Adam was already done with ten houses and had yet to be successful. Either the residents don’t answer, or they have no new information on the case. Despite the overwhelming disappointment, Adam was determined. If they failed to find the killer, people would keep dying and it’d be all his fault.
Adam walked down the stairs of the duplex and went onto the next one, hands in pockets. The street was cold and empty, a desolate expanse that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. Dim, flickering lamps cast eerie shadows along the eroded cobblestone paths, The shopping district was home to some of the poorest citizens in London.
Old, abandoned storefronts had been bought by opportunistic landowners. These proprietors leased the dilapidated buildings to people desperate for affordable shelter. The roofs of each structure sagged under the weight of neglect, rotted through from years of relentless rainfall. The windows, still boarded up from the days of the window tax, stood as silent witnesses to a bygone era of hardship.
The alleyways, choked with garbage and shards of broken glass, painted a grim picture of urban decay. Adam remembered vividly the days when he would ride through these streets in a carriage with his father. His father, peering out of the window, would sneer at the residents and derisively call them "rats." To avoid his father’s ire, Adam would force a laugh, but inside, he felt a pang of guilt and sorrow for the people they mocked. He went to sleep in his expansive filled with all the books he could hope for, but thought of the empty lowered faces of the people of the shopping district. This place always reminded him of less happy times.
Adam couldn't help but repeatedly look over his shoulder, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and regret. The darkness seemed to close in around him, and the silence was almost oppressive. Cecil was nowhere to be found. Maybe he really had left.
Adam regretted every harsh word he had uttered. Because of his inabilty to control his emotions, he found himself alone, wandering the deserted streets in the dead of night, searching for a killer. The world felt starkly empty without Cecil by his side. He missed Cecil's smooth voice, the way his words flowed like honey, his sharp, observant eyes that seemed to see through everything.
He longed for the sound of Cecil’s deep, hearty laugh, a sound that had brought warmth to even the darkest moments. He missed the quirky habit Cecil had of constantly adjusting his glasses, a small, endearing gesture that had quickly become familiar. It amazed Adam how quickly he had grown accustomed to Cecil's presence, a man he had known for less than a day. He wondered if this was how he was supposed to feel about women.
Adam approached the next door with a weaning sense of optimism. After a knock, he waited for a few moments until a middle-aged woman with a ragged dress and shoulder-length black hair answered the door.
“Yes?”
“Good evening, ma’am,” Adam held up his badge once again. “I’m here on behalf of Scotland Yard to investigate the recent murders.”
“Oh, those! I’ve been looking over my shoulder every time I go out! Have you guys found any suspects?”
“Not yet ma’am. That’s why I’m here today. Do you know anyone with the initials ‘MA?’’”
“Are you bloody kidding me? Not a single suspect? Incompetent men are the death of me.”
Adam shifted awkwardly.
“Oh, but now that you mention it, those were the initials of my ex-boyfriend. Another useless man that I hate.”
“Interesting. What was his name?”
“Mickey Andrews. Last I heard he worked as a carpenter at Max’s Carpentry, but who knows what that hornswoggler is up to now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haha! Don’t even get me started!” The woman announced, but it seemed to Adam she did indeed want to talk about it.
“That pigeon-livered ratbag cheated on me with two different women! Slimy bastard. Once when I was heading home from the boutique, he and another lady were in my bed! I threw a few plates at the bastard but he left peacefully. A few weeks he came crawling back saying that he loved me so I let him stay. It was less than a week before he was with another woman! Lying man!” She shrieked.
“I see. Was he around lots of women then?”
“Oh yes, when he wasn’t doing anything else he was chatting with a lady friend. I feel foolish I didn’t see it sooner but he was always so nice to me, look!”
The woman flung a necklace in Adam’s face. He grabbed it. It was a rose gold locket with a small pedant. He opened it to see a photo of a pale balding man.
“Is this Mr. Andrews?”
“It is. He gave it to me on our second date. I’ve never been given something so nice.”
“Do I mind if I keep this?” Adam asked.
“Oh sure, I have no use for it now. Any less reminder of the man the better. I was going to pawn it but whatever.”
Adam placed the necklace in his front left pocket and reached to his right to grab a handful of silver coins.
“Here, please take this.”
The woman's eyes nearly popped out of her head.
“Good lord man!” Is this all for me? She squealed taking the money out of his hand. “If you get paid this good then maybe I’ll consider becoming a detective myself!”
Adam laughed. “We’d appreciate your help. Can I have your name in case I need to follow up on anything about this Mickey Andrews?”
“Of course. The name’s Natalia Murphey. Write me anytime hun!” She winked.
“Ha, sure. One last thing: Do you know where I can find Max’s Carpentry?”
“Of course, darling. I’ll be right back.”
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The woman stepped back into a far room. After a bit of shuffling, she came back with a newspaper clipping and a pen.
“The address is 2401 East Lockwood.” She wrote on the paper as she spoke. “Here, if you forget it’s written on this. Have a good one, hun!”
“You too, Miss Murphey,” Adam descended down the stairs. “And please stay safe!” The woman waved Adam goodbye and then shut his door.
Adam walked down the street with a renewed sense of optimism. He fingered the golden necklace in his hand. He even managed to get new evidence! He was about to approach another door when he remembered the message he received: To meet at the Yard in three hours. By the time he caught a carriage and made it back, it would be time to meet He looked around for Cecil once more, unfortunately, the street was as desolate as before. Hopefully, he made it back on his own.
Cecil picked up his glass and chugged its contents. He placed it back down on the cocktail table.
“‘Wanna refil?”
Cecil looked up. A heavy-beared bartender was staring down at him, pitcher in hand.
“No thanks.”
“Alright then.” The bartender left Cecil in the corner of the bar.
He gazed around the small establishment, noting the wear and tear that spoke of better days long past. The wooden tables and desks bore countless chips and scratches, scars from years of use and neglect. Like most other buildings in the area, the windows were boarded up. The walls were stained red brick, their color muted by layers of grime and smoke. Scuffed floorboards creaked underfoot, adding to the sense of decay. Flickering lamps hung on each interior wall, casting an eerie, uneven orange light.
The stuffy air reeked of stale whiskey and beer, a thick miasma that clung to everything. A few other patrons were scattered throughout the bar, each absorbed in their own world. At one table, a tired, soot-covered young man was downing a glass every minute, his eyes glazed over and distant. Nearby, a couple sat in animated conversation. The woman, with greasy brown hair pulled into a bun, wore a blue blouse and a worn skirt. Across from her, a middle-aged man held a bottle of beer in one hand, while the other hand gesticulated wildly to a wild tale he was telling his female companion
At the far end of the cocktail table where Cecil was sitting, a nervous-looking girl, not over the age of sixteen, fidgeted with her headscarf. She had a face full of makeup, but her tangled red hair looked dirty and unkempt. She clasped a full glass of beer with both hands, her fingers trembling. Her fingers were dressed with expensive-looking rings. A golden band hung on her left arm. Her eyes darted around the room, filled with a mix of apprehension and fear. Cecil’s gaze fell on a delicate rose gold chain hanging from her neck, its subtle glimmer catching the flickering light. Cecil slid over to her.
The young girl took a double take. Her fidgeting got faster and she looked terrified.
“Who are you?” She demanded. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Cecil said causally. He leaned back to get a better look at her necklace.
“Where’d you get that?”
“What?” She followed his gaze to her locket. She grabbed it protectively. “This is mine. What do you want?” She demanded again. “Ya’ creeping me out. I saw you staring at me all the way over there.”
“Is it from a boyfriend?”
She seemed taken aback at this comment and clutched her locket harder.
“Are you spying on me? Go away!”
Cecil dug around in his pocket and pulled out a mountain of coins.
“I’ll trade you for it.” He suggested.
“Are you kidding me? What for?”
“I don’t have all day.” Cecil sighed.
“Oh, right I guess.”
The girl removed her necklace and cautiously placed it in front of Cecil. She eyed him suspiciously until turning her attention to the coins in her hand.
“This-this is three pounds!” She exclaimed. “Why would you give me all this for some lousy necklace?”
“I’m feeling generous,” He shrugged. “But to repay my overwhelming kindness, you can answer a few of my questions.”
“What are you a copper? Well, I guess, whatever.”
“Great,” He grinned. “First, what’s the name of your ‘boyfriend’? And does he happen to have the initials ‘MA’?”
“Yeah he does, Mickey Andrews? How do you know? ‘He do something?” She asked with wide eyes.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Would it not surprise you if he did?”
“No, it’s not that. I just, I don’t know.”
“Ok. Next question: What are you doing here, are you waiting for someone?”
“No, not really.”
“Then, are you hiding from someone?”
“All these questions are creeping me out, man. What are you trying to do.”
“Let’s just move on. Are you aware of all the murders going around the area?”
“Yes, how could I not?”
“Do you know a woman named Natalie Halls? Or Mashida Floyd? Harris Strong, Hedi Smith, Rosie Case. Any of these names ring a bell.”
The girl’s face turned pale, but she didn’t answer.
“Last question. Are you a prostitute?”
“...Who are you?”
Cecil chuckled, leaning forward on the table, and putting his face in his hands.
“I think I got a clear picture of what’s going on. If I may, Miss?” He said, asking for permission to explain.
“You’re a mad man.”
Cecil took that as his sign to continue.
“As you may see if you look around the bar, the main patrons of this place are laborers and men. So when I walked in and saw a little girl sitting at the bar, I was intrigued. I decided to get a closer look. I noticed the face of makeup, I’d assume quite an effort was put into that. But what girl would spend her time putting on makeup just to go out at night? Then, I noticed all your jewelry. Very impressive that a little girl could afford all that. But the truth is, you didn’t. They were gifts. From clients. Like this locket.” He said dangling the gold chain in his hand with a grin. “It makes sense after all. How could you afford expensive jewelry but not have the money to afford clothes, or soap for your hair? But then I had the question ‘Maybe she’s not a prostitute and works in some other obscure line of work.’ But all your little friends would prove me otherwise. I’ve seen this same exact necklace today. Two in fact. Wanna guess where?”
The girl avoided his gaze.
“In the evidence room. Found on the body of two different dead women.”
The girl tensed up.
“Like any good detective, I decided to follow up on the victim. She was a well-known prostitute. Just like all the other female victims. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You know it too. Who wouldn’t notice that all their coworkers, wearing the same necklace, hanging out with the same client slowly disappearing and coming up dead? Mickey Andrews isn’t your boyfriend, he is a client. And that’s why you are here, in a rundown bar, constantly looking over your shoulder. In a way, you are waiting for someone. Waiting for Mr. Andrews to come and kill you like the rest.”
The girl let out a wretched sob.
“And now I will answer your question. I gave you one pound for a train ticket to get as far from the shopping district as you can, otherwise, you will meet your certain demise. The second pound is for this lovely piece of evidence I acquired from you. The last is for the list of every living coworker you have that you will write for me. Otherwise, they all die.”
“You are crazy!” She sobbed.
“Don’t worry doll, I have paper and a pen right here.” Cecil pulled a notepad and pen out of his pocket. “I recommend you get writing."