Murder in the Mist, part five.

He stood up quite suddenly, and both Mr Jefferson and Mr Nelson jumped. Ethan walked quickly towards the wall and climbed up on top of it. He sat there, gazing outside. He looked less like a human than a crow.

 The street outside was more like a muddy country road than a city street. There were two pairs of footprints leading towards the gate. On the other side of the street lay an abandoned apartment building and a dark brick building of dubious nature. Ethan gazed at it intently for a second or two. He frowned, then jumped  back down and walked back towards the two men. They were eyeing him anxiously. Ethan yawned.

 ‘I’ll leave you for now, gentlemen. I have to perform some inquiries.’ He strode back towards the wall, jumped over it, and he was gone. Mr Nelson and Mr Jefferson looked at each other nervously.

*  *  *

 ‘Are you hungry, Ethan?’ asked the young man in front of him with an innocent smile.

 ‘A visit to the mortuary hardly makes me hungry, Sam’ Ethan answered wryly.

 ‘Ah! what a pity. I’ve got some wonderful cucumber sandwiches, you know.’ He cheerfully started on one. His blond, curly hair fell down over his eyes. Ignoring the sandwiches, Ethan resumed their previous conversation.

 ‘So death was instant?’

 ‘As good as instant, anyway.’ Sam answered merrily. ‘The bullet went… You know what, let me show you.’ He carefully put the sandwich in his large coat pocket, walked over to one of the stretchers and gently folded away the white sheet placed over the body. Ethan recoiled slightly.

 Although he had never seen him in life, Ethan could tell that death had not been very favourable towards Aaron Lloyd. He was grey and very swollen, his moustache was dirty and his chest, half of it covered in blood, seemed curiously shrivelled. Sam produced a magnifying glass and a pair of pincers from a pocket.

  ‘Here we can see,’ he said, poking the bullet hole with the pincers, ‘that the edges are slightly scorched, which means that the bullet was fired from a close distance. The bullet was a small one, .18, I think, very unusual. I’ve got it here somewhere.’ Sam rummaged around in his coat pocket once again, and produced a small, linen bag covered with large, dark stains. He held it out towards Ethan who took it, his head filled with dark suspicions as to exactly what the stains might be.

 ‘By the way,’ he said, putting the bag down, ‘do you know about a place called Ellie’s? A dark brick building, close to the river. You need a recommendation to get in.’ Sam looked at him.

 ‘Can’t Ginger help you with that?’ He asked.

 ‘He’s in New York.’ Ethan sighed.

 ‘Oh. What a pity. Well, I’ve got a friend who goes there sometimes. I can ask him to bring you.’

Ethan picked up the stained bag again. He opened it and picked up the bullet. It had been cleaned, there was no blood on it, but it was scratched and bent. Ethan took the magnifying glass and examined it closely. There was letters on one side, but very small. He squinted.

 NY WALLM

 He frowned. Sam continued to chat merrily about details in the rigor mortis and how they showed he was killed about nine or ten in the evening, but Ethan didn’t really listen. When he left the building he was still deep in thought. Then at last, he shook his head and went to send some telegrams. There were a lot of things he needed to confirm.

Murder in the Mist, part four.

Ethan shot a quick glance at Mr Nelson and Mr Jefferson. They were both eyeing him nervously. He stood up and walked to the window.

‘Leave me for a moment, gentlemen. I’ll be along shortly.’

The furniture dealers left. As soon as they had closed the door behind them, Ethan launched himself at the desk. He pulled up a large key ring with a label that read, curiously enough, Property of Abraham Hope. He picked out one of the smaller keys and opened one of the drawers. Inside were a plethora of old sweets, a broken pencil and a pile of perfumed letters, all signed Alice. He skimmed through them, though of course their nature as love-letters had been obvious a first glance. Then, thoughtfully, he returned to the corridor, where the two others were waiting.

‘Shall we move on to the courtyard, gentlemen?’ he said, before heaving himself out a window, onto the roof outside. He grabbed hold of a drain pipe and climbed down. Some minutes later he was joined by Mr Nelson and Mr Jefferson, both of them panting. They had evidently gone down the conventional way, using the stairs.

Ethan was already busy examining the ground.

 The courtyard was surrounded by the office building on three sides, and by a eight feet tall brick wall on the other. It had a small gate in the middle. The air here was chilly, and a trace of last night’s fog still remained in the air. The courtyard was largely taken up by an old, bent birch tree. A couple of dustbins stood in a corner, and a black cat sat on the wall, cleaning itself. Ethan nodded in the cat’s direction, and strode over to the large bloodstain under the birch tree.

 ‘I suppose this was where..?’

 ‘Yes, quite right. It was dreadful, really.’

Ethan crouched down and examined the stain. He muttered to himself for quite a while.

‘Type AB, too fond of fried food, less fond of broccoli, grey hair…’

Murder in the Mist, part three.

 ‘We’ve been expecting you. My name is Nelson, and this here is my partner and friend, Jefferson.’ He had a rather high, nasal voice. Mr Jefferson also shook Ethan’s hand, and then motioned him to sit down in one of the armchairs in front of his large desk. Mr Nelson sat down at the desk, while Mr Jefferson started pacing the room.

 ‘You may leave, Hope.’ he said. The thin man turned and walked away, without a word.

 ‘Well,’ he sighed, turning to Ethan, ‘where should I start?’ His voice was much darker than that of his companion.

 ‘From the beginning?’ suggested Ethan. Mr Jefferson looked slightly affronted, but it seemed he decided to let it pass.

 ‘Well then. Until recently, this firm was run by the three founders, the two of us, and Mr Lloyd. The shares in the firm were not equally divided, Mr Lloyd (may-he-rest-in-peace) stood, in fact, for two thirds of the entire investments. He was a very rich man. And naturally he had made himself some dangerous enemies over the years, as rich men always do. One of these, however, was apparently more dangerous than he expected. Personally, I think that…’ Ethan interrupted him.

 ‘Where was the body found?’

 ‘In the courtyard. He was lying face down with a look of terror in his eyes and a bullet in his chest.’

 ‘One bullet?’

 ‘One. It pierced his heart, according to the police. No need to shoot a second time.’

 ‘And who discovered the body?’

 ‘Abraham Hope, the caretaker, the man you just met. He discovered him when he came to work this morning. Old Abe’s been in service here for about twenty years, since the firm started. When we moved from America, he came with us. Excellent man, former soldier. He’s been a bit under the weather since his sister Alice died two years ago, (She was our secretary. A darn good one, at that. Consumption, I think it was? Well, it was sad, anyway.) He took it rather hard, poor man, and we really haven’t the heart to send him away.’

Ethan picked up his pocket watch and yawned.

 ‘Can I see Mr Lloyd’s office?’ he asked. Mr Jefferson shot an almost unnoticeable glance towards Mr Nelson, who gave him an equally unnoticeable nod.

 ‘Yes, right this way.’ He led him through one of the doors on either side of the room. They reach another office, much like the one they had already left, but larger. The furniture was brand new, and looked quite expensive. On the far side of the room stood a large, oak bookcase, filled to the brim with dusty files and reference books. The large desk was also made of oak. It stood, massive and intimidating, in the middle of the room, overlooking two pompous armchairs. On top of it lay a silver pocket watch, an old, worn-down hat, and a large notebook in prime leather. Ethan picket up the notebook and slouched down in one of the armchairs. He skimmed the pages. They were empty, except for a very small, almost unnoticeable note in the very back of the book.

 At 22:00, Alice.

AAAAAAAARGH.

@dangopanda

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHGGA AAAAAAAAGGH.

His face.