Dear Ms. Baker,

You work with Blaine Dartwright? Good grief, I hope you have enough steel to stand him and his irritating self, that sorry sack of existence. He's the most uptight Inspector I've ever had the misfortune to work around back when I did. He's the biggest hiring mistake that the Yard has ever made. Even his name makes me want to throw my pen across the room, but it's the only form that I can write back to you, so I won't try to ruin it.

I must admit, I am surprised by fate's musings that we are put together. I was a Detective Chief Inspector at the Yard prior to my usage of cocaine, to which I was demoted at first, but they couldn't have me as a loose end and forced me out. My father (yes, the esteemed Professor Layton) had forced me through rehab. Not the way I wanted my late twenties spent, but it's his money and not mine. I could hardly care less. He promised that if I cleaned up my act that I would be able to return. Not even sure that I'd like that, not with Dartwright still sniffing around. He's probably vying to be promoted to DCI and take my place. He was always ever so fond of wanting to see me destroyed.

I will say that your letter also comes at a surprise. My desire to know of criminal minds and see blood spill is typically the deterrent for any continuous conversation, but you are a DC. Perhaps it's just something you enjoy. We all have our strange habits, Ms. Baker.

I hate to express that I do hope you write back. I would like to hear about the Yard and what goes on.

Alfendi Layton

P.S. I do despise the drawl of formality. Please refrain from using Mr. Layton.