“So what exactly do I do here?”

Monica shuffled her feet nervously, feeling out of place. She peered at the stern-faced bobbies typing away at their desks and feared interrupting them.

“They don’t bite!” Ironheel laughed jovially. “We are not looking for anything specific, just anything that may lead us to the murderer. Maybe the killer dropped something.”

“Seems far-fetched,” Monica muttered.

“Of course it is! But we need to cover all bases. We are down on our luck and the next murder can happen anytime, but one of the greatest things a detective can do is smile. Smile no matter how bad the odds are because if you give up hope, your work will reflect that. Even if everything is going horribly wrong, smile.”

“Smile?” She thought. “Is that why you are always smiling Inspector.”

He grinned. “You know it. But let’s get back on track.” Ironheel turned to the left and pointed at a small locked door. “Over there is the evidence room, it has all the evidence we have collected from this case. Start there. The code to the lock is 0D3V1N3S.”

“Yes sir.” Monica slapped a hand to her forehead in salute and marched to the evidence room.

“N, 3, S, there we go!” With a click, Monica unlocked the door to the room and waltzed in.

“Holy moly.” She remarked looking around the room. The stuffy room was lit up by a small gas lamp sitting on a side table in the back. The rest of the room was lined floor to ceiling with shelves and cardboard boxes. Each box had a date, some with the word “SOLVED” stamped on in red ink. To her dismay, the boxes were out of order.

“July 10th, July 12th, goddamn it! Why does it go to December 19?” Monica huffed in frustration as she paced the room looking box to box.

“August 1st, October 8th… ah, ongoing, it’s gotta be this one.”

Monica pulled one of the boxes off the shelf and looked inside, disappointed by its lack of contents.

“Good lord.” She sighed. “Smile, Monica, smile.”

She took out the contents: A bloody brooch, a cracked watch, two lockets, and oddly enough, a stuffed doll.

She took the brooch between thin fingers and examined it. The shiny silver disk glittered in the light. So did a bright red splatter on the back. She was sure it was blood.

“Well, this presumably belonged to one of the victims.” She whispered to herself. She looked closer for any more clues. Disappointed, she set it aside. Next, she picked up the watch. A leather banded watch with many deep gashes. The glass lens of the watch was completely shattered. A few sharp pieces remain pointing haphazardly out the sides.

“It seems to have belonged to a man.” She mused. She flipped it over numerous times to spot any sort of clue. Just before she was going to give up she noticed a small engraving on the metal of the underside of the watch.

“MA?” She asked herself. “Initials are something else. Could it belong to the murderer?” She made a mental note to go over the autopsy reports later to see if the letters matched the initials of any victims.

She put both lockets in front of her. Both were made of rose gold and hung from a delicate thin chain. A small heart-shaped pendant hung from each chain. She decided to open the first one.

She brought it close to her face. Inside was a crinkled photo of a man. The man has thin shrunken cheeks and harsh bags under his eyes. A smoothly shaven face topped with a balding head of thin blonde hair. The man looked quite sickly.

“Husband of a victim perhaps?”

She went to open the next locket. Unfortunately, it was locked, she wouldn’t be able to test her theory of the lockets having identical photos as well. She put both necklaces aside.

Then she grabbed the item that intrigued her most of all, the stuffed doll. The raggedy thing looked straight out of a haunted house. The doll had a cracked porcelain head with a felt body. One of the doll's eyelids was missing. The other eye had its pupil entirely rubbed off, inside a snow-white marble inside the head. Chunks of dirty yarn hung out the doll's head. Holes where pieces of yarn used to hang were filled with dirt and grime. The body was grey with brown and red patches that Monica recognized as blood. Most notably a giant gash ran down the doll's back filled with pieces of corn husk.

“Who carries a doll in such a state around with them?” She wondered.

Then, something caught her attention, on the left side of the gash were two letters written in black ink: MA.

“MA?”

A lightbulb lit up in her head. She grabbed the nearby watch and read the engraving.

AW

“So it belongs to the same person, huh?”

She put the evidence back in the box. She needed to ask Ironheel about the autopsy reports right away.

As Monica reentered the lobby Inspector Ironheel was in a meditative discussion with one of the bobbies.

“Inspector!” Monica demanded. “I need the autopsy reports right away!”

Ironheel looked back at her with an astonished expression as the young lady dropped the box on the floor, opened it, and then dug out a watch and a doll.

“Of course, Miss Moore. But what is all this.”

“I think I found something!” She announced. “Do any of the victims have the initials MA?”

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Ironheel took a thick yellow file out of the hands of a young officer with a polite nod.

“I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. But it should all be in here.” He handed her the file.

“Thank you, sir!”

To everyone’s surprise, Monica dropped to her knees and emptied the contents of the file out on the floor. She took out all thirteen autopsy reports and sat them side by side to read all the names:

Natalie Halls

Mashida Floyd

Harris Strong

Lance Cotton

Zayd Burton

Hedi Smith

Lois Miles

Rosie Case

Edmund Rochester

Ebony Loves

Melody Clayton

Will Faulkner

Jenny Felts

Not a single had the initials MA.

“Haha! I found it! I found it!”

Monica flung the papers back into the folder and threw it aside, then quickly rose to her feet. Ironheel stood in front of her gazing at her wildly while the rest of the room occupants stopped their work and watched her intently.

“Good lord, woman! Have you gone insane?”

“No, Ironheel, look! Look!” Monica flung the doll and watch in Ironheels face.

“Sir, both of these items were found at the crime scene. Additionally, they both have the initials MA on them. However, after looking through the autopsy files, not a single victim has these initials. So, if they weren’t dropped by the victims, then it must of been the murderer!”

A few bobbies let out a gasp at the revelation. Wide-eyed, Ironheel grabbed the items out of Monica’s grasp and examined them.

“It seems you are right.” He punctuated. He wheeled around. “You!” He demanded at a nearby officer. “I ordered you specifically to relay orders to have a group examine the evidence. How the hell did they overlook this?” He roared.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” The man squealed. We have been so overloaded with work! We haven’t had time to do an in-depth investigation of the evidence we picked up yet, most of our resources have been dedicated to the crime scenes themselves.”

Ironheel let out a frustrated sigh. “Very well.” He turned back to Monica. “You are a very brilliant girl!” He gleamed. “But do not celebrate yet. Although it is vital evidence, we will have to do more investigating to confirm they are indeed the killer's initials. It could just be a way to throw us off. In the meantime, I’ll send word to Detective Clarke and Hans to search for anyone in the shopping district with matching initials, better safe than sorry.” He handed Monica a pair of keys. “Since clearly you are more adept than the entire Yard, I have one more chore for you. I need to visit the coroner's office to speak with the coroner about the circumstances of the bodies. See if you can pick up any more scents. I need to speak with the Chief.”

“Of course sir.”

“Officer Dawdries, hail this lady a carriage to the coroner’s office. I have some errands to run.”

“On it sir! Follow me, Detective Moore.”

Monica nodded nonchalantly in an attempt to hide her growing excitement. Things were finally turning around.

The duo surveyed the scene. The entire store was cordoned off with yellow tape, and officers were meticulously combing through the area. Behind the building, a stark white outline marked where the body had been discovered.

“Is this it?” Cecil scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What are we even doing here? What’s left to find?”

“Evidence that leads to the killer, I’d assume, Cecil,” Adam replied, his tone measured.

They approached the white outline, noting that the body had been found in a crumpled position. Despite being a crime scene, everything appeared remarkably undisturbed—no scuffs on the pavement, no blood splatters.

“Maybe you’re right. There is nothing here,” Adam sighed, placing both hands on his head, feeling the weight of the situation.

“Exactly, pretty boy. I’m sure the Yard’s got it covered. Let’s leave. I know some great restaurants—are you hungry?”

Adam groaned. “What the devil is wrong with you? Thirteen people have been murdered! Maybe you’re just here for the handsome men. If there’s nothing to do here, we can question the locals.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Cecil muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Detective Clarke! Detective Hans!”

They turned to see a young, weary bobby running toward them, his uniform slightly disheveled from the day’s efforts. “A message from the inspector,” the young man said, handing Adam a small slip of paper. Adam unfolded it and read aloud:

Found MA on evidence. Look for suspects with matching initials. Rendezvous at Scotland Yard in three hours. - Otis Ironheel

“See, no reason to leave now,” Adam said, handing Cecil the note.

“Oh sure, like there aren’t dozens of individuals with the initials ‘MA.’ What kind of wild goose chase is this?”

“The faster we get this done, the more time I’ll have to consider your offer. So, stop whining. The nearest residence is down the block. Let’s get going.”

Cecil rolled his eyes but followed Adam as they walked down the dimly lit street.

Adam knocked on the first door, badge in hand. Cecil stood close behind him. After a few moments, a young woman cracked open the door. She peered nervously through the crack at the two men. Her eyes were big and blown and her head was wrapped in a dirty white scarf. She fidgeted with the door frame as she mustered up the courage to speak.

“Who’re you two?” She whispered, barely audible.

“Good evening ma’am.” Adam nodded politely as he brought up his badge. “I’m Detective Clarke and this is Detective Hans. We are here to ask you about the murders that have been happening as of late.

“You ‘aven’t caugh’t ‘em?” Her fidgeting got faster as she brought the door back by an inch.

“No, I’m afraid not. Do you know anyone with the initials ‘MA?’”

“No! Go! I can’t trust any of ya’!” She slammed the door shut.

“That didn’t go well,” Adam muttered turning to Cecil.

“Of course not. Thirteen murders have happened in the span of three months in this area alone. All the residents are terrified. It’s a miracle she opened the door in the first place.”

“I know.” He sighed. “There’s gotta be a better way to go about this. There’s got to be a record of the residents somewhere.”

“I’m sure there is. But we can’t go rooting through government files so such a faint lead. This has all been useless.”

“No, no it hasn’t! We just have to try harder. Something will come up”

“We’ve been through this routine already. And so has the entirety of the Scotland Yard. It’s been nothing but dead ends. Some cases are never solved. Instead of wasting time chasing our own tails maybe we should focus our attention on something important.”

“Like what? The date you keep harassing me about?”

Cecil casually as he cleaned his glasses. “That’s my suggestion. But I’m sure there are other cases to solve as well.”

“So what happens to the next victim? Do we shrug that off as well?” Adam bristled.

“Some people just die. That’s nature.”

Adam snapped. “People are going to keep dying if we don’t do anything about it. All you have done is complain, and act like other people’s lives are nothing! why become a detective in the first place?”

“Sorry, pretty bo-”

“I said stop it!”

Adam shoved past his partner as we walked out on the street. Cecil watched Adam’s shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. After several minutes of tense silence, Adam spoke.

“You can head back, I can do this myself.”

“Do you want me to?”

“You can do what you want. I’m going to start on the other houses.”