.
The day progressed and Yuri finally took time for supper. He was joined at the local watering hole by Bart, the Walking Boss in charge of the men on the ships, as well as others of the work crew. The crew piled into the pub which served up the meat pasties, and Yuri tucked away two before coming up for air. By then there were bets going around about drinking. Yuri's ears perked up at the mention of five-hundred pounds.
"Come on, Yuri!" Bart shouted at Yuri from across the pub. "We've got to pull together on this. If those Swedes beat us, we'll never live it down. Come on, British pride!"
Yuri laughed quietly. "But Bart, I'm Russian!"
"Ah hell, a Russki! Those bastards can drink ANYone under; just ask 'em!" one patron shouted to a chorus of laughter.
Bart, a tall, beefy man in his thirties turned to look at Yuri, who was silently chuckling as he put away a third meat pasty.
"If you do this Yuri-boy, I personally guarantee you'll work every job that comes into this port if'n you wanna," the man said.
Yuri wiped meat gravy from his chin and considered how much money that could mean for him and Alice.
"Well," he said, "I guess I can try. What are we drinkin?" he thought to ask as the other patrons shouted their support.
"Stout, what else!"
Yuri's eyebrows arched into his long hair, but he shrugged. How hard could it be, he wondered.
There were loud shouts as the two challenged entered the pub. Lars and Sven were tall, brawny and defiantly blonde in a room full of brunettes. They laughed and accepted the challenge, especially when seeing the puny little boy the British were sending against them.
"I have to out drink BOTH of them?" Yuri asked, feeling his stomach suddenly very full of meat pies.
"Nah, just one of 'em. Sven or Lars, take yer pick."
Yuri eyed them both, standing a head taller than him and out-weighing him by at least a hundred pounds. Neither looked promising, but oh well.
"Lars, I guess."
Lars, grinning toothily, stepped up to the bar and took a stool, Yuri joining him a moment later. The barman served each a frothy pint of dark brew and Lars was the first to down his, wiping his hand across his chin as he finished and setting the glass down with a thud. Yuri's eyes had watched the man then he too took his pint, downing it in one swig before placing his mug on the bar with a pounding rejoinder.
Lars laughed heartily and pounded the bar.
"Good! A challenger worthy of the name!"
Yuri merely smiled and waved his hand, indicating his readiness for the second pint. Totally forgotten was his second shift at the dock.
An hour later Lars was still grinning if a bit blurry around the edges; Yuri was feeling no pain and wondering what all the fuss was about. Then he stood up and understood. The floor met his chin and there was a loud crack, followed by gales of laughter and groans as bets were paid. With a loud curse Bart helped him to his feet and down the hall to the lavatory. Yuri could barely lean against the wall to do his business while Bart shook his head.
"You did all right boy, but not enough. Still, you made yerself a pot of money, but no work for ye, sorry; a deal's a deal."
Yuri groaned as he straightened his pants and looked at Bart, the older man's face a mix of amusement and disappointment. He had hoped to win big with this boy, but life was full of sorrows. Bart grabbed Yuri by the arm and swung him out the door and through the back entrance.
"Git home, ya drunkard!" he yelled and pushed hard.
Yuri went flying out the door to land in the back alley and face first into the trash.
Some time later Yuri came to, his face still pressed into the foul waste of the pub's trash pile. With his vision blurry he was unsure where he was, and once he gained his feet he found his sight was not the only thing affected. He staggered, catching one hand on the grimy wall behind the pub before righting himself and slithering down the alley toward the street, doing more of a slide-walk than a step-walk. He slid to his knees once he cleared the alleyway and looked around. It was very late; fog had rolled in and now blanketed the streets in eerie white and grey. Yuri sniffed, taking in the fishy tang of the nearby river and then turned up Bankside toward Blackfriars Bridge. He made it as far as the roadway before he stopped to lean on a light pole, his stomach roiling. With a sound best not described, he left his stomach's contents on the sidewalk.
With his head still swimming and his legs unsteady, Yuri was attempting to mount the bridge roadway a few minutes later but could not seem to negotiate the pedestrian stairs; the ground kept coming up to meet his knees and the bridge was swaying chaotically. He tried twice, cursing at each failure. Finally he paused, he knees resting on the next step up and realized that he was swimming. The fog had thickened and he could barely see the roadway ahead of him; either that or he was going blind.
'Shit,' he thought then belched loudly. It occurred to him that getting back to Alice's place might be easier said than done. He patted his pocket but came up empty, completely forgetting the five hundred pounds tucked inside his boot. 'Nothing for it, I guess.'
With due consideration he found the fusion he wanted; something perfectly capable of walking when the ground was as unsteady as it currently was. A moment later his mind, still in a fog, grabbed the fusion soul: he felt his body elongating, growing in length but then hunkering down nearly on all fours. He felt a long tail sprout from his backside and swish with impatience before steadying, catching his balance. Multi-faceted eyes searched the fog before choosing the path home and in the next instant the water fusion Man Dragon was scuttling up the fog-enshrouded streets heading for Alliston Road.
Not a few pedestrians that night thought they saw a monster ambling along the Strand. And not a few thought about hunting the creature; a large man-shaped lizard with blue skin would be hard to miss! But the swim of voices in the fog and the unsteady tilt of the streets kept Yuri/Man Dragon busy moving ahead, one thought on its/their mind: find Alice. Yuri moved through several neighborhoods, houses dark and hidden both by dark and fog; at one point while crossing Park Lane into Hyde Park he met a Hansom trotting down the street, its lantern lit against the fog. He narrowly missed the old horse-drawn buggy before stepping into the headlights of a delivery lorry coming up the other way; horn blaring, eyes dazzled by the lights, the fusion stood transfixed a moment before fleeing into the park.
Yuri's drunken amble carried him deep into Hyde Park; he tramped through the grass and over the man-made hillocks and crashed through the nursery, his long lizard tail putting paid to several prized white roses and smashing through the herb garden, destroying the hundred year old lavender. Having left his mark Yuri made his way along the carriage drive and left the park just past Lancaster Gate. He was headed toward Gloucester Terrace with its houses and small businesses and estates, when a police car, coming from the west, spotted him. Instantly the fusionist was in trouble, his large blue frame too obvious even in the fog.
The clanging bell of the police car was certainly raising the dead as Yuri crossed Gloucester Terrace heading east toward Paddington Station. Even at this hour of the night the traffic was continuous near the station but Yuri did not know this; instead he was fleeing in a wobbling zigzag pattern that was his attempt to stay righted on the badly swaying streets. However when Yuri/Man Dragon arrived outside Paddington Station, he was met with an arriving train and nearly a hundred passengers debarking. The chorus of screams was terrifying. In a sudden panic, Yuri changed fusion; his first instinct, that of survival, kicked in even when his brain didn't. As a group of passengers cringed near the station exit, they were treated to the vision of a large blue lizard-like creature suddenly blur, appear as a man for a brief moment and then change again, this time growing in height; a set of six foot leathery wings suddenly snapped open and the creature, more like a demon from hell, took flight, its hell-red eyes glowing in the foggy sky.
Yuri/Death Emperor miraculously managed to fly north, over Little Venice and toward Saint Johns Wood. His flight was lopsided, first on one wing, and then the other as balance on the ground was much easier than balance in the air! Great leather wings swiveling to catch the errant night breezes and balance his precipitous flight, Yuri eventually arrived at Alice's home. He had remembered that the white Edwardian house was the only one with a widow's walk along the roof and aimed for it, crashing down with a loud thud, nearly falling off the other side as his thin midsection came into sudden contact with the railing; as it was he hung over the wrought iron rail and decorated the face of the house, his stomach registering its protest over flying drunk.
After a few minutes of retching Yuri righted himself and headed for the roof door, his hooves dragging and scratching the roof as he walked, but his footing was unsure and he slid off the roof. Below, in the second floor bedrooms, both Alice and her mother heard the crash landing on the roof and the clomping footfalls. Alice put on her robe and grabbed her book, heading out into the dark hallway. There was only the stairs behind her and a small beveled glass window at the end of the hall to let in light; the door to Yuri's room was closed and he hadn't stopped to say goodnight so he probably wasn't there.
Alice, book in hand, had turned for the stairs when she heard a heavy thud and then scratching near the small window; she turned once again in time to see a dark figure crash through the small window, obliterating it, and then fall to the floor. In a rush she ran toward the figure, her book out, a spell on her lips; she was summoning the power of Light to cast onto the intruder when her mother entered the hall with a light and Alice could see …
She suddenly stopped mid-spell, her steps faltering as the figure of Death Emperor slowly wobbled to his hoofed feet. The shattered glass crunched beneath him and his wings quickly fluttered in an attempt to help right himself. Death Emperor did not look normal to Alice.
"Yuri," she said softly, putting her book down and offering a supportive hand.
Yuri/Death Emperor managed to fold back his wings and right himself completely as Mrs. Elliot arrived. She had never seen such a monster, and was amazed her daughter was so fearless as to confront it. The creature wobbled a bit, and Alice took its arm. In a heartbeat Mrs. Elliot's nightmares came true as the creature reached out its long arms and grabbed her daughter. She quickly looked around and, spotting Alice's book discarded on the floor, picked it up and jumped at the creature, giving it a good hit in the side of the head with the large tome. There was a wonderfully satisfying thud from the creature's head as the book made contact, followed by a loud moan as it fell to one boney knee and … retched!
"Oh great Maker!" Mrs. Elliott cried, and then swallowed a scream as the demon began to blur, its features melting into that of Yuri Hyuga!
