Chapter 2.

The streets of London always bustled with activity in the morning. London for many years had been one of the most active cities in the world. Inspector Jonathan Cunningham was of a semi short stature. He sported a thin mustache and wore the same bowler hat and tie every day. The handle of his cane was a cat's head engraved in silver. The cat had one ear. Normally Cunningham used the cane to wade through the enormous crowds but today was different. There were many people, that was not in question, but there were less today than the day before and the day before that. Nights in London were even becoming calmer than they have for years. The night was turning dead calm except on certain days.

Cunningham arrived at his destination. It was a tall brick building which looked like four families could live inside, but this one only had one. Cunningham knocked on the door with the hilt of his cane. Cunningham tapped his cane while he waited for the door to be opened. Inside he could hear loud voices and the sound of much commotion. He knocked once more when the door opened suddenly. It was a young lady who opened the door. She had short hair, neck length. Cunningham estimated that she was exactly one inch taller than he was. Her eyes stared into his and he felt as though she was reading his mind. She broke away her stare and looked at the door. She inspected it closely and then lifted his right arm where he was holding his cane. She looked at the hilt and nodded her head. She then smiled and asked him, "Can I help you with something?"

Cunningham forced a minute smile. Her accent had something foreign in it. It was vaguely Spanish and yet east European. "I would like to speak to Reinhardt Schneider."

The young lady swung the door wide open and gestured him in. "Welcome to the asylum," she commented softly. Inside the house was spacious and filled with what looked like one of the finest collections of books and paintings he had seen in a home. The whole house looked like a museum of items, books, and art from all over the word. Although the decorating scheme was international, there was still something uncompromisingly British about the house. Cunningham looked around and saw that the girl was correct. The house was like an insane asylum. A blonde woman was yelling orders at servants. The servants were moving from room to room carrying various boxes and bags. All the while, a small child of roughly five years of age was running through all of the house's rooms being followed by a large man. After some of the commotion died down Cunningham saw the blonde woman fall onto the sofa in the living room. Although she seemed to be resting, Cunningham was not and he had a purpose here.

"Madam, I seek Reinhardt Schneider."

"I am his wife," she stood and held out her hand. "You are?"

"Inspector Jonathan Cunningham of the municipal police. I would like to speak to your husband as soon as possible on a matter of great importance."

"If you wait in the study I will tell him you are here." The woman gestured to where he could wait. Cunningham entered the study. It was a circular room with two floors entirely filled with books. A window with a view to the back showed Cunningham that the house included a greenhouse in the back. As Cunningham perused the library of books he realized that a large portion of them were devoted to botany. After several minutes Cunningham heard the door open. He turned and saw a tall hale man walking towards him with his hand outstretched. Cunningham took the man's hand and shook it. The man was five to six inches taller than he was.

"Reinhardt Schneider." He spoke with a strong eastern European accent. Reinhardt gestured for him to have a seat. Cunningham did so and looked at Reinhardt for several moments. Reinhardt sat opposite him waiting for Cunningham to present himself and explain what he wanted. Cunningham wanted Reinhardt to ask him.

"Coffee?"

Cunningham raised an eyebrow, "no tea?"

"I prefer coffee." Reinhardt turned his head and yelled quite loud, "Carrie! Coffee!" The two men returned to the silence. Cunningham finally broke and introduced himself.

"I am Inspector Jonathan Cunningham of the London Municipal Police, Mr. Schneider. I come to you only upon the insistence of heads far above mine. In certain circles you are known for your unique skills. Or so I am told."

Reinhardt turned away from Cunningham and looked out the window where he could see Rosa tending to her greenhouse. "I have a variety of skills, Inspector. I consider myself a skilled carpenter, for instance."

"The skills I am here to enlist are those dealing with things out of the ordinary."

"Out of the ordinary?"

"Mr. Schneider, you have just recently returned to London?"

"Yes. Early this morning."

"Then perhaps I should be the first to tell you. For the past several weeks, London has been victim to what can only be described as a series of murders."

"A series?"

"Murder in a large city is not out of the ordinary. What does bring special attention is when the murders are not random and committed by the same perpetrator."

"Such a thing has happened?"

"Yes. Three murders. We have done our best to keep the details as closely guarded as possible. The city has lost quite a large sum of money in order to bribe the witnesses who found the bodies to keep quiet. If the full details were ever released there would be panic in the streets."

"What connects the murders?"

"This is not the first case where murders have been connected by motive or by a single person. What is extraordinary about this case is the way in which the victims have been killed."

Reinhardt did not ask, he only waited for Cunningham to tell him.

"The bodies were literally torn to shreds. The bodies are unidentifiable."

"An animal?"

"That is the current theory. Though the precise animal is currently being disputed. The fact that no such animal could possibly remain so well hidden and not have been seen already makes this a truly puzzling case. Because it seems so unlikely that such a powerful animal could stalk the streets of London freely, my superiors have developed alternate explanations."

"Which are?"

"Succinctly? A God forsaken monster from hell is doing this." Cunningham straightened in his seat as though to place more emphasis on his words. "I personally do not believe in all of this rubbish they say. I believe it is a police matter and one that we can handle. Furthermore you will forgive me if I don't believe half the stories I hear of you. Yes I know all about you and your supposed battles against monsters, vampires, and magical beings. Magic. Rubbish!"

At that moment Carrie entered the room holding a tray with two cups of coffee, a large cup of milk, and lumps of sugar. "Coffee?"

"Thank you, Carrie. Please serve the good inspector first." Reinhardt started to rub his hand against his forehead contemplating the inspector's words. Carrie meanwhile walked over to the inspector and stood in front of him. Both of Carrie's hands were holding the tray so the inspector assumed he had to serve himself. He sat up ready to do so when suddenly the cup of coffee rose up of its own accord. Cunningham rammed himself into the back of his seat. Reinhardt looked up with disappointed eyes.

"Milk?"

Cunningham nodded slowly.

"Say when," Carrie smiled as the milk pitcher also rose and hovered above the already floating cup of coffee. The pitcher then tilted ever so slightly and poured. Almost instantly Cunningham said, "When!" The sound he made was more like a squeal.

"Sugar?"

"No!" Cunningham had almost yelled. A moment passed after which he turned to Reinhardt. He composed himself and took the floating cup of coffee. "No." He said calmly. "Thank you."

Carrie began to walk out of the study when Reinhardt shot a glance at her as she left. Carrie responded by lifting her shoulders innocently. After she had gone, Reinhardt looked at Cunningham. The coffee was shaking in his hand. After another moment he seemed to get a hold of decorum and return to his natural and rather irritating self.

"Will you help us?" he asked simply.

Reinhardt breathed heavily. "I have just returned overseas from a…" Reinhardt paused to choose his word carefully. He finally settled on a word. "Vacation." Reinhardt stood up and walked to the window. Rosa was still tending her garden. This time she saw him and she waved. Reinhardt also saw that his son was running towards her. Reinhardt gave a slight wave back. Reinhardt turned to find Cunningham already standing, the coffee cup on the reading table.

"Strictly to advise you. I will help you investigate this odd chain of murders. With any luck it is as you say, something that the municipal police can handle."

"Very well. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning come by the Yard and I will show you the victims. Or should I say what is left. Take this day to settle yourself back into London."

"Until tomorrow, Inspector Cunningham."

Cunningham left the room leaving Reinhardt alone in the study. After the noise and excitement upon arriving back at home after such a long journey, Reinhardt became entranced by the silence that taken hold of the house following Cunningham's visit. Eventually Reinhardt exited the library and walked outside to join Rosa in the greenhouse. Reinhardt had built it for Rosa. He stood in the frame of the back entrance watching as Rosa carried their son, Michael. As she held him she pointed out certain plants and told him what they were. Others she asked him to identify. Michael was a well-balanced blend of both Reinhardt and Rosa. He had her intelligence and capacity to remember names and details. At the same time he was very active and athletic. His hair was blonde and straight like her mother. He was so intelligent Reinhardt thought. The boy was only five years old.

Rosa eventually exited the greenhouse carrying Michael. When she approached Reinhardt she put Michael down and tickled him. Michael went running into the house under the assumption that his mother would follow him. She seemed ready to do so until she glimpsed at Reinhardt's expression.

"That Cunningham fellow. He wanted you for a case?"

Reinhardt nodded. "He is from the police." Reinhardt came around Rosa and took her hand as they both walked into the house. "There have been three murders, Rosa."

"And?"

"They are strange," he said. Reinhardt's accent gave the word strange a sound equal to its meaning. "I told them that I would look into it but that probably it is something outside of my expertise and not as extraordinary as they might suspect."

"Reinhardt Schneider." Rosa looked deep into his eyes. "That is exactly what you say whenever someone calls for your help. Look at just went through on this last trip. And before that, look at what a visit to my old friend Claire Simonson turned into." Rosa kissed him. "You know full well that if they come calling on your door, it is not for nothing." Rosa then smiled, "if you're not feeling up to the job, I could…"

Reinhardt put a finger to her lips. "Don't even finish the thought."

She nibbled at his finger before giving him a false pout and walked past him to give chase to little Michael. She had clearly been enjoying the idea of making Cunningham's life miserable with her presence during a murder investigation. Reinhardt had to admit, he did find the idea of sending Rosa in his place mildly gratifying. But then he remembered Cunningham's description of the bodies. Although it infuriated Rosa to no end, he refused to let her into danger.

Reinhardt exhaled his agitation. Rosa had every reason and he had none. The woman is always right, he learned. Nevertheless, tomorrow he would go to Scotland Yard and see the bodies of the victims; or as Cunningham had so eloquently said, what was left of them.