CHAPTER 5 - "THANN VON STRAUSS"

Chief-Inspector (Detective) Frederick Abberline sat at his desk in the Homicide Division of Scotland Yard and in front of him was a mound of paper work that he honestly did not have much interest in working on. So he sat back in his chair and took a moment to muse to himself, gazing over the completely open concept but empty room he worked in, with layers of other desks belonging to other inspectors.

But none of the others were as messy his was, with papers swished in every direction and angles, folders buried beneath others with or without connection to other folders. And then where was the pile of folders toppled precariously on the right corner of his desk. Nevertheless, none of them were of any consequence to him at the moment. His mind was on a certain case, a supposedly closed case - but he didn't think so. He didn't know why he was thinking of this cold case right now, but it had not mind occupied solely.

It was the case of the deaths of Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive. Parents to Ciel and Lukas Phantomhive, fraternal twins, once separated by a tragedy but then reunited only a few months back by some yet fully explained events that the family was keeping suspiciously quiet about. When Lukas Phantomhive's return was announced to the media, there was much fanfare and celebration, but Abberline suspected the mystery of Lukas's disappearance was much more involved than what the written article Ciel Phantomhive gave to the press with plausible theories on Lukas's kidnapping by the notorious child kidnapper of London. Lukas explained that he had managed to chose a moment to escape after seven years, but he had amnesia of many of those many years and could not cast light on whom the kidnapper or kidnappers may be.

This brought suspicion to Abberline who prided himself on learning truth, much like the case of Jack the Ripper, whom he considered unsolved with Scotland Yard accusing the wrong person. There was absolutely no evidence the man they had was the serial killer who murdered six prostitutes in the Whitechapel District. Severin Antoniovich Klosowski did come to England, an immigrant from Poland - and does have a medical background and mediocre at best - however, his medical knowledge was not enough to carefully remove those six women's organs, even Abberline knew it could only be someone with more in depth medical knowledge. However, Klosowski was indeed Scotland Yard's prime suspect in the case.

But along with the six prostitutions - the last being a pretty young thing named Mary Kelly - there was a seventh victim: Ciel Phantomhive's aunt, commonly referred to as Madame Red around town, because of her recognizable red dress attire. By all accounts, it appeared she had be in the wrong place at the wrong time and Jack the Ripper murdered her because she saw something she shouldn't - namely his face. Abberline imagined Ciel must have been devastated when he learned of it.

Notwithstanding those murders, he suspected something else was amiss with the Phantomhive's themselves, something hidden in the shadows, sinister, and even gothic in nature. And the sudden reappearance of Lukas Phantomhive was top on his list of something suspicious goings-on with the whole "resurrection" affair. With all the children who had turned up dead over the years after being kidnapped, some with brutal wounds and even self-inflicted fatal injuries, why and how had Lukas Phantomhive managed to survive all these years and then escape with little more than a vertical scar over his left eye? His brother Ciel had fared worse after the deaths of their parents. Something wasn't right about the whole affair here. Pieces were missing and the pieces Scotland Yard did have were not fitting properly into the overall puzzle, as far as he saw it. But he kept his opinions of it to himself.

He knew the Phantomhive's were keeping many secrets. But was it really his problem to handle? Perhaps he should just stay out of it and let sleeping dogs lie? Sir (Lord) Arthur Randall, head commissioner of Scotland Yard, and his boss, seemed to think that all the cases Abberline was thinking about were closed to the satisfaction of his authority. He may have looked like a clueless detective, Abberline thought everyone thought of him, but he wasn't as naïve as people thought he was, and he knew Sir Randal knew more than he was revealing about the Phantomhive's, to the public and to the Yard.

"Abberline!"

Abberline jerked his attention out of his inner thoughts and almost fell back in his chair, but then using forward momentum, brought himself back and planted his hands flat in his desk to stop a fall.

Normally the harsh sounding voice of his boss was commonplace, but it had startled him with its buoyant echo in the empty room. Sir Randall was of average height, was in his late-forties with dark grey hair, had long sideburns and a full mustache, and wore square glasses. He contrasted Abberline's own appearance. Abberline was taller, with shaggy auburn hair, had excellent vision, and yet was less confident of his abilities. Although that was in good part to Sir Randall being more experienced, he decided.

Sir Randall came storming from an adjacent corridor in the division room.

Abberline quickly swished some papers around on his desk, burying some, lifting others, as Sir Randall approached. Most people would think Sir Randall was angry at the world, but he always had that kind of an expression on his face, and Abberline was used to it.

"What are you doing here this late at night, Abberline?"

"I decided to finish up some work, sir."

This appeared to take Sir Randall by surprise. "Oh, well, very good, Abberline," he said, his voice calmer. "The Christmas season is always a busy time of year."

"Indeed sir. I still have a lot of work to finish off - "

"Nonsense," Randall said. "Go home to your wife and enjoy the holidays for the next couple of days. It looks like it is going to snow, so you better hurry."

Abberline looked out a window and saw the darkness outside. The inadequately lit streets of London were a dangerous place and even more so during winter, and he had to walk home. Luckily he only lived twenty minutes away. But Sir Randall telling him to go home nicely was strange of its own accord. Sir Randall was never nice. But Sir Randall had a wife and children, and perhaps, Abberline was keeping him from going home to them, and Randall wanted to lock up the office. Sir Randall was a workaholic and often was the last one left in the office at the end of the day.

Abberline grabbed his coat and hat and began to dress. He didn't bother cleaning up his dress as his desk was normally messy, or organized as he liked it. He often knew where things were, even if others didn't.

Then he remembered something critical. "Sir, if I recall, you said that your wife and children were spending the holidays with your mother in - "

"Yes," Sir Randall's tone became harsh again. "Yes, I did. And what of it, Abberline?"

"Oh, nothing sir. I was wondering if you would like to come to our home on Christmas day…"

Sir Randall waved the thought off. "No, no, Abberline. Thank you for the consideration, but I have plans."

Abberline knew when not to press. "Oh…very well. Well, good tidings, sir."

"And to you, Abberline."

Abberline then left.

As soon as Abberline had left, Sir Randall briefly eyed the man's disorganized desk. The man was a good first-inspector, but sometimes his organizational habits fell by the wayside.

Much like the world - nothing was white or black anymore, even the grey-scale of things had a multitude of different shades, lighter and darker. The world was changing and often people were not whom they seemed to be. To just look at a person by outward appearances was faulty logic nowadays, because the person on a psychological level was much different, like Abberline. He was organized in his reports and proper spoken, but he had a wild, ambitious side that Sir Randall could see by Abberline's desk.

But perhaps he was thinking too deep about it. Over his thirty year career as a detective, he knew a file never defined a person's true character and his credentials were merely education. It was what a person learned in the field that truly defined someone, and Abberline had proved himself time and time again. And though he would never openly admit it, he felt Abberline would become a fine successor for him one day.

First, Abberline had to clean up his desk.

Randall went to clear up a few papers on Abberline's desk out of the "goodness" of his heart; he didn't have anywhere to go right now; when a voice said, "He's a good detective, Sir Randall, but a lousy house maid."

Sir Randall snapped his attention around to the voice, and saw a young, handsome looking man, in his mid-twenties with medium length black hair, clean-shaven, and wearing black leather attire from his shirt to the knee-high boots, with his feet propped up on another detective's desk, leaning back in a chair. The man wore a low V-neck collar that exposed a muscular but trimmed physique and a close-cropped chain around his neck much like a dog collar with a crucifix attached. Sir Randall didn't know if that meant the man was Catholic or Protestant as both shared the cross as a religious symbol of faith, but he didn't care. In this cold season, Sir Randall knew leather grew cold exposed to cold temperatures, so he wondered about the man's mental state, but the man appeared more concerned with fashion than necessity. The man did bring a jacket not made of leather and it was hung over another chair.

He didn't need to be introduced to this man, because he knew who he was the moment he set eyes on him. But how did he get inside without being noticed and without Abberline seeing him?

The man cupped some kind of reflective small sphere in his right hand, slightly larger than his hand - bronze in color, and he gazed at as Randall spoke to him.

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in!" Sir Randall's voice was accusatory and rough. Although he probably already knew the answer. The man bribed the night watchman in the main lobby. But how covert had he been for Abberline not to see him?

"Come, come, Sir Randall, is that anyway to greet a friend?" the man said, not taking his eyes off the sphere.

Sir Randall grit his teeth behind a closed mouth. The man was not a friend, more so an unwanted acquaintance, and he had come across this young man by accidental means during a case only last year. Since then, he had learned a great deal many things about the reality of the world and how his little pocket of it was merely a drop in the bucket compared to this young man's reach in it.

His name was Thann von Strauss and he was an arrogant, wealthy, son-of-a-bitch, with powerful ties in the mafia and other organizations around England and indeed the world, that Scotland Yard were only vaguely aware about, even ties with the Vatican in Rome, Italy. He was also a member of a secret, world-wide cult, called the Illuminati that had many influential members that, by all accounts, were more powerful than the Crown of England. Strauss was the son of one its most elite members. German born, but raised in England, Strauss was born to wealth and privilege, and if he wanted something, it was given to him on a silver platter without hesitation. He was also an intermediary for the Illuminati. People who knew the Illuminati existed were life members, those who knew of its existence but choose to disregard its law and order were dead. Sir Randall was not an official member, but he knew how to keep a secret. His life depended on it.

"Whom I call a friend is a privilege," Sir Randall said gruffy.

Strauss laughed. "Then I consider it an honor," he said with some amusement.

"What is that?" Randall addressed the bronze sphere in Strauss's hand. "It looks like a children's toy."

"It's an Epiphany Ball. Everyone who holds it must tell the truth, they have no choice. It's impossible to lie when you hold it. It was brought to England on a cargo ship, given to an explorer from a high priest, who lived in a tribal village in New Guinea, which is part of a much larger but isolated island in the Indo-Australian Archipelago in the Pacific Ocean. Story be told, it was said to be discovered in the depths of a cavernous mountain perfectly formed. The Spanish discovered the island in the 16th century and conquered its people to near annihilation. It's cultural diversity is immense and is said to date back 40,000 years ago. "

Strauss looked up from the ball at Randall as to observe his reaction.

Sir Randall eyed Strauss very suspiciously, his brow furrowed. "You're a habitual lair, Strauss."

Strauss laughed more heartedly, then he tossed the sphere to Sir Randall, but Sir Randall fumbled with catching it and dropped it, it shattered on the floor like glass. Sir Randall then picked up one piece and looked at it. It had two small holes to slip a thread of string through.

"A Christmas decoration?" Sir Randall said curiously.

"Correct," Strauss said. "But unlike your subordinate, you are not so gullible. However, the history of the island is true. Be it true, that we stretch across many facets of the world, Sir Randall."

Sir Randall nodded, knowing at least that was true. The Illuminati were literally everywhere, encompassing the globe and in places no one would ever think to find them, probably even in places that the world didn't even know existed yet. The history of the Illuminati was indeed vast, but he didn't know a lot about them, only that they controlled a great deal of political, economical and social institutions around the world.

"My subordinate? Do you mean Abberline?"

"Correct." Strauss lowered his feet to the floor and stood up. "Mr. Fredrick Abberline appears to have been very busy with another case, sticking his nose in places where it doesn't belong. A side job, not sanctioned by the police force. Burning the midnight oil on a great deal of occasions."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a good man and a good detective, Sir Randall, but we want it stopped."

"What stopped? Explain yourself now."

Strauss ventured over to Abberline's desk and moved away some papers with a hand, and seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, from what Sir Randall saw, and stopped at a picture of a young boy buried under other papers, as if purposely hidden underneath. Sir Randall recognized the boy immediately with a two to three inch scar running vertical over his left eye; Lukas Phantomhive had received it during an unexplained altercation at the Phantomhive estate, or prior - he wasn't entirely sure. He was the twin brother of Ciel Phantomhive, and most recently reappeared after a seven year absence, supposedly kidnapped by the now notorious child kidnaper of London, whom at present, was still at large.

"What does this have to do with that boy?" Sir Randall asked, lifting the photograph of the boy.

The picture appeared to have been taken at the fanfare celebration at the Phantomhive estate several months back when the Phantomhive's invited a great deal of the London press, media, and other socalities, for Lukas's homecoming, to recite his miraculous tale of surviving against the odds of a mad man's insidious nature. Unfortunately, and Sir Randall suspected that Lukas was keeping secrets, he could not give a description of the kidnapper, even after seven long years of being his captive.

Had Abberline been there? Yes, he recalled. To monitor the event as a police presence, and further more, Abberline had been personally asked by Ciel Phantomhive to be present. Back then he hadn't questioned it, but now, and with Ciel Phantomhive's connections with Queen Victoria and being her royal guard dog and protector against threats to the crown, he wondered about it now. But why would Abberline have a photo of Lukas Phantomhive spread haphazardly on his desk?

Strauss then pushed away more papers, throwing some to the floor and found something else. A thin, plain-colored folder, and inside were notes, hand-written by Abberline with Lukas Phantomhive's history. Strauss handed it to Sir Randall, and Sir Randall quickly read through some of the finer points.

"We suspect your detective has been doing this for some time, ever since Lukas Phantomhive re-emerged, gathering notes and information on the boy," Strauss said with an importance Sir Randall had not expected or previously heard from the man. "And we want it stopped immediately!"

"This is all public knowledge of the boy, why is -" He stopped himself from speaking the word Illuminati out loud. "Why are you afraid of this? What is he investigating?"

"We are not afraid, Sir Randall," Strauss said strongly. "But what we think your detective is investigating is the truth, the truth behind Lukas Phantomhive's kidnapping. Abberline is a smart man, perhaps too smart. The boy is hiding a great deal of secrets that Abberline may suspect."

"That is obvious," Sir Randall agreed. "But there is nothing wrong with keeping secrets. Notwithstanding, if Lukas Phantomhive impedes our investigation of the child kidnappings of London, we will arrest him and hold him indefinitely until he speaks. Simply that. And I will speak with Abberline about this."

"You will do no such thing. We will handle Abberline if he becomes too involved, in our investigation of certain events…" Strauss's voice trailed off as his eye caught something on Abberline's desk, for which Sir Randall followed his gaze. Strauss pushed back a piece of paper that was partially covering another photograph. Strauss picked it up.

Sir Randall could only see it partially from his angle, but then stood beside Strauss to view it fully. It was a black and white photograph of four people, three men and one woman. The woman he didn't know, but the three men he did. One of them was Mathu Kelvin, nephew of the late philanthropist Bryon Kelvin, and the other two in white suits were the serial killers, Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt, who were presumed to have gone into the criminal underground because they had not been seen in months. Neither had Mathu Kelvin, if Sir Randall recalled. There was no question why Mathu Kelvin would associate himself with notorious killers. He was a infamous gambler and controlled many underground gambling dens.

The photograph looked a little blurry and appeared to have been taken while the group were in a slow motion walk somewhere, a brick wall was in the background. The focus was a little strained as well, as if the camera operator, presuming it was Abberline, had focused hard on them to capture them from a distance for the best possible clarity with the camera he was using.

"It would appear that First-Inspector Frederick Abberline has been more active that we originally thought," Strauss said with some concern, scowling slightly.

"Why would Abberline have a photograph like this on his desk?" Sir Randall went to take it from Strauss, but Strauss snapped it away. The man looked at him with dagger-eyes and Sir Randall took a half-step back. He gulped. "Those men are Mathu Kelvin and the notorious twin killers Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt, are they not? But who is that gypsy woman?"

Strauss went over and grabbed his jacket from the chair he had hung it over and put it on, slipping the photograph of the criminals in a side pocket.

"I suggest you leash your dog, Sir Randall, or we will do it for you." And Strauss left.

Abberline blew hot air into his bare hands as he tried to warm them on this cold winter night, as he made his way home on the streets of mid-London. The streets appeared deserted, most of the city's inhabitants were either inside their homes or asleep. It was quite late. And he figured that his fiancée Maria would be worried about him. He didn't realized just how late it was until Sir Randall had told him, losing track of his thoughts at the office.

His mind had been racing about a certain case he was undertaking and his thoughts raced with it still. There was just something very wrong with the case of Lukas Phantomhive's reappearance from seven years, kidnapped by the now still mysterious but notorious child kidnapper of London, whom Lukas could not even give a description of. The one thing he had mentioned was that he was told to refer to him as Father, for which, if a kidnappee was infatuated with his kidnapper to the point of calling him such, it might account for the boy's amnesia and admiration not to allow any harm to come to him in later years…

He was no child psychologist, but he knew when someone was playing the deception game. But what would Lukas Phantomhive have to gain to not reveal his kidnapper's name and face? And then Abberline had it, and just like his brother's mentality with his parents' killers - he wanted to catch the man himself and issue his own brand of justice. If this was the case, this was not the proper method to go about it, and in the meantime, more children were being taken. He would need to speak with Lukas Phantomhive about this and possibly straighten him out. Vigilante justice was not the way. And he himself was not being a vigilante, because once he gathered up enough information, he would take it to Scotland Yard for them to handle. He considered himself an information gatherer only.

It was a side case, no one else knew about it. And he was doing this for his own personal reasons. He wanted to have a family one day and he wanted his son or daughter to be safe in London. But to help London, he needed to aid of Lukas Phantomhive, whom Abberline knew he knew more than he was telling to the police. There was also Lukas's sketchy rumored connection to notorious killers Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt, who suddenly went missing along with Mathu Kelvin months back, according to information he was able to gather with hidden sources and contacts during his covert investigations. Nothing could be confirmed and it was mainly all conjecture. However, some of what he was hearing about the boy could be true, and if so, the boy could be the key to solving and arresting the child kidnapper of London.

He was taking a big risk by doing this - and he just hoped his boss didn't find out about his secret investigations or he would be in big trouble.

He heard the large crack from behind him, as if from a boot crunching a piece of ice underfoot. He knew that he was being followed. He had had been for the last couple of blocks. Normally it would only take him twenty or so minutes to walk home from the office, even less time if he wanted to make it home that much faster, but he didn't want his tail to think that he knew of his presence. Instead he decided to take an alternative route and headed into an alleyway. Then stopped, pressed his back against the wall, and waited.

And waited…

He heard snow swish as his pursuer hurried in step to catch him, and turned into the alleyway.

It was then Abberline grabbed the man by the lapels of his coat and thrust him hard against a brick wall, setting off a exhale croak from him, the man's face cringing in pain.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "And why are you following me?"

Abberline ripped away a dark scarf that was covering the man's face from nose to mouth, but left a winter toque covering his head, revealing a younger man in his later teenage years. Abberline guessed seventeen, no more.

"Please, don't hurt me!" the teen pleaded, putting up his hands in a surrender gesture. "Felony is not my purpose with you. My name is Spencer von Strauss, and you, Inspector Abberline, are in grave danger!"

To be continued...