Thank you so much for your kind reviews! Sorry to keep you waiting with the reveal of whose address was on that sheet of paper, but not really haha XD
Chapter 9
Walking Odin had taken a little longer than expected, especially the part where he had run into Clara Oswald, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the encounter. John Smith would get what he wanted – Clara's DNA sample to compare to their Jane Doe – but it didn't make him as happy as he would have liked and the reason for that was hidden in his pocket, wrapped in a little evidence bag. John had meant to hand it in, he really had, but first, he needed to make sense of it. How had a small note with Clara Oswald's name and address come to be in Jane Doe's pocket?
Had Clara lied to him about not knowing her? John Smith couldn't quite believe it, but if she had, there could only be one reason for it. She was somehow involved in that woman's death. John tried to imagine it, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't think of Clara Oswald as a murderer. If what she said was true and Clara didn't know her, then how had her address ended up in Jane Doe's pocket? Had the woman seen Clara in a newspaper or on the street, realised that they looked alike and decided that they had to meet? What had happened to her after arriving on this island that had led to her death?
John Smith had to admit that he had absolutely no idea, but he hoped that the DNA test would shed some light on it. If they were related, he could search her family tree until he found the right branch and once he had a name, the rest would surely fall into place.
With his hands in his pockets, John felt the weight of the note heavy within the evidence bag because he knew that he should have told Kate or Osgood about it. Whatever it meant, the note was evidence and he had no right to withhold it despite having a good reason to do so. He didn't think that Clara had actually killed the woman, but Kate would want to investigate the possibility and John knew that if he came to the conclusion that Clara was indeed a suspect, there would still be time for that later. For now, there was no reason to trouble any of them. In the meantime, John vowed to solve the mystery that was Clara Oswald because that was what she was to him – an enigma. What was a young woman like her doing in a godforsaken place like this? Surely she hadn't been tempted by the teaching job because teachers were needed all over the country and there was no need to move to a place only accessible by ferry or plane. The landscape was a possibility, but it seemed like a drastic change for someone from London and he spoke from experience.
No, Clara had moved here for a fresh start and she had chosen this place for the reason that she had wanted a drastic change. Why that was, John could only guess. Maybe it was a death, maybe it was a relationship that had ended badly or maybe it was something else entirely, but it had been enough to make her change her entire life. John would find out what had brought her here.
He didn't pay much attention as he entered the café to grab a cup of coffee before beginning his shift, but it still came as a surprise to him when he promptly bumped into someone. That alone wasn't the problem. The warm, wet feeling of coffee seeping through his shirt, however, was.
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," the other man said immediately. John looked up to see a young man reach into his pocket and pull out a handkerchief that he attempted to hand over. John was reluctant to take it. Who still used handkerchiefs these days? "Please, take it. Before the shirt is completely ruined."
Not knowing what other options he had, John reached out and took the small piece of cloth from the stranger before he set out to dab at his shirt – an utterly hopeless task because the coffee had already merged with the print of his fabric.
"I should really watch where I'm going, huh?" the man said, uttering a laugh and John decided to take a closer look at him. He didn't seem surprised or shocked, in fact, it was as if the man was very well prepared for a collision like that, the apology and the handkerchief already in place. Whatever the reason for it, pouring coffee over his shirt had been anything but an accident.
The young man was around his height, possibly in his late 20s and he didn't even have a hint of an accent. Tourist? No, not in January. But the next question that came out of the man's mouth would solve the mystery for John.
"You work for the police, don't you?" the man enquired curiously. "I heard someone killed the local English teacher. Everyone here is talking about it."
The man was obviously working for a newspaper and he was on the hunt for a story.
"People are always talking," John replied grumpily, glowering at the journalist as he returned the handkerchief. "I'd advise you not to listen."
The last thing John wanted right now was to deal with nosy questions, so he pushed his way past the man and into the café to finally get that cup of coffee he had come for, but the journalist obviously wasn't finished yet.
"So it wasn't the teacher that you found, then?"
John turned around and glared at the man who was now smirking and seemed utterly pleased with himself. That was the last thing the investigation needed right now – journalists butting in, writing their inaccurate articles, speculating. He vowed to put an end to his unwanted prying.
When John approached the man, the journalist didn't step back. He didn't appear to be the least bit intimidated. "Listen here," John spat and raised his index finger as a warning. "Whether or not the dead woman is a local teacher is nothing of your concern. Let us do our job and then you'll get to write anything you want, do you understand? Stop spreading rumours!"
The journalist uttered a short laugh and slowly started to step back. "You know what I think, Detective?" he asked, that smug grin still on his face. "Not even you're sure if it's the teacher or not."
The man left the café and John was too baffled to come up with a proper comeback before he vanished outside because the journalist had said something very true and it got him thinking. How could they be sure that the dead woman wasn't the teacher? Clara Oswald had only lived here for a couple of months and she herself had said that she didn't go out very often. Would people notice if their local teacher had been exchanged for a lookalike?
Suddenly, John felt like laughing. Was the mystery of Jane Doe's identity bothering him so much that he would consider crazy theories simply because he didn't know where else to look? It was silly and most likely not true. Kate Stewart surely would have noticed, her students would have noticed, and why would someone want to assume Clara's identity to begin with? John realised that it all came down to who the dead woman was. If he could figure it out, he was sure that the remaining questions would be answered in time, but for now, all he could do was pay for his coffee and go to work, hoping that at the end of the day, he would finally see some results.