“No doubt, the perpetrator entered the premises from there,” a voice came from inside.
“No doubt indeed,” answered a man irritatedly.
“And he walked past this table to get into that room there,” replied the first voice.
Thanian stepped over a puddle of water in the dark alleyway, nodded to the constable at the door and went inside. It was a small apartment, but it was well kept. The cold draught pierced Thanian’s inspector’s coat. He took in everything around him: the small kitchen area with all its utensils, the hallway with a skewed painting—even a claw mark on one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He learned all this from a glance. The faces he saw in the street were all curious—some were disgusted, some were worried, but they were all curious. He stooped down by the fireplace, inspecting a tiny shard of glass he had spotted.
“Oi!” shouted the first voice. “Rule seven hundred and twenty of the Policing Code states, regarding crime scene disturbance, that no individual other than an inspector may disturb or touch evidence from a crime scene.”
Thanian sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the constable, it was that he had hoped that the constable would have a bit more sense by now. He turned to see the constable producing cuffs and a baton, eyeing him, Thanian, with distrust.
“Constable Constable?” he said.
“Yes?” The constable clearly hadn’t recognised him yet.
“I am Inspector Iger Thanian.” Constable Constable looked at him suspiciously.
“Papers?”
Thanian had only started carrying papers of identification since Constable had joined the police force. Unless one had been in Constable’s company since the start of the shift, you were as good as a new stranger to the man. Most of them found it frustrating, but the chief was proud of the young policeman. He wasn’t the brightest or fastest, but he had endurance and was diligent in his duties. When some policemen complained about the constable arresting them for crime scene disturbance, the chief praised him. Some inspectors found value in having the constable around. They all knew a crime scene would be undisturbed and the information would be captured down to the letter if he was there.
Thanian handed his letter of appointment to Constable, who promptly inspected it before apologising and making his report to Thanian.
3:28 AM John Mclaghlan alerts police of murder at 11th and Duke.
John Mclaghlan statement:
Home Address: 71 Ninth Street
Occupation: Carpenter
Age: 52
On his way to work on September 7th, 1838 at approximately 3:00 AM he heard the shattering of glass at the Nightingale Alley in Duke’s Way. He investigated and saw blood in the house from outside the broken window. He immediately called out MURDER and sought the nearest police officer.
Luvan Labonichi Statement:
Home Address: 105B Nightingale Alley
Occupation: Baker
Age: 49
At approximately 3:10 AM he heard the cry of MURDER and went outside finding Mr Mclaghlan standing on the corner of the apartment. He went with Mr Mclaghlan to find a police officer.
Victim: Mary Juvanu
Age: Early 30’s
Occupation: Waitress — Lütz Tavern
Last seen September 6th 4:15 AM by Mr Lütz.
Thanian noticed four round stains on the wooden floor. Something had stood here: a piece of furniture—perhaps a chair—but nothing in the apartment had those foot pieces. He looked about, stood up, and walked to the bedroom where the victim lay.
Glass fragments were strewn about.
No sign of struggle, he thought. The victim lay in bed with her throat slit, quite peacefully.
“Constable,” he said walking over to the window, “was she married?”
“I will find out for you, Inspector.” Constable turned to the man whom he had been speaking to before the inspector’s arrival. “Was Miss Juvanu, to your knowledge, a married woman?”
The man was definitely the baker and weary from being in the constable’s company for so long. He answered, stating that he did not know her too well but that he had seen her come home with different men, the latest of which was a young flamboyant man with golden locks and a hearty demeanour.
The constable relayed the message.
“Well, this definitely isn’t the way he came in,” said Thanian and turned from the window. “But it is definitely the way he went out.” He took out his pipe, struck up a match and lit it, puffing in the sweet blueberry flavoured tobacco. “What do you reckon his height is, Constable Constable?” Thanian asked.
“How should I know, Inspector?” replied the constable.
Thanian gestured towards the bed.
Constable looked at the bed.
Thanian sighed and put his palm to his head.
“Constable Constable, from the indentations on the bed next to the victim, how tall do you reckon this man is?”
“What man?” answered the constable.
Thanian shrugged, guessed the man to be one point eight seven meters tall and walked out of the room. There were certainly at least a few men in this city that were flamboyant and blonde with hearty demeanours, yet none stood out like that one man. That man.
He stopped at the door, marvelling at a painting hung on the back of the door. A predominant proportion of the artwork in Adelwreth depicted angelic beings and beasts fighting. This one, however, told a story. Thanian stared at it for the longest time, being transported back hundreds of years as his mind imagined it. The Natives meeting the new arrivals… the wars, the champions of either side and—
He hesitated. He knew the history of Adelwreth, but what he saw frightened him. He glanced to his right, seeing the fireplace and the empty space beside it. He walked outside into the alley, to the broken window, and looked down. Following the glass fragments that were scattered further down the alley, he finally noticed it: a small wooden table.
He walked up to it and knelt beside its remains. It had round legs and a round flat top. A picture holder was smashed into the top; glass was embedded in the soft wood. He looked back at the broken window. Surely, a man couldn’t throw this through a window, breaking both the window and the table, and have the table land all the way back here. Yet, the remains were scattered in such a way that the point of impact was within a metre or so.
“Constable!” he called and puffed at his pipe as the constable came running up.
“Yes, Inspector,” the constable said as he arrived.
“Document this and then accompany me to the Fifth Street Hotel,” said Thanian, deep in thought.
***
“Ah, gentlemen of the law,” said Gustov Gelno, not a moment after they entered the hotel. “Welcome to the finest hotel in Adelwreth. May I offer you refreshments and comfortable seating while we discuss the reason for your visit?”
Thanian noticed Mr Gelno glancing at the big clock above the reception desk as he led them to the lounge area.
“There is a man,” Thanian started as they walked. “Flamboyant, blonde… same height as the constable here. He frequently visits this establishment. What can you tell us about him?”
Mr Gelno was visibly uncomfortable.
“Inspector, I, unfortunately, cannot betray the trust of our guests. Surely you can understand that, but you will have our full cooperation in any matter that we can help you with.”
They sat down on comfortable sofas. Mr Gelno nodded to a pageboy and a waiter, and they bustled about.
“I understand perfectly, Mr Gelno,” said Thanian. “If we could perhaps have a look at your regist—” he was cut short by a pageboy handing him the register book. “Thank you,” he said surprised, then another pageboy gave them each a glass of wine.
He handed the register to the constable. “Find him,” he said, took a sip of wine, sat forward and waited for Mr Gelno to give his silent orders to his staff before continuing. “Mr Gelno, can I trust you that this book is in order and that if it is not, you will tell me?”
“Why certainly, Inspector,” Gustov took a sip of his wine. “I personally go over the register each morning to confirm that it is in order and without a doubt accurate to the best of my knowledge.” He took another sip from the glass, then pointed at the register. “If and when I do find inconsistencies, I note it with my own personal hand, inscribing the reason for which I believe the register is not reflecting the true nature of my memory, and so forth.” He finished his glass.
“Thank you,” said Thanian, paused and added, “Is this how the assassin slipped past you earlier in the year?”
Mr Gelno hung his head in shame and replied slowly.
“You can understand my inclination to the situation, Inspector.” He lifted his head and stood up. “However, we have new protocols in place for such situations.” He nodded to the side, and a man stepped up—seemingly from nowhere. “This is Harold”. He patted the man on the shoulders. “A military man, I might add, and in the employ of Mr Thule. Since that day, I have requested his services to ensure that our establishment never meets that same fate. Now, if you will excuse me,” he said as his eyes trailed Lady Coreli. “I am in need of entertaining our guests and ensuring that this establishment operates as always…” He looked back at them before ending with: “Impeccably.”
He rushed off to meet with Lady Coreli. Pageboys pounced on her like vultures and carried off her luggage. Thanian marvelled at the man; he had huge respect for him. Always on duty, always on time… punctual. That is what Mr Gelno was, punctual.
“Wilhelm Wickgen,” said Constable Constable.
“Hmm?” said Thanian, turning his head.
“Wilhelm Wickgen booked in last night at around ten p.m. and left at two a.m. Visits the establishment twice a week and always stays in room four sixty-five,” replied Constable.
“How do you know this is the man?” asked Thanian.
At that moment, a man seated himself in the seat in front of them where Mr Gelno had sat. Thanian grew cold.
“What is it they say?” asked the man nonchalantly. “Speak of the devil and he steps on your tail?”
Everything felt horribly amiss. The man’s face was friendly and his body language open, but the air felt oppressive. Thanian had the sudden urge to kneel before this man. “Well, here I am. What is it you wish to ask of me?” He glanced over to Mr Gelno, who was still entertaining Lady Coreli.
Thanian could barely speak. He felt the life being choked from him. Then, suddenly—
“Where were you on the morning of September the seventh, 1838, between two a.m. and three a.m?” the constable asked. He was unaffected by whatever was happening to Thanian. Wickgen, however, was confused and seemed to strain—not by the question but by something else.
“At church, in confession,” said Wilhelm in a friendly tone, then turned to Thanian: “How is your dear wife, Inspector?”
Thanian shivered. He was unable to speak; a voice seemed to penetrate his mind. It felt booming but unintelligible.
“Will you accompany us to the police station while we verify your claim?” asked the Constable. “Please understand that you are a suspect in our case and it would help a great deal to clear your name if you cooperate.”
Thanian briefly admired the constable. He knew in his gut that Wilhelm Wickgen was the man they were looking for, but was it this Wilhelm Wickgen?
“Certainly,” smiled Wilhelm. He then smiled at Thanian. “Clever constable this, isn’t he, Inspector?” He laughed, grabbed his coat and followed them out of the hotel.
Thanian felt uneasy for the entire carriage ride back to the station. Constable Constable booked Wilhelm Wickgen in, ensured he was comfortable and returned to the carriage.
***
The streets were getting busy, sunrise brought warmth, and Adelwreth rolled out of its slumber.
“I’m not smart,” mumbled Constable.
“Hmmm?” Thanian was deep in thought.
“I’m not smart, but I know he has something to do with that murder, Inspector,” replied the constable. Thanian looked at Constable. The city noises disappeared in the background.
“Constable, our job is to protect the innocent and deliver the guilty for justice. We do the work and we form our theories based on the evidence. Justice does the rest.” He looked back outside.
“I’m not smart, inspector, but back there, at the hotel, I felt the same way as I feel when I arrest a wrongdoer. It feels right.”
Thanian was afraid of what he might learn at the church. He had heard stories of awful things happening in the night—awful things that few know about. He thought back to that painting in the apartment: the painting with the history…
The painting with a prophecy.
TO BE CONTINUED