April, 2002
Los Angeles, California, USA
With a feeling of triumph that never grew old, L plunked his index finger down onto the laptop keyboard, ending the one-way video call with the FBI.
Another case, solved and closed.
He swiveled around in the computer chair and stood to his bare feet, his hands immediately moving to the pockets of his blue jeans. A lollipop was tucked in one cheek.
He sauntered over to the couch and hopped up onto it, crouching with his knees to his chest like a bullfrog.
On the coffee table before him sat a silver tray, and on it was a delicate china tea set. L reached with his long arms and poured himself a cup of English Breakfast, adding a large handful of sugar cubes to the dainty cup. He pulled the lollipop from his mouth and, holding the stick pinched between his index finger and thumb, he noisily stirred the tea with it. Then he set it on the saucer and lifted the cup to take a sip.
"Mm." He licked his pale lips.
Turning his head, he looked out one of the hotel suite's large, floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun was just beginning to set.
"Forty-six hours," L noted mentally to himself. It had been that long since he had slept.
But there was nothing atypical about that. In fact, he could very well be awake for another forty-six, and it would still be considered normal for the chronic insomniac.
A beeping sound emitting from the laptop turned his head back toward the desk. There was a message flashing on the screen.
L tipped his head and knocked back his cup of tea in one gulp. He sat like this for a moment, letting the grainy, syrup-like drops fall onto his tongue from the teacup dangling between his fingers. Then, he stood again, picking up the lollipop and returning it to the little pocket between his teeth and cheek.
Without bothering to sit down, he leaned forward and moved the mouse to click on the blinking message.
It was an alert from one of his informants in the UK.
L never liked information from his informants to be relayed via text message or email, and so he simply had them send an alert, and he would call them when he got it.
Biting the last of the lollipop candy from the end of the stick, L reached into his pocket and extracted his phone, which was already set up with voice distortion. He dialed and held the phone up to his ear using only his first finger and thumb. He chewed the hard candy loudly between his back teeth while it rang.
The informant picked up. "Hello?"
"This is L." The detective's long fingers carelessly flicked the lollipop stick toward a trash can. It missed its mark by a longshot and landed in the middle of the carpet.
"Oh, hello," the informant greeted. "Uh... yes, you asked me to keep track of the Russian girl, Anya Petrova?"
Anya.
L hadn't thought about her in a long, long time. He looked down at his toes and traced them back and forth in an arc on the carpet."Yes?" he prodded the man on the other end of the line to continue.
"Well, I just thought you'd want to know... she died yesterday."
An odd little pain sparked in L's chest. "Oh," he said simply. He shoved his hand into his pocket. "How?"
"She had an immune disorder," the informant replied. "It had been lying dormant for years, I suppose, but it struck about a month ago and progressed very quickly."
There was no tone of sympathy in the man's voice. He was merely relaying facts. After all, he had no reason to believe that Anya was ever anything more to L than a person of interest related to a case.
L stared at the wooden desktop. He knew she had served a 12 month sentence in prison for her crimes of theft and had been thereafter released on parole. Other than that, though, he hadn't heard anything about her since the night they'd arrested her.
He cleared his throat. "Well, that's too bad... But thank you for letting me know. Is there anything else?"
"No, I don't think so..." the man said slowly. "Oh, except I did hear that her son will be placed into the foster care system."
L looked up. "Her son? I didn't realize she'd had one."
"Yes, she had a three year old son."
L suddenly felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach.
Three years old...
"Uh..." L lifted his index finger to scratch the side of his head. "Could you... send over any files you have on the boy?"
"Yes, I can do that immediately, actually. I have them all saved with my files on Miss Petrova."
"That's good, please do that." L cleared his throat again and swallowed. It felt so dry all of a sudden. "Was there anything else?"
"No, that's it."
"Alright, thank you very much. Goodbye."
L stared intently at the computer screen as he snapped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket. His eyes remained fixed on the monitor as he fumbled outward with one arm and grabbed ahold of the back of the computer chair. He slid it over to him and stepped up to sit in it, hunched over and with his knees brought up to his chest.
Three years old...
L wrapped his arm around his bent up knees and brought his thumb to his mouth. He began chewing on the end of it, his wide, grey eyes never leaving the computer screen as he waited.
Anya had probably met someone. That was probably it.
Except... she had been in a women's prison for a year...
L hugged his knees to himself even tighter.
It was only a moment before a notification alerted L that he had a new email.
L felt as though his heart was going to pound right through his white, cotton shirt, though his calm demeanor gave away nothing of the sort. He simply reached out to click on the email, the other thumb still clamped between his teeth.
The email contained a file.
The file on Anya Petrova's son.
L paused for a moment, realizing that what he was about to read could possibly change his life forever. Slowly, he brought his hand down from his mouth and rested it on top of his knee.
He took a long, slow breath. Then with two simple clicks, the file opened.
And upon reading the first line of the page, L knew.
The last name of Anya's three year old son was the masculine form of his mother's, but his first name was what gave everything away.
Bennett Alexei Petrov
Born September 28, 1998
Moscow Women's Correctional Facility
Mother: Anya Sashenka Petrova
Father: Unknown
L used both hands to push away from the desk and swiveled to stand to his feet. He jammed both hands into his pockets and took a few hasty steps to the middle of the room. Then he just stopped and stood there, staring at the floor.
His chest rose and fell in deep, jagged breaths and his shoulders trembled. Like he was cold, only he wasn't.
Bringing a thumbnail to his teeth, he turned to look again toward the computer screen.
Bennett.
L chewed on his thumbnail, frozen in place and staring at the open file on the monitor. He stayed like this for a little while. Then slowly, he moved back to the desk and climbed up into the chair again to continue reading.
Bennett Alexei Petrov, currently aged 3 years and 6 months, was to be placed in foster care immediately, as his mother and only guardian had no known living relatives at the time of her death.
L read through the legal jargon and then moved on to some medical forms. The boy, although recorded as small for his age, appeared to be healthy, with no trace of the genetic disorder that had taken the life of his mother.
One particular section of the file detailed a psychological evaluation in which a pediatrician noted that Bennett displayed several characteristics that fell within the autistic spectrum. Most of these characteristics were sensory related: a nervous tick in his left hand, heightened sensitivity to sudden movements or stimuli such as flashing lights, and the constant need to be chewing on something.
L slowly and self-consciously lowered his thumb from his mouth.
The evaluation recommended that Bennett always wear something likened to a hoodie to limit his peripheral vision and manage his need to feel secure and closed-in.
The intelligence section of the evaluation detailed Bennett's impressive problem-solving skills. He tested incredibly high in several cognitive areas and fell within the IQ spectrum of children twice his age.
"Huh." L surprised himself, realizing that he had just chuckled a bit.
At the bottom of the page was a personality profile, under which Bennett was described as "A well-behaved, content child. Quiet but friendly. Alert and incredibly aware of the small details in his surroundings. Loves music."
L finished reading.
And then he read it all again.
The date fit.
Major areas of his psychology fit.
His given name certainly fit.
Is this really...?
And then L noticed that there was also a photo attached to the email.
Lifting his thumb to his mouth again, he slid the mouse across the desktop and clicked on the JPEG attachment.
The photo opened and L's eyes widened. Whatever doubt that remained vanished completely as he looked into the small face of Bennett Petrov for the first time.
This little boy was his, no question.
The thick, floppy, jet-black hair, the skin the color of the pale winter moon, the thin shoulders, the long fingers... Everything was a tiny mirror image of L, save for one striking feature: a slender pair of cobalt blue eyes.