David sighed, the cup of tea clasped in his hands long cold. The clock's incessant ticking only seemed to annoy him. He ran a hand through his light blond hair, his gaze fixed on the fireplace.
Why can't I seem to get a good lead? He mused, stirring the tea for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. There is no true connection. What have I missed?
He stood, beginning to pace around his well decorated study as he ran over the cases in his mind again, the flickering of the candle's flames casting long shadows across the wooden floor. A soft knock broke his line of observations, and he looked up towards the door of the study.
"Come in." he replied.
The door squeaked open, and in came a raven-haired maid and a stately looking man in the blue suit of a policeman with brown hair and eyes to match. The lady servant gave a small curtsy.
"Inspector Daines. I don't mean to intrude so late, but this fellow said he needed to speak with you immediately." She motioned to the officer.
David gave her a kind smile.
"It's quite alright, Amber, I wasn't in the middle o anythin'. Ya may go." He said, his homeland Irish accent coming out strong. He turned to the man, a bright smile on his face as he offered the man his hand. "Officer Sebastian, what a surprise."
The Policeman accepted the gesture, his face serious. "I apologize for the interruption Inspector, but I'm afraid at this hour I didn't come for a casual visit."
David released the man's hand, his heart racing. That could only mean one thing. Officer Sebastian drew himself up to a more formal air.
"There has been another unusual crime case, this time at 461 Broken Cane Street, the Chief believed you may want to take a look firsthand."
David's excitement exploded, and he found himself unable to waste another second. The Investigator pushed past the Officer, darting down the hall and stairs to the main entry coat closet. This investigation may yield the crucial information he was missing! He snatched up his dark brown bowler hat and a red scarf.
"Miss Amber!" he called, fiddling with the garments.
The young maid popped around the corner, a well worn ink pen in her hand. She slipped it into her apron like a stolen cookie, smiling sheepishly. David almost chuckled. She had been drawing during chores again. He didn't mind her practicing, and rather liked the small sketches he would find around the manor from time to time. As long as she kept up with her duties and didn't get too carried away that is.
"Yessir?"
David tucked the ends of his scarf into his dark tan suit as Officer Sebastian caught up; he didn't want the ends flying about the crime scene.
"The Chief of Police has summoned me to investigate a crime scene on Broken Cane Street." he explained opening the front door. "I may be gone for quite a while. Tell the butler for me would you?"
Amber nodded.
"I'll be sure to tell him, sir."
David nodded his thanks and made his way out the door. The first whispers of cold winds signaled the beginning of fall. Not yet too cold, but chilled enough to want the scarf he had brought. A navy police carriage waited outside, the well-kept bay that pulled it whinnying a greeting. Officer Sebastian opened the door to the carriage, motioning for him to climb inside. David took his seat at the back of the carriage, removing his hat as the policeman followed him inside. With a sharp tap on the driver's window they were off.
David watched as the front doors of the many fine houses on his block passed by his window in a blur, soon fading into the rundown grimy buildings of Lower London. His mind was already beginning to piece together scenarios, deductions filling his mind faster than an iron horse. The carriage soon slowed to a stop, and the Investigator was out of the cab in a flash, donning his cap in one smooth motion. A rush of excitement hit him as he began approaching the scene, as it had every time he went on location. His life of investigation never seemed to lack its intriguing luster. The crime scene came into view, and David was halted in his tracks.
The backdoor of the silversmith had been bashed off of its hinges, part of the splintered remains laying a short ways off to the side of the alley. There were splinters of wood all over the ground, along with several scuff marks like a struggle had taken place. One of the city Policemen sauntered over to him, his dark bearded face looking grave and slightly bored. A quick glance at his epaulettes was all David needed to tell he was the Chief of Police.
"Fine mess we have here, detective."
David gave him an affirming hum as he strolled around the scene, taking in the details.
"It is quite the sight, Chief."
Observations flew through his head like lightning in a thunderstorm. The door had to have had a significant amount of force applied to its surface to cave the way it did, but what could have supplied it? He continued on, catching a glimpse of several scrape marks along the bricks of the street, some thicker and deeper, but most thin and precise. His eyebrow rose.
A bladed weapon? And several at that. He noted.
The Chief cleared his throat, gaining the Inspector's attention. He motioned to a cell-carriage, with the shadows of men inside.
"We caught three of the group that was breaking in. Typical lowlifes, but the story they have to tell of the event is quite astounding. Let's see what you can make of it."
David frowned, his green eyes narrowing in confusion.
"What 'appened?"
The Chief shrugged motioning to the carriage again.
"I can't do the story justice. It just isn't normal. You'll have to hear it for yourself Inspector."
David raised his eyebrow once more, but he opted not to comment any further. He followed the Chief to the awaiting carriage, careful not to step on any of the scattered debris as he passed through. The Chief banged on the door of the cell.
"Inspector Daines is here for information on tonight's events. I expect your cooperation, and honesty." he said sternly to the shadows.
A shuffle sounded, and a rag dressed man with greasy auburn hair stepped up to the bars. He had a large injury to the side of his head, and several splinters of wood hanging on his clothes. His grey eyes held a haunted look, like an animal pursued by a hunter.
"I'll go clean. I'll mend my ways sir, I swear it! Just don't let that thing get us again!" he whispered franticly.
David's curiosity perked. He slipped a notebook and pencil from his suit pocket, flipping to a fresh page.
"We will try our best ta figure this out, but I need ya ta tell me exactly what 'appened." He said, keeping his voice calm.
The crook gave a violent shiver, his hands clenching around the cold metal bars.
"The likes of tonight I've ne'r seen in me life...." He began.
*********
Silver beams of moonlight glinted off the wet cobblestone streets, casting ghostly shadows over the dingy bricks of London's downtown Silversmith. It was cold and foggy, hard to see anything happen, and hard to see faces.
Just the way they needed it for a success.
The greasy haired crook gave a rancid smile as he scanned the small group, their clothes in varying stages of wear and abuse. The boss was going to be right happy come the dawn, maybe even enough to give them a bit of the prize. He signaled to the tallest one of the group, his bare arms boasting a brutal series of claw like scars.
"Oi Razor, ya know the target?" he growled.
The scarred ruffian nodded with eagerness, his chiseled face twisting into a grin.
"Like I know my own hand."
The ragged man gave his taller comrade a whack on the shoulder. "Then get to business."
Razor scowled, his dark eyes glaring into the shorter man.
"Since when were you put in as chief, Whiplash?"
The ragged crook was disgusted at the murmurs of confirmation from the others, his mouth twisting into a snarl.
"If you wanna argue with the boss's orders it's fine by me, but I'll have an earful to tell him if we turn up with empty hands."
Razor spat on the ground, muttering something vile under his breath. He turned his back, slipping into the alley beside the Silversmith's. Whiplash and the other two followed suit, his mind churning with the prospects off the night's events. There was a door set in the side of the alley, leading into the shop, and the goods within. Razor fished in his pockets, soon pulling out a set of well-used picks. He inserted them into the door and began to work. Whiplash watched the master Lock-pick as he tilted the small metal pieces this way and that, slowly making his way through the tiny pins holding the lock in place. He smiled.
This job would be easy.
A shuffling sound to the right caught his attention, and he turned to gaze into the shadows of the alley. He couldn't see a thing, save the usual rubbish found in the trash heaps. Probably a rat, but he didn't want to stick around to find out.
"Hurry up!" he hissed, his eyes darting back to the man at the door. "I don't like the feel of this place."
Razor shot him an angry glare, his fingers still working on the lock.
"I'm going as fast as I can 'Boss'." he spat back.
Whiplash heard another scuff, this time to the left. He gave the direction a quick glance, but yielded the same result as before. He kept getting this feeling they were being watched, but there was nothing to prove there was. He scoffed at himself. Probably just some trick of conscious. A shadow fell across the small group, blocking out the pale moonlight. Whiplash barely had the time to look up as a wraithlike form, silhouetted by the moonlight crashed into him, bashing his head against the door of the smithy. He felt wood buckle under him, caving in as the door wrenched off its hinges. His vision swirled into blackness, and the last thing he saw was the glint of golden eyes as unconsciousness claimed him.
**********
David finished writing down the last of the account, his mind spinning. This was the first account he'd come across of this type. He doubted the tale was entirely true, but still the information contained in the account was shocking.
"Fascinating!" an unfamiliar voice chimed.
David turned around only to find a young man, dressed in a wrinkled grey suit, scribbling furiously in a notebook. The Inspector growled in frustration.
A reporter. So soon?
David turned his back, striding back to the scene of the crime. He needed to find that one link, the one piece to join together the small host of other cases. The reporter scampered after him, almost losing his hat in the rush.
"W-wait! Inspector Sir!" He called. "I'm William Trent, for the London Times. What do you have to say about this event?"
The Investigator continued his search, paying the ambitious man little heed. He poked around the site, looking for anything, anything at all. A glint of gold caught his eye, and he found what he was looking for. He slipped his hand under the door, pulling out a black feather, tipped in gold with two chevron stripes under it.
Identical to the other three found at the other recent crime scenes.
He slipped the calling card into his coat with a note of finality, turning back to the reporter.
"This is a ghost mystery indeed, but I shall do everything in my power to solve it."
He turned on his heel, striding back to the carriage that had brought him to the scene, his mind burning with the new set of data. William jogged to catch up with him.
"What is the name of this haunting ghoul?" He yelled after him.
David stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at the young man. He grabbed the mounting handle of the carriage, sighing.
"Call him of his actions. The NightOwl."
The door of the carriage clicked shut as the reporter wrote in his book once more. David shook his head and turned from the window, just as a flash of black caught his eye. His gaze snapped back to the window and the rooftops above, where a faint silhouette of black disappeared over the crown of the silversmith's.
The hunt has only just begun.
_______________________________
Dragon Bytes:
Hey guys! I'm BAAAAACK! And with a new book!
Major shout out to Raven Daniela, she created the AMAZING custom cover art. She also has a featured Cameo in this book, a small way of my saying thanks! (Wink)