Spirits

Chapter Three

Over the past hour in the Layton household, tensions had grown to an exceedingly high level. Brenda was frantically pacing, with stress induced creases in her forehead and her fists clenched. Clark appeared to be slightly calmer, however he was, on the inside, just as panicked as his wife. He hadn't stopped tapping his fingers on the window-sil for several minutes. Hershel, on the other hand, was doing his best not to let worry consume him. After all, he knew that worry never did anything to improve the situation and that all it did was make the situation harder. Worrying was a distraction. If he didn't worry, he could focus and think; where could Luke have gone?

"We've searched everywhere!" Brenda exclaimed, flapping her arms about like a protective mother bird.

Hershel nodded and in doing so, tipped his head down in thought. Brenda was right in a figurative sense. They had searched everywhere that Luke could be. After the house had been searched several times, top to bottom and by each of them at least thrice, they had began to search areas outside the house. This included Flora's grave; the park where Luke enjoyed to walk and had occasionally done so with Flora; the local shops... Even Gressenheller University. But despite their efforts, he was nowhere to be seen.

"What about- sorry, I've forgotten the name but- the village where Flora lived before she came to London..." Clark suggested. "Perhaps he's gone there? Hershel, you mentioned that you should write to the village and tell them of Flora's passing. Perhaps Luke decided to go and tell them all in person?"

"It certainly sounds like something he'd do..." Brenda agreed.

"No..." Hershel shook his head. "The village is completely isolated. The only way is car, there's no public transport that goes there. It's miles from here. Not even someone who's being controlled by grief would attempt to make such a journey by foot."

"Then I have no more ideas," Clark sighed.

"We need to call the police," Brenda insisted, taking a break from her incessant pacing and pausing to face the two men. "We should have an hour ago."

The Professor nodded, not being able to help think that contacting the police was an over exaggeration. In the least boastful and most modestly gentleman way possible, he thought that as someone who was called in as a last resort to Scotland Yard's toughest cases, it was rather silly for him to be requesting Scotland Yard's help. In addition, Hershel knew Luke and knew that he had merely gone on a walk to help clear his head. He was just frustrated with himself for not being able to figure out where it was that Luke could possibly be.

Then again, maybe it was best that the authorities were informed. Luke was, after all, a mere fourteen year old. On top of that, his mindset was currently not in the right place. Grief was malicious and could make people do the most thoughtless of things. Perhaps an extra few pairs of eyes were necessary...

-X-X-X-

It was one of the those mornings in Scotland Yard. It was loud, hot and completely cramped. Half of Inspector Chelmey's division had not left the office in over twenty four hours and the other half had been out undercover all night and had only just recently gotten back, ready to report their findings and possible leads to Chelmey.

Inspector Chelmey, on the other hand, had immediately dismissed them all when the eleven police constables and one detective sergeant had stumbled into his office, with the statement "If you have nothing worthwhile to report to me, get out now, fill out a report and hand it to Constable Barton to go over". The twelve police officers looked at each other, shrugged and then made their way out of the office to follow the Inspector's orders.

Chelmey was grateful that whoever it was last out shut the door behind them. If only they had the same intuition when it came to solving crimes. The Inspector sighed and shook his head. It wasn't their fault. If anything, it was his. After all, he was the Inspector of the division. He was the chief of the team. He was the one who gave the orders. If after two weeks, no single officer had come up with a lead- let alone the simplest bit of information- than it was him who was to blame.

The Inspector looked down at the file in front of him and scammed through it for the hundredth time that hour. By this point, even he knew how pointless he was being. There were many other things he could do which would help more than reading through a single file. The Inspector knew that. What he didn't know was what it was that he could be doing. He was drawing blanks. He wasn't sure if his reputation as an absolutely brilliant police officer was deceiving him, or if this case really did have no leads, and there was a new criminal mastermind in town.

By reading the folder of all the information gathered so far multiple times, Chelmey was hoping that he would stumble across some new information, link two statements together or maybe even simply get some inspiration... Anything. He just needed ideas of where to go next with solving this crime.

Equipment theft. It was... Random, to say the least. The most ridiculous crime ever, to say the least, and it was not one that Chelmey would have ever expected to cause such chaos in his department. Murder? Yes. Kidnapping or hostages? Yes. But something as simple as theft equipment... He couldn't quite believe it, but then again, he could not quite believe how the crime could have happened.

Top secret scientific experimental equipment had disappeared over the course of a signal night from one of London's biggest and most secure research facilities. There was not a trace of any sign of a break in. CCTV had gone down an hour before the suspected break in and the electronic doors, that require a key card to pass through, showed no record of being opened at all during the night. So, how on earth, had the equipment been taken. Chelmey had absolutely no idea, and it appeared that neither did his detective inspector, his detective sergeant, his detective constable, or any of his police constables.

The crime was madly impossible and the Inspector was out of his depth. This was not surprising, even though Inspector Chelmey was perceived by many- including himself- as a great detective. After all, this case was one that normally the secret service would take on. However, this could not be done, as it was highly possible that the secret service were in fact behind the missing equipment. In fact, Chelmey was certain of it. There motive, however, Chelmey didn't quite know. Yet.

There was a knock on his office door.

"What is it?" Chelmey grumbled, as Police Constable Barton stepped into his office.

"Uhh... Morning Inspector!" Barton stuttered, feeling his body shake out of both fear from the Inspector's response (he certainly could be unnecessarily aggressive in times like these) and out of energy; he had downed an awful lot of coffee that morning, for Barton had, like most officers, not slept in a day.

"What is it, Barton?" The Inspector repeated, looking up at the police constable.

"It's- uhm- Professor Layton. He's on the phone, Inspector," Barton sheepishly infored his superior.

"What?!" Chelmey exclaimed in a growling tone. "I thought I told you that we were not to turn to outsiders for advise on this case, Barton! It is the most important case this division has ever had the privilege to work on- and it is classified! We are to work on it independently!"

"Y-yes, Sir... I remember the briefing, but..." Barton began.

"No buts, Barton! No matter how much we struggle on this investigation- not that we are struggling of course- but..." Chelmey paused and loudly exhaled. "Just tell Layton that you were mistaken and hang up the phone."

"I-I didn't call him, Inspector," Barton tried to explain, terrified that at any minute the Inspector would have another angry outburst. "He called. He wants to report a missing person's case, sir."

"Well, that's- that's not our division, Barton! Why on earth is he on the phone to us?" Chelmey furiously, and rhetorically of course, questioned. "He should be speaking to DCI Hunt's department if it's a missing persons! Besides, why can't Layton solve-"

"Well, actually, Inspector, sir, Professor Layton asked for us personally and so-"

"Hush, Barton!" Chelmey suddenly interrupted and the office filled with silence. The only noise was the clutter of the police officers outside, as they scurried, pushed papers and chatted about what Chelmey really hoped was the case. "We must take on this case, Barton."

"B-but you said..."

"Forget what I said," Inspector Chelmey said, snatching his coat from the back of his chair. "I have a plan. Come on. We're off to see Professor Layton."

Barton opened his mouth to say something, but he kept silent. The Inspector budged past Barton and left his office. For he did have a plan and he was close to certain that it would work. He forgot his requirement to keep the case classified from all civilians and consultants. For if Layton had called on the Inspector's help, he needed it. It appeared that both men needed help on a case. Now if perhaps there was a way they could switch, or at the very least, help each other...? Then surely London would be safe once again.


AN: Happy Tuesday!

As you guys may know, Tuesday is Spirits day (basically the day I update this fic. Not an international holiday, but still... Tuesday!)! So here is your weekly dose of Spirits.

I will see you another day this week if you read any of my other fics, and if not, I'll see you next Tuesday!

Have a great week peeps! Oh, and leave a review? Pretty please?

Nikki~