There were several things that competed in Gabriel's list of the things he despised, but at the very top was mediocrity.
The murderer had waited, in the very building. He had been waiting all along, until Mr Hunter's death created enough of a distraction for him to make an escape. The sheer nerve.
"We couldn't have known," came his assistant's gentle voice. It hardly helped.
"He was there. Right there." He threw his coat into an awkward heap on his one-seater couch. Night had fallen, but the quiet that had once brought him peace only served to agitate him now.
"We couldn't have known," she repeated, this time sounding more resigned. "But it is my fault. I wish I had enquired about Mr Hunter the moment I had found out about him. Perhaps his life could have been saved." She took a deep, heavy breath, as though trying not to cry. "I'm sorry."
There was a pregnant pause. "You could have been more proactive, yes," said the detective unkindly. She hung her head, her eyes moistening.
"However," she looked up at him, her face red, "for what it's worth, I believe nothing could have saved him. Everyone that is suspected to possess any proof of the preceding crimes is being hunted down and silenced." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to placate her. Her feeling any less miserable would hardly help resolve the issue at hand. He decided to account it to his morbid dread of crying females. All good detectives needed to endure crying women now and then. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "the next victim could be one of us." He looked up at her, studying her expression. Her eyes had widened, but for some reason, it didn't seem like fear for her own life.
"I- I have thought about it," she admitted.
"Ms Thompson," he said lowly, drawing her attention. He had settled on the couch, with his feet spread apart and his face shadowed in the dim light. She thought him particularly handsome in the moment.
Then she wanted to slap herself for the extremely inappropriate thought at an even more inappropriate time.
"Hmm?"
"Would you like to quit?"
That instantly pulled her out of her haze. "Pardon?"
"Would you like to quit?" he repeated as though she hadn't heard him the first time. "This is proving to be a dangerous job, and you hardly possess the necessary experience or expertise. Rather than fearing for your life at every step, possibly for an indefinite amount of time, I should suggest that you leave when it's still not too late. What do you think, Ms Thompson?"
"I have no intention of leaving," she said bluntly. She nearly smiled at the surprise on the detective's face. "I do not possess the intellect or finesse you do, Mr Bedford," she said, quoting his own words from before, "but I do have courage. And like you, I wish to see this through. So no- if you permit it, I would like to continue working for you."
Her declaration was followed by complete silence. Neither spoke as a wolf howled somewhere in the distance. The large clock on the wall struck ten, and Charlotte was becoming increasingly aware of how inappropriate her presence in his apartment was at the hour.
"Very well," Mr Bedford finally said. "I suppose it does make everything easier to have someone do it for you."
Her heart skipped a beat as she registered the implication of his words. "Thank you," she said sincerely. He only nodded in response.
"Now, Ms Thompson," he said gravely. Her momentary joy plummeted at his tone. "There is something else I must ask of you."
"Yes?" she waited patiently for him to speak as he produced a bag of candies from somewhere within the leather of the couch (she dreaded to think where it came from or how it could be well past its expiration date, but she digressed).
"Are you required to report my findings to your superiors, Ms Thompson?"
"I am," she admitted. "But I didn't think you would like that, so I have only been reporting back the tasks I am assigned to. Your deductions, Mr Bedford, I have yet to tell them of. In fact, it has been two days since I last spoke to Sergeant Bateman."
"I see," Gabriel said thoughtfully, leaning back. He spoke after a beat. "I would appreciate it, Ms Thompson, if you stopped reporting our movements henceforth." Before she could protest with all the reasons this could cost her her job, he went on, "At the end of every day, I shall come up with something for you to report, wholly unconnected with the case. However, I'm afraid I cannot permit you to divulge information any longer. Unless you can agree with this condition, Ms Thompson, I cannot allow you to work for me."
Charlotte paused, a troubled expression on her face.
"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "But why? I didn't forward your deductions because I know you are a private man, and that you would have preferred to work without the force's interference. But I'm afraid I cannot comprehend why we must take such drastic measures."
"I will give you a hint," he said. "Think back to how many times we have been hoodwinked the past few days. Tell me, Ms Thompson, do you think it possible unless the murderer knew our every move ahead of time?" He watched realisation dawn on his assistant as her cherry lips parted in awe. "But that would be next to impossible, unless..."
"Unless we have been delivering it to their hands ourselves," she finished, gobsmacked. "But who? Who would risk their life and career to commit so many crimes?"
Gabriel nearly smiled at the unsuspecting nature of the girl, but checked himself. He didn't think she would deem it particularly appropriate for a smile to make an appearance given the current line of conversation.
"I fear you have forgotten where it all began," he said.
"The Carter Hill case?" she tilted her head in confusion, very much like the canine he had thought her the first day she had arrived.
"The embezzlement," he corrected. For once, he wasn't irate at having to explain the obvious. On the contrary, he thought it a good stroke to his pride to criticise someone with inferior intellect.
"Oh," she said, hardly comprehending the meaning behind his words. "But that was nearly two decades ago," she argued. "Why would they wait for so long to exact revenge?"
"I'm afraid you have an inclination for theatrics, Ms Thompson." This time, he couldn't conceal the amusement that danced in his eyes. Charlotte blushed. "You also seem convinced it must have been revenge. But I'm personally inclined to think it is too weak of a motive for the indiscriminate killing."
"Then why?" The detective smiled.
"I just said why."
"The embezzlement?" Her brows furrowed. "But that was twenty years ago," she emphasized.
"I am aware, Ms Thompson," Gabriel smirked condescendingly.
"But-"
"I'm afraid it is getting late," he interjected, his glance towards the apartment door meant to be conspicuous rather than surreptitious. The exasperated assistant sighed and rose.
"I dropped the remaining of the documents earlier today. They are on the bureau," she informed him. "Goodnight, Mr Bedford."
Gabriel waited until she was gone to fish out his phone from his pocket.
"Devin," he said unceremoniously before his friend could as much as get a word in. "I need you to post someone at Charlotte Thompson's residence to monitor her."
~~~
Exhausted but anxious, Gabriel lay wide awake in his second-hand bed that night. The phone call with his friend had not been a particularly fortunate occurrence either. Once he had finished relaying his suspicions of his assistant's involvement in the case, Devin had decided it was his turn. Not one to be outdone, Devin had described in excruciating detail his latest adventures with one of his 'friends'. The memory haunted Gabriel's mind, disallowing from getting a wink of sleep.
But despite being completely drained, Gabriel had no intention of falling asleep. He had anticipated, hoped for the impossible to come true again.
His mysterious ally in the shadows did not disappoint. At the stroke of midnight, the device that had once belonged to the dead Katherine Wright came back to life.
The sound of static noise came through, followed by dramatic silence.
"Evening, detective," said the midnight caller.
Hardly surprised, Gabriel asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He thought the communication very timely. A little too much to evade suspicion. In fact, he had foreseen it. But for reasons he couldn't account for, he wanted to trust her. It was a dangerous game to play- to trust the elusive ally as much as he distrusted his mysterious adversary in the dark, based solely on a hunch. And yet, he found himself listening, waiting for her opinion.
"The case is hardly a simple one," she stated rather than asked. Gabriel found himself silently agreeing. "But you have done well."
"Hardly," he said curtly.
"I suspect you have already uncovered the heart of the mystery."
"Not quite," he answered shortly.
She laughed, a delicate chime that cut through the quiet of the night. "Oh, but you have!"
"I have no evidence."
"Then you must find some," she replied cheerfully.
"How?" He was beginning to get aggravated. As much as he appreciated her advice, her tone suggested condescension and patronage rather than an inclination to assist. Her manner conveyed she knew more than he did, and there was nothing Gabriel disliked more.
"That," she said gently, "I cannot tell you." A pause. "Perhaps I can give you another hint."
"You have gone after the living," she paused. "Now you must go after the dead."
"I have disturbed the dead enough," he replied, his tone bordering on aggression.
"You have," she confirmed. "Therefore, it would do no harm if you investigated a couple more." Gabriel had had enough.
"People are dying," he spit. "Every witness I find, I find them dead. How do you expect me to continue?" He had feigned indifference when the innocent Mr Hunter had died. He had kept his cool when Mr Johnson had been murdered. Death came naturally in his line of work. He had found Ms Thompson's attitude extremely unprofessional and untimely. But although he was familiar with death and disaster, but he did not rejoice in it. To him, corpses were just that- corpses. But to turn the living into dead bodies; to rob someone of the years ahead of them- Gabriel despised those who felt entitled to do so.
"People die," is all she offered. And not for the first time, Gabriel questioned not only her credibility but also her morality. "And they shall continue to die unless you stop the murderer. If you gave up now, there will be other detectives willing to take on the case. But if you don't, you could apprehend the culprit and perhaps save a few lives. The choice is yours."
Gabriel sighed. He wasn't an overly emotional man, nor did he feel obliged to be righteous, but he thought the town police extremely fortunate that his extraordinary intellect didn't come with a criminal mind. He had no ambition, no greed. There wasn't anything that was truly unattainable for him, and thus, nothing for him to desire. Stimulation of the mind was the only thing he truly craved- he had always found dormancy maddening. Boredom, he knew from experience, was often the chief cause of mischief- the greatest of criminals were often bored geniuses with no outlets to exercise their minds. Gabriel had thought the consequences of crime too straining (he led a painfully sedentary life) and had chosen the path of justice instead. He was aware he was no saint- in fact, he was sure on multiple occasions had his compromises with morality frightened his assistant to death.
But human lives weren't collectibles one could keep or dispose. He found the midnight caller's thoughts alarming. He couldn't share her sentiments, nor did he entirely approve of them.
And yet, once again, he found himself agreeing with her. Her words were unsympathetic and harsh, but they were not untrue. If he chose to quit, he might not necessarily save the witnesses, because they would be hunted down anyway. But neither the crime nor the criminal would stop- for the matter to truly end for once and for all, he needed to be the one to conclude it.
"I believe you have made your decision," said the caller with the morally questionable motives.
"I have," he answered slowly.
She laughed a horrible laugh. It was knowing, patronising.
"Good luck, detective."