IV - Chapter 1

D.I. Hale was on his fourth cigarette. His greying hair would be thinning out soon if he kept scratching at it.

The wee hours of the morning had not yet introduced the concept of Sun yet. The night was yet chilly, and the clouds had not dissipated. The insides of the house they were standing before was lit and the night outside was dark, penetrated by some light refracted through the edges of the broken glass window.

A cab swerved over the bend, and D.I. Hale extended his hand seeming automatic. It was obvious that there was a sort of understanding between him in the cab and the Yard officer. As Graves, in a tan trench coat received the cup of orange-flavoured coffee, Hale wiped his hand on his jacket as he had evidently forgotten to take a cupholder and was chilled by the drink. Graves took a gulp, then grimaced as and the icy drink went to his teeth and gut. His long hair, hanging raggedly over his left shoulder, was hastily tied with a black ribbon and not looking well-brushed – it was a hasty wake-up call he had received from Hale.

“How is it?” Hale asked.

“Great,” Graves replied, taking another large draught, “Thanks.”

Hale nodded minutely and looked at his toes to think about what he would say next.

“How was your night?” he cringed minutely. “You don’t quite look awake,” he added.

Graves shook his head exhaustedly, “Woke up a few times throughout the night. The evening was taxing too.”

Hale patted his colleague’s back, having finally decided to speak up, “I’m sorry. I know you were…acquainted with Ms Eleanor Voss…”

Graves knew what he was talking about. He shook his head as colour drained from his face and closed his eyes. His lips stood out against the pale of his visage. “Yes,” he managed, “She was a long-time family friend.”

Hale nodded. He stood there for a moment, then moved with a few embarrassed, sporadic movements, “Look, unfortunately, I will have to leave at eight in the morning for London for a meeting,” he explained hastily, “so I need you to take the case. I know you’ve not worked with the Yard for a long time, so I’ve assigned you a junior officer to help you with… communication amongst other things.” Turning, he called out amidst the chill of not-yet-lifted night, “Elliott?”

Elliott stepped forward and hastened to where Hale and Graves were standing. He shook hands with Graves, who was studying him. It was a rather judgemental look, or maybe Elliott was only misinterpreting because the older man’s eyes were half-closed in exhaustion.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Elliott decided to say something before everything got too awkward, “My name is Elliott Hart. Call me Elliott, Mr Graves, sir. I’ve lived in London before and came here for university last year,” he shuffled in a bout of uncertainty.

“You’re too humble,” Hale broke into an uneasy chuckle and turned to Graves, who was standing, unmoving. “Here’s the best of our pack, the smartest lad you’ll ever meet.”

Graves lifted the corners of his mouth lightly and gave him a slight nod, “Cassian Graves. Call me Cassian. I was Hale’s student when I entered the force. I’ve been out of action for quite a bit in the Yard.” He gave a look to the young man, directing his gaze around the other’s eyes waveringly, then quickly taking his eyes away. He didn’t like eye contact.

Elliott smiled and thought that maybe his mentor wasn’t quite as icy as he thought.

Cassian looked up to the sky. The clouds were still built one and one and one again atop each other, with no traces of the moon penetrating over. The morning was nowhere near coming yet.

Cassian shook his head and turned to Hale, his hair slipping down his shoulder and brushing at his back, “How did you find out she was murdered in this neat time of day?”

Hale snorted, “As you can see, the apartment is situated quite near the police department around – in fact,” he pointed down the road, “we’d just opened a new office there a week ago. The officers heard a window being smashed.”

Cassian looked thoughtfully at the large front window that had been broken but not shattered, leaning in closely. Half of it was still stuck to the edges of the wooden frame, and there was a jagged hole in the middle. He called Elliott over. “What can you see from this?”

Elliott stepped close. He had been staying near the pavement as Hale had been in the house, and it was his first good look at the crime scene in the dark. His flashlight glanced over shards that half-blinded him.

“The glass pieces are inside the house, so the window was broken from the outside,” he pointed out, “so the murderer could’ve used the window to get in. However, I don’t think they would have had enough time to commit murder if they had broken the window beforehand – you see, I was the officer who heard the crash and reported right away sir – so I believe they smashed it after the crime.”

Cassian raised his chin sharply in the imitation of a satisfied nod, turning to Hale again, “Take us inside then.”

There were several officers, dressed impeccably neat in well-ironed suits and caps and ties, who had lit the lights and were now prodding around the room with white gloves. Cassian shook his head in disgust, “It’s unlikely that you will find anything useful as the books were always so unorganised.”

Hale nodded and sent his officers away. “What do you remember about when you last saw her?”

Cassian closed his eyes. “She had a few, if not half a dozen, notebooks laid out on her table there. Her pen had broken the night before so there was a puddle of ink still smeared on the table – as you can see there. It was her red pen, the one she used for correction. The rest of the room is more or less the same - Eleanor wasn’t exactly the tidiest of people – yes, the layout is basically the same.”

He studied the room, surveying with his grey eyes, then locked upon the bookshelf. “The bookshelf “Birds of England” on its third shelf, and I remember “The Holy War” was half-laid out, open, in front of “Birds” as the bookshelf is quite deep.”

The said books were not there anymore.

Elliott tapped his foot, “That reminds me of…” he stopped sheepishly as both men turned to look at him, “Well – I’m just saying – it’s a wild guess of course, but I feel as if these titles are referring to Sherlock Holmes?”

At the others’ confused and slightly exasperated looks, he stumbled over his words to explain, “In the Adventure of the Empty House – the one where Holmes comes back – he dresses as a bookseller to meet Watson, right? So, I remember he introduced these books – Birds of England, The Holy War, and says it could fill up Watson’s shelf…?”

He finished the sentence with an uncertain question mark. Hale shook his head and probably disapproved highly of his unprofessionalism in front of Cassian Graves.

Cassian changed the subject, “Well, maybe that could come in later. We’ve been talking so long, but where’s the body?”

Hale shook his head, “There is no body.”