Name: Cold Blooded Vengeance
DETECTIVE STORY
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Chapter one, “The Cold Descent”
It has been a very usual London Wednesday for Sir Thomas. He was sitting in his usual seat, near the window and close to the door, in the Princeton's Coffee Room, a place so typical and humble that one wouldn’t normally notice it while passing by. The only problem, in the man’s opinion, with those people would be the fact that they let a silly thing like appearance from the first sight trick them. Moreover, they would let it trick them into never trying the best coffee ever served in London.
Sir Thomas Sangster, an Englishman, sipped on his cup of coffee, and tried to hear the chatter of the ladies in blue aprons. He wasn't able to catch the whole conversation, however certain phrases could be heard. “Three of them all alike,” one whispered. “I thought she was done with it,” added another. “What’s gonna happen now!” exclaimed the third woman. Mister Sangster wondered if they have been talking about children or parties or maybe something entirely different.
One of the women approached him, and put his empty coffee cup on her tray, asking, “Anything else sir?” The answer came negative as Sir Thomas looked at the waitress. She had blond, flyaway hair, which was hanging loose about her shoulders. She was no older than 20, and everything about her spoke of youth and bloom. She was, in everyone’s opinion, by far the loveliest waitress in the café. It was maybe because of her bizarre habit of sitting down and chatting with the clients, instead of talking with her colleagues, whose gossip she found boring and unworthy of her attention. She looked at Mister Sangster with her piercing eyes, which were the color of a stormy gray sea, and setting her tray down, she sat opposite to the man and began to communicate her disappointment.
“Ugh, this place will drive me crazy one day, if it didn’t already! The other day a woman walked in here, exclaiming that she needed coffee.” She took a breath and exclaimed, “Oh, how weird this world is! I supposed she was French, and I even asked her, but no! She was English, a native here! Then how, how could she ever want this nasty brown drink that is nothing more than coffee beans?” She pointed at the empty coffee cup. “Then, there’s you! Tell me now, you come here every single Wednesday at precisely six o’clock, take this same seat every time, and order that nasty drink.” She stopped here, looked at him and exhaled, “Why?”
Sir Thomas blinked at her as if he was hit in the face. Her speech was fast as if it was a crazy stream flowing through rocky mountain edges. Lightness and drama followed the stream as it went, giggling here and there. Mister Sangster was hit with the thought that the girl sitting in front of him could talk the dead out of their graves or do something of the sort without even noticing, however he still liked this strange feature of hers. She was so open and friendly that one could easily find himself lost in a conversation with her. She had a manner of talking to strangers as if they were her friends for years, which made some very uncomfortable and some very curious.
“I can read it on your face that you are not much of a fan of the name of this place,” said the gentleman, swiftly taking her away from her original question.
“Really?” she asked, feeling her forehead. Mister Sangster laughed, although, not to make the lady embarrassed of herself, stopped fairly quickly.
“You have been describing coffee in the most hateful way, so it wasn’t hard to guess that you prefer tea instead, from there it is easy to understand that the name of the café is unpleasing to you, just as the drink itself,” explained Sir Thomas, while she looked at him, inquiring who he was.
“A Frenchman, aren’t you?” inquired the waitress in a very foolish and childish manner.
“If, after I am going to say that I am an Englishman, you are gonna say that coffee is a French habit, whereas tea was, is and will be the priority for England, I would agree with you. However, let me first mention that coffee has a very lovely aroma and a very bitter-sweet taste, which makes the drink very appealing and desired. Whereas, tea resembles a half transparent liquid with no lovely aroma and a very mild taste.” Sir Thomas was speaking with
such authority and such confidence that the waitress forgot all about tea and coffee and started to wonder who this man was. He was certainly some nobleman from a rich family, which could be easily guessed by looking at his clothes. He was wearing a very expensive looking indigo suit, black winter coat and a black velvet hat, which lay beside him. He didn’t wear glasses, didn’t carry a walking stick and didn’t even have a pocket watch. To the young Felicia Baker, the waitress, he looked about fifty or so, she guessed he was a professor or a scientist, but then another question started troubling her childish persona, and as soon as her companion was done, she asked him another question.
“What did a man of such brains forget in the Princeton's Coffee Room?”
“I simply like your coffee, it is excellent.” Shortly answered Mister Sangster. He sat looking out of the window and looked at the people who passed by. Meanwhile Miss Felicia was already forming a new question.
“Have you heard of the recent news?” she whispered to him.
“It depends which one, Miss, um..?” he hesitated.
“Miss Felicia, Felicia Baker.” She answered hurriedly and continued, “You would know exactly which one, if you knew what I was talking about.” Her eyes shone with some wild excitement while she talked, and while Sir Thomas attentively listened, for the topic interested him a great deal, and he was sure that she was going to pass onto him the hushed conversation of the waitresses.
“Yesterday night, in the rich part of London, three people were murdered, two men and a woman.” Sir Thomas could catch little bits of fear in her voice as she spoke, but when she finished, a thought struck him.
“Miss Baker, how could you possibly know it, if it’s not yet in the newspapers?” He did feel quite ashamed of himself. He of all people should have known the news before the waitress in a café. Miss Felicia giggled.
“Oh, it is all very simple.” She giggled again, and again Mister Sangster saw no reason for it. “Today, at about two o’clock, a man stalked in here looking for someone; he said it was so very important. Well, I asked him about this “important business”, and he secretly told me about the murders. I suppose he was one of the Scotland Yard, he wasn’t wearing his uniform, but a man possessing such information must either be a policeman or a murderer.” She giggled again, while Sir Thomas looked out the window, processing what was passed onto him.
“How were they murdered?” he asked in a hushed voice, just like the waitresses.
“Oh, that is very interesting. He said that the murders were all alike, each one of them. However, that’s not all,” she smiled, knowing that her companion was very into the conversation. “They were frozen to death, and when the police discovered the bodies, the windows were opened, but they weren’t the cause of their deaths. I can’t recall that little something that killed them. It is still a mystery to me...” To Mister Sangster such death was familiar, however he couldn’t remember why. He recalled the phrases he heard from the waitresses. They were all very fitting with the subject except for one, “I thought she was done with it.”
“Miss Baker, have you gotten a murderer in mind?” he asked carefully, not to reveal the fact that he overheard their conversation.
“Well, of course. Do you remember the terrible year of 1866?” she inquired, and her companion nodded. “Well, there has been five murders that year, all just like these ones.” That was it. That was why the murders seemed so familiar to Sir Thomas, the mysterious case of 1866. He also recalled what “that little something that killed them” was. It was non other, than liquid nitrogen.
“Miss Beatrice Brooks,” he said darkly.
“You are right,” she giggled with such naivness and continued.”She was meant to spend the rest of the eternity under the watchful eyes of the devil, but her mother was the second richest woman in London, she was able to pay off, and keep her daughter alive. She truly believed that she could change. Well, she seemed to change, but not for long.” The waitress sighed. “Six years, and she is back where she has started.” At this moment another waitress, who stood by the counter beckoned Miss Felicia to her. Mister Sangster’s companion stood up, took her tray, and, with a French “au revoir”, happily walked to the counter, completely unwrecked by the story.
Chapter Two, “Easy Is The Descent”
That day, I’ve run all around the winter cursed London, desperately trying to find Thomas. It seemed to me that he was hiding from me on purpose, it seemed very much possible to me. However, it was the worst day for his tricks, the very last day he should pick on to hide from me. I have been all over his favorite places: Princeton's coffee place, Saint James Park, Tower Bridge and many more, but all my visits were unsuccessful, Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Only by seven o’clock he stumbled into the apartment we shared on Garnet Street. He took off his winter coat and took a seat in the red armchair, which stood by the fireplace, rubbed his hands against each other, warming them by the pleasant fire. I glared at him, wild-eyed, while a long moment of silence passed by, but my patience gave up, and I took a seat in the other armchair, also by the fire.
“Thomas, bloody Hell, where were you?”
“Princeton's Coffee Place,” he answered shortly.
“It isn’t possible, Sangster! I have been there too, and there wasn’t a trace of you!”
“I was at home for the whole day, and only came there at 6 o’clock, whereas you have paid a visit to the young waitress at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Well, I would rather have found you, instead of her.” I was no longer angry at my friend. Instead, a feeling of unease now haunted my head. That morning I was given a new case on three identical murders, the sight of which make even me shiver with fear. The bodies were laid out on the windowsills, each one hard as rock, cold as ice. The skin on the victims’ faces was light blue, their eyelids closed shut, their fingers and toes numb, their hearts stopped forever. A strong smell of death wandered around the three apartments. I closed my eyes and exhaled.
“We have to go.” Said Mister Sangster and stood up, he knew about the murders.
We rode through the streets of London in silence until Thomas broke it with a question.
“Who are they?” he asked, looking at the wild Thames.
“Sir Gilbert Walsh was the first one to be discovered.” I answered turning to face him.
“A lord, isn’t he?” He was indeed a Lord, not some random one, but a very rich and powerful person in London. He had great influence even on the Crown itself, for his money and connections were unlimited.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Among the three there was also a certain Constantine Clack, the owner of several opium markets in London and Shanghai, and his bride, Lady Evans, who was soon to become a part of the Clark family.” Thomas was silent. I saw him reaching into his pocket and taking the little metallic ball he carried around. He used it in moments like this, when he had to think. He rolled the ball back and forth in his arms, sometimes throwing it up in the air and catching it with the accuracy of an eagle.
“Have you heard of the mysterious case of 1866?” He finally inquired.
“The cold handed murders?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “A woman called Beatrice Brooks murdered five by knocking them out, putting them on the windowsill, opening the window and pouring liquid nitrogen in their mouths and over their body. She would then close the window and leave without a trace. People all over the town were terrified. Nobody knew who the murderer was until a neighbour of the fifth victim, a certain Benjamin Black with his young daughter Alicia, caught a glimpse of her face while she was running away. Her mother was the second richest woman in London, so the young Miss Brooks was frequently seen in public. The neighbour recognized her and went to inform the police. She was captured the next day, and was meant to be hanged, but her mother paid for her freedom, and saved her daughter. The lady promised to never do it again.”
“The murders performed yesterday were exactly the same,” I said thoughtfully.
“I doubt it,” answered Thomas, and I instantly knew that he was never even considering Miss Brooks as a possible murderer.
“Why? Everything leads to her,” I nevertheless protested.
“My dear blind friend, you see nothing,” he started his lecture. “For if you would, you would see that everything leads us quite the other way around, away from Beatrice Brooks. Let’s say, you were Misses Brooks. Would you, knowing that your style of killing is no longer a mystery to anyone, start killing in that same way again?” I thought, and realised how right he was, again.
“Well, Beatrice is a smart woman, I have met her, and I am sure that she would never do it. There are several claims proving this. First, is the one that I have shared with you already. Second, in 1866 she had a strong motive, it was non other than her disease. He had, and still has a Raynaud’s disorder. The fact was very nicely covered from the public, however her close friends knew, and the constantly bullied her. They never let her forget the fact that she was abnormal, that she was unwanted anywhere with her spasms, and icy cold hands.”
“But if she still has it now…” I tried to put in, but Thomas stopped me.
“Listen, my friend. This disorder is not fatal, nor does it bring pain to other, and in no way does it make one unwanted. However, when we are nothing more than little kids, we don’t understand a whole lot about anything, that is the reason why they have treated her the way they did. It was just a matter of time before they would stop, but time and patience are the two things that Misses Brooks lacked. She would leave her home at night in order to make her “friends” pay for what they have done. However, now she doesn’t have such a motive or any other one. She is a grown lady from an élite society, she does have a husband, and even after the horrifying things that she’s done, she is treated like any other lady in the higher class. I do know that a lady like her is not going to risk such position William.”
“I still think that she might have done it.” I didn’t know why I was so focused on blaming Misses Brooks for everything, maybe I just wanted to get away from this case as fast as possible or maybe it was just what my instinct told me.
“Well, then I do have another claim for stubborn and blind people like you, my friend. Beatrice Brooks is currently on the eighth month of her pregnancy.” I suddenly remembered reading a newspaper article about the third richest lady in London getting pregnant. It was Beatrice Brooks who was described in that article. Good Heavens, how could I not think of it myself.
We rode the rest of the way in silence. With me needlessly trying to remember anything else about Misses Brooks or anything about 1866, and with Thomas triumphantly gazing out the window.
I could tell that we were nearing the mansion of Sir Gilbert Walsh before I saw the building itself because of several crowds of people formed on the streets. Even though the news wasn’t yet published in any newspapers, half of London already knew about the murders. I remembered the fires of 1666, and smiled as I understood that everything in London spreads very quickly.
When we were in the police taken area around the mansion, one of the policeman came up to me and asked, “Your identities sir?”
“William Turner, policeman,” I said, giving him my identification card. The man then turned to Thomas, who also pulled out his identity card.
“Thomas Sangster, a master mind.” The man took his identity card, and, certainly not considering the joke funny, read “detective” on my companion’s card.
“I hope your “master mind” helps us avoid more murders of such type,” said the policeman darkly.
“And I hope that your policeman mind helps us keep the unwanted visitor out of the house, while my master mind finds the killer. Have a nice day sir,” he said, ripping his card out of the man’s hands. That is exactly the reason why I laugh at every single one of his jokes, I thought as we entered the house and went up to the second floor where the crime was committed.
Several policemen were circling around the room when we walked in. One of them came up to us and shook Thomas’s hand.
“Mister Sangster, we are so happy to see you here,” he said, and by the fear in his eyes I could tell that he was happy to see the detective because it would be a chance for all of them to flee from the room. “Nothing, of course, was touched, the area is all ready for you.”
“Very well, everyone out, while Sir William and I work,” Thomas said, and every policeman vanished in a blink of an eye. I was jealous of them.
“What do you say William?” I came closer to the body of Sir Gilbert Walsh, it hasn’t changed since I left the room in the morning. The man was very short, with a face too big for its body and no hair at all. He looked like a very well fed man of about fifty. He had an expensive suit on as if he was going to attend some party, but sadly death stood in his way. I tried to think of the murder, but now, when I knew the story of Beatrice and her murders, I could think of nothing other than the way she has done it.
“Nitrogen?” I guessed.
“My dear friend, you are playing a guessing game. However what you should be doing is asking yourself questions.” He looked at me, and I sighed.
“What should we start with?” I was clueless.
“One should always start from the beginning.” He looked at me again, and seeing that had absolutely no clue of what he was talking about, he sighed. “My dear friend, let us imagine a murderer coming into the room. The first questions is, how? Was he coming in here because the victim invited him? Yes. While talking to that policeman outside, I caught a glimpse of the door, and It was certain that no one could go through that lock without having a key, or without anyone opening it from the inside. When we know that the victim was actually welcoming its murderer inside, we can deduce that it was certainly someone from his circles or someone he knew could be trusted. The next question would be, how was the victim knocked out? That is what I am going to let you think about, for I already know the answer.” With that he stalked out of the room, promising to come back.
I looked at the face of the victim, there wasn’t a trace of a punch, just like on the rest of the body. I concluded that the victim was not beaten, but died only of nitrogen. However while examining the arm of the dead, I saw a tiny hole, right above the vein, made by a needle.
At this instant Thomas came in and asked whether I was able to figure it out, and I proudly answered that he was knocked out with some anesthetic. He nodded.
“The policemen were able to find a syringe in the nearby trashcan. I suppose it is propofol.” He pulled a syringe out of his pocket and handed it to me. I sniffed it and confirmed. It was once my job to inject anesthetics in the hands of the patients, so I was very familiar with them.
“Very well, after the victim was laid unconscious on the window, the murderer opened the window,” he pointed out the obvious for me.
“Then poured liquid nitrogen onto the body and left,” I concluded.
“The question now is, where is the can in which he carried it?” I didn’t know, but allowed myself to guess.
“Maybe he trashed it?”
“Excellent deduction my friend, but it is wrong. I suppose he took it to the next victim, and refilled it on his way to Lady Emma Evans.” He turned around to go, but then stopped in the middle of the room. “Wait. Do you not sense it, William?” He asked staring around himself. “There is something very wrong with the room, something is off,” He kept turning his head around. I didn’t answer, but followed his example and looked closely at every detail of the grand bedroom. However before I could notice anything, Thomas pointed at the vase with flowers on the nightstand. “The stick.” I looked at the vase. It was full of flowers of many kinds, it was also filled with several decor elements, like a fake butterfly, several decorative blue sticks with wooden flowers drawn on them, and among them was another blue stick with no wooden flower. Thomas crossed the room to take a look at it. He pulled it out of the vase and saw that there was a wooden flower after all, except it was set in the vase the other way around.
“It is frozen,” said the detective pointing at the “flower free” end of the stick. He carried the stick towards the body, and looked at both of them. Then he looked at me and asked, “What do you think it is meant for?” I took a look at the body, and realized that something extremely small was sticking out of the left eye of the victim, “Maybe he used it to close the eyes, look, there’s something in it.”
“That is quite right,” when Thomas opened it, there was something in there.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A note from the murderer,” he said pulling it out carefully and unfolding it. “Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity.” He read out loud, and I immediately recognized the author of the verse. “Shakespeare.” I exhaled.
“My dear friend, have you seen the rest of the bodies clearly?” I nodded. “Then tell me, were their eyes closed or opened?” I thought and could not remember, so we rode off to the mansion of Emma Evans, with Thomas constantly blaming me for being the most inattentive policeman in London.
When we walked into the room of the murdered lady, and when Thomas had all the policemen out of the way he inspected the room, and to my surprise he found the same vase with flowers as the one that we found in Walsh’s mansion. However, this one had all the three blue sticks set in the most normal way. Thomas crossed the bedroom, not even looking at the body, and pulled all the three sticks out of the ground, one of the ends was wet. He then approached the body and opened the left eye of the victim with the help of the stick, and pulled out a note.
“We are lucky today, William,” he said unfolding it. I didn’t consider myself lucky with a case like this, so I kept silent, waiting for him to read what was written on the note. “Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell,” he finally read. I, again, knew the author.
“Marlowe. It seems like he is going for the Elizabethan Era.” I looked at the body. Miss Emma was a tall woman about thirty-five. She wore a long evening dress, so I guessed that she was going to attend some party as well as Sir Gilbert. The detail that did stand out to me was her grand necklace. I touched it and measured for weight.
“Diamonds,” I exhaled. “The murderer,” I faced Thomas, “he didn’t take anything valuable, not even a diamond necklace. He or she must be from a higher class if the victims opened the door to them, and if the murderer didn’t take anything.” I was proud of such deduction, especially when Thomas said that I was right.
“It also leads us to the thought that vengeance is what they needed.” He looked at the body for a moment and then, checking the arm for a needle hole, which was there, left the room, giving me no choice but to follow him to the house of the last victim.
The mansion where the last crime was committed was reasonably smaller than the one that Sir Walsh owned, and at the same time it was a bit larger than the one that we just left. The bedroom where the man was killed was also on the second floor, and it also had that devilish vase with flowers, and just like in the previous house the sticks were all set normally, all the wooden flowers were facing up. Thomas pulled them out and using one of them opened the front eye of the victim and took out the last note. “'Tis a word that's quickly spoken, which being restrained, a heart is broken.” Once again I recalled the author. “Fletcher,” I said looking at the man. He was tall and handsome. I should say he was about forty, but at his best moments he would look as if he is in his late twenties. He was also dressed very luxuriously as if he was to attend a party.
“Thomas!” I beckoned him. “I suppose they were going to a party, look at the clothes,” I pointed at the man’s suit.
“That is true my friend, but we have no more to do here,” he checked for the needle hole, and comprehending that all the murders were committed in the same way, he left. I looked at the body for the last time, and walked out of the house.
At ten o’clock in the evening we were returning home from the house of Sir Constantine Clark.
“What do you think, Thomas?” I knew he had collected a fair amount of information in his brain, and I was very hungry to hear him out.
“William, you must learn to push away the information you know, in order to clearly see what is in front of you, for that learned information makes you sigh shatter. It makes you see the obvious, whereas you have to learn to see the deep and covered. Nevertheless, I will tell you what I make of all this,” I set my ears on point, ready to hear the mysterious outcome of our trips, but something changed in Thomas’s face, and he said, “However, I shall do it tomorrow. After we meet one very important figure, for after that we shall know a great deal more.”
Chapter three, “The Descent Beaconing”
The next morning I woke up with a feeling of unease on my mind, I truly hoped that there wouldn’t be any more murders, no more terror, no more mind freezing shivers. When I met Thomas in the living room, he was ready to depart. During the ride all my questions were answered with silence, so I gave up on asking.
After a short ride we ended up standing at the porch of a large mansion, nearly the size of the one that belonged to Sir Gilbert. The doors of the house were made out of the very expensive red oak and some curves were painted with gold. I wondered who we were paying a visit to.
A maid opened the door and led us into the drawing room, where a woman of about twenty-three was sitting on the couch, apparently waiting for us. She reminded me of someone, but I could never remember whom, no matter how much I tried to remember.
“Good Morning Miss Brooks,” said Thomas and took a seat on the couch opposite to the lady.
“Morning,” I mumbled and sat down with Thomas.
“Good Morning,” the lady smiled. She sounded like a very wise and middle-aged woman, however she wasn’t even close to the age of thirty. I looked at her. She had light red hair, and piercing blue eyes, her skin was very pale. She was wearing a light blue dress and comfortable inside shoes. Her expression was calm and light. I would never tell that this woman murdered five people at the age of eighteen.
“I suppose you are familiar with the murders,” started Thomas.
“I have not done it, and you know it,” said Lady Brooks in a harsh voice.
“Of course you haven’t, my dear.” The words “my dear” rang in my head like a bell. Did Thomas know this woman?
“Then, there is only one thing you could possibly need from me,” She sighed, rather unnaturally, and Thomas nodded. “My past is dark, and I would never look into it, but I do know that I owe you, so I shall tell you what I know.” They certainly knew each other. I sat there, silently, thinking of all the secrets Thomas could possibly keep from me.
“As for the technique, the killer has done it the exact same way as…” She hesitated here, but them continued. “As I have. Walking into the house of a victim as guest, knocking them out with an anesthetic, window, nitrogen,” she shuddered. “I cannot believe I could ever be such a monster,” she closed her eyes and exhaled, putting her hand on the belly, as if she was trying to protect her infant from the world. I noticed that she was wearing gloves.
“Lady,” I decided to ask why, “May I inquire why are you wearing gloves in such a warm house?” I swallowed, knowing that she killed people because they made fun of her disease, but I wanted to see it. She must have seen the fear in my eyes because her face suddenly became so warm and she smiled.
“It is alright to ask,” she said kindly and taking off her glove stretched her hand in my direction. Her fingers were slightly blue as if she has been outside, in the winter cold, not in the warm house. I took the hand, it felt almost like touching a glacier. She put the glove back on and said, “I wear gloves for baby, I am too cold for him.” I saw a spark of sadness in her eyes, but it disappeared with a blink of her eye and she continued.
“As for the supplies, I used to buy nitrogen in the local chemistry center, and I also bought the anesthetic. I can recall that it was in the..” She hesitated while trying to remember. “I suppose I got it from the nearby hospital, it is just around corner.”
“Who do you think it is?” asked Thomas. Beatrice Brooks stared at one point on the wall behind us and whispered, “Someone who seeks vengeance.” I could not understand how vengeance could be found through killing those three people, so I asked.
“Where they related to you?” She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes, her stare was solemn and warm. She hesitated.
“They were the first ones to know my secret, and they helped me with five murders, one of the five was the one that I didn’t take part in.”
“There were more murderers in 1866?” I inquired.
“That devilish year made people like me and my companions lose their humanity. We became monsters, and only the gifted saw the good in us and made us see it as well.” I supposed she was talking about her mother, the woman who saved her from the face of death itself.
“I still don’t understand who they killed,” I mumbled.
“Sir Benjamin Black, the man who caught me, and I am grateful that he did. His murder was their mistake, I have never wanted him dead, and I’ve never wanted his daughter, oh, what was her name…” She hesitated. “Alicia, to become an orphan. She was eighteen, but nevertheless, the poor girl suffered even with the money her father left her. I met her once at the party, the poor girl wouldn’t even look at me or my friends. Those people have committed an unwanted and an unneeded crime. They were my friends, but I didn’t respect them for what they have done for me, no, they have done it for themselves because they were running away from that house with me, and they feared that they will be caught. The worst thing is the fact that they never saw how monstrous they were, they never did. It is awful for me to say, but I do think they have deserved to be punished. I do too, but in some way I have redeemed myself. Not fully, no, but the tiny fraction of me is redeemed, and I am grateful.” For some unknown reasons to me, she looked at Thomas and smiled.
At that moment I heard loud steps coming from one of the hallways that led into the drawing room. A young girl rounded the corner and appeared in the drawing room. She was no older than nineteen, and her bright smile made her look even younger. The girl looked very handsome, she had long, curly hair, round little face with bright pink lips and light green eyes. The girl made her way to the sofas and inquired, “Who is this gentleman Beatrice?” She looked at me, apparently already knowing who Thomas was.
“William Turner.” The young Lady curtsied and took a seat on the couch.
“Lady Elizabeth Brook at your service,” she introduced herself. I looked suspiciously from Beatrice to Elizabeth, trying to understand the relationship between the two. They were definitely sisters, but did Elizabeth know about the past of her sister, that was the question that was stuck in my mind. While I was busy figuring it out, Elizabeth was looking at me and saw the suspicious stare, and somehow understood what it meant.
“We know what we are, but we know not what we may be.” I looked up at her. “That is what I told myself when I found out, and I believed that some devil took over my sister, and I knew that it will be gone, I love her no less than I did before that year, and I will never stop loving her, for she is my sister. None should give up on the people they love. Mother didn’t, and I shan’t,” she was also very wise for such young age. I realized that death ages us inside.
“You enjoy Shakespeare?” asked Thomas. His question surprised me at first, but then struck me like a wrecking ball. I remembered the notes, and instantly I was beginning to get a sense of the situation.
“Oh, she is in love with the Elizabethan Era,” laughed Beatrice.
“Really?” asked Thomas again. The way he asked this question seemed very strange to me, it felt as if he was talking to a child. One needed some special kindness in his voice in order to deal with children, that kindness could be heard in the voice of the detective as he spoke with the young Lady. “Who is your favorite then, darling?”
“Well, you can’t really choose one when there are so many great writers. However, I do find people like Marlowe and Shakespeare very outstanding. You must know, Sir Thomas that there are greater lovers of those writers, say Sir Gilbert Walsh, he sadly is one of the victims, but he loved Shakespeare so much, he would die for it,” she was speaking so lightly and so melodiously, one got a sense of speaking to a daydream.
“Have you heard of anyone like Fletcher?” I asked. Ever Since Miss Brooks mentioned the Elizabethan Era, I couldn’t spot looking at her young sister. My mind wandered, how many secrets could those lovely blue eyes hide.
“Of course,” she answered smiling at me, but just as she finished, a new topic was brought into our conversation.
“My sister is now a married woman, Thomas, can you believe it?” said Beatrice happily. “Oh, the situation is so ironic, you would never believe it!” I watched Lady Brooks talk to Thomas, and I understood that they were close friends, for when talking to each other their smiles were a little bit wider, their eye sparkled just a little bit more, and their faces shone with more delight than usually. “The man she is married to is no other than Sir Alexander Dominic Black.”
“Is he a relative of Alicia's?” inquired Thomas.
“Well, he comes from a different family branch, a richer one, and a more noble one, but yes, he is a relative of hers,” she looked at her sister and they both smiled, that was when I realized that even after horrifying days or even years, family members will still love each other, no matter what they go through. However, Elizabeth’s suspicious love of poets, that were non other, but the ones whose quotes were hidden in the eyes of the victims, made me think that she might be related to the crime.
“You haven’t seen our mansion, it could, by all means, be compared to the royal palace,” Elizabeth’s light curls jump at her side as she spoke. “He is so noble and wise, when I told him who killed his relative, he said that it wasn’t because of my sister, so my family has no connection to the crime. He never even thought about it again,” she was smiling as sweetly as a little child would. “Even Alicia likes me. She comes to visit, but I think she only comes there for me. She hates my dear husband. They argue a lot over something he has to do. However, she is very sweet and kind to me, but my husband and his cousin hate each other. However, again, she is so sweet to me, I adore her. Oh, you haven’t seen her at the parties, she talks to everyone, especially the poor victims, they used the be great friends. I once passed by them, and they had such a philosophical conversation about regret, oh, she is also extremely smart. Makes one wonder why people who have faced death grow up to be kind and benevolent. She always gives everyone flowers. It is her thing, she loves making people happy. Oh, it is sad that she didn’t attend the party the day before yesterday, I really needed a friend there, you see my husband is usually in the men’s room, so I do need someone to chat with. I did find a very nice young lady. It is quite strange that Shakespeare could say a thing like this, “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” I find it very wrong. Don’t you?” She looked at Thomas.
“Of course I do, especially when there are such sweethearts like you around, my dear Lizzy,” she laughed along with her sister and Thomas, and said, “Oh, you flatter me, Sir Thomas.” He really did flatter her, I thought. She might be sweet and kind, but there was this cunning nature about her, something was hidden inside.
After some more gossip Thomas stood, bowed his head and, with me by his side, exited the mansion, promising to visit sometime soon. When we where out of the building, I stopped him and asked, “You know her, don’t you? Why haven’t you told me?”
“Yes, I do know Lady Brooks and her sister, her whole family in general. I shall tell you how we met at home. Do you have any more questions for now?” He turned to face me, as we stood on the street.
“This Elizabeth, I think she is related to the crime,” I said, and Thomas shook his head.
“She is not, my dear friend. I have told you many times, and I shall tell you again. You have to push away the unneeded information in order to manage the new one,” with that we rode home in silence.
When we finally took seats in the armchairs by the fire, Thomas spoke to me of his past. I considered it a great privilege, for Thomas Sangster was the most well known person in London, after the Crown. It wasn’t his money that made him so famous, no. It was his brain and countless solved crimes that laid behind him. I listened and wondered, why did he choose me as his successor.
“My dear friend, I have never told you this very important detail,” he rubbed his hands, warming them by the fire. “I have been the detective, who was obliged to solve the “cold handed murders” of 1866. That is how I got to know Lady Brooks. It was quite easy to find the murderer, and so I did. I came to her house, and when I met her, I realized that she wasn’t the criminal I have been looking for.” I faced him.
“Do you mean to say that you could never hang a young girl like her?” I inquired.
“No, I literally mean that she wasn’t guilty of any crime.” I was startled, and couldn’t put the things together.
“But, she is the murderer everyone knows.”
“That is so true, my friend, everyone knows, but they know a lie. A lie that we made people believe in,” he smiled. I could tell that he was proud of tricking the whole of England into thinking that Beatrice Brooks was the famous murderer of 1866. “I remember understanding that she wasn’t the murderer from the very first site of her. I turned to go then, but she pulled me back, and begged to tell everyone that it was her. I asked her, why she would ever want such a thing to be told about her. I remember her answer so vividly, as if it happened yesterday. She said, “People treat me as if I am a monster, when I am not one. I want to see what they will think of me when I will truly be one.” I stared at her, and then said yes. However, I still wonder, why did my answer came affirmative,” he smiled. “She was a naive little girl, who was so poorly treated by society, that I felt like I had to help her with everything I could do for her, and so I did. We worked out our lie, no one except for her and me knew. I told the police that it was her, and immediately her mother stepped in. Beatrice knew that she was loved by her mother, and that she would do anything to save her from the face of death, and so she did. Beatrice was safe and sound, and moreover not guilty of any crime. That was the first time, when I realized how awful people are. The society treated her like a monster when she was an innocent little girl, and they treated her like a queen, when they knew that she truly was a monster. Do you remember when I told you that Beatrice is a smart woman?” I nodded, not able to speak. “Well, she is, for she made the most famous detective in London, open his eyes, and truly see the world,” after hearing this I realized why Beatrice and Thomas looked at each other in the way they did. It was not a look of love, friendship or envy, nor was it the look of some old friends, no. It was the look of two people who shared a secret, so grand, it tricked a nation. However, it was also a look of two people who, when being strangers, changed the lives of each other. I looked at Thomas and smiled. He was master mind.
However, I was his student, and hopefully, there was a master mind growing in me as well.
“But, if Beatrice didn’t murder anyone, then who is the murderer?” This was troubling me a great deal, for it was quite important, and knowing that Thomas was a man of honour, he could never leave a murderer unpunished.
“Have you noticed anything familiar about Beatrice?” He looked at me, smiling. I recalled thinking that Beatrice looked like someone I knew, but I couldn’t remember who. “Her red hair and her face look very much like Lady Evans’s,” said Thomas, pointing out to me what I have been trying to remember. Indeed Lady Evans looked so much like Beatrice Brooks, if looking at them from some distance, one would never tell the difference.
“Why would Lady Evans ever commit such crimes?” The more Thomas was telling me, the more confuse it got me.
“Oh, my dear friend, you have to know that she was not alone. The Lady had two men by her side. Sir Constantine Clark and Sir Gilbert Walsh.” My mind wouldn’t agree to understand the situation.
“But why would they need six people dead, I understand why they killed the neighbour, that Benjamin Black, but why the first five?”
“Those five people killed in 1866 were the enemies of Lady Brooks, so they wanted to get rid of them, in order to make everyone think that Beatrice was the killer. They wanted her dead,” he made a special accent on the word “dead”, which made me shiver.
“Weren’t they her friends?” I was clueless.
“No. They hated her. It was some simple, childish envy that caused all the terror. They were jealous of her, their little minds could not comprehend how a little, unwanted girl could have so much. They didn't see how much she suffered inside, for when she was bullied, Beatrice carried herself with all the grace and beauty she had. He had the best dresses, best seats, best dancing partners. She was adored by the adults and hated by all the children. Those three are the ones that hated her the most. Death is where hate and envy gets you,” he finished.
“I still don’t understand,” I started speaking, “If you were in charge of the case, how could you ever let them go?”
“It is easy. Beatrice’s mother paid for one criminal, so I let Miss Emma Evans go. Sir Constantine Clark, with a little help from Sir Gilbert was able to pay for himself, just as Mister Walsh.” I looked Thomas. He was the biggest mystery in my life. I always wondered how can a man of fifty-two know everything? I exhaled.
“Now, the question is, who is the killer?” He said taking his pipe.
“Well, we do know that he is from the rich,” I, as usual, pointed out the obvious.
“My dear friend, there is one very important detail you are missing. Open your eyes and take in the information I have just shared with you,” I did the opposite of what he said. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander the infinite fields of murder. After some time, my eyes flew open.
“It must have been someone who knew the truth, otherwise he wouldn’t kill the three, he would go for Beatrice,” Thomas started clapping, which made me a little embarrassed.
“Wiliam, you certainly have a master mind deep in you. I can barely see it now, but we will develop it, and once it will be very close to mine,” he looked proud of me, so I was proud of myself too. “Indeed, it certainly was someone who knew the truth, moreover, he must have known all of it.”
“Don’t you think the young Misses Brooks could have done it?”
“I have already answered this question, and my answer will not change. She could not have done it,” Thomas said stubbornly.
“Why not? She is a fan of Shakespeare, Marlowe and Fletcher? Doesn’t that tell you anything?” I didn't understand why Thomas was so sure of her innocence.
“Firstly, if she truly was the killer, she would never quote Shakespeare in front of us, moreover, she would never quote him with such happiness and joy,” he sighed and looked at me. “Wiliam, you have to look and understand people, apart from just listening to them. Humans are universes full of secrets, there is no telling who the person really is, unless you look inside. That is where they hide.”
Chapter Four, “The Dark Ascent.”
The next morning I was waken up by Thomas and told to get dressed. I followed the orders of my friend, and I soon came down to the living room, where Sir Thomas and a Lady, who I didn’t know were sitting. I was told to sit down, and so I did.
“William, this is Miss Eleanor Murray,” he pointed at the woman of about fifty, sitting in front of me. “This is my colleague, Sir William Turner,” he pointed at me.
“At your service,” I bowed my head, and looked at Thomas for more information of who the lady might be.
“Miss Murray, you have told me, you had something for us?” He asked our guest.
“I certainly do Sir. You see, I am one of the maids in Sir Alexander’s house.”
“Alexander Black?” I inquired.
“Yes. Yesterday, while cleaning his storage room, I found this,” she pulled a silver thermos with “AB” engraved on it out of her bag and handed it to Thomas, who took it with pleaser. “I opened it, and saw that there was this liquid, nitrogen, is that what it is called?” Thomas opened the thermos, and white smoke started coming out of it. He closed the bottle and nodded.
“Well, I have heard of the recent murders, and I thought maybe..” she hesitated, afraid to say what she thought. “I… I thought maybe Sir Alexander was the murderer. Well, that is all I have,” she stood up to go.
“Thank you lady, you have been most helpful to us,” said Thomas.
“I only hope that you find the murderer. Those people didn’t deserve to die, nobody deserves such fate,” I disagreed with her, for of all people these were exactly the ones who deserved the fate they have gotten.
When the woman left I turned to Thomas.
“It’s him, Alexander Dominic Black, who else could it be?”
“Oh, I know exactly who could do such a thing,” he smiled and looked at me, that look made me understand that he wasn’t going to tell me. “One o’clock, Park Plaza Westminster Bridge hotel, everyone is invited, and if you will walk fast, you might even catch the morning newspaper,” I knew what he meant, so without another word I ran out of the apartment.
That day all the newspapers had a note on their front pages, “6:00pm,Park Plaza Westminster Bridge Hotel, The Cold Handed Mystery revealed.” It