Ichabod sighed, looking at the stars. It had been a year since Katrina had died and something still didn't feel right. His daughter, Elizabeth, had recovered since the death, but the unfortunate constable hadn't. He felt incomplete with out his love, but nothing could change. He blew out his candle and went to bed praying he wouldn't have to investigate any more deaths. He couldn't take it any longer.
"Papa, wake up! Wake up, Papa! A telegram has arrived!"
Ichabod groaned, opening his eyes only to be blinded by the strong summer sun. He rubbed his eyes and stood, quickly pulling on his waistcoat. He stumbled out of his room to the front entrance. There stood a boy with a letter in hand.
"Here you go sir!" the boy piped handing him the letter, then holding out his hand. The constable turned, ignoring the boy's request for money. Elizabeth frowned.
"Papa," she said, shaking her head and giving the boy a coin.
"Thank you!" the boy said, hopping off. Ichabod opened the letter and moaned.
"I need a vacation."
In a half an hour, Constable Ichabod Crane was at the murder scene, a scowl upon his face. He looked at the victim and sighed, his stomach churning. The victim lay sprawled out on the sidewalk, bits of bone, brain matter and other body fluids all around him.
"Either he was pushed off the building, or he committed suicide," he said, holding his handkerchief over his mouth and nose. He studied the position of the carcass.
"By the looks, he fell head first, which means he probably dove into the ground. Who found him any way?" Ichabod asked. One of the police officers at the crime pointed to a woman with two children, their backs to the corpse. The woman knelt down to hug one of the children. No doubt they were mother and children.
"Excuse me, Madame, but are you the one who found him?" he asked, tapping the woman lightly on the shoulder. She turned, wincing slightly at the body behind the constable. Her pale blue eyes were bloodshot, and tears were still on her cheeks.
"No," she whispered, "William did. He was ahead of Isabelle and me."
Ichabod nodded, noting the slight French accent.
"Did you know this man?" he asked. The woman nodded.
"Yes… He is… was our father," she whispered, closing her eyes. Ichabod blinked, dumbfounded.
"Y-your father?" he asked. The woman nodded.
"I was the result of his first marriage; Isabelle and William here are the result of the second. Their mother died when Isabelle was four and William one. Father turned to drinking and gambling after his second wife and now… Well, he killed himself so he wouldn't have to pay debt," she said, tears escaping from her closed eyelids to roll down her cheeks. She bowed her head slightly.
"Katie, is Daddy going to by alright?" the young girl asked. The woman named Katie bit her lip.
"Non, ma petite. But I hope he's in a better place now," she whispered. William looked up and hugged his sister's skirt.
"Its okay, Sissy, I'll take care of you and Izy!" he said, making Katie smile.
"Thank you William," she whispered. Ichabod smiled.
"I'll need your names and the name of the victim," he said.
"My name is Catherine Blanc. This is Isabelle and William. My father's name is Francis Blanc," Catherine said, with a nod. "Out of curiosity, what is your name, constable?
"Ichabod Crane. Pleasure to meet you, Catherine," he said, with a polite tip of his head.
"I suppose we should be going now. Adieu, Monsieur Crane. Perhaps I'll see you again," Catherine said, taking Isabelle's hand.
"Come on, William. William?" Catherine looked around and spotted William edging closer to the corpse. She ran over and snatched William up, placing him on her hip and scolding him. Ichabod smiled and then turned back to the body, nearly fainting in the process.
A/N: Catherine is pronounced the French way. You'd pronounce it CAT-treen. And for all of you who don't know French 'Non, ma petite' means 'No, my little one', and 'Adieu, Monsieur Crane' means 'Good bye, Mr. Crane.'
Thanks for all the reviews. I appreciate it. There will be a few more diary entries as the story progresses.