Nicu's thumb glided over the stiff fingers as drops of cold water sprinkled from the ceiling, striking him in random successions. The chilled liquid soaked his shirt, making even his bones frigid. Dirt was buried in the nails, and he picked at them with a file, bringing the gritty fragments to his nose and sniffing.
"Please tell me this will not be long. I cannot bear to stand the stench much longer. I loathe this place, which you are aware, and as such makes me draw to the conclusion that you brought me here just to see me... highly uncomfortable." St. George quipped behind the cloth he was holding up to his mouth. His eyes surveyed the dingy, wet bricks that were slick and darkened with shadows of taunting melancholy. Shifting his gaze, he peered over at the man who inhabited the premises. Unshaven face covered in white brittle hair, nose large and flared, and beady, sunken eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Then there is Alfred, who has not stopped giving me a very ominous eye and I swear the plans he has for my corpse are most... sinister," St. George whispered the last word out darkly, with a dramatic roughness to his voice.
"Deal with it, Phal. This is the last one I need to interview, and I must be thorough" Nicu snapped open his bag, fetching his artillery and flicked it back on the black marble slab, exposing the scalpels, scissors, gauze, tweezers, and razors. He then grabbed an apron, putting the strap over his head, tying it around his waist, and rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Now go give Alfred his fee. That is why he is staring at you."
"I thought you already paid him?"
"No, now do it."
St George's brows furrowed, and he sucked in a deep breath. "Why am I always your source of payment?" he asked then gulped, the sound loud even to Nicu's ears. "Please don't make me."
"He will not stab you if that's what you're so terrified of."
St. George dug into his waistcoat pocket, eyeing Alfred. "You better have stitches at the ready in case I come back with a scalpel in my gut."
"I am fresh out of catgut, but I do have strings from my fiddle, oh wait, no I don't. I had to use that on myself a couple of weeks ago when a disgruntled clergyman stabbed me. We will just have to use horse's hair if it comes to that."
"I'm going to die by scalpel if you make me do this."
"That is preposterous. I am the one that will be wielding the scalpel." Nicu unsheathed his, twirling it in his fingers. "Now go or else I'll have Kappi pay the man for you."
"Would the rodent actually do it?"
Nicu let out an irritated breath. Cocking a brow, he pinched his teeth to his bottom lip and whistled. Kappi jumped on St. George's shoulder, making the grown man shriek.
"Get off, you vermin!" He swatted at Kappi who landed gracefully on the floor as St. George examined his tailored waistcoat. "He ripped it!"
"It is the price you must pay for being a coward. Now give Kappi the money so I can proceed."
St. George scowled at the coon. Fishing plentiful pounds from his pocket, St. George, with a suspicious brow, handed over the wad of currency over to Kappi. He snapped his hand away as if he'd get bitten, then Kappi darted out to Alfred, holding up the payment to him.
"By God!" St. George marveled. "He did it."
"Just be careful if you hand him a coin," Nicu responded. "He will take that. He adores shiny objects."
"Like guns?" St. George chided.
"Exactly. He detests paper."
"Why?"
Nicu shrugged. "He does not see the same kind of value in it as we do. If you really think about it, we are fools, giving such power to a flimsy and easily damageable piece of paper."
Nicu went to work, cutting the bloated skin as St. George kept his distance, questioning, "How does this not make you squeamish?"
"It simply does not bother me."
St. George shook his head and went to lean against a table, making it whine, but immediately sat up when he noted how wet it was and fearing it to be blood. "I will be throwing this waistcoat in the trash as soon as we are done here. The smell of death will probably cling to it long after."
Nicu ignored his friend's ramblings as he grunted in an effort to pry open the ribs. "Someday, I am going to create a device that will make this easier and keep the ribs open. I will call it..." Nicu paused, slowly stiffening at the sight before him, whispering, "What the devil?"
St George, oblivious to his comrades perplexed findings, stated, "Aren't you the least bit troubled that you did not obtain permission to do this? You are messing with someone's corpse."
When St. George didn't receive a reply, he straightened and strode over to the table. "Curse my lack of discipline and succumbing to curiosity." Braving his nausea, St. George peered down at what Nicu was staring at with his cloth over his mouth and nose. "They're charred as if flames had been ignited inside them."
"Indeed," Nicu answered.
"From the smoke of the fire?" St George hypothesized.
"Not to this extent, Phal." Nicu began examining further. "This is from years and years of inhalation."
"How is that possible?"
"I am not sure yet. Step back and let me further examine."
"Are you sure the smoke from the fire did not cause this."
"Yes, Phal. I am positive." Nicu continued investigating the corpse. "Kidneys were in poor condition, heart muscles abnormally thick, the valves on the right side of the heart seem... peculiar as if there had been leaking." Nicu pulled away and reexamined the skin. "Papules around the navel and thighs of the skin."
"Could it have been from the illness?" St. George inquired.
"I have not seen an illness like this before." Nicu straightened, backing away as he wiped his face and hand with a cloth.
"What is it?" St. George asked.
Nicu sat down on a bench, elbows resting on legs as still somewhat bloodied hands pushed his hair back. "Taking in the damage done to the lungs, the state of the organs, and the papules. This was not a simple virus. It is a disease of some sorts."
"And?" St. George continued to question.
Nicu licked his lips, eyes locking onto his friends. "I need more time with the corpse."
St George's mouth sloped down, eyes blanking. "I have to pay him more, don't I? We could go to jail for bribing an official of the crown."
"Go bargain with him. See how much time you can get me."
"You are disrespecting a corpse, Nicu. Not even I have the social skillset to persuade that man to give you more time, especially when he sees exactly how you examined the corpse."
"Catching the one who orchestrated this, matters more than sentimentality and comfort for a soul who is no longer living in its body. They are gone. The body will decompose, and life will move on. I minus well get answers from something that is going to simply be buried in a casket to rot. Get it done, Phal."
Nicu got back up and stared at the corpse his hand moving swiftly. He surveyed ever inch, nose, lips, eyes, toes, heart, lungs, kidneys. There was not a spot Nicu did not see, not a spec he missed. His fingers tugged at the roots of the hair and found something interesting.
St. George came back and took a deep breath as his chin jutted out. "Bad news."
"It's fine, I'm done. I just needed you to argue with the man for the time I needed."
A small smirk tilted on one side of St. George's face. "You could've just told me to distract him."
Nicu began to put away his tools. "On the off chance you surprised me and had gotten me more time, I figured I'd give you a shot."
"What a great amount of faith you have in me." The crooked smirk twitch in irritated offense. "So, what is your finding?"
"From my assessment of the skeletal areas and organs, it looks as if puberty had been delayed." Nicu pointed to the hairline. "As for the external examination, the hair is a wig. A very well-constructed wig. I only was able to decipher it because the eyebrows are quite significantly darker than the blonde hair."
"But," St. George replied, "it looks so real and woman don't wear wigs anymore."
"No," Nicu answered. "They wear coiffure enhanced with manufactured with horse or goat hair." He lifted a lock and rubbed some strands between his fingers. "Sometimes even human and this is human hair." He dropped the lock. "Also, the skin looks as though it had been whitened because there are areas where it has irritated rashes. Then the eyes."
"What about them?"
"Notice how they are slanted and that there is slight scarring."
"Reconstructive surgery?"
Nicu nodded. "By no amateur either. I only saw it because I was looking for it."
"So," St. George came in front of Nicu, staring at him for an answer. "What does this all mean?"
"It means," Nicu began. "That the little girl Ms. Gracie Daviess, was actually a woman in her late twenties. One with a crippling disease she was dying from. As for the reconstructive surgery... I am at a loss."
"Twenty?" St. George practically shouted in shock.
"Late twenties, yes."
"But how?"
"Like I said, an unknown disease. It made her look younger than she was, but it was also killing her. She was not ill from a virus. With the combination of her already destroyed lungs from her heavy smoking and her failing organs, she was already a dead woman walking."
"I am not understanding."
"For now, you won't, and neither will I. But the most important answer has been solved. In fact, I solved it before I even started my examination."
"And that is?"
"She is the one who started the fire," Nicu stated without a shred of speculation. "Remnants of the oil were underneath her fingernails."
"But then, why would she alert the girls to escape?" St. George questioned.
"Because they were obviously not meant to die," Nicu replied. "She was planted there and disguised as a schoolgirl." St. George opened his mouth to ask yet another question, but Nicu stopped him. "Most likely to start the fire. This case is even more complex that I had originally thought. I still need to find all the pieces, or at least most of them. I also need to find the person for whom she was working."
"And how are you going to do that?"
A loud screeching caused both the men to turn and notice a familiar figure shouting at Alfred.
Nicu, unperturbed, exited the morgue with St. George close behind. "Is that Kathleen Daviess?"
"It is and usually, I'd say we better run but unfortunately," Nicu threw on his waistcoat stating, "I have some questions for her."
St. George was on Nicu's heels. "This was the very woman who requested your assistance. The one who was in hysterics after Kappi shot a gun at her."
"He didn't shoot it at her, but yes that pretty woman."
"You found her attractive?"
"Of course."
St George smirked. "But not as pretty as, let's say, Miss Morgan?"
"Not even close," Nicu responded. "What are you getting at?"
"Nothing." St. George smiled. "Are you positive we shouldn't run?"
"No. Now prepare yourself, Phal. A woman's wrath is much more terrifying than a man's."
"Of that I am well-aware, my friend."
"Detective Rowe!" The scorned woman screeched. "You disrespected my sister's corpse!" Then she turned to Alfred. "And you allowed it, you scoundrel!"
Alfred, the very ominous and intimidating figure, was sweating. Thick beads fell down his leathery forehead and the man was red in horror and rage. He held his hands up in an effort to try to calm the woman who was clothed in black with a matching veil covering her face. "I am so sorry, Miss Daviess. He informed me that he had received your permission."
Nicu regarded the distraught woman. "Miss Daviess—"
"How dare you!" She shoved old Al aside and stomped up to Nicu and pushed him. He barely faltered as her veil flowed in the heated rage of her breath. "You disgusting, vile man. You..."
"Was she really your sister Miss Daviess?" Nicu quickly retorted. "Can you provide me with your correspondences?"
Miss Daviess jerked back in indignation. "No you may not! And that is preposterous! Of course she was my sister! Where is she? I must see her."
"That is not fitting, not fitting at all. It is improper for you to bear witness to a corpse, and I will not have a woman in my morgue. It is not a place for a lady," Alfred stated.
"Then you go! See what he has done to her. Now!"
Alfred huffed, robotically spinning on his heel in insult for being yelled at by a woman. Nicu on the other hand stared at the hidden face before him. Her lips were barely visible, but enough so that he did not recognize them. They were plumper, more bow shaped.
Nicu's gaze narrowed as that very... unfamiliar mouth lifted. "Something wrong, Detective Rowe?" The voice was drastically different, low, and seductive.
Stepping into him, the woman's scent was wrapped in jasmine. Nicu detested the fragrance, predominantly floral with a subtle wood musk.
It always made him sneeze.
But what Nicu detested more was deception, especially one he could not see through.
She lifted her veil, smirking. She was vastly different— face rounder, eyes a deeper shade, and further apart. Her yellowish blonde hair contained white powder to make it a softer tint and her skin was whitened.
She was not Kathleen Daviess.
"I hope you were able to find what you were searching for, Detective Rowe. You will not get such an opportunity again."
A roar of pain echoed from the morgue and St. George rushed back there while Nicu remained planted.
"Where is the real Kathleen Daviess?" he asked.
The unknown woman smirked. "There is no Kathleen Daviess." She began to walk around him, her steps purposeful as her black gown swayed vindictively. "I assumed deceiving you would be harder. How entertaining it is. The great, famed Detective Rowe being guided and yanked around like a draft horse pulling a carriage."
"It would be wise of you to not underestimate me."
"You do not hold the reins."
"Then who does?"
"Nicu!" St. George shouted.
The woman placed herself in front of Nicu. "I wish you luck, Detective. You're going to need it."
"Who are you?"
"You should start trying to ask the right questions. I thought that was your thing, ask the unexpected."
St. George hustled in, frantic and breathing heavily and Nicu turned to him. "The body is gone, and Alfred's throat was slit. He's dead."
Nicu shifted back around but the woman was gone.
"Who was that? What in the bloody hell is going on?"
Nicu ignored St. George and went to his bag, pulling out everything he needed with excited haste. He wrapped a scarf around his neck and made slight temporary alterations to his face.
"What are you doing?" St. George asked.
"Get Chief Inspector Byron," Nicu ordered, disheveling his hair. "Inform him of what has happened. And lastly, give me your waistcoat."
"What about you?" St. George asked as he handed the disgusting waistcoat over to his odd friend.
Nicu took it, slinging it around him. A probing at that glass of the window caused Nicu to turn to his coon. Kappi's nose twitched, and he darted off.
"Good boy." Nicu praised as he pushed open the door with his back. "Kappi is hot on her trail."
"Where are you going?" St. George exclaimed.
Nicu popped the collar up around his face, concealing his debious smirk. "I'm going to follow her of course."
Hehehehehe Nicu loves disguising himself :D
What do you all think? Any ideas on what is transpiring? Will you be able to solve the case before Nicu?
Lastly, I just love St. George and Nicu's dynamic. They are so much fun to write together!