We had a few leads on the alley butchering case, and my partner, Detective Dina Genovelli and I had split them up to pursue.

The first lead I had was a janitor named Malcolm Fischer, who proved unlikely – according to the woman he lived with, he was out of town for a funeral and not due back for two days. I logged this info, left my card just in case, and continued on to the home of one Doctor Anton Andreiopov – a man with more letters after his name than some alphabets contain.

A woman with close-cropped blonde hair answered the door. At first glance I thought she was an older woman, but seeing the way she moved, and recognizing the smell of stale cigarettes clinging to her I looked again and realized she was maybe in her mid or late twenties, but heavy smoking and a hard life had robbed her of youth and any chance she had ever had at being truly pretty.

She spoke with an odd accent I could not quite place, beyond ‘Eastern European’ and asked me the nature of my business. I showed her my badge and asked if I could speak to the doctor.

She looked at the badge, looked at me, looked back at the badge, and then stepped aside, showing me a small sitting room. “You will wait here. I see if he busy.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I moved over by the indicated seat but remained standing, looking around the room. One wall of the room sported what seemed to be a medieval tapestry. The scene was unusual though – apparently it depicted some form of gladiatorial combat. In a glass case in front of it lay a sword bearing an unmistakable resemblance to the one the central figure in the hanging carried. I moved closer to examine the weapon and heard someone clearing their throat behind me.

I turned and saw a very fit-looking man in his late forties giving me a grave look. His gray eyes showed no emotion, but his lips were pursed in a worried line. “Good morning detective,” he said.

“Good morning, sir. You are Doctor Andrieopov?”

“I am Professor Anton Andrieopov. And your name is?” he asked, extending a hand while the expression on his face remained fixed.

“Daniels,” answered, accepting the hand. “Detective Nathan Daniels.”

As we shook hands, he cast an appraising glance over me. The ritual completed, he jumped in with: “And what leads you to interrupt my studies on this fine morning, Detective Daniels?”

He spoke with an accent almost identical to the blonde woman’s, but much fainter.

“There was a murder last night, According to AFIS, a fingerprint found at the scene matches yours.”

He visibly relaxed at this. “Ah good – thought this had something to do with that parking ticket,” he said, his mouth smiling but his eyes remaining cold, distant. “Last night? At about what time?”

“Preliminary investigation suggests sometime between midnight and two AM. We will know more details in a few hours.”

“Ah, then I’m afraid I have no good alibi,” he replied sadly. “From eight to about midnight I was at a party for one of my graduate students – his paper was accepted, and he will be getting his doctorate in a month. There was a good amount of alcohol flowing. I … have no memory of what happened between my departure from the party shortly after the stroke of midnight and my arrival here at about two AM.”

I jotted this down on my tablet. When I looked up, he said: “Walk with me. Jenna? Get some iced tea out and glasses and put them in my study.”

I hadn’t realized he’d switched to Russian until I found myself answering in kind: “Thank you sir, I appreciate the gesture.”

He started, and then laughed. “Ah! You speak a civilized tongue!” For the first time, his eyes showed emotion – amusement. “Either you learned as an adult in the Ukraine or had a teacher who grew up there but spent much time here. Unmistakable combination of accents.”

Unable to think of a better response, I said: “You have a good ear.”

He smiled broadly at this: “Yes, I can tell a man’s origin from his accent, if he speaks the mother tongue. Good game for parties, no?”

I laughed. “I suppose it is at that.”

We began walking through his house. “In case you wonder, Jenna is my sister. Youngest of three. Only arrived here two weeks ago and still looking for her own place.”

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Now that he mentioned it, I could detect a definite family resemblance. I could also tell that he shared her tobacco vice but favored a pipe over cigarettes. The room he led me into held a large glass case. Inside, an old dress form held an ancient military uniform. “My grandfather’s,” Doctor Andreiopov commented, as he saw my gaze fall to it. “He died fighting against the Bolshevik rebels. They refused to bury him in it, so it came to the family. That’s one of the guns he used too, firing pin removed, of course.”

I made appreciative noises as I studied the uniform. A hole in the chest suggested it was worn at the time of death. Other damage had been repaired but this “badge of honor” remained.

We then moved into another room, one clearly meant as a library. Full bookshelves lined the walls, but the room was dominated by a score of glass display cases. Something about this room felt … off … to me. I unfocused my gaze and let my other senses take in the room as my host spoke: “This is my room of armaments. I find the most fascinating part of history to be studying ways men found to kill each other. I suppose it’s a bit morbid, but it shows the darker side of human creativity.”

I had to admit he had a very good point. He moved to one case near the center: “My crowning jewel – I cannot properly pronounce its Indonesian name, but it translates roughly as ‘Demon Blade.’ Legend claims it is wamphyri – blood-drinker.”

I snapped back to full awareness at this. “Really?”

“Oh yes. It claims a man giving this blade its grim feast gains tremendous strength and invulnerability. Even, if he makes enough sacrifices to it, immortality. Of course, that’s all just superstitious nonsense but I find it fascinating, don’t you?”

A thought hit me: “Can you account for the blade’s whereabouts last night?”

He started at this, and then laughed. “Why you ask such a thing?”

I smiled. “The scratches here, and here” I said, pointing to marks on the case, “show this was opened recently, probably in the last twenty-four hours. If someone heard of this legend…”

“Ah! I see, yes – you are good. But those scratches? Once a week I clean all of my weapons except the two that would be damaged if exposed to air – the club over there and that ancient boomerang. Yesterday was that day. The ‘Demon Blade’ was secure in its case last night.”

I nodded. He showed me a few of his other weapons, but my attention kept coming back to this odd knife – it looked to be a little over a foot in length. The blade appeared to be copper and carved with wicked serrations that would leave truly nasty wounds. The hand grip was carved to resemble a leering, demonic face, and two small gem-chips gave it bright red eyes. In the dim light of an alley, I was certain this blade would appear to glow. I quickly made a note of this and then followed the doctor into his office. He took a seat behind an enormous mahogany desk and poured two glasses of iced tea. I accepted one, added a squeeze of lemon but then passed on the honey, cream and sugar offered (he only added the honey to his). “How long have you had that, ah, ‘Demon Blade’?” I asked.

“That? Oh, my sister brought it. She found it in, of all places, an antique shop in Djakarta, shortly after her husband’s death during their honeymoon. Tragic, really.”

“Wow. I can well imagine,” I replied.

“The shopkeeper was reluctant to sell it until she mentioned I collected such antiquities. Then he parted with it for a ridiculously low price and now it is centerpiece of my collection.”

“It is quite impressive. You are absolutely certain it was here last night?”

“Well, as I was not here all night, I cannot say with absolute certainty, but I am confident that, if it left its case, I would know.”

Something about the way he worded his reply struck me as significant. I logged it away for future reference.

“But, I have papers to grade – term ends tomorrow. I hope your lab reports the victim died before midnight or after two so that I can be cleared as a suspect – but if not, I am Russian and thus no stranger to false arrest.”

Though he smiled jovially as he said this, his eyes had returned to the cold, lifeless state they first showed. I simply laughed lightly at this and said I hoped so as well.

“Now, Jenna will show you out. If you have further questions, please do not hesitate to call.”

“Would it be possible to take that knife in for analysis?”

He suddenly grew very cold: “Only if you present me with a warrant.”

I nodded: “Fair enough. Oh, one thing, that legend – how often does the knife have to… ah… feed for the bearer to gain power?”

He relaxed slightly: “The legend says it must feed once per lunar cycle to maintain enhanced strength and other benefits – but to grant true power, true immortality, it must take seven victims in as many weeks.”

“Sounds like the perfect recipe for a serial killer,” I commented.

He looked pensive. “Why it does at that. Now, Detective, while I enjoyed this meeting – even more as I got a chance to exercise my mother tongue,” he said, slipping back to English for what I suddenly realized was the first time since our initial greeting, “I have matters to attend to, and I suspect your investigation calls to you. I have no plans of leaving this city, let alone the state or country, until the major history conference two months from today in Atlanta, so you know where I will be – or you can contact me at my office – Jenna can give you my office hours. Good day, sir.”

His sister escorted me out, handing me a paper with his office number on it in the process. I thanked her in Russian and she brightened up a little, before closing the door behind me.

I walked slowly away and noticed that the window to the doctor’s office was open slightly. I closed my eyes, listening and I heard his sister’s voice say: “…was careless.”

Then he made a comment that I could not catch all of because he closed the window in the middle of the first word. With the window closed, the house seemed remarkably sound-proofed.

I took out my tablet and recorded this detail on it, not sure at all what it might mean, then leaned back against the railing around the building, considering my next action.