Inspector Liam Huntington of the Division of Peculiar and Supernatural Crimes prowled New Scotland Yard on the morning of Holy Saturday, even though it was his day off. Though there was a crush of people all around him, he was there to see only a couple of them. Therefore, he avoided anyone else, even those of his own squad.
He attracted more attention than he would have liked; people’s heads bobbed up from their desks, perpetrators made sneering comments as he sailed past them on his mission. He was bare headed, so his ebony hair was in plain view, as well as his jet black eyes. Since he was dressed in plain clothes rather than his uniform, heading straight to areas that only authorized personnel tend to go, it made people notice him even more. Liam’s height, well over six feet, never helped when he was trying to be furtive.
It could not be helped. All night prior, it nagged him, like a tiny pebble in one’s shoe. The name Kearney burned in Liam’s memory. He had to know why.
Such was the curse of having a memory like his.
Liam descended into an abyss. It was to the archives that he headed, an underground cave where evidence and files were buried once their lives had been spent. He braved the darkness and closeness because those files beckoned with the possibility of an answer.
Liam lifted his arms and stretched them out to his sides. The edges of his fingers brushed the walls on either side of him. Whenever he had to pass through a close hallway, Liam would hold his hands out and touch the walls. This act seemed to make him feel more in control of the closeness.
A pale young fellow by the name of Roxbury was the gate keeper of the graveyard of files. There were times when Liam thought this youth lacked the maturity for the job. Liam felt that nothing down in the archives was a joking matter, but there were times that he believed that Roxbury did.
He approached a window, where a small bell sat on the sill. Liam swatted it once, not wanting to be obnoxious, but also wanting to make certain he’d been heard. To Liam's amazement, young Roxbury came to the window almost immediately. “Greetings, Inspector Huntington, and a lovely Saturday morning to you. How might I assist you?” the lad asked in his typical snarky manner.
“How do you know what the weather is when you haven’t got any window outside?” Liam asked.
“I’ve got a window. It’s this one. Besides, it’s Saturday, and there is no way that a Saturday is not a lovely day.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re working!” Liam protested.
Roxbury narrowed his eyes. “Indeed, Inspector Huntington. And it would appear, based on your clothing choices, that you are not working, and therefore have no excuse for being here instead of outside on a surely lovely Saturday morning. So, I ask you again, how might I assist you?”
Rather than continue the banter, however, Liam grew more serious and asked, “Might the name of Kearney stir any memories for you?”
Roxbury gave Liam an amused stare. “You mean Benedict Kearney? Good God, that bloke is etched in my memory for all time! I ain’t surprised you remember him, knowing your infamous memory. I’m just surprised you don’t remember enough to spare yourself a trip down here!”
“Why is that?” Liam asked.
“Rather unforgettable case!” Roxbury promised. Roxbury gestured to the sitting area, where there were desks set up in a row so that people could look through the files Roxbury retrieves for them. “Please, have a seat and make some room.”
Liam sat down and pulled the brass chain on a green shaded desk lamp. In a few moments, Roxbury emerged with a rather large box filled with files. “My, my, big case, eh?” Liam groaned.
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