"Look – I know she killed that man. I don't know how, but I know she did. At least look at the text messages." Frank argued.

Frank held a folder containing transcripts from Shelley Lank's phone and emails. A back and forth between her and the man she was now spending her dead husband's money with.

Creed paused for a few seconds, sighed, and then took the folder, pushing his lunch to one side. He pulled out the transcripts. Frank stood over Creed, hands palm-down on his desk. Creed shifted through a few pages. He leaned back in his chair, his hands braided behind his bald head.

"Well?" Frank asked.

"Well, it appears she was sleeping with Ranjit while she was married to the deceased," Creed responded.

Frank's eyelids fluttered, his mouth agape. He let out a small laugh.

"You think?" He replied.

Creed handed the folder back to Frank, then pulled his lunch back towards him.

"It's open-and-shut mate. Old boy marries young tail, young tail marries for money, and makes sure the last years of his life are spectacular. When he pops his clogs, she gets all the pinkies. Seen it a thousand times, a tale as old as the sea. Now please let me finish my lunch – my kids are calling in five minutes, and I have to appear marginally interested." Creed said.

Frank shook his head. "You obviously didn't read the part where Ranjit asks her how long she reckons he has," Frank replied.

Creed bit down into his veggie patty. "So what?" He responded.

"Motive, Creed, motive!

Look, Lord Lank's son wants us to look into the case. He has money to burn. Even if there's nothing in it, we could make a fair bit while we try." Frank suggested.

Creed looked down at his half-eaten patty, then placed it on top of its brown paper bag.

"You know why I'm eating a veggie patty and not a meat one nowadays?" Creed questioned.

Frank stared at him, his face blank.

Creed smirked. "No? Well, let me tell ya. My wife thinks it's the meat that makes a patty bad for you, but she's mistaken. It's the pastry. It's all the sugar and shit they put in em to make it sweet and flaky. Those chemicals will kill ya quicker than rat piss on lettuce." Creed concluded.

Frank shook his head.

"Seriously? This firm is barely surviving, and an opportunity comes along like this, and you want to give me allegories?" Frank replied.

"Listen. The point is this. You're too focused on the money to ask the right questions. Lord Lank's son has come to us because no one else will take it on. That woman has amassed five hundred million pounds overnight. She could fight Lank's son till all he had left was the lint in his pockets. We'd be seen as charlatans for even entertaining his query. Then we'd be frigged." Creed said.

"I disagree," Frank replied.

"Disagree?" Creed responded, one eyebrow raised.

Frank drew breath and stood straight. The pair looked each other over.

"If we don't take this case, I'm leaving the firm. Simple as that," Frank said.

He placed the folder on Creed's desk and turned to leave. Creed picked it up.

"Frank! Frank! You forgot this," Creed shouted.

Frank gave him the middle finger from behind his back, walked through the door, and slammed it shut. Creed smirked, picked up his patty, and continued to eat while staring at the folder. A sheet slid out from the rest and stared back.

3.00 am the next day.

Frank's phone rang out in his darkened flat and wouldn't stop. He had to get up and walk to the living room - its light lit up the room like a lone star over midnight water. He looked at the screen. It read Creed. Before he could decide whether to answer it, it stopped and then began again. Frank picked up.

"What kind of man sends his piece on the side a shopping list?" Creed asked.

Frank yawned and pulled his hand down his face.

"It's three in the morning," Frank responded.

"Three-fifteen, to be exact. What kind of man sends his mistress a shopping list, huh?" Creed repeated.

Frank sighed.

"Do you have anything worthwhile to say right now?" Frank asked.

"Think about it, and we'll discuss it tomorrow," Creed replied.

Before Frank could respond, Creed ended the call.

Later that day

Creed walked into the office, his step somewhat rejuvenated since Frank had last seen him.

Frank sat with a steaming coffee and a muffin, scrutinising the shopping list Creed had thought so important he had to interrupt his sleep.

Creed took off his coat, hung it, and then stood by the office door, rolling his sleeves beyond his elbows.

Frank hadn't seen him do that since they had conducted an investigation for the actress Janice Greg over the disappearance of her beloved Koi fish, worth £500,000. The culprit had turned out to be a castmate from her show. He thought it would be funny to remove the fish and watch her reaction. Unfortunately, the fish died in transit.

Creed & Co whittled their list of suspects down to actor Rupert Quad. After a long, arduous investigation, Quad was caught and sued. Janice Greg paid Creed & Co handsomely.

Creed walked over.

"Call the Lank boy – tell him we'll do it," Creed instructed.

Frank stared at him in amazement and asked himself why on earth he had stayed in the firm for so long. Creed wasn't the easiest of people to work with or like, which explained why most people who worked there were desperate interns, prepared to ride his roller-coaster to the next stop. He barely listened and could be rude, sarcastic, and obnoxious without push or prompt. But Frank knew that once you got around Creed's awkward shape, you realised he knew his shit and was honest and trustworthy.

"Gonna be straight with you. I can't see what the fuss is with the shopping list," Frank said to Creed.

Creed stared at Frank, his face blank, his mouth slowly creating a smile.

"Neither do I, but don't you think it's weird that a lover would send a shopping list between the smut?" Creed questioned.

"Nah, I can't say I see the weird in it. People shop. Maybe he's hard up, and he wants her to send him food. I dunno." Frank replied.

"Okay, what exactly did Lord Lank die of?" Creed asked.

"Hang on," Frank replied.

He sifted through the paperwork.

"Says here that he died of a heart attack, brought on by anaphylactic shock," Frank said.

"Okay, so I take it they tested for the presence of peanuts, sesame seeds, and the rest in his system?"

Frank signalled for Creed to hold on for a second as he sifted through the notes once more.

"Yeah – no trace of anything found in his blood," Frank said.

"When was that shopping list sent? I mean, what's the text message date?" Creed asked. Frank looked over it.

"One day before he died," Frank responded.

Creed cupped his jaw and hummed. After a few seconds, Frank spoke.

"What're you thinking?" Frank asked.

"Have you gone through the whole file? I want to know whether there's any more of those shopping lists," Creed replied.

Frank held the folder up. It was thick as an old encyclopaedia, bending at his touch. Both sighed. They sat across from each other and divided the contents of the folder into two piles. They sifted through text messages via Facebook, WhatsApp, Telegram threads, and emails.

Although they could find proof of an affair, they couldn't find plans for murder. They both sat in silence for a few long seconds. Frank began to nod. He read a piece of the transcript.

"How long do you reckon he'll live for?" Frank readout.

Creed looked up at him.

"Sounds like something, doesn't it? Wouldn't trust him down a dark alley, would you?" Creed said.

"Indeed," Frank replied.

Creed circled the room.

"Motive, intent, but no smoking gun," Creed muttered.

“In flagrante delicto,” Frank said.

"Hmmm … so, he had allergies. I wonder if that's declared in his medical records," Creed mused.

"I haven't seen anything about it here," Frank said, waving the now-empty folder.

"Call his son. I want to know whether he had any unrecorded known allergies that Shelley might have known about. If I recall correctly, the son had power of attorney for his father, right? We need Lord Lank's bank statements for the last six months." Creed requested.

Frank called Henry Lank and told him they were taking on the case and would need all Creed had requested.

The next day

Henry Lank had the statements emailed over to them by mid-morning. The pair printed them off and sat with them, scrutinising every page, line, debit, and credit entry. Frank put the last page of the statements down and shook his head.

"Nothing out of the ordinary here," Frank said.

Creed sat looking over Frank's head – up at the clock that hung above the office's doorway. Frank stared at him staring.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Creed?" Frank said.

"That's what you think …" Creed responded.

"Huh?" Frank replied.

Creed shook his head. He picked up the last sheet of the bank statements, looked through the papers again and found the shopping list and another sheet.

"Look at the delivery date for this item and at the date this shopping was bought," Creed said. Frank looked over them.

"Okay, the dates are the same. But what's Blue Balls Ltd?" Frank asked.

"Viagra, mate," Creed responded.

Frank nodded.

"Okay, Old Boy needed a little help," Frank said.

"Indeed. But did you notice that that was the only time he placed an order for those pills in the last six months?" Creed questioned.

Frank pressed his hands together in front of him. Watching Creed investigate was like watching an artist paint by numbers. There was a systematic, numerical beauty to it.

"He was ancient – once a year is reasonable," Frank said.

"Nah, it's odd," Creed replied.

"The ordering of the pills goes hand in hand with the shopping text. Neither was the norm in their set-up. They normally had items ordered and delivered for more or less the same amount of money, month in, month out. Why didn't she want to add the items Ranjit had requested to her main shop? She went off-script for a reason – trust me." Creed protested.

Frank released air.

"I see where you're coming from, but it's just a list of food," he replied.

"Besides … maybe she didn't want to add them because Old Boy could get suspicious." Frank continued

"Nonsense. According to his medical records, he didn't know whether he was Elvis Presley or Mickey Mouse half the time. You think he'd notice a few extra items?" Creed argued

"Fair enough," Frank agreed.

"There's a connection there for sure – I can't put my finger on it yet, but it's there," Creed said.

They spent the rest of the day pulling papers out and pushing ideas around. The evening drew in, and they both decided to call it a day.

Frank walked home. It was a warm summer evening, and sweat patches formed on the back and chest of his shirt. He began to vape and thought about the case. He always thought best when alone and walking. He ran through the ingredients list in his head. Jacobs white flour - Gates eggs - Harmony white basmati rice - DP Brazils - Cunningham Bakery bread - Caves red wine - Mountain Pulse water - Rocket - Halloumi. The same brands, month in, month out. Who was so specific about labels? I bet Creed is, Frank thought. But Creed's weird. Yeah, but so are murderers. Frank smiled at the thought.

He stopped at a shop and bought two beers. Back at home, he showered, ate some food and watched TV. He drank his beers and crashed out.

Later, Frank woke to a woman trying to convince him that purchasing bamboo knives and forks was beneficial for the planet and his soul. He sat watching the repetitive commercial looping the same catchy tropes - over and over. He thought about some of the claims.

Bullshit - don't they know we can look into this? The truth a mere click away. He thought.

The thought took him back to the case. After a few seconds, an idea hit him. It was so obvious that he couldn't believe neither he nor Creed had brought it up. He reached for his phone and rang Creed.

"Creed—" Frank started.

"What the hell? It's three-thirty." Creed responded.

"Three-thirty-one, to be exact," Frank replied.

"I didn't want da … this better be good," Creed said.

"We need a subpoena," Frank replied.

"A subpoena for …?" Creed responded.

"Their internet search history," Frank replied.

Creed fell silent.

"Hello ... you there?" Frank asked.

"First thing," Creed responded.

The next day

Creed applied for the subpoena to access Shelley's and Ranjit's phone and laptop internet history. Usually, he would have had to wait a considerable amount of time for a request like that, but given that the case concerned old money and a young Lank man, the subpoena was immediately granted.

It took several days for the internet histories to come back and made for mundane reading. Instagram and Facebook made for most of their internet searches and engagement, with the odd hotel and holiday query thrown in. planning their sordid weekends away on Lank's purse, no doubt. Creed thought.

A few days later, Frank and Creed had all but closed the case and were about to call Lank's son to tell him they could no longer pursue it as there wasn't anything more to go on.

Creed stood by an office window, listening to the beginnings of a summer storm. Lighting lit up dark clouds - hung huge, like escaped Chinese lanterns. The rumble came shortly after. A sparse amount of raindrops did little to curb the heat that hugged the city. The office was so stuffy; the fan merely blew warm air from one end to the next.

Frank typed up the invoice for Lank, pissed it wasn't for the total amount. An intern called Lauren walked from the fax machine to her desk and placed some papers down. She then walked over to a smaller office space reserved for those wanting to have lunch. Frank walked over to Creed and stood by the window with him, looking out at the street.

"Sent the invoice. He isn't happy." Frank said.

Creed nodded.

"She did it for sure. Both of 'em. What can we do, ay?" Creed reasoned.

Inside the little lunchroom, the intern was watching her phone on loudspeaker as she ate.

"For one thousand pounds: what's is the only nut in the world that can be sexually transmitted?" Asked the presenter of the game show she was watching.

Both Creed and Frank turned and looked towards the lunchroom.

"The brazil nut!" The contestant replied.

"Yes! Once eaten, specific chemicals from the brazil nut can pass into male semen and out into a sexual partner. Next question: for three thousand pounds, name three of Henry the Eighth's wives." The presenter continued.

Creed looked at the intern, his mouth gaping. Frank looked at Creed's profile.

"What is it?" Frank asked.

Creed pushed past Frank and made a beeline for the lunchroom.

"Pause that," Creed commanded.

Lauren looked up at Creed, her fork dripping vinaigrette back into her salad.

"Go on, pause it!" Creed said.

She reached out to her phone's face and paused it.

"Rewind it to that last question," Creed requested.

Frank and Creed looked at each other as they listened to the question, then the answer.

"Is that true?" Creed asked Lauren.

"I suppose so – it's on the BBC," she replied.

Creed turned to Frank. "Google!"

Creed ran past Frank to his desk, kicking over a bin on the way. Frank and Lauren watched his almost comical movement from the lunchroom. Creed leaned over his laptop and went silent for a few seconds before exploding into sound.

"Bloody hell! We've cracked it Frank!" Creed screamed out.

Frank looked at Lauren, puzzled. Lauren responded with a shrug.

"The shopping list, Frank!" Creed ran over to Frank's desk, grabbed the folder, and pulled out the shopping list. He stood over it.

"Here! DP brazils! The Viagra! Anaphylactic shock! She killed him through sex!" Creed shouted.

Frank's mouth dropped open. Lauren stood as if she wanted to applaud; amazement coloured her face red.

Frank made his way over to Creed.

"What the..." Frank said.

"Indeed," Creed responded.

Frank shook his head.

"I better call Lank," Frank said.

Franked walked over to his desk and sat down.

"I want to know whether Shelley or Ranjit have seen that show and, if so, when," Creed commanded.

Frank looked up at Creed.

"Subpoena," Frank replied, clicking his fingers.

Creed and Frank requested the viewing records from Shelley's digital TV provider.

They discovered that that particular game show episode had been recorded and stored on her home device.

Brought in for questioning, Ranjit was convinced Shelly would rat him out and decided he'd inform on her first. He told the police she had had Lord Lank tested privately for allergies at their house and claimed she had threatened to take a hit out on him if he didn't go along with her plans.

Creed and Frank found the allergist she had used and got a copy of the test results. The results showed that Lord Lank could have a fatal reaction to selenium if he had enough of it in his system. Frank looked into the chemical Selenium and discovered it occurred in high doses in brazil nuts.

During the court case, It was revealed that Ranjit had eaten a whole bag of DP brazil nuts before having sex with Shelley. With Ranjit's ejaculation still inside her, Shelley had gone on to have sex with Lord Lank straight after - killing him.

The Lank case went on to be one of the most ground-breaking murder cases the world had seen. Murder by nuts! One red top tabloid led with.

Both Ranjit and Shelley were prosecuted.

Henry Lank successfully argued that his father had not been of sound mind when he had altered his will months before his death and was able to reclaim his father's wealth. The case that Creed claimed no one would touch gave his company a new lease of life, sealing holes in his sinking ship.

A few years later, Creed would visit 'The Springs', a bizarre little town on the outskirts of London, in search of a daughter's missing father. Unbeknown to Creed, it would be the most significant case of his life. His world would not be the same upon his return; his reality forever altered.