author note.
After recieving a new review from a reader, a complaint to do with the quality of the last several chapters, I understood immediately that I can't keep moving forward with this project in the same way if I want it to live up to its expectations. I've been working to a one chapter a week release schedule - along with college this gives me saturday night and sunday to write a full chapter per week. So from now on, I'm not working to any schedule, I'll publish a chapter strictly when it is ready. I apologize for the nosedive in quality. I hope this is more up to scratch.
In fact, the styles were heavily influenced by the work of Anthony Horrowitz' Hawthorne Investigates and The Diamond Brothers series.
With that out of the way, I hope you are to enjoy these revised chapters which I've worked hard to return to standard.
INTRO THEME : "OLD BOY" by Brick and Mortar
When investigating a residency, what better than to ask questions to the person living right next door? Of course, I'd tried to do that yesterday with number 21. Unfortunately.. Well, you've read the last two chapters, right?
So here I was, standing at the porch to number 22 Magher drive. It wasn't a flat, but rather a single house wedged between them. This trend continued down the entire row.
It was a typical red-brick townhouse, with a triangular tile roof. It only had two stories, as opposed to the flats on either side of it. The little patch of grass outside, which stood for what little yard the owner of the house did own, was kept trimmed, green and weedless. A solitary ornament of a gnome fishing on a treestump by the featureless strip of dirt lining the wall.
I used my knuckle to rap on the door, three knocks, short and sweet. But whoever lived there left me waiting for a few minutes before even answering.
I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jacket and prepared to go into what I called "sherlock mode".
When working in a line of business like this, you can afford to bring a little whimsy to the job.
The owner of number 22 was a tall and slightly overweight woman wearing jeans and a Game of Thrones t-shirt. She smiled too widely at me with artificially whitened teeth. Her hair was dyed red, and the hair dye dried over her hairline, staining the skin.
"Hello! Who are you?" She asked almost between her grit teeth smile passive aggressively, like a HR lady about to fire another employee. This kind of fake politeness pisses me off.
"I'm Private Detective Gibbs Jones, do you mind if I come in and ask a few questions?"
Before she could answer my first one, I had already entered her house.
Immediately upon entry I spied a "Live, Laugh Love" mural hanging on the wall above a shelving unit filled with shoes of different colours and sizes. There was a flight of stairs leading up directly ahead and a hallway to the left with an abject smell of incense drifting from it.
The woman shut the door behind me, a slightly bewildered expression on her face.
"Oh. uh.. Would you like a cup of tea, Detective?"
"I'd love one." I replied. Of course, accepting an offer of a drink is a neat little Detective trick to make people warm up to you a bit. Well, I've read it in a book before, so it's gotta work, right?
She nodded and directed me through a door a little bit down the hallway and to the left, which led to her living room.
"Make yourself at home." She said, before disappearing, presumably into the kitchen.
I found my place on the velvet couch, besides a glass coffee table with some faded ring-shaped mug stains across its surface. Opposite was a smaller red velvet settee, seating one person.
Mounted atop the false fireplace mantlepiece at the front of the room was a 32 inch lcd flat screen TV, a far cry from the old CRT owned by my dubious client.
Also, quite unlike Mr. Errant-More, this house seemed to have met a semi-talented interior decorator, something which the flats next door were in dire need of. A battery operated air freshener was perched atop a tiny shelf on one of the walls. Fancy.
Under the television sat a hooked up Xbox 360 and Nintendo Wii. A family of gamers, I see.
Golden light began filtering into the room between the open blinds as the morning grew older. I heard an occasional call of a crow or squawk of a seagull from outside. Peaceful.
I heard the faint sound of a boiling kettle reaching a crescendo from the kitchen, which interrupted my train of thought a little bit. Annoying.
Admittedly I didn't accept her offer of tea simply because of some Detective trick. I was actually looking forward to a warm drink like this. Yummy.
But I concede.
Eclipsing the wall to the right of the room was a large set of shelves filled with DVDs and video games cases of all kinds. A deflated looking football sat in the middle of the floor on its lonesome. Framed photos of happy family activities hung on the walls all around.
The wallpaper was an old styled floral pattern, peeling at places, slightly moulded at others.
Suddenly, just as I was settling into the couch, the woman entered the room holding a tray with two steaming mugs of tea and a bowl full of KitKats.
"Do you have any allergies?" She asked.
"To KitKats?" I paused, ".. No."
"Help yerself then, doll." She gave another of her patented forced smiles. I nodded and picked up a KitKat, spinning it idly between my fingers. After a few moments it slipped, and I clumsily fumbled it onto my lap.
The woman looked me up and down, seemingly unimpressed as I began extracting the kitkat from the wrapper.
"..So.. are you going to ask me questions or are you just going to eat all my biscuits?" She sat down on the settee opposite the coffee table, and shifted a little to get comfortable.
"Oh of course." I let myself smile slightly, "let's start with simple formalities. What's your name?"
"My name is Ruby."
"Brilliant. So let's get right into this. Can't keep you for too long. I'm sure you're very busy." I said, snapping the KitKat bar in half.
She nodded, her attention on my next sentence.
"So I'd like to ask if you had any interactions with your next door neighbour, Joshua Errant-More, and what kind of person did you make him out to be?"
Her face flashed with slight confusion and she answered after a sip of tea.
"What has that got to do with anything?"
"A lot," I dipped the KitKat into my tea a couple times and at it, the half melted chocolate and the crunchy wafer I found very satisfying to eat, "just answer the questions if you will."
"Well.. For starters, I don't see much of the guy. I didn't even know his name but I do know exactly who you're talking about. I've never talked to the man, but I've seen him going in and out of his.. Flat over there."
"Do you know if he has any family? Any friends?"
"He doesn't have a social life, that's for sure." She giggled to herself nervously.
"I see," I said, finishing off the KitKat and taking a hearty swig of tea. The slight scald of the drink slipped down my gullet, energising me a little bit in these morning hours, "bit rude, but continue."
"He might not have any friends.. but family.. He does have some family around here. His mother lives nearby. I don't know about any of the others."
"Can you give me the address?" She itched the back of her head.
"I'm pretty sure it's at Fuschia Avenue. The second house along. I see her buying frozen pizza at Mace's sometimes. Can't be good for her heart."
"I don't think, all things considered, that you're in any position to criticise Joshua's Mother's choice to eat junk food."
Her eyesd widened and her face became sour.
"Is there anything else?" She spat, placing her mug back down on the coffee table with a bad-tempered force.
"I'd just like to know if you know anything at all about flats number 20 and 21, or the people who may live there?"
Her face went stone cold, then began to pale. If I could've given her a word of advice at this moment, it'd be to never go into poker.
"I see I've struck a nerve." I said, simply put.
She placed the mug down and looked me right in the eyes, which took me off guard. I never expected someone of her calibre to be confrontational..
"You can ask me what you want. But I don't want to hear a single thing about that poor boy."
"And who might that be?"
"It's none of your business."
"I think it is."
"I.." She paused, becoming red in the face, "I don't think I want you in my house anymore." Her eyes were slowly welling up, glazing over with tears.
"I thoroughly apologize if I've hit a bad memory, Ruby. I just need some answers to get to the bottom of some recent disappearances is all. My client wants me to secure a search warrant on flat number 20."
"It's a bad memory for everyone who lives around here. I don't care who sent you - just.. don't mess around with that place.. just stay away from all of this and take your reminders away from my house. It's been eight months and I just want to forget.." Her voice cracked with emotion.
I understood I was far overstaying my welcome by now. I picked up a second KitKat bar and nodded a polite goodbye.
"Thank you for your time."
She didn't answer, instead she simply watched me leave the room wearing a sour look on her face. I didn't need anything else here. I left the house promptly, chomping on the chocolate biscuit I took. Was it a little teeny bit insensitive? Sure it was. But I'm a detective. Sometimes you've gotta hurt a few people's feelings to get to the truth. Other times, you'd need to hurt a few people. And I was really hoping that it wouldn't come to that.
That session was quite the success. There was definitely something wrong about the two suspect flats, number 20 and 21, however much I didn't want to admit it. However... surely there wasn't something like a demon or something up there right? I can't be going crazy - I'm a perfectly healthy young man. My head span with my imagination painting pictures of It and Its presence I felt so overwhelmingly this morning.
Whenever I gave a single thought about it, my head became a ruin of circling, unanswered questions. So I decided to leave that part of the case to the side for now.
Now, the good news. If things kept going the speed they were, then I would be at the bottom of this case in no time.. and hopefully paid in full too. Which is why finding Joshua was my second prerogative. He'd have a lot of explaining to do, and a lot of money to pay me back for what's going on here.
And indeed, if he didn't show his face soon, I'd have to track him down and give it a swift slap.
Well, there were a few things he wouldn't need to explain to me. Answers I could assuredly find on my own. And that would be through swinging by the town police station.
Over the last couple days, my trust in my client was wearing thin and I decided that this was the perfect time to find out if everything was one big lie.. or if it was only a couple small ones.
.
.
[XXX]
.
It was 9:43 A.M when I had arrived at the Police station. It was a twenty minute walk down from the flats at Ballawattleworth, and that's only because I took it slow.
It's a small place, that's for sure. However, despite only hosting a population of even less than five thousand people, Peel is technically a city solely due to the fact that there's a cathedral built here. I mean, it's a decent cathedral but I don't think it's much to write home about, much less than to deserve this place the title of a city.. And this IS my home.
Its red brick steeple loomed over the town, details upon it such as the clock face at its side and the gargoyles perched atop the tower becoming more apparent as I strode closer to the centre of town.
And there it was - nestled like an egg in the nest of back alleys and old style townhouses was the Peel police station. A few white-barked trees and flower bushes grew on lawns outside, making the place look somewhat interesting.
A chill wind began to blow sternly down the road, making my coat flap melodramatically as I looked up at the sky. Grey clouds were beginning to gather over what just ten minutes earlier was a blue and promising sky. I drew my coat close to keep out any chills and walked up the cracked concrete pathway into the front desk waiting room of the police station. And even being inside didn't save me from the draughts, since the heavy wooden door was kept open at all opening hours.
As I entered, I noticed it wasn't much of a waiting room though, more like a waiting closet. It was small enough so that only two little chairs and a table with a withering potted plant spanned its whole width. It made a world war one trench seem cosy and endearing. Worn posters and informational documents were plastered to the walls - topics ranging from info on scam protection to a lost cat poster.
I peered through the plexiglass at the reception. Nobody there. The office chair had been left abandoned and half-turned away to the left. A few leaflets sat ready for reading on the reception desk, but I didn't really care enough to even look at them let alone read them. I rung the little bell and took a seat, waiting for literally anybody to come to the desk.
After a few minutes of waiting, a woman lumbered into view, wearing a black suit jacket and tie, her silver hair in a bob cut. She plopped herself down on the office chair. Her face seemed to be aggressive by default - wearing a poisonous sneer right from the womb. It showed in her wrinkles.
"What do you want?" It showed in her attitude too.
"I'm Detective Gibbs Jones, here on a case and I-"
"Oh, it's you."
My left eyelid twitched and I smouldered at her.
"I just want to ask a few questions."
"That's not possible, sir." She said automatically.
"Yes it is," I pressed, "a single question."
She glared at me blankly, as if there was not a single synapse firing within that noggin of hers and instead her skull was filled with nothing but a vague bitterness whirling around like an algae covered, festering pond.
"Ugh," I massaged my temples, knowing she wasn't going to answer anything at all, "did you or have you ever sent officers to 19 Magher Drive, the residence of Joshua Errant-More?"
She nodded, as if she heard me before slowly getting to her feet and plodding off through doorway to the left. The chair whined as it slowly spun around till it eventually came to a halt.
I didn't know how long it took for her to dawdle around in the back of the office, playing Flappy Bird or whatever. All I know is that the seconds became minutes, which became half an hour and that was when I stopped counting.
I had already begun to feel my eyes begin to go blurry and glaze over when she reappeared and placed herself back on the chair. I looked up at her with hope in my eyes. Hope which would soon enough be cruelly extinguished.
"I'm sorry, I can't help you." She said in that same emotionless drone.
I could no longer be bothered with her antics.
"I can do this chicanery all day, you old hag."
Her face scrunched up like an enraged ostritch and she stood up from the chair, pressing her hands on the glass divider.
"Who do you think you are, young man!?" She snapped.
"A Detective who needs answers for an important investigation that you're in the way of!" I snapped back at her.
"What's all this racket about?" Came a stern voice from behind, a voice thick with the Yorkshire accent, "do I need to ask ya ter leave!?" I spun around, now being face to face with a burly, squint-faced officer whose frame took up the entire doorway whilst scowling intimidatingly. He was like a british bulldog given human form.
"I'm a Private Detective and your receptionist is getting in the way of a particularly difficult case."
The officer seemed to relax a bit, his shoulders falling as he gave me a polite nod. He took his policeman cap off, revealing a totally bald head underneath. His eyebrows, however, were thick and bushy. It made me wonder if all his hair on his head had simply travelled to his brow all at once.
"Don't mind our Sharon, she's a little on the slow side," He chuckled, his massive hand slapping me on the back, ushering all the air forth from my lungs.
"Uh.. yeah-!" I spluttered.
"My name's Abraham, and I hafter say - s'not often yer find a Detective 'round these parts! Come outside and tell me what's on't mind."
I obliged him, although the only thing on my mind whilst watching him turn and exit the building was the dull sting on my back..
I stepped outside after him, noticing that the weather had further deteriorated. The sky was now completely overcast, covered in a cloak of dark grey whilst sporadic drizzle fell down in feeble spells, casting a drab and dreary atmosphere. I felt a strange sense of foreboding, it seemed even the sky itself was pushing down, putting a great deal of hanging pressure in the air all around. I decided I'd stop pondering the weather and get back on track.
"Okay, first thing's first," I began, the officer looking down at me with full attentiveness, "I was hired yesterday by a resident in one of the flats up at Ballawattleworth - 19 Magher Drive. His name is Joshua Errant-More. I wondered if you or any other officer here had found any clues when you were called up there?"
He blinked twice at me, seemingly confused, one of his monster eyebrows rose above the other, so I elaborated, "...The flat you guys said you couldn't investigate because you would've needed a search warrant..?"
He shook his head gently.
"I can't say I know anything about all that," he announced. This answer really struck a nerve with me - and it must've shown. Abraham held his hands up in apology, eyebrows raised high on his head, "and I'm not trying ter delay your investigation, believe me- I simply don't know anything about it. I only joined the force here about three months ago, you see. And none o' other officers have really said 'ote ter me!"
My eyebrows furrowed, and I scratched the rough stubble on my chin in thought.
'Could it be the entire case was fabricated? But why?'
"Can I trust you? That you're telling the truth?" I asked. This question seemed to illicit some kind of offense.
"I'm a man of my word, I can assure thee." He crossed his arms sternly.
I nodded.
"Thanks for the time, that's about as much as I'll need for today."
He seemed a little disappointed but got over it, nodding to me and half turning away to disappear inside the building, but before he walked away, he looked back at me.
"Ya know, I can tell it's summet serious, by your expression alone- So send me' friend request on Facebook and give us a call when thee need me." He announced.
Truly, being Facebook friends was the strongest alliegence of the modern era.
"Sure thing, seeing as you're a police officer and all," I cracked one of my finger joints idly, "my name's Gibbs Jones, by the way."
"Oooh, Mr. Jones. You shouldn't be doing tha' to your bones, yer'll get arthritis! Well I'll speak to yer soon, mate. I've got some work to do in't office." He pointed back to the Police station behind us.
At a first glance it seemed he was more suited to heavyweight wrestling or being some kind of mob boss bodyguard than to office work.. What a gentle giant he is.
"See you around, Abraham. You were a big help today." We waved and walked away from each other, him towards the station, me towards the road outside - to return to Ballawattleworth.
As I stepped onto the pavement, I heard the door slam behind me, with enough force to make the ground beneath me tremble a little.
'Not so gentle as I thought, then..'
Now after this, there's only a few things left on my agenda which I foolishly believed that finding out would crack this thing wide open.. However, unbeknownst to me at the time, the answers would only breed more questions.
But first thing's first. Lunch.
And with lunch, I'd read this here letter.
.
.
[XXX]
.
It wasn't too long to walk back to Magher Drive. It took less than fifteen minutes. I checked the time on my worn looking phone - which read quarter to eleven. 'There's nothing wrong with having lunch early' I reasoned as I crossed the unkempt grassy verge, approaching the front of Mace's for the second time this day. The little bell on the door jingled cheerily as I entered the store, my coat and hair a little damp from the constant drizzle on the way up.
As I wandered further into the store I passed a tall businessman with black hair, wearing a raincoat. (Whilst not as tall as Abraham, he was still a head taller than I was) I gave him a little nod and a friendly smile, but the only thing he offered in return was a long, unsettling leer before leaving the store empty-handed.
'What's with that guy..?' I wondered, once again itching my four day unshaved stubble in contemplation.
"Ah, it's you again. Nice to see you're not a goner." Came a familiar voice from behind me. I turned around, once again seeing Sandra staffing the cash register at the front of the store, resting her forearms on the counter whilst tracking me through the aisle with her bright grey eyes.
"Oh, hi," I replied, giving a curt wave, "I'm picking up some lunch." I spied a package of cheap plastic shaving razors and picked them up, circling the shelf until I saw some sandwiches in a refrigerating unit. I retrieved a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich alongside a bottle of water - one of the flimsy ones that feels like the plastic might explode open if you so much as hold it a little too tightly.
I approached the counter and set the stuff down, feeling a twang of hunger begin to resonate within my body.
"Just these things." I announced. She scanned them one by one, placing them into a small plastic carrier bag.
She held up the razors, looking at me with a small amount of humour playing about her face.
"You're gonna have a hard time eating these for lunch."
"No, I'm shaving my face with it." I replied bluntly. Hopefully this didn't apply to the razors.
"Duh." She rolled her eyes and put it into the bag, "That's four-fifty please."
I handed over one of Joshua's crumpled five pound notes he had paid me with yesterday.
"Keep the change."
She nodded, taking the note out of my palm and into the draw of the cash register before shutting it firmly.
I smiled, took the plastic bag filled with my stuff and turned to walk away before she spoke up again.
"So- How's the investigation going?"
I paused and turned back to face her again. She looked at me curiously, a playful energy flashing in her eyes. I found myself, once again, a little lost within those striking grey irises which almost glimmered.
'Striking? Get a hold of yourself, idiot, this is an investigation.'
"You want to know?" I asked quickly, getting a hold of myself.
"Yeah, 'course I do. Nothing much happens around here anyway. Give me something at least."
"Well, if you say so," I fished around in my pocket, producing the now slightly crumpled letter from earlier, "I found this opened letter in the mailbox of my client."
"Isn't that a just little bit Illegal?" She asked, poking at the letter like it was radioactive, "I thought you were a detective."
"I'm a Private Investigator. I'll do whatever it takes to get my job done."
There was a small silence as she read the letter, brushing her firey hair out of her eyes as she unfolded and uncreased the paper, peering at the messy looking handwriting with furrowed brows. The only other noises were the sound of rain outside, now falling in full force on the windows and pavement and the sound of the wind blowing unrelentingly against the building. I looked back over my shoulder and noticed a few leaves skitter past the window.
"This doesn't make any sense at all." Sandra said, suddenly.
"Huh?" I looked back at her, she was holding the letter up now, staring closely at the paper as if it'd speak to her. She raised her eyebrow at me.
"Have you not read this yet?"
"No, I was gonna read it later.."
"Nah, you're reading this now." She stood up and peered around the store, seeing how there were absolutely no customers in sight, as well as no cars parked outside, below the rapidly darkening skies, "come on, there's a table we can sit at, in back."
She firmly handed me the paper before leading me through a door to the left of the tobacco cabinet and into a dingy looking storage room.
It was not a very welcoming sight to say the least. And still it was better looking than my flat.
Which made me really think, for the first time in a while. That I need to give that place a little spring cleaning.
But for now, I've got more important things to think about - such as Joshua's not so spring clean alibi.
This storeroom was grimey and bare, and by bare I mean the 'no wallpaper or paint covering the bricks' kind of bare. Dust and old cobwebs clung to most surfaces, from the worn out looking wooden shelves to the plain white ceiling. The floor was of cold, bare stone - rough and uneven like the floor of some medieval chamber. In the centre of the room sat an old hewn wooden table surrounded by three chairs, and a fourth sat idly towards the left corner of the room, where the shelves ended. It all sort of looked like a room in a castle where the guards might sit and play chess or cards against each other.
At the other side of the room sat a long freezer, assumably for perishable items (of which this store sold very little.) Directly to the right of this freezer was a little door leading out of the room, framed with wood and held at its centre was framed a small, dirtied label reading "BUILDING MANAGER'S OFFICE"
So now I had an idea of who to try and get ahold of next, besides Joshua's mother of course.
The wooden shelves lined the rest of the walls, completely covering the wall to the right. And each row was filled with cardboard boxes of produce of all different kinds. Most of the stuff stored here which I could see were non perishable snack food, perfect for a little something which would just leave you feeling hungry again within twenty minutes.
Not like I could complain, with my bin full of empty packets of Walker's Cheese and Onion.
One lone amber lightbulb hung on a wire from the barren ceiling, subtly swaying from side to side, making the room feel even more incomplete, what with its lack of a lampshade. The light was constantly humming as it shed its amber glow across the table below it, where me and Sandra both took up a rickety seat. My own chair wobbled and squeaked like a terrified mouse.
I dumped my plastic bag down by my side on the floor.
"Go on then, read it." She urged, and I looked down at the letter which she had now presented to the table before us.
.
Through the terrible, unclear and messy handwriting, I began reading what it said.
"dearest joshua,
how is my Boy doing in life? good, i hope. nuRsing home a bIt boriNg for me thouGh. picked up chess. lost three gAmes the First tIme i played back iN mArch! Lovely!
the rabbit's numbers grow, Very nIce to see them all froliCking about. The burrow is stIll in the garden, Mhere it's AlwayS been.
i don't want you to Come and sEe me, soN. Don't wanT the Of the FamiLy to know thAt i'm here righT Now.
going on trip to liverpUl. i've already let you know the date in this letter! i have iMportant meeting, to collect an oBject shE needs for a pRoject with friends, (of whom i have TWENTY)
in my REPORT the carers said i'm allowed to come HOME soon.
sincerely,
ma zuki."
.
"That was seriously strange.." I pinched the bridge of my nose in thought, flashing back to the answers Ruby Mattheson had given me earlier. My head whirred and clacked like clockwork machinery trying to put all the information together.
"I know. I thought you were supposed to be the detective."
"It's written like a letter from his mother - but very obviously it's not from his mother. For starters, his mum isn't even in a nursing home, from what I understanc, she pretty much lives across the street from him. And ma Zuki? He didn't look like the son of some lady named Zuki to me. This whole letter is written like the ramblings of some delirious lunatic."
Sandra blinked twice at me.
"Is that your takeaway from reading this? Just by giving it a look over, It's much more than what it seems it is, Gibbs."
"That, or Joshua's mum's going senile. Her handwriting is like a five year old's done it."
"Just read it again! Slower this time."
I scanned it again, and suddenly, I noticed it. How all the capital letters were in the wrong places, how it seems to look more rushed by each paragraph and how a few words or phrases had been gone over multiple times, emboldening them on the paper in such a cryptic way. Yet at the same time, the handwriting style looked like a submission for a Primary School writing class.
"It's not even written like a normal letter either. It's got topics and stuff you'd think an old lady would write about in a letter, but I think it's supposed to be a distraction to anyone spying so at first glance they'd instantly think it's just an elderly lady waffling. It's definitely some kind of coded message!"
"Coded message? This is starting to feel deep."
She smiled cockily, obviously proud of herself in some way.
"I'll even solve it for ya."
"You sure? Would be a big help."
"Pshh. Don't worry about it. Consider it as me doing you a solid."
"Hey, you're pretty good." I commented, grinning.
"Yup, that's what two A's in GCSE English get you." She tapped her left temple mockingly, as if being good at reading Charles Dickens made you a genius.
I nodded, entrusting her with the letter, for all I knew, being good at reading Charles Dickens DID infact make you a bit of a genius.
There was a small period of awkward silence where we sat under the quietly buzzing light.
"So, Sandra. How old are you?"
She seemed put off guard by my sudden question, but answered instantly anyway.
"I'm twenty-six.. Well, why're you asking anyways?" She sniffed.
"Oh, no you're actually older than me, I'm twenty five." She seemed genuinely surprised for a moment.
"Really? You're joking right?"
Was it really that hard to believe? I shook my head.
"No way. I'm not a day younger or older." Despite my replies, it seemed she still found it hard to believe me.
"You cannot be younger than me. You look like you're in your thirties with that crazy beard you're growing there."
"It's not crazy.. It's distinguished.." I grumbled.
'About as distinguished as a mangy possum.'
There then came the sudden yet faint sound of the storefront door bell jingling whilst a cold draught blew through the whole store, sending a cold shiver up my calfs. Then as quickly as the cold came - it vanished when the potential customer had firmly (and loudly) shut the door.
Sandra looked out to the front, her head perking up like a meerkat at the arrival of the customer.
"Oh, I've gotta go get that," She said, standing up from the chair upon instinct. At the same time, she had folded the coded letter and shoved it into her pocket. She then jabbed a thumb towards the closed door behind me, "you can go on into the building manager's office if you have any more questions. He's the guy to answer 'em."
With that she gave me a cheery smile and strode out the room to the front, her hair flowing as she quickly turned the corner and disappeared.
I breathed deeply and collected my thoughts. It looked like it was now time for another round of question-asking, and by this point, I knew pretty much exactly what I intended to ask.
I approached the door and put my knuckle against it, just below the sign. I knocked politely twice, before a welcoming voice called out from behind.
"Come in!"
So I opened the door and entered the room.
.
I walked through into a dust-mote filled office, characterised by the large desk in the centre, a window at the back with horizontal shutter blinds rolled all the way up as well as the large bookshelves and filing cabinets which wrapped the room at the front and sides. The sound of the weather outside was more apparent now, wind whooshing against the large windows at the back whilst rained lashed at the glass. Yet despite the growing maelstrom outside, the room remained quite cosy and toasty. A lot of things felt off to me at that moment. Yet none of them were more off than the off centred-ness possessed by the main desk. It was at last a full metre into the right side of the room, compared to the perfectly symmetrical window behind.
I ignored it and decided to instead pay attention to the man actually sat at said desk.
He was a fit and healthy looking man, hair a silver with occasional orange streaks yet not a single sign of baldness at all. At the moment it was let down into a casual, unkempt style. He wore nothing more and nothing less than a black n' red Manchester United football jacket, a pair of black tracksuits and a white button shirt under the jacket. His eyes were so dark, that they might have been black.
He gave me a welcoming smile of yellowing teeth. I'd have preferred if he had just scowled if I didn't have to see his teeth..
"Welcome! No, don't apologize for not organising a meeting beforehand. I heard you talking with my daughter outside the door anyway." His voice was like what I'd imagine some kind of cartoon weasel to sound like.
"I see," I said, taking a seat at the considerably less comfortable guest chair at the front of the desk, "she's very kind."
"It's okay, I don't mind it at all. Anyway, you have questions for me? Well the floor is open, Detective Jones."
'he knows my name already? Sandra must've talked to him about me.'
"Well, we'll start with your name. What is it?"
"It's Phillip. Anything else?"
"Of course there's something else, Phillip."
"Alright, alright, no need to be rude. So what is it?"
I took a seat opposite him, on one of the visitor's chairs at the frontside of the desk.
"I don't have much to ask, so let's get this out of the way," I took a breath in, "so I'd like to ask about one of your tenants."
"Which one? I have many."
"Joshua Errant-More, lives in number 19 Magher Drive."
Phillip stirred a little in his seat, leaning against the back of the chair.
"Hmm. I think I see where this'll be going. But I'll tell you what I know about him. He keeps to himself. I've only ever seen him once or twice since he moved in roughly nine months ago. He pays his rent perfectly on time by bank transfer. And as I've seen on security camera footage, he like bringing guests round to his house. But I'm sure there's been six different ones coming in over the time Joshua's lived in that flat. And I've looked thoroughly through the footage - but there's no sign of any of 'em leaving.."
"I see. That's very helpful indeed. One more thing."
Phillip nodded respectfully.
"You say Joshua moved in nine months ago. However, I'm told a tragedy occured in number 21 only eight months ago, as well as the flat being totally bare and empty right now.. Are these events linked in any way?"
Phillip closed his eyes and shook his head forlornly. Thunder crashed in the sky, and the simultaneous lightning flash Illuminated the office in a ghastly white.
"You're good at your job, that's for sure."
He suddenly turned on his office lamp and spun his chair around to the window, carefully reeling down the shutter blinds until they were completely shut. Then he turned back to me, his expression and pose now completely serious. He withdrew a packet of ciggarettes and a lighter, pulling out a ciggarette and offering it to me.
"No thanks, I'll just breathe oxygen instead." I replied coolly.
Phillip shrugged, slipping a cigarrette into his mouth, before raising an orange disposable lighter to its end, before clicking the lighter to life.
"Don't say I didn't ask..." He said, his tone of voice solemn, the glow of the small gas flame throwing ominous shadows across the shelves and filing cabinets that the gentle hum of the desk lamp couldn't quite accomplish.
And when the lighter was extinguished, he let out a puff of smoke, exhaling deeply as the whisps curled up into the air and disappeared.
"It all began back in 2010, just before Halloween.. A mum and her kid moved into number 21 Magher Drive. Krystal and her son Tony. That was their names. Biological father had left, you see. And you could tell that she was a little cracked. But they were happy. And in flat number 20, lived one guy one his own, called Haru. Haru Kazuki. Moved over all the way from Japan back in '09. But he began getting close to Krystal, and the kid. After about a year of courting each other, the man proposed to her. She seemed to start getting more and more stable. But everything changed when Joshua moved into the flat at the bottom in December, 2011."
He puffed out some more smoke, and tapped the cigarette against a small glass ashtray on the desk before him.
"I was at the christmas party in number 20 when his ugly little face showed up," Phillip continued, his voice losing its edge a little bit, "Joshua. That's his name, isn't it? Well, he kept taking Haru off to the side, whispering whatever sneaky little poisons he had. Then, in January.. Krystal burst into number 20 to celebrate their one year anniversary together... Only to find her husband to be, hanging from the end of a noose.." Phillip's eyebrows furled in anger.
I couldn't help but take a sharp gasp of shock.
'Jesus Christ..'
"That's not all," Phillip's voice began shaking, his macho exterior breaking down, and he put the cigarette into the ashtray, "forgive me, mate. It's just.. a bad memory. For everyone here. That scumbag, Joshua..!"
"It's okay," I said gently, "all I want is to get to the bottom of all of this." It wasn't much for assurance - but I'm really not good when emotions run high. Never have been.
Phillip wiped his face and rubbed his eyes. A flash of ligtning bleached through the blinds like they weren't even there, and in the momentary blinding light I could've sworn I saw a shadow of a person just outside the window. I blinked twice, but returned my attention to Phillip after gaining a questionable glance from him.
Thunder rolled dramatically in the sky, it was like the very earth shook under the roaring of the storm above.
He took a rough breath in as he continued.
"Things got real bad, real fast. Krystal wouldn't leave the house for days at a time. Then her son started seeing things that weren't there. Then I noticed that nobody had left or entered flat number 21 for at least three weeks... but when I finally went inside, it seems... it was too late," I noticed Phillip's eyes beginning to water, "because I found her flat totally empty, and her son's dead body stuffed in the closet... Stabbed to death he was, the poor little lad.. It was horrible. But by time the police had arrived and I'd shown them inside, the body had disappeared and all."
"I... I see." All of this was hard for me to take in all at once. My eyes were widened and my jaw slightly agape. I was starting to think that maybe I should have never become a Detective at all.
"I didn't think something like that could ever happen over 'ere, I guess.. Well, I guess I was wrong." Once full of confidence and swagger, Phillip's face was now etched with the wrinkles of grief. I scratched the back of my head awkwardly.
"I'm sorry to bring such memories back up again." My apology was genuine this time.
"It's okay," He rubbed his tears from his eyes and gave a weak smile, "I'll let you off if you bring that bastard Joshua to justice he surely deserves.. Then I'll know closure as the manager of these buildings." Seeing him in this state instantly steeled my resolve. I knew that if I had any honour left, I'd solve this damn mystery. Pay or no pay. If I lost my office, I'm sure Phillip might find it in his heart to spare me Joshua's old place.
That is only if I wasn't going to be getting any more unwanted guests.
"I promise you, I won't rest. I won't rest until I reach the truth," I said, standing up, and walking towards the door, before glancing back over my shoulder, "thank you for your time."
Then I left the office, the door slowly closing on Phillip's quiet sniffles.
There was only one place left to go now. I gave a curt wave to Sandra as I left. It seems I was so resolute that I completely forgot about all the things I had bought not even a full hour before. Oh well. It'd be safe with Sandra, I wagered.
So I advanced through the curtains of icy, cascading rain spurred on into whips by the forceful wind. In fact, this rain was so lashing, so heavy, that it was like a thick fog, smashing unrelentingly into the ground.
My coat flapped dramatically in the harsh gale as I strode across the road. Rain droplets bounced off of asphalt and pavements with just as much thunderous power as the thunder in the sky, and trees danced wildly all around. And right in front of me was a small crescent shaped lane - an avenue of six cosy looking houses, the types that grandmas from Disney movies might like to invest in. But in weather like this, any house ; be it cute or creepy, would unsettle most people.
At the beginning of the street was a metal sign..
Fuscia Avenue.
The mystery was almost over.
.
Damn it, my coat's all soggy now. Hope I'll be dry by next chapter...
OUTRO THEME : "CRAZY MY BEAT" by CODA