It was half past one in the afternoon, and Le Petit Café bar was heaving. Soft jazz drifted through the air, mingling with the crisp clink of glasses. The rich aroma of whisky and cigars wafted about the room. From a corner, hushed laughter echoed, making the afternoon feel particularly drawn out.
He made his way towards the bar, where Devin was mixing drinks.
Noticing Carl, Devin’s movements visibly faltered for a moment, the shaker wobbling slightly in his hand. Carl saw his knuckles were going a bit white, clearly from the strain.
“What’s going on with your face?” Carl examined the bruises around Devin’s eyes and mouth.
“Had a bit of a tumble,” Devin replied, head bowed, avoiding eye contact. His fingers fiddled unconsciously with the bar tools, the metal chinking softly.
“A pint of dark, please.”
As Devin pulled the pint, his actions were steady, but Carl sensed the tension beneath the surface. He took a sip of his beer, tapping the side of his glass lightly. “What’s your connection to Thomas Yamia? Has he been in recently?”
Devin’s movements stiffened, his right hand trembling slightly. Bottles and glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound. “We’re mates. He’s been in three times of late.” His voice was soft, like he was trying hard to keep it together.
“Specific times?” Carl’s doubts deepened.
Devin grabbed a tea towel and mechanically wiped down a glass that was already clean. “Around twenty past nine on Monday, half ten on Wednesday, and the same times yesterday and Wednesday.”
“What time did he leave?”
“Oh, a bit past one in the morning.” Devin handed a cocktail to another punter. “Between quarter past and twenty past, can’t quite recall.” As he spoke, his gaze flicked towards the wine cellar before quickly looking away.
A sudden burst of laughter went up in the bar, breaking the silence between them. Carl noticed Devin’s shoulders relax a touch.
“There are rumours your relationship is a bit out of the ordinary.”
Devin’s hand froze mid-air, the bar spoon trembling slightly. After a moment’s silence, his eyes seemed to lose their light. “We were together, once.”
“Once?”
“Yeah, once.” Devin lowered his head, rearranging the bottles as if to avoid the subject.
“Why did you split up?”
“Personality clash.” His voice was barely audible.
“Is Thomas a bit hot-headed?”
“Yeah, he’s got no patience for much.” Devin subconsciously touched the marks on his face, then realised and quickly put his hand down.
Carl stared at the bruises. “Was he responsible for these?”
“No, it was an accident.” Devin shook his head, never meeting Carl’s gaze. His fingers tapped gently on the edge of the bar, the rhythm giving away his unease.
“Do you know where he is now?”
“Probably at the Wilson’s building site. That’s where he works.” Devin’s tone suddenly flattened.
“Does he have digs in town?”
“At 13 Tracy Road.”
A distant sound of breaking glass reached their ears, and a few punters started to complain. Devin turned away, looking almost relieved, to sort out the commotion, but Carl had already seen the fear flash in his eyes.
Carl stood up to leave and stopped a waiter at the door, handing over a business card. “If anything untoward happens at the bar, give me a shout straight away.”
Devin watched Carl’s departing figure and let out a breath. He glanced towards the wine cellar, now silent and still. His hand paused mid-cleaning, a feeling of unease settling in his gut.
A police car went past a few streets, navigating a busy junction before finally pulling up outside the Wilson’s building site. At the gate, Old Bob was sitting in the security hut.
Spotting Carl, he immediately stood up, all enthusiasm. “It’s you again, officer.”
“Is Thomas Yamia here?”
“That bloke’s got the day off.” Old Bob grinned, showing a few yellow teeth. “Probably gone off causing trouble again last night.”
He suddenly lowered his voice. “Everything I told the other lot is true. Thomas is a murderer. That couple in Nightdew Gardens—he definitely did them in. And there’s more victims than just them.” Old Bob’s eyes gleamed with a touch of fanaticism. “He’s not human. He’s a monster who’s done a deal with a demon from hell.”
“Did you see him kill anyone yourself?” Carl frowned.
“That fella’s a demon in human skin!” Old Bob exclaimed, his face going a bit red with agitation. “No matter how well he hides it, his true colours will come out in the end.”
Carl thought of Thomas’s eyes and couldn’t help but shiver.
In the oak-panelled corridor of Oak Apartments at 13 Tracy Road, a musty smell hung in the air. The wallpaper was peeling, revealing mottled water stains. The lift had been out of service for ages, with a yellowed “Out of Order” sign stuck to the iron gates.
Carl pressed the doorbell of flat 304. There was no answer. He pressed it a few more times before an impatient voice came through. “Who is it?”
“Is this Thomas Yamia’s? It’s Inspector Carl. We met the other day.”
“Something the matter?” Thomas’s tone was lazy.
“I’ve got some information regarding the case that needs discussing.”
“I’m busy right now. Don’t have the time.”
Carl sighed. “Someone’s reported that you killed that couple. I’d appreciate your cooperation with the investigation.”
“Was it that old geezer Bob who reported it?”
“He can’t be named for the informant’s safety.”
“That old sod just likes to spout nonsense.” Thomas muttered as he opened the door.
The man standing there still had striking silver hair and a fierce look in his eyes. But Carl noticed his left arm and chest were done up in bandages.
“Got any questions you need to ask?” Thomas said coldly.
Carl scrutinised the bandages on Thomas’s arm. “Are you injured?”
“Accident at work.” Thomas leaned against the door frame. “That’s not what you’re here for, is it?”
“You left the bar a bit past one in the morning, and the CCTV in the back alley suddenly packed it in.” Carl watched Thomas’s expression. “Also, a dead cat was found there.”
Thomas’s expression stiffened noticeably but quickly returned to normal. He shrugged. “What’s a dodgy CCTV system got to do with me? As for the dead cat, isn’t it normal for strays to die in the city?”
“Where did you go after leaving the bar?”
Thomas hesitated for a moment. “Went back to the building site, then I popped in to see Devin.”
Carl recalled forensic officer Howard’s words—the crime scene might not be Nightdew Gardens, and the time of the crime might not necessarily be between two and three in the morning. “Perhaps there’s more than one perpetrator,” the thought flashed through his mind, making Thomas even more dodgy.
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“You two aren’t together anymore?” Carl quickly changed tack.
Thomas sneered. “Emotions are a funny thing. Sometimes it’s hard to cut things off clean.” He paused. “Anyway, I was with Devin the whole time that night. He’ll vouch for me.”
“What if Devin’s timeline doesn’t tally with yours?” Thomas narrowed his eyes.
Carl didn’t respond but instead asked, “Your injuries—are they really from work?”
“Officer,” Thomas’s tone suddenly turned menacing, “if you’ve got no other questions, I suggest you be on your way. After all, without a search warrant, our chat ends here.”
Carl looked into Thomas’s eyes. “Alright, for now. But I might need another word with you.”
Thomas gave a cold smile and slammed the door shut with a bang.
Carl stood in the corridor, staring at the closed door, his doubts only growing. He knew this case was far from over.
Days passed, and the clues became more obscure. A month later, at Lansnet Central nick, the case still hadn’t moved forward.
The conference room was thick with smoke, the air heavy with the smell of cheap coffee and fatigue.
The blinds were half-drawn, and the afternoon light streamed through the gaps, casting striped shadows across the table, like silent sighs.
Carl stood in a corner, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his holster—a nervous habit.
His gaze drifted between three nearly full whiteboards: the first was a relationship map, with red lines criss-crossing to connect all the suspects, the photo of the slain couple pinned at the centre, the corners yellowed as if silently condemning the case’s prolonged stagnation;
The second board recorded the timeline, with key moments marked by specific times, but several crucial periods were followed by prominent red question marks, like unhealed wounds;
The third was a map of locations, with Le Petit Café bar highlighted, surrounded by dense notes almost spilling over the edges.
Chief Sam rubbed his temples, a fresh forensic report spread out in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, clearly showing he hadn’t had a proper kip for some time. “Have we figured out why the CCTV went on the blink?” His voice carried undeniable fatigue and a hint of barely concealed agitation.
“The tech department still haven't got anywhere,” Alexander put down his now cold coffee, the bottom of the cup leaving a dark ring on the documents.
“After all this time, still no leads.” Chief Sam’s fist slammed heavily onto the table, the coffee cup wobbling precariously. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, the atmosphere seeming to thicken.
“What happened with the night shift that night?” The chief’s fingers impatiently tapped the table, the rhythm frantic, like a countdown.
“Sudden outbreak of the squits,” Alexander sighed, his brows furrowed. “Happened too quickly, and there was no one available to cover. Honestly, the excuse sounds like a load of old cobblers.” His tone carried a hint of suspicion.
The conference room fell into a suffocating silence. Two press conferences had yielded nothing, the reward money increased from five grand to twenty grand, but only resulted in useless tips. Carl looked at the 36th report on the table—another contradictory statement. He could feel the pressure mounting like an invisible net.
“They’re already putting the squeeze on.” Chief Sam stood by the window, the sunlight casting a soft halo on his silver hair, making his expression even more gloomy. “If we don’t make a breakthrough in the next few days, the commissioner will be sticking his oar in.” His tone held a trace of reluctance; as an old copper, he knew exactly what that meant.
Just then, the conference room door was abruptly shoved open, the noise startling everyone, and a few coffee cups wobbled in their hands.
“Guv!” A young officer burst in, panting, his tie askew, beads of sweat glistening under the light. “There’s been an incident at Le Petit Café bar! One of the staff…”
Chief Sam’s sharp gaze swept to Alexander, who then looked to Carl. The three exchanged a brief glance, conveying a silent understanding. Carl immediately stood up and headed to the waiting room, his leather shoes clicking steadily on the floor as he pressed the emergency action button. The nick’s alarm blared, signalling the onset of the sudden crisis.
In the waiting room, Dani was sitting restlessly, her hands tightly clasped, knuckles white. Seeing Carl enter, she immediately stood, her face as white as a sheet. “Guv, there’s been an incident at the bar.”
He poured her a glass of water, the surface trembling slightly, reflecting the stark overhead lights. He turned to the plainclothes officer standing beside her. “What’s the situation?”
“I’m one of the officers keeping an eye on Devin,” the plainclothes officer lowered his voice, his eyes vigilantly scanning the surroundings. “There might be a homicide at the bar, and other colleagues are chasing the suspect. Miss Dani insists on seeing you.”
Carl checked his phone and saw multiple missed calls, each one like a silent alarm bell.
“Let’s have a word while we walk.” Carl motioned for both to follow, swiftly moving towards the underground car park, his heels clicking a rapid rhythm on the ground.
“Since you came to investigate, I’ve been keeping an eye out for anything odd at the bar,” Dani followed Carl, her voice trembling as if each word was a struggle. “Devin’s been acting strangely of late, always going down to the wine cellar at midnight…”
“When exactly did you notice this?” Carl’s tone became more serious, his gaze sharp.
“Around twenty to nine this morning. I went to tidy the wine cellar early, and as I got to the entrance, I heard a right barney going on.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “It was Devin and Thomas having a go at each other. Thomas was shouting, ‘You’re mental,’ followed by the sound of a wine rack collapsing. Then…” She paused, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Thomas came legging it out, covered in claret.”
“Are you sure it was Thomas?” Carl started the patrol car, the engine’s roar echoing in the confined space.
“I’ve worked there for three years, I’m not going to mistake him. And…” She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. “After Thomas left, I heard Devin crying, really cut up. I looked in the wine cellar and saw him holding something wrapped in a tea towel… like a baby.”
“A baby?” Carl’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, an ominous feeling creeping into his mind.
A police cordon had already been set up outside Le Petit Café, with several officers moving the onlookers along. Carl flashed his warrant card and quickly made his way to the wine cellar, the air thick with an eerie presence, like a silent warning.
Inside the wine cellar, the strong smell of booze mixed with the scent of blood and a faint, decaying odour that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Under emergency lighting, the toppled wine racks and broken bottles cast eerie shadows on the floor. Devin was slumped against the wall, his bloodstains half-dried, staring blankly ahead. A police negotiator was trying to talk to him, but it was no good.
Carl nodded to the negotiator to step back and slowly crouched beside Devin. “Do you remember me? I’m Carl. We’ve had a chat before.” His voice remained as calm as possible, trying to cut through Devin’s fear.
Devin mechanically turned his head, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but stayed silent.
“Can you give it to me?” Carl pointed to the package in Devin’s arms, noticing the dark red stains spreading on the tea towel.
Devin suddenly clutched it tighter. “He killed her!” His voice wavered, sounding unnatural. “He did it!”
“Was it Thomas?” Carl raised his voice slightly, trying to bring Devin back to reality.
Devin shook his head desperately, curling up tighter.
“Devin,” Dani arrived beside him, her voice unusually calm. “Let the Sergeant help us, alright?”
With Dani’s gentle persuasion, Devin finally loosened his grip. Carl took the package and carefully peeled back a corner. His stomach lurched—it was a dead cat, its green eyes wide open, like it was accusing someone. Most disturbing was its body, twisted like a cloth that had been wrung out, the bones clearly broken.
The way it had died… Carl immediately thought of the dead cat found in the alley a few days back, the manner of death identical.
“Guv.” A forensic officer handed him an evidence bag containing a bloodied dagger. Carl examined the blade’s curve and length—12 centimetres, part of the edge serrated, the blade well-polished. This matched the forensic report’s description of the murder weapon perfectly.
“What else have you found at the scene?”
“We’re doing a thorough search.” The forensic officer was about to continue when another officer hurried in.
“Guv, we’ve found Thomas’s car in the back alley.” The officer’s expression was peculiar. “But… there’s something odd.”
Carl followed the officer to the back alley. Thomas’s car was parked in the shadows, but to everyone’s surprise, over a dozen stray cats were neatly occupying the roof and bonnet. Several officers tried to shoo them away, but it was no use.
The most striking was a large ginger tom. It stood on the car roof, its nose twitching, as if it sensed something. Suddenly, it turned its head and stared down at Carl from above. The gaze sent a shiver down his spine—he felt like those eyes were telling him, “This has nowt to do with you, don’t get involved.”
Soon, the group of cats began to move in unison towards a certain direction. The ginger tom glanced back at Carl, its superior air making him feel for a moment like he was facing not a cat, but some higher being.
By the time the cats had disappeared around the corner, Carl realised his hand was still on his weapon. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the inexplicable unease. Night had quietly fallen, and the streetlights cast a dim glow, marking an eerie end to the unsettling scene.
“Right, let’s have a look at this.” Carl turned to the forensic team, his voice tinged with fatigue.
The police officers switched on their torches, the beams cutting through the car windows and scanning the dark interior. The night was oppressive, and the air carried a faint sense of unease, as if the group of cats had left behind an invisible pressure.
The officers meticulously searched Thomas’s car, their torches cutting through the gloom within. The night was heavy, and the air carried a slight sense of unease.
“This car’s brand new,” Forensic Officer Louis frowned, speaking softly. “There’s no sign it’s been used, like it’s just come straight out of the showroom.”
Carl stood aside, feeling more confused than ever. A fugitive driving a pristine, unused vehicle? He had a feeling this was more complicated than it looked on the surface.
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the distance. The officer from the pursuit team stumbled in, his face as white as a ghost, his clothes covered in blood.
“Thomas… he’s got away!” He gasped, his voice filled with terror and anger. “Jack and Mark… he’s done them both in…”
A chill ran down Carl’s spine. He clenched his fists, trying to keep calm. “Issue a city-wide warrant immediately, deploy all available units, and widen the search area!” His voice was exceptionally clear in the silent night, echoing down the deserted streets.
They headed quickly to Thomas’s flat—13 Tracy Road, Flat 3. Bashing the door in, Carl noticed straight away the signs of repeated lock changes, the lock mechanism looking unusually new.
“Who’s he trying to keep out?” Carl wondered.
In the bedroom, an old-fashioned box against the wall caught his eye. The box was engraved with intricate patterns, looking like it contained some ancient symbols. Opening it revealed a collection of finely crafted antiques, each with a bit of history about it.
“Bag it all up and take it back to the nick,” Carl ordered, but his gaze lingered on the antiques. He had a nagging feeling that these items had a bit of a dark aura about them, like they were hiding unspeakable secrets.
Two days later, in the police station’s conference room, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Outside the window, dark clouds hung low, raindrops gently tapping against the glass, like a bad omen.
“These antiques belong to Andrew Michel,” Forensic Officer Howard pushed up his glasses, looking serious. The projector’s light reflected on his pale face. “They’re from Leads Town.”
Hearing those two names, Carl’s heart sank. Michel, Leads Town—memories of the antique dealer flashed in his mind, Michel—that dodgy family from Leads Town.
Before he could get his head around that, “DNA analysis shows,” Howard continued, “as well as Thomas and Andrew Michel, there’s a third person’s DNA.”
“A third person?” Carl frowned. “These antiques, which are four or five hundred years old, have only been handled by three people? That doesn’t add up.”
Howard nodded, a hint of worry in his eyes. “What’s more, the murder weapon, the dagger, not only has this mystery third person’s DNA on it, but it also matches Thomas, Devin, and the victims’.”
The conference room went quiet, everyone looking grave and thoughtful. Chief Sam suddenly slammed his fist on the table, his voice echoing through the room.
“The case is clear! Thomas is the murderer. Full pursuit!” Chief Sam’s voice boomed through the conference room, trying to drown out any doubts with his firm stance.
However, Carl felt a sense of resistance building up inside him. Years on the force had taught him to be wary of things that looked too simple. The rain outside got heavier, seeming to echo his unease. He slowly stood up, his gaze steady and sharp, like he was trying to see through a fog.
“Guv,” his voice was calm but firm, “I reckon we need to dig a bit deeper.” He paused, his eyes scanning everyone present. “Too many things don’t add up: why the CCTV went down, the odd deaths of those cats, Thomas’s dodgy motives. There’s something bigger going on here, I can feel it.”
The conference room fell silent, with only the sound of raindrops against the window getting louder. Just as the atmosphere reached its peak, the conference room door was suddenly shoved open. An officer stumbled in, white as a ghost, clutching a file that was shaking in his hand.
“Guv! We’ve cracked the code on Daisy’s notebook!” He unfolded the paper, showing a snarling tiger’s head design surrounded by complicated markings.
“What’s this?” Carl looked at Alexander, a question in his eyes.
The most experienced inspector in the precinct hesitated for a moment, sighed, and then said slowly. “That’s the emblem of the Tiger Shadow!”
“The same mark was on the bottom of the box in Thomas’s flat,” the reporting officer added.
“Tiger Shadow …” Carl repeated softly, a chill running through him. The stories the old gentleman had told him about cats and tigers swirled in his mind—the ginger tom’s superior look when it left, Thomas’s sharp, tiger-like eyes. It all seemed to be pointing towards something unspeakable. The air in the conference room felt like it had turned solid, even the rain outside sounding unnaturally clear.
Alexander slowly got to his feet, his weathered face showing a worry Carl had never seen before. His fingers tapped the table unconsciously, like he was brewing up some important words. Finally, he took a deep breath and glanced at everyone there.
“Right, listen up,” his voice was low and serious, “things are probably more complicated than we thought.”
“Do we need to get counter-terrorism involved?” A senior officer couldn’t help but ask.
Alexander shook his head, his voice calm but firm.
“Not yet. We can’t act rashly and risk them knowing we’re on to them. The Tiger Shadow is a seriously dangerous outfit. They’re believers in ancient prophecies and are trying some sort of ritual to unleash something nasty.”
Carl noticed the inspector’s hands were trembling slightly, a fear he’d never seen before flickering in his eyes. He felt a surge of unease, like a massive shadow was looming over them.
“Armed response are on standby,” the duty officer reported, “the special ops team is ready to go. We’ve got roadblocks across the city and increased patrols in key areas.”
“What about the officer watching DevIn?” Alexander asked.
“He’s… not doing too good, Guv,” Gold replied, “either curled up in a corner like a scared rabbit or keeps saying, ‘He killed her,’ can’t get a proper word out of him.”
Carl felt an invisible weight pressing down on him. He walked over to the whiteboard, pointing at the clues. His tone was firm.
“Right, listen everyone, we can’t ignore all this dodgy stuff. I’m suggesting we form a special investigation team to get to the bottom of the Tiger Shadow’s background and what they’re up to.”
“Enough!” Chief Sam suddenly interrupted, his voice full of suppressed anger. “The case is clear. Thomas is the murderer. Our job is to bring him to justice as quick as we can!”
Carl was taken aback. He’d never seen the Guv so worked up, practically losing it. What was even more unsettling was seeing a hint of proper fear in both the Chief’s and Alexander’s eyes.
“This case,” Chief Sam stood up, his gaze stern, “ends here. Everyone follows orders and doesn’t go off on their own chasing other leads.”
The atmosphere in the conference room was heavy and oppressive. Carl gazed out the window, the rain hammering against the glass, blurring the city outside. It felt like a massive shadow was coming closer, swallowing up all their hope.