The Unlikely Heroism of Dr. Mortimer Wick

[Charles Hobson]

Off-Topic:

I dunno if this is in the right area; if it isn't, just move it.

   Looking back now, I should have known that case would be different.  From the moment I stepped out into the streets on that cold February morning, something simply felt wrong.  Nothing ever feels right when you’re called upon to investigate a murder, of course, but that’s my job.  A detective cannot simply walk away from a case because it ‘feels wrong.’  If I could, I would have walked away a long time ago, long before I ever heard of the Dragon of the Slums. 

And even longer before I met Dr. Mortimer Wick.

I, Detective Charles Hobson, hereby certify that the events contained in this document are factual.  For their safety, the names of all persons involved have been altered, save for that of myself and, at his request, Dr. Wick.

Click Here for the First Chapter

[Chinaren]

@Chinaren:  ...I'm not going to get rid of that nickname, am I?

No. 

Anyways, I'm starting to feel bad about only posting my work and not reading anyone else's...  I feel like I'm mooching off of you all.

We're really quiet atm, so there's not as much to read as usual, but Arl's been posting some good stuff, and Elzsa's done a bit here and there too, you should check out one of theirs, or even one of mine! 

[NicTei]

I feel your pain, Hobson; I got stuck with 'NiceTea' somehow.

And ignore the big orange Chinabeasty; read one of mine! 

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

I have been 'reduced' to Petch, if it's any consolation. And we seem to be veering off topic here.

[Charles Hobson]

   Dr. Mortimer Wick lived in the opposite direction of the slums, on the outskirts of the rich district where many of the aristocrats lived out their privileged lives, attending wine tastings and hosting extravagant balls.  As much as I hated the slums, I loathed entering the upper city.  I would inevitably be treated as trash, mistaken for someone’s butler, or begged for help with some mundane problem simply because I was an officer of the law.  The last time I made the journey to the rich district, I’d been immediately set upon by some spoiled brat who insisted that, because I was wearing a badge, I had to play ‘Court’ with her and her dolls.

   As I sat inside my carriage watching the streets of New London pass by at a reasonable speed, I realized there was very little chance of that sort of encounter today.  I doubted anyone would be outside in the rain, for starters, and I was no longer required to wear one of the ridiculous police uniforms.  One of the perks of being a detective, I supposed:  plain black suits were acceptable, as long as my badge was easily accessible. 
When the carriage stopped, I took a moment to open my umbrella before stepping out into the street.  No sense getting any wetter than I had in the Thomas residence.  The driver climbed down from his seat and into the cab; he would be waiting here until I was finished with Dr. Wick, and he didn’t want to do so in the rain.  Assuring him I wouldn’t be long, I closed the door behind him, took a deep breath, and turned to face the rich district.

   The contrast between where I was standing now and where I had been this morning was staggering.  Instead of grimy, filth-covered roads separating shoddy buildings that looked as though they belonged in a different century, the brickwork streets were well-illuminated by iron street-lamps, fueled by the vast network of tunnels that ran underneath the city, carrying steam generated in the heart of the city.  This same steam ran to factories and other public buildings, and, judging by the steady glow coming from some of the other manors up the street, the private homes of the rich.  I turned away from the aristocrat’s manors, reminding myself I wasn’t here to sightsee, but to question a suspect in a brutal murder investigation.

   Though smaller than the other houses in the rich district, Dr. Wick’s manor was certainly intimidating.  My driver had guided the horses through the iron gates, which had been wide open as though the doctor were expecting company, dropping me at the beginning of the short cobblestone walkway up to the home.  I was left staring up at the spire of the tower on the right wing of the mansion, and the vines crawling steadily up the trellis on the other side of the front porch, obscuring much of what was behind from view.

   A movement in one of the upper-floor windows caught my eye as I was roughly halfway up the front walk.  If it wasn’t the doctor, having heard the horses approach, it was a servant, who was no doubt on his or her way to the door to see just what I wanted.  I prayed for the doctor himself to answer the door; I hated to deal with servants.  They were invariably snooty, demanding to see all sorts of certification before allowing any officer of the law entry into their master’s home. 

   Three of the stairs to the porch creaked as I made my ascent.  I realized I wasn’t alone and glanced sideways to notice a black cat curled up lazily on a large, plush chair beside the door, gazing steadily at me.  Before I could even knock on the door, it opened a crack.  Beyond, I could make out a tired, pale face with cautious brown eyes.

“I take it you’re not here for the maid job?” she asked in a pleasantly husky voice.

“What?  Of course not!  I’m Detective Charles Hobson, with the New London Police Department,” I replied, taken aback by the by the suggestion of me as a maid.

This didn’t seem to surprise her.  “You got a badge?”

    I showed her, and she inspected it for a moment before opening the door and ushering me through.  Instead of the black-and-white maid uniform I was expecting her to be wearing, she was clad in thick leather gloves and work boots, with a tan, single-piece jumpsuit covered in grease spots and oily smudges.  A set of goggles was stationed firmly on her head, the leather strap ragged and worn with use.  Though she looked young, the perpetual frown that she wore underneath the dirt on her otherwise flawless face gave me the impression she was older than I thought.

   Any further conversation was cut off as a loud explosion that sounded as though it were only a few rooms removed from the entryway shook the floor.  Instead of an expression of shock, however, the young woman merely rolled her eyes, pulled her goggles down, and set off down the nearest hallway, her auburn pigtails bouncing irritably behind her head.  Being a gentleman and an officer of the law, I followed after her.  I began to suspect I might have another body on my hands.

   My guide stopped in front of a thick wooden door characterized by several different locking mechanisms.  Curiously, they were all on the outside.  Clearly, breaking in wasn’t the issue; breaking out seemed to be the concern.  Involuntarily, I shifted my hand to rest on the butt of my pistol as the young woman shifted all of the deadbolts out of place, turned no less than three sets of keys, and slid a few chain locks out of the grooves set into the wall before finally opening the door.

   Immediately a plume of thick black smoke burst out of the room, billowing out into the corridor.  I dropped to the floor, already nursing my stinging eyes, but the young woman pressed on into the chamber beyond the doorway.  Arguing soon followed the smoke out into the hallway and shortly thereafter two pairs of boots stepped into sight.

“I don’t tell you how to do your job, do I?”

The young woman snorted.  “Yes, you do.  All the time, in fact.”

“That would be because I’m your boss, Rosa, and I would simply love it you would tell me why there is a man lying on my floor weeping?”

   I was too relieved at having been noticed before I was stepped on to point out that I wasn’t actually weeping.  A strong, gloved hand gripped my wrist and pulled me to my feet, leading me out of the corridor and back into the foyer.  That strong hand belonged to Rosa, much to my embarrassment, and I thanked her with as much dignity as I could muster before pulling away.  She closed the door to the corridor, though I could still smell the acrid smoke on my clothes.  Sighing, I turned to regard the master of the house.

   He stood with his back to me, wearing a thin leather vest over a shirt that had probably been white at one point; now it was mostly gray, with a few splotches of black or white here and there.  I could see his reflection in the window he was gazing through, and much like his assistant, he looked surprisingly young.  His hair, however, was stark white, tied back in a ponytail that terminated at the bottom of his shoulder blades.  Unlike Rosa, his face was relatively clean, with only one smudge of black above his right eyebrow.  He was currently biting his thumbnail, muttering to himself about his measurements being off.

“Wick, you have a guest,” Rosa reminded him icily.

He waved his hand dismissively.  “Show him to the sitting room; I’ll join him in a minute.  And do clean yourself up, Rosa.  I can’t have you looking like a trollop in front of a guest, let alone an officer of the law.”

   Rosa fumed, but said nothing as she opened a door on the other side of the foyer and ushered me through with a terse wave of her own hand, slamming it behind her before I could ask how he knew I was with the New London Police.  She showed me to a small, cozy room bearing paintings of old men standing in front of large machines, looking quite proud of themselves.  Some of the names underneath the portraits I recognized; Francis Pavarel, for instance, was known world-wide as the inventor of the steam-powered lamps like those lining the streets just outside Wick’s home.  The others, however, were foreign to me. 

   I sat down in a large, plush red chair as Rosa disappeared through a door on the far side of the room.  An identical chair sat beside me, on the other side of a small table bearing an oil lamp and an old, well-worn book titled The Basics of Alchemy.  Against my better judgment, I picked it up and began to leaf through it.  Almost immediately, I felt myself drifting off to sleep.  To say it made alchemy seem boring was an understatement.

   The sudden feeling that I was no longer alone in the sitting room saved me from the dastardly sleeping spell the book had cast.  I looked up to find Doctor Wick sitting opposite me on a couch that matched the chairs, regarding me carefully with his cold blue eyes.  The smudge above his eye was gone, and he’d changed into a pristine white shirt and exchanged his boots for shoes that had been polished to a shine.  Closing the book and replacing it on the table, I stood and offered him my hand.  He raised an eyebrow, but took it anyways.

“Doctor Mortimer Wick, I presume?”

“Last time I checked,” he answered tersely.

I shrugged off his irritation.  “I’m Detective Charles Hobson with the New London Police.  I have a few questions for you about Lucille Thomas.”

Dr. Wick snorted.  “I suppose she filed a formal complaint about the conditions of working for me?”

“No, I’m afraid it’s not that easy.  She was killed earlier this morning,” I answered, watching his reaction carefully as I paced towards the fireplace.

As it turned out, he had an excellent poker face, so I continued.  “Burned to death in her own home.  Terrible way to die, don’t you think?”

Dr. Wick arched an eyebrow.  “I wasn’t aware there was a good way to die, detective.”

   I was momentarily caught off-guard by his remark.  I’d expected more of a reaction from him at this point; disgust, horror, pity, sorrow, maybe even a flicker of guilt.  Instead, his eyes continued to regard me calmly, his only expression the trace of annoyance that had been present on his face since he’d first laid eyes on me.  Recovering from my momentary stumble, I started to ask a different question when the door opened and Rosa pushed through, now wearing a pink and yellow flowery dress that barely reached below her knees.  She was carrying a dented, tarnished silver tray with two teacups.  Wick sighed again.

“Rosa, I told you I can’t have you looking like a trollop, not ‘I encourage you to look like a trollop’!”

   Rosa glared at him and slammed the tray down on the short table in front of him before storming out once more.  Miraculously, only a little tea spilled out of the cup closest to him.  He wasted no time switching it with the other cup, not caring in the slightest that I was watching him do so, and motioned for me to sit down opposite him in the chair I’d occupied only a few minutes earlier.  I complied, all the while praying silently under my breath that he would let me ask my questions and leave.

“What exactly was your relationship with Mrs. Thomas?” I asked when I was seated.

Wick sipped at his tea and grimaced.  “Clearly, I did not hire her for her skill in the kitchen,” he muttered.  “Care to repeat the question?”

“Your relationship with Mrs. Thomas,” I repeated.

He waved a hand dismissively.  “She came in and cleaned my house while I did everything in my power to make a bigger mess in a different room,” he answered.

“She was a maid then?” I inquired.

“No, she was my illegitimate lovechild with Queen Francesca.”

I ignored his sarcasm.  “Mr. Thomas seemed to think you had something to do with her murder.  Can you tell me why?”

“Mr. Thomas is a simpleton and a fool, detective.  When his wife quit three weeks ago, he was sure it was because I had tried to bed her.  He had the nerve to stop by the day after, drunk as could be, to ‘teach me a lesson about covetousness’,” he answered casually.

“Did you sleep with Mrs. Thomas?”

He scoffed.  “Detective, you said she was burned to death, and I’m certain that was an improvement upon her appearance.  She was not high up on my list of ‘women to bed’.”

I nodded.  “I apologize, Dr. Wick, but I needed to ask for clarification purposes.”

“I understand, detective.  Whatever will get you out of my house the fastest,” he answered with a hint of a smirk playing about the corners of his lips.

   Questioning from that point on was fairly standard, and though I got the impression Dr. Wick was hiding something, it wasn’t about my murder case.  While my curiosity was piqued, I figured if it were illegal, I’d be investigating it sooner or later.  At the moment, I had other things to be worrying about.  When I had asked my last question, I thanked the doctor for his time.

“It was my pleasure, detective.  I would assume this removes my status as a suspect in your investigation?” he inquired as he stood to see me out.

“I may be back for further questioning, but for all practical purposes, you are no longer a major suspect,” I replied with a nod.

“Excellent.  Rosa will show you to the door.  This little visit has cost me quite enough time already.”

   Right on cue, Rosa stepped into the room, ushering me towards the door we came in through.  We retraced our path through the corridors of Wick’s house in silence until we eventually reached the front door.  I moved to descend the stairs, but she stopped me.

“He’s not the killer you’re looking for,” she said flatly.

“I already know that, madam,” I responded kindly.  “And for the record, you do not resemble a trollop in any way, shape, or form.”

“Of course, that’s not to say he’s not partly responsible for the death,” she added, ignoring my compliment completely.

I looked at her.  “What do you mean?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing of importance.  Take care, detective.”

   She closed the door, shutting me out of Wick’s home and leaving me with an even deeper sense of foreboding than when I’d arrived.

Next Chapter ->

[Chinaren]

   A very enjoyable chapter Chobby, some excellent lines in there.  Keep it coming.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Good indeed.  I was waiting for the suggestion thing, but then I realised it wasn't one of those stories. 

[Charles Hobson]

  A very enjoyable chapter Chobby, some excellent lines in there.  Keep it coming.

Thanks!   Any in particular that stood out?

Good indeed.  I was waiting for the suggestion thing, but then I realised it wasn't one of those stories. 

Heh.  Maybe I'll have to start one of those, just for you?

Anyways, I'm sorry for the delay between chapters.  I'll try to be more consistent in the [distant] future.

[Angel]

Ah well, i'm thoroughly enjoying this so far. I shall keep an eye out for more!

[araell]

Finally got round to reading your lastest chapter and it was certainly worth the wait. I look forward to seeing more 

[Charles Hobson]

Off-Topic:

Here you are, fresh off the presses after a long bout of writer's drought!

   After my meeting with the doctor and his assistant, I returned to White to report my findings.  For reasons I should hope would be obvious, Doctor Wick remained a suspect.  The scorn he showed for the victim, as well as the parting words Rosa had left me with, gave me sufficient reason to believe he played a part in the events that left Mrs. Thomas dead in her home.  I would no doubt discover the nature of this connection in time, but I would learn nothing if I were running on fumes.  Wisely, I retired to my home, and my rather warm bed, soon after I completed my journal entry on my visit with the doctor.  The journal is not mandatory, but I find the documentation allows me to keep a better grasp on the details of the case that my colleagues may ignore.  It has also proved quite invaluable in the penning of this very account.

   So it was that I was nestled snugly in my bed when the door to my home was assaulted rather viciously, shattering my peaceful dream of a warm beach far from the rainy grey streets of New London.  Retrieving my revolver from my nightstand, I descended the stairs quickly.  I did not bother slowing down to silence my footsteps, as whoever was outside could no doubt hear nothing but his own fist on my poor door.  Pistol in hand and quite ready, I threw the door open wide.  A pale-faced Bobby lowered his hand, muttering an apology for the lateness of the hour.

   “There’s another body, sir,” he murmured.  He looked as ill as the last boy who was sent to fetch me, though he was much older.  Smith, I think his name was; I’d seen him around station on occasion, often talking casually with White.  He must have been an old friend of the Chief Detective.  Regardless, I had never seen him this shaken before.  This did not bode well for me.

   I thanked him for coming and asked him to hold the carriage, then retreated inside to change out of my bedclothes.  As I passed the grandfather clock in the hallway, it chimed twice; it was now two o’ clock in the morning, and my day was off to a very sorry start.  Not five minutes later I strolled past it once more, clad now in yesterday’s suit with an umbrella hung upon my arm.  Rain was not a question of ‘if’ in London, but a question of ‘when’, and I was certain today would be no different.  The chill and smell of the air when I stepped outside confirmed my prediction.

   The carriage ride was long and quiet.  I had opted to sit opposite Smith instead of beside him.  It would have made conversing easier, had he anything to say about the scene.  Alas, he had nothing to tell me, so once again I was going in blind.  His deathly pallor and use of ‘another’, however, was enough information for me to guess I would be confronted with the same horror that I had seen in the Thomas residence.  That I had only just managed to rid myself of the stench of scorched flesh did nothing to improve my mood.

   Upon exiting the carriage, I was not surprised at where I’d been taken:  the slums once again.  However, we were not in front of a residential home.  Instead, the driver had pulled up in front of a well-known brothel.  The bricks had been painted black, and the image of a nude young woman had been painted lovingly in white above a wooden plaque that read ‘Madame Victoria’s House for Girls.’  Rumor told that it had once been a legitimate boarding house, but after catching the neighborhood boys in the girl’s bunks too often the schoolmistress, Madame Victoria, decided she might as well receive payment for what was going on.  And so, a brothel was born.  I personally doubted that particular tale due to a lack of proof, but it spread nonetheless.  No doubt there was something especially alluring about turning a place of education into a place of debauchery.

   Reluctant as I was to set foot inside such a place, duty called.  The officers at the door nodded to me grimly as I passed the threshold.  The receiving room seemed to be a study in the color red, as every available surface was covered with the same seductive shade that reminded me of blood.  The chairs bore deep red cushions that looked rather comfortable, and also well-used.  The walls were red as well, and inlaid with a repeating pattern of roses and the masks of Comedy and Tragedy.  Thin curtains of red silk hung from the ceiling across each door leading out of the room.  Even the girls were dressed in that same luscious red, which only brought out their pale complexion that had no doubt been exacerbated by their horror.  That they were still here meant that there would be a potential witness to whatever crime had been committed, and I began to hope we—much like the prostitutes—had at long last been given something solid to work with.

   Much to my relief, none of them looked much younger than eighteen, though I will be the first to admit that it is not always easy to tell.  Some girls look incredibly young for their age, while others look prematurely…well, mature.  However, I was here for an entirely different reason, and while the other officers were apparently quite content to amuse themselves with comforting the distraught—and virtually naked—whores, I was not.  I sought out the Chief Detective to lead me to the body.

   “Damn shame about the hour, isn’t it Hobson?” he croaked as I approached him.  He did not look the least bit well-rested, though in his defense I doubt I looked any better.

   I nodded in agreement.  “Another one burned, I take it?” I probed tentatively.

   He shook his head.  “No, I’m afraid this one is worse.  You’ll have to see for yourself, though; I’ve no doubt you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”  He motioned for me to follow him.  “I’ll show you to the room.”

   We began down the red-carpeted hallway, White with his eyes focused on the end of the hallway, and I painfully self-conscious of the lewd portraits lining the walls.  Breasts to my left, breasts to my right; it seemed I would have a great deal to talk about with my priest at my next confession.  To distract myself, I questioned White on the scene.

   “I don’t suppose we have any witnesses?”

   White glanced at me.  “No such luck, Hobson.  That was my first question, as well.  One would think that a brothel full of whores would be the worst possible place to commit a murder this…this…messy, but it would appear it’s as good a place as the run-down shack up the street.”

   “Someone had to have seen something!” I insisted, but White scoffed.

   “Well, you can join the others in questioning the girls, if you like. I’m convinced their thinking has more to do with their peckers than the case, but you’re a better sort.  Be that as it may, I’m sure you’ll hear the same story I’ve heard from the few girls I attempted to talk to:  they didn’t see anything, but they sure as hell heard something.”

   “What did they hear?” I asked, though I could imagine the answer; I wouldn’t be very quiet if I were set alight, and I wouldn’t imagine a prostitute would be much different.

   “Screaming and heavy thumping.”

   I arched an eyebrow.  “You do recall we’re in a brothel, sir?  I would imagine there’s a lot of screaming and thumping going on at all times of the day.”

   “But there’s not a lot of roaring, Hobson,” he replied.

   “Roaring?  I must admit, you have me confused, sir.”

   He sighed.  “All of the girls reported being awakened by a loud roar from one of the rooms upstairs.  They all rushed straight down to the reception room, and waited until the thumping stopped to check for the source of the noise.”

   During the conversation, I’d scarcely noticed that we had ascended a flight of stairs and walked down yet another blood-red corridor.  All of the doors were painted white, with numbers lovingly painted in red—yet again—at head-height.  While nearly all of them were wide-open, however, one was shut tight.  A single officer was standing outside.

   “This is it,” White stated ominously.

   Steeling myself, I pushed the door open.  Inside, the room was about as I’d imagined it would be:  red.  I doubted any of the girls could stand the color anymore; I know I couldn’t.  It was a pity, really, as I had a rather nice crimson tie that I would no longer be able to enjoy wearing.  Unlike the Mrs. Thomas, however, this unfortunate woman wasn’t hiding behind the bed.  Or at least, not all of her was.  Most of her was right there, on the bed, staring sightlessly into the dark sky through the eerily familiar hole in the ceiling.

   For the most part, she looked to be in much better shape than Mrs. Thomas—from the waist up, anyways.  Below her belly button, however, she was a mess of entrails, her legs and pelvis missing completely.  As I approached, I could see that her right arm was also missing, torn clean off her body along with a great deal of the skin running down her side.  Her ribs showed through, stained pink by the blood that covered the bed, invisible against the color of the sheets.  What was left of her corset clung to her body just above the gaping hole that occupied where her hips would have been, leaving her ample breasts bare save for the drops of red that spattered them.  Her face was youthful and pretty, and I had no doubts that any man who paid for her services left very happy indeed.  A slight pout had formed on her lips, as if her current condition were a mere inconvenience for her.

    I moved around to the other side of the bed to get a better look at the wound on her side and discovered her arm lying on the floor, discarded as though it were trash.  Curiously, only her forearm and hand were present; her upper arm was gone completely, the end of her elbow bone jagged and sharp where it had been broken off.  I could not tell what had made the wounds, but one thing was clear:  it was not a conventional blade.  The wounds were far too ragged.  No, it seemed more like she had been torn apart by a wild animal.  A very large wild animal, at that.  Unfortunately, the largest animal in New London was an affable Great Dane by the name of Harris, and he couldn’t have been responsible for wounds this size.

   Other than her severed arm, no more of the poor girl could be found in the room.  As best I could tell, blood was everywhere:  the only surfaces where it was visible were the glass around the kerosene lamps, which were still burning, and the large mirror above the headboard of the bed itself, which was covered in heavy, thick streaks of red.  White had been right; this was worse than Mrs. Thomas.  As I made one final sweep around the bed for anything important, however, I noticed a discoloration of the carpet near the mahogany nightstand closest to the door:  a spot of pure black amidst a sea of red.  Oil.  I was sure of it.

   Before I could investigate any further, White stepped into the room.  “I have a bit of information that may interest you, Hobson.  Are you finished with your inspection?”

   I nodded.  “I am.”

   “Let’s talk in the hall, then.”

   I followed him out of Death’s bedroom, glad to be outside.  “What have you learned, sir?”

   “According to Madame Victoria, the girl’s name was Cosette.  As I’m sure you could see, she was one of the more popular women here, and brought in a great deal of money.  In Madame Victoria’s words, she was an ‘irreplaceable asset’, and as such all of her visitors were required to sign a guest book of sorts.  While she was reluctant to share the book with us, I was able to persuade her to cooperate with our investigation.  A great deal of the names in there surprised me, but only one stood out to me as relevant to this investigation.”

   “What was it?” I pressed eagerly, forgetting myself in the moment.

   “The name listed for her last visitor, who hired her services just last night, is M. Wick.”

Next Chapter ->

[Burningplain]

An Excellent Chapter Charles.
The oil thing is interesting. this is certainly on my watch list. Can't wait for more.

[Chinaren]

Finally managed to post a reply to this!  My internet connection is not good just atm.

Anyway, great chapter Chobby!   Excellent brothel murder scene and a nice twist at the end.

Looking forward to moar.

[NicTei]

I've just managed to get around to reading this as well, and I must agree with the above:  excellent chapter to come back on.

Looking forward to more!

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

This was a nice surprise!  And an enjoyable chapter too.  I hope the next one isn't so long in coming...

[Charles Hobson]

Worry not, my good man; the next chapter is underway, and should be posted...well, eventually.

[Charles Hobson]

Off-Topic:

Ah, speak of the doctor devil.

   I was dismayed to learn that White had already dispatched two officers in a carriage to Wick’s residence to make the arrest.  Having been less than impressed with the doctor’s conduct when conducting my previous interview, I would have very much liked to return to slap the manacles on him myself.  Any man as smug as Wick deserved to be taken down a peg or two, and who better to do that than a ‘lowly detective’?  Regardless, White ordered me to return to my home and warm bed to get some rest before interviewing the doctor once more, this time while he stood behind bars.  Though I could not imagine myself sleeping after witnessing the scene in the brothel room, I obeyed without question, intending at the very least to change into a fresh suit.

   Seeing my bed with the covers thrown to the side invitingly, however, weakened my resolve to remain awake until it was time to return to my office, so I slept.  Despite what I had just witnessed, I slept well.  I wondered then, as I wonder now, if that is the sign of some deep-seated mental abnormality, if I’m no better than the men I arrest at a basic level that has so far gone undiscovered.  But I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind, as I do now, for I had more important matters to attend to than my psychological well-being.  When I awoke, I dressed in my only clean suit, carefully avoided my red tie, and left the house feeling no better rested than I had when Smith came to retrieve me.

   Once again I opted to walk to my destination, as I was greeted upon stepping out my front door by an unusually clear sky; I’d almost forgotten it was blue, as opposed to various shades of murky grey.  I soon discovered that I was not the only one who decided to enjoy the weather, as I met many of my normally reclusive neighbors on my walk.  They spared me no greeting beyond a polite nod, which I returned out of courtesy.  Even Mrs. Ferry was out for a stroll, walking a terrier that was as ancient as the old woman herself.

   I recall a feeling of great satisfaction on that day.  With our two victims connected closely to Doctor Wick, he wouldn’t be able to slip through our fingers and avoid sentencing for his heinous crimes.  I would expect he would face the hangman’s noose for the butchering of the whore and the burning of Mrs. Thomas; execution for common murderers was certain, so in the case of Wick, I had no doubt he would be hanged publicly, and without delay.  Normally, I wasn’t a fan of public execution, but I would make an exception in Wick’s case.  His brand of murder was far beyond anything I’d ever seen on the streets of New London, and I suspected I would have a very hard time sleeping well in the coming weeks.

   The moment I set foot inside the station, White took me directly to the same cell Arthur Thomas had occupied just two days before, where I found the doctor waiting for me.  Though he had been escorted to the cell no later than half-past-two in the morning, he was dressed much the same as he had been when I had visited, his shirt as pristine white as his hair and a rather irritated expression on his face.  Elsewhere, I could hear Rosa shouting at someone.

   “The boys said he answered the door like that.  It’s almost as if he knew we were coming, and simply stayed awake to wait for us,” White explained.

   “He’s also sitting less than two yards away from you on the sorriest excuse for a bench in New London,” Wick interrupted.  “Talking about him as if he’s not present is considered rude, you know.”

   “Has he been talking in third person the entire time as well?” I asked White, arching an eyebrow at the doctor.  He didn’t rise to the bait.

   “No, but his assistant followed us all the way from his home on the horse.  She’s been arguing with us the entire time; keeps nattering on about some ‘experiment’ we interrupted,” White replied, rubbing his temples.  “Now that you’re here, I get to go speak with her while I could be outside enjoying the sunshine.”

   “I tried to walk as slowly as possible, if it’s any consolation?” I offered.

   He sighed.  “Thank you for that, but it’s time I face the harpy.  Just try to make him confess before I shoot anyone.”

   With that, White parted, leaving me and Wick alone.  Protocol would have normally put a Bobby in front of the cell as insurance that our suspect wouldn’t escape, but White appeared to have been watching him personally, and trusted me to be able to keep him in the cell.  I was flattered, but also nervous.  This man had torn a woman in half, after all, and that was after he’d burned another woman to death.  All evidence showed he was dangerous, and even if he was behind bars I wasn’t sure he couldn’t hurt me.  The officers who had brought him in had searched him and found no weapons, but I wasn’t going to take my chances.  I leaned against the wall across from the cell and stared him down, arms folded across my chest.

   “You’re the one who came to my house, correct?” Wick asked casually.

   “That would be me, yes.”  I kept my reply terse.  This man deserved no courtesy.

   He stood and clapped his hands together.  “Excellent!  Then you can release me and I can be on my way.  I’ve been away from home for much too long.”

   “Why on earth would I release a murderer like you?” I asked incredulously.  He was certainly bold, I gave him that much.

   “You know I’m innocent, of course!”  He spoke as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  “I spoke to you earlier and cleared myself of suspicion in the murder of Mrs. Thomas, did I not?  I am an innocent man, and I would very much like to go home now.”

   A particularly loud bout of yelling from Rosa drifted out of the door of White’s office.  For a brief moment, I thought a sailor with a very high voice had come in angry, but my memory returned quickly.  None of the sailors I knew had a mouth like that on them, of that I could be sure.  Wick listened for a moment before shaking his head.

   “I suppose I’ll have to take the trollop with me?” he inquired.

   “Not if you’re just going to kill her like the last two women,” I retorted.

   Wick blinked.  “The last two women?  What are you on about now?”

   “The whore, Wick!  Cosette at Madame Victoria’s!  You butchered her pretty good last night, and I must say, you have to be the sickest bastard I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting,” I spat back.

   “Three things, Detective,” he sneered back.  “First of all, you will address me as either ‘Doctor Wick’ or ‘doctor’.  I use your title, so I expect you to give me the same courtesy.  Secondly, I find ‘whore’ to be an ugly word.  There are other, better terms to use when speaking of a girl in Cosette’s line of work; use them instead.  Finally, my parents were married when I was conceived, so the logic would follow that they were married when I was born.  I am no bastard, and I am insulted at being branded as such by a lowly street detective.”

   His response took me aback, but I recovered quickly.  “So you don’t deny that you butchered the whore?”  If he was mad, he’d make a mistake, much as I’d thought Arthur Thomas would.  The pompous ass deserved it, regardless.

   To my surprise, he shut his mouth and reined in his anger.  “Detective, I have already asked you to use a different word.  Do so in the future or I will no longer answer your questions.  As for—what did you say, ‘butchering’—Cosette, that would not be my verb of choice in describing what she and I did together when last we met,” he said calmly.

   “I see,” I answered dubiously.  “And what did you do when you last met?”

   The doctor scoffed.  “What does a man do with a courtesan?  I hardly imagine the higher-ups would promote you to detective if you weren’t aware what prostitutes do with their clients.”

   “So you paid for her services and then—what?  You left after paying and left it at that?” I inquired.

   “I didn’t stick around to fix her breakfast, detective.”

   “Then explain to me, Doctor Wick, how Cosette ended up torn in half in her room by two o’ clock this morning!” I challenged him.

   He merely shrugged.  “I wouldn’t know that, detective; I wasn’t there.  Did you think to ask Madame Victoria as to my whereabouts when you found my name in Cosette’s little ‘guest list’?  I’m assuming that’s how you figured out I had seen her, of course.”

   I paused.  To the best of my knowledge, White had simply asked about Cosette’s last visitor and come to me straight away with her list of clients.  It wouldn’t have been hard to believe that he’d forgotten to ask what time Wick had left if he were excited by the discovery he’d made.  He’d also never forgive himself if Wick walked away to continue killing because of a simple mistake like that.

   Before I could question him further, White entered the room.  Rosa was right on his heels, wearing a set of greasy overalls over a ragged, oil-stained blouse.  Where the Chief Detective looked tired and frustrated, she looked angrier than I had ever seen a woman.  This whole affair was becoming a case of firsts for me, and Wick’s fiery assistant was in the lead with her vocabulary and her temper.

   “As much as it pains me to say it, Hobson, we must let Doctor Wick go,” White grumbled.

   “Why?” I stammered; it was the only word I could manage.

   “His lovely assistant here,” he indicated Rosa, “has informed me that she has been working with him on some sort of steam-powered…mechanical…er…thing since long before two o’ clock this morning, and the first time he was out of her sight was when the boys went to pick him up to bring him here.”

   “Sir, with all due respect, she could just be telling us what we need to hear to let him free!” I objected.

   “You can ask those damned pompous neighbors of ours if he was in the house the whole night!  God knows how they loved to come knocking on our door complaining about the noise!” Rosa snapped.

   “Rosa, my dear, kindly shut up,” Wick interjected.  “The last thing I need is a constant police presence on my front lawn hampering my research because of the noise.”

   Rosa snorted.  “You know Johannes Ashworth and his tramp of a wife will eventually come whining to the police, anyways!”

   White cleared his throat loudly.  “If the two of you are quite finished bickering, I will release the good doctor and send you both on your way.  Hobson, fetch the cell keys.”

   Reluctantly, I did as I was told.  My instinct was telling me that keeping Wick close was a good idea.  He and his assistant were hiding something, of that I was certain.  Releasing the doctor was a step in the wrong direction, but maybe there was a way to continue watching the doctor without keeping him locked up.  My mind raced while I unlocked the cell door.

   “Doctor Wick, you are free to go, and you have my sincerest apologies for the inconvenience,” White mumbled insincerely.  “You will find a carriage waiting outside to take you back to your home.”

   “Thank you for your hospitality, Chief Detective,” the doctor answered with as much sincerity as White had shown him.  “I will always look back upon my time here with fondness.”

   With that, the doctor and his assistant began to leave.  I had no concrete plan at that moment, but I had no time.  If I had to make up something on the run, so be it.

   “Wait!” I called, halting everyone where they stood.

   “Yes, Hobson?” White inquired, genuinely curious.

   “In the interest of clearing Doctor Wick from all suspicion,” I began slowly, thinking on my feet, “I propose we send one of our officers to stay with him at his home and report back to us until another body is found.”

   “That is an unusual idea, Hobson,” White answered dubiously.

   “And if no body is discovered?  How long will you stay in my home, eating my food and sleeping in my bed—well, my guest bed—and generally living off of my fortune?” Wick retorted.  “I will not be forced to put up with a guest who is intent on turning me into some common criminal.”

   I said the first time period that came to mind.  “One month.”

   “I fail to see how this would prove anything, I’m afraid,” White answered.

   I had to think carefully now.  “Think about it, sir:  if we have Wick—I’m sorry, Doctor Wick—under careful watch and another victim is found, he can be ruled out as a suspect and we needn’t waste anymore time or energy on pursuing him as such.  If we watch him for a month and there are no further victims, we have nothing to gain, of course, but if another body appears shortly after we’ve finished our watch, we have more than enough reason to believe he is our killer.”

   “Unless, of course, you state your intentions so boldly in front of me,” Wick pointed out, but I was prepared.

   “No, doctor, I am quite safe in stating my intentions.  You see, a killer like you—or like we suspect you to be—cannot go long without killing.  If you are under surveillance for thirty-one days, and are unable to take a life, the desire will build and build until you simply must release it.  With the brutality and frequency of the last two murders you are connected to, I would predict you could last a week before killing again,” I answered.  The logic was dodgy, of course, but my father had always taught me that if I had to lie, I should lie with confidence.

   My father was a wise man; it did the trick.  White was regarding me with something akin to admiration, and even Wick had nodded.  Rosa still didn’t look very impressed, but I could handle that.  After a moment of consideration, White finally nodded.

   “Alright Hobson, if Doctor Wick will consent to you living in his house to clear his name, I will consent as well.”

   I was about to thank the Chief when I realized what he had said.  I would be living with the doctor?  No, that hadn’t been my intention at all!  When I stated my case, I had imagined we’d be sending an officer like Smith, or another man who’d had some experience, but never me!  I had a house of my own, after all, and I could not imagine living for a week in the home of Doctor Wick, let alone a month.  The afternoon I had spent there in my first interview with him had been more than enough exposure to his way of life.

   “With all due respect, sir,” I began, “I had thought we could send someone else to live with the doctor.”

   White shook his head.  “My boy, I would entrust no one else with this task.  You are the brightest detective I have, and I’m sure that if anyone can prove the doctor is up to no good, it’s you.”

   “Once again, the doctor is standing right beside you,” Doctor Wick interjected, “and I will consent to this foolish little scheme on the sole condition that Detective Hobsworth—my apologies; Hobson—is my new ‘caretaker’ for the next month.”

   White nodded.  “You have yourself a deal, Doctor!”  Then, to me:  “Hobson, inform the carriage driver that he is to take you, the doctor, and Miss Rosa to your place immediately so you can gather your things.  I expect a weekly report on the goings-on at the manor.  I will send for you if another body is found.”

   And so began my time with Doctor Mortimer Wick.

Next Chapter ->

[Chinaren]

Read the previous chapter, (good!) but too tired to do the last one, so...

 

As an aside, I'd recommend not posting chapters too fast, especially long ones like these, as it can be a bit daunting to see all that text you've not read.  Even good text, as this is!

I'll catch up asap.

[Burningplain]

Excellent. look forward to the next chapter Hobson.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

A very nice surprise to see this one return Charles!  And some good reading there too.

[Charles Hobson]

As one might be able to see, I've added links to the ends of each chapter--as well as the top post--linking to the following chapter (the first chapter, in the case of the top post).  This should make things easier for new readers, as far as finding the chapters goes.  Not that it's very difficult, mind you, as there are only two pages for six chapters, but I felt obligated to simplify things.  I'd also like to note that all of the links are 'iurl', so the chapters will open in the same page.

At any rate, the next chapter is underway, and I daresay nearing completion; I would have more written, but duty called, and I was unable to continue writing at the speed I had previously assumed.

Cheers!

[Panda-Brain]

As one might be able to see, I've added links to the ends of each chapter--as well as the top post--linking to the following chapter (the first chapter, in the case of the top post).  This should make things easier for new readers, as far as finding the chapters goes.  Not that it's very difficult, mind you, as there are only two pages for six chapters, but I felt obligated to simplify things.  I'd also like to note that all of the links are 'iurl', so the chapters will open in the same page.

No, its a good idea

[Chinaren]

 

[NicTei]

I tried to do that once in one of my story threads.  Got bored; called it quits.   But good luck with your endeavors.

[Charles Hobson]

   Having had my plan turned against me by my superior, I had no choice but to accompany Rosa and the doctor to the carriage White had called for them.  The realization that I would be living with the man I suspected of brutally killing two women sunk in further with every step I took, which did not make walking very easy at all.  I distracted myself by trying to figure out which of my two new companions would be more difficult to live with:  the doctor or his vulgar and verbose assistant.  The stormy look on Rosa’s face gave me a leaning towards the latter, though it was quickly balanced by the doctor’s insistence that she ‘shut her trap’ before he offer her to Madame Victoria as a replacement for Cosette.

   Once in the carriage they took opposite sides, which gave me the unfortunate choice of having to decide which of them I would sit beside for our journey.  They both looked at me expectantly when I hesitated before the door.  With more than a hint of resignation that I am certain both of them picked up on, I sat beside Rosa.  Wick looked down his nose at me, as though telling me I’d made the wrong choice.  His assistant said nothing.  In fact, neither of them said a word as we bumped along the streets of New London: Wick was inspecting the city with disdain through the window while Rosa fumed in her seat, fixing her glare on his head as though willing it to burst.

   When we stopped in front of my house, the doctor instructed me to be quick.  To spite him, I took my time selecting my wardrobe and deliberating over whether or not I would bring my black umbrella or my dark blue one.  By the time I had made all my decisions, fixed myself a cup of tea, and read the morning’s paper, I imagined the doctor would be foaming at the mouth.  To my dismay, he barely acknowledged my return, though I suspected the only reason he had not ordered the driver to leave me behind was because the carriage was being driven by an officer who knew me well, though I always managed to forget his name.

   Luggage in hand and an ominous feeling building in my gut, we set off once more for Wick’s manor.  I could not quite comprehend why the doctor would want an officer of the law meddling in his affairs if he were the murderer.  One obvious solution came to mind, of course, but at the time I was unwilling to believe the man was innocent in any sense of the word.  The sight of Cosette’s mutilated remains was still fresh on my mind, and I desperately wanted justice for the poor girl.  Mrs. Thomas deserved justice too, of course, but it was harder for me to identify with her when she had been burned so far beyond recognition, whereas the whore had been beautiful even in death.

   Though I do loath speeding events along, the carriage ride was uneventful, and I shall spare the details of every minute street we passed by on our journey to Wick’s home.  Suffice it to say, New London is not a very interesting city, even when the sun dares to shine down upon its cobbled streets and busy markets.  By the time we had reached the doctor’s residence, I was quite fed up with the silence.  This month would be unbearable enough without the added hostility, and as seemed to be the case more often than not, I was forced to step up and be the better man.  As the carriage pulled away from the doors, leaving me with the doctor and his assistant, I cleared my throat.

   “Doctor Wick, I’m afraid I must apologize for my behavior towards you since this investigation began.”

   He cut me off quickly.  “No, I will have none of that.  If you were truly sorry, you would have apologized by now.  You seek only to make your stay in my home more pleasant by winning my good graces, which I grant you freely.  Simply abide by my rules and stay out of my way, and the next month will seem less like work and more like a vacation.”

   With what I had planned on saying thoroughly lost to me, I could only nod my head in agreement.  Apparently satisfied, the doctor turned on his heel and ascended the stairs to his front door, disappearing inside in the blink of an eye.  Gathering my thoughts, I noticed that Rosa had not yet left me, and was giving me an appraising look.  When I caught her eye, she merely shrugged.

   “You might last a month after all,” she remarked before following the doctor into the manor.

   I was not reassured in the least by her words.


   As neither of my gracious hosts had deigned to take my bags or show me to a guest room of any sort, I was forced to leave my luggage in the main entry chamber and seek out the doctor or Rosa on my own.  This was no easy task in a house the size of Wick’s manor.  Curiously, I did not meet any servants in the halls, nor any cooks when I stumbled onto the kitchen.  Furthermore, some of the rooms I entered and corridors I traversed were blanketed with a fine layer of dust.  Parts of the house had not been lived in for a very long time.  Had I not known any better—and I didn’t, at the time—I would have to guess that Wick and Rosa were the only two inhabitants of the very large house.

   Of course, I could not fault him for this eccentricity; his home life was not much stranger than my own, me being unmarried and living alone despite my age and stature.  Not that there had been no proposals or attempted arrangements, mind you, but I simply have never had the time to start or support a family.  I would always have time for that later, when I was older and more experienced.  Perhaps when White stepped down and made me Chief Detective, I could start the search for a potential wife?  He couldn’t linger more than another five years, ten at the most, and by then I would be either thirty-two or thirty-eight, respectively; the perfect time to search for someone to spend my remaining years with.

   My thoughts were interrupted by the timely appearance of Rosa, emerging from one of the rooms in a particularly dusty corridor.  She merely rolled her eyes when she noticed me and motioned for me to follow her.  I had no time to protest, or point out that my luggage was still in the entry hall; she simply turned on her heel and began walking down the corridor under the assumption that I was following her.  With a sigh that blew a large cloud of dust off of a nearby small cupboard, I set off after her.

   Upon first meeting the doctor’s assistant, my assumption had been that she traveled from a different home—likely in a cheaper section of the city—to the doctor’s manor for whatever work he needed assistance with.  However, as I followed her through the corridors of the large house, I gained the impression that she lived within these walls as well.  She certainly knew her way around well enough.  We’d traversed three halls at most before she stopped in front of a door and, withdrawing a small ring of keys from the pockets of her loose-fitting work pants, unlocked the door and ushered me in.

   The room I would be living in for the next month—hopefully less—wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a touch…spartan.  While it didn’t appear to have been used recently it had been cleaned; the sunlight streaming in through the window illuminated the dust-free surface of the desk stationed in the corner opposite the large, bare bed.  No paintings or pictures adorned the walls, but the garish maroon-and-yellow flowery wallpaper more than made up for the lack of ornamentation.  Just beside the door leading into the hallway was another door that I could see opened into the bathroom, with a large porcelain washtub beside the toilet.  It was one of the more popular models with clawed feet as supports, and judging by the shallow grooves cut into the surface of the floor around the paws, the tub had been moved quite a bit.

   “I’ll fetch some bedclothes after supper, and bring your bags up shortly.  At the moment, Doctor Wick would like to see you in the sitting room.  I trust you know how to get there?” she asked.

   I shook my head and she rolled her eyes again.  There was no denying she was pretty, but her attitude was beginning to grate on my nerves.  One corridor and a short flight of stairs later, we were in the sitting room.  I had made careful note of the path, and as I remembered my way from the entry hall to the sitting room from my previous visit, I was confident I could make it from the main door to my temporary quarters without assistance.  Rosa left me in front of the door, no doubt disappearing to do another menial task for the unappreciative doctor.

   To my surprise, Wick was already waiting for me; I’d expected to be forced back into the boring arms of The Basics of Alchemy.  He did not look up as I entered, but continued studying the portrait of Francis Pavarel above the mantle.  I made myself comfortable in the chair opposite the doctor and waited for him to notice me.

   “While you are here,” he began without taking his eyes off the portrait, “I expect you will not interfere with my work.  I am a busy man, Detective Harrison—”

   “Hobson.”

   “—Hobson, as are you, I’m sure.  This arrangement will likely be inconvenient for the both of us, but it needn’t be unbearable, so long as you follow my rules.”

   “Your rules?”  I did not like where this conversation was going at all.

   “Yes.  First of all, the third floor is off-limits.  That is my personal space, and I do not want it disturbed.  Secondly, the North Wing contains my laboratory, which is also off-limits unless you are in the company of Rosa or myself.  Thirdly, Rosa will not be making meals on your schedule; you will eat with us, or you will fend for yourself in the kitchen.  Lastly, and most importantly, I would request that if you must observe my work, you leave my processes, machines, and what-have-you out of your reports to your Chief Detective.  My business is not one without rivals, and were anyone competent to see what I have been working on, I could be cheated out of a great deal of money.  Am I clear?”

   I nodded.  The first two rules were the most incriminating, but also understandable.  While the doctor could be committing vile crimes in his ‘personal space’, he would have to leave the house to dispose of the bodies if anyone was killed.  As for the lab, I remembered all too well the stinging sensation of smoke in my eyes during my first visit, and as such I was not eager to enter that particular section of the house.  Being a single man living by himself, I could fend for myself quite well in the kitchen, which took care of his third rule.  His fourth rule was also agreeable; my report wouldn’t need to include his ‘business’, whatever that may be; I wasn’t exactly sure what he did for a living, but from the portraits of great inventors on the walls in the sitting room, I could guess he fancied himself one of them.  So long as he didn’t kill anyone, my reports back to White would be rather bland.

   I stood.  “Those terms seem to be agreeable enough.”

   “Good.  Supper will be promptly at seven o’ clock.  If you care to join us, I shall see you then.  If not, I bid you goodnight, detective.”

   So saying, the doctor left the sitting room.  After taking a moment to look around, as well as skim across a couple pages of The Basics of Alchemy, I departed as well, checking the entry room to see that my bags had already been taken to my quarters.  With a mental note to thank Rosa, I retired to my room for the rest of the afternoon, drawing up a schedule for a thorough, room-by-room examination of the house.  Once completed, I looked it over for a moment before penciling in ‘third floor’.  It went against my better judgment, but I couldn’t overlook a single room.  If Doctor Wick was hiding something, I would find it.  I would bring him to justice for his crimes.

Next Chapter ->

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Still enjoying a lot Charles, and renomominated you for the featured story as well

[Chinaren]

A very good chapter there Chobby, well written and with feeling. 

[Charles Hobson]

Still enjoying a lot Charles, and renomominated you for the featured story as well

Er...yes, about that.

My work schedule is rather erratic, you see, and varied to boot.  I can have a few easy weeks--which caused an increase in production that brought about the last few chapters posted here--followed by a long, grueling, arduous period happy happy funtime where any free time I can manage to steal is spent napping comfortably in my chair.

I do apologize for throwing a wrench in your Featured Story competition.  I did see that I was nominated, and I thank you for the nomination, but I had very little time to do much more than sneak a quick peek at the forum before I was 'gently nudged' towards more productive pursuits.

The good news is that I may have some down time for a little while now--unless some halfwit decides I look far too well-rested for my own good--so progress on this should resume.  I was a good few pages into the next chapter, and I'll do my best to pick up where I left off so many moons ago.

Thank you for sticking with it so far!

[SkinTight]

Just read it.
Nice.

[Chinaren]

Well, just as long as you don't abandon it Chobby. 

[Charles Hobson]

   I spent most of the afternoon and early evening sitting at the desk in my room, alternatively poring over the notes I’d taken from each crime scene and writing in my journal.  It was a quiet day, and that was exactly what I needed.  No doubt there would be few enough in the month to come.  Everything went into the journal, from theories concerning how the doctor burned Mrs. Thomas alive to speculation as to what I’d be eating for supper.  The journal existed as an extension of my mind, and since the day I’d started keeping one, I’d become compulsive about writing in one regularly.  In my nightstand at home, I had no less than seven leather-bound volumes that had once been blank, now full to the smallest margin with theories regarding past cases and my thoughts about the future. 

   Other officers found my habit odd, but it helped me clear my mind remarkably well; if I put my thoughts down on the page, they weren’t buzzing around my head, clouding my senses and dulling my perception.  In my line of work, perception is key, whether the case is a theft or a series of brutal murders.  For this reason, the word ‘oil’ had been written down on the pages detailing both crime scenes, underlined three times.  I was sure it had something to do with the killer, but I couldn’t be sure how it was connected quite yet.  Regardless of how it was connected, I could be reasonably certain Doctor Wick had oil lying around his mansion somewhere. 

   Unfortunately, even if the doctor was in possession of oil, we couldn’t prove it came from his home; it wasn’t uncommon in the slums, often coming home with the factory workers.  Arthur Thomas was one such laborer, though in my notes I had this possible connection between him and the oil crossed out, as he’d lost his job in the factory several months before his late wife lost her job at the doctor’s mansion.  I’d been meaning to interview his former boss on the off-chance he’d gone back to work in the days leading up to the murder, but the appearance of another body had cut those plans short.

   On that matter, the oil was out of place in Madame Victoria’s House for Girls, as well.  Cosette only serviced clients of a certain stature, as White had pointed out.  No common factory worker would be tracking oil into her bed, no matter how long he saved his wages.  Furthermore, Madame Victoria had a reputation amongst the laborers in the slums for keeping a relatively clean brothel, expecting the men—and occasional women—who visited to be wearing a clean set of clothes so as to avoid making too much of a mess.  Beyond the usual, of course.

   Another problem was one of the more unique aspects of either case:  the hole in the ceiling at the scene.  Both crimes had been committed on the second floor of each building, neither of which had an attic.  Both holes lead nowhere but to the open sky.  While in the case of Mrs. Thomas, it was possible someone had gone in through the front door and killed her before tearing open the roof, Madame Victoria kept a very careful watch on the door at all times, and no one was allowed to see Cosette without her strict approval.  The windows were all barred, as well, to prevent the slum’s rowdier populace from causing trouble.  The only explanation I could come up with was that the killer had entered Cosette’s room through the hole in the ceiling.  Logically, I had to assume the same applied to the case of Mrs. Thomas.

   This assumption could be easily undermined, however, by the variations of the crime scenes outside the gaping hole and presence of oil.  While Mrs. Thomas had been immolated, her house ransacked, and the walls seemingly marked by the claws of a ferocious beast, Cosette had been torn apart, and her room was untouched. It was entirely possible that I was looking for two separate, collaborating killers.  More, if another body with yet another different cause of death was discovered.

   Wick was the only connection I could find between the two victims in my brief search, and I suspected any officer White may have ordered to search for any sort of connection between the two would come up with the same results.  Granted, there could be another connection between the two dead women; record keeping was relatively lax even in the upper-class district, due to the high regard for privacy held by the rich and noble-born men and women.  As for record-keeping in the slums, it was anyone’s guess.  The poor district of New London was where people went to disappear or conduct business otherwise deemed unspeakable in the more ‘civilized’ areas of the city, so it stood to reason that any meeting between Cosette and Mrs. Thomas would either have gone unnoticed, or would be reported as such regardless.

   With a sigh, I set down my journal and my notebook.  I was beginning to grow hungry, and I was well aware that I’d only give myself a headache trying to solve this case with so little information on an empty stomach.  Fortunately, a glance at the clock told me supper would be in ten minutes according to the schedule the doctor had given me during our earlier conversation. That would be plenty of time to locate the dining room, or so I could hope.  If I had trouble locating a single room in less than ten minutes, I would no doubt have to redo my entire room-search schedule to allow for the time taken to traverse the corridors of the house.  I found myself thinking that if I’d been smart, I would have at least walked the main halls once before retiring to my room in order to determine where my quarters were positioned in relation to the rooms in Wick’s manor I would no doubt be visiting often, the dining room and kitchen being the only two I could think of off the top of my head.

   As I stepped out into the corridor, a thunderous commotion directly above me head sent me a few steps backwards into the safety of my room.  It sounded as though someone were throwing heavy furniture about.  That it was coming from the third floor—off-limits to me, as you may recall—did not alleviate my worry.  Nor did it dissuade my curiosity, for that matter.  The noise had been violent, albeit brief.  I jotted a note on my pad to remind myself to consider moving the inspection of the third floor up, lest any evidence of misdoing be covered by the time I was able to gain access to the forbidden floor.

   Unfortunately, the walk from my quarters to the dining room was unremarkable and anticlimactic, though I did receive a scare when Rosa suddenly opened the door to her room in front of me.  I avoided what would have been a very painful collision, but came away without an inkling as to why she would throw her door open so forcefully.  She didn’t even cast a glance back at me as she darted down the passageway towards the stairs.  It didn’t occur to me until I was opening the door to the dining room that she was grossly out of place unless Doctor Wick was cooking the meal, a concept I found both intriguing and horrifying all at once.

   My question was answered as I entered to find Doctor Wick sitting austerely at the head of a table that was much too large for the three of us, eyes fixed on the silver pocket watch in his hand.  As I approached the table he closed the timepiece and returned it to his pocket, not casting another glance at me.  I began to sat in the chair nearest to him on the right side of the table, but he shook his head and waved me to the left.  Unwilling to be ordered around like a child, I stayed my course and planted my posterior firmly on the soft cushion of the seat at his right.  He merely shrugged and looked to the doors that lead to what I presumed was the kitchen.

   Rosa emerged not a second later pushing a tray that held three plates full of food.  She paused when she saw where I was sitting, then simply shook her head and continued towards the table with the food.  Though she dropped my plate unceremoniously in front of me, she was much more gracious with the other two plates.  When she at last sat down herself, she glared at me until I broke eye contact, suddenly finding the gravy and potatoes on my plate a marvelous sight to behold.

   “You’re sitting in her spot,” Doctor Wick explained before taking a bite.

   Rosa cut me off as I opened my mouth.  “No, you’re fine.  Just eat.”

   For twenty painstaking minutes, we ate in silence.  I could almost feel the frustration coming off of Rosa, and I was sure I had done nothing to help her disposition.  In stark contrast, Doctor Wick seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.  I was getting the distinct feeling that he was the kind of man who would have enjoyed a good gladiatorial fight to the death, had he been born in a different time and place.  He certainly seemed to be fitting the profile of a killer at the moment, with the way he was thriving on the tension.

   Finally, I could stand the silence no more.  “I heard something upstairs,” I ventured, not knowing exactly where this train of thought was headed but simply glad to break the silence.

   Doctor Wick raised an eyebrow.  “And what, pray tell, did you hear?”

   “A loud crash, as if something heavy had been dropped,” I replied.

   The doctor waved his hand dismissively.  “I was rearranging the furniture in my study.  No need to worry about bumps in the night, detective.  You will find that Rosa is the scariest thing here.”

   I glanced at her, but she said nothing.  I returned to the doctor.  “Moving furniture, you say?  This wasn’t but ten minutes before supper, and I daresay you were already sitting very comfortably in your seat by the time I arrived,” I prodded.

   Wick wasn’t hearing any of it.  “You will also find, detective, that I am able to make myself comfortable on short notice.  I can do much the same thing for others, though in reverse.  Do you understand?”

   I nodded.  “You’ve already mentioned more than once that you could make my stay very miserable, and I believed you.  I am simply trying to chase any leads that might get me out of your hair sooner.”

   “Chase what you wish, but my rules still stand,” Wick answered firmly.  “If you are led to the stairs beyond the second floor, you are on the wrong track, and your time would be better spent poring over your case notes.  There is nothing up there of any interest to you, I assure you.”

   Rosa snorted, and he glared at her.  “You may want to try a little louder if you’re trying to attract every swine in the city, though I’d be willing to wager half of them have already been in your bed.”

   Wick’s assistant turned an impressive shade of scarlet before standing up and storming off to the kitchen with her plate.  The doctor regained his composure and returned to his own meal, the very embodiment of calmness.  His utter lack of remorse for his harsh statement merely supported my certainty that I was looking at Mrs. Thomas’ and Cosette’s murderer.  Oblivious—or indifferent—to my eyes burning a hole in the side of his head, he set down his fork when his plate was clean and wiped his mouth on his napkin.

   “You may look for skeletons in my closet, detective, but I can assure you I have none hidden away.  You are wasting your time and mine by being here, and the sooner you realize that, the better for all of us,” he said plainly.

   “You say that, but you forbid me from searching an entire floor of this house,” I countered.  “God only knows what you could be hiding up there!”

   “Do stop being overdramatic, Detective Hobson.  It doesn’t suit you very well,” he remarked as he sipped at his wine.  “But, I understand your base need for finding the ‘truth’ in this matter, however misguided you are.  Tomorrow, Rosa and I shall be out of the house for the better part of the afternoon, so you have free reign of the house.  If you think you can enter the third floor, be my guest.  I will not be held responsible for what becomes of you.”

   I didn’t like the sound of that one bit.  “You’re bluffing.”

   Wick set down his wine glass and stared right into my eyes.  “Detective, in a room down the hall I store a very large number of chemicals.  Some, when mixed together perfectly, are harmless.  If the proportions are off, however, they can be incredibly explosive.  Others will give off a deadly gas when exposed to the chemicals adjacent to them.  This is just one of several storage rooms in this house.”  He paused to take another sip of wine.  “I have seen first-hand the effects of both the explosions and the gasses, and I will tell you right now that whatever you saw in Madame Victoria’s brothel or the Thomas household is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to gruesome death.  This house is a very dangerous place for anyone who doesn’t know exactly what is in any given room at any given time, and believe me when I tell you that I forbid you from entering my personal space for your own benefit more than my own.”

   There was nothing in his demeanor to tell me he was lying.  Understandably, this frightened me, so I merely nodded and excused myself.  On my way back to my quarters, I very nearly crumpled up my schedule for the search of the premises.  Keeping dangerously reactive chemicals close together in a storage room made very little sense to me, but I was sure Wick believed it was perfectly logical.  Only one thing was abundantly clear to me:  I was dealing with a madman.

   It was only after I had returned to my room for the evening that I realized the doctor was simply trying to weasel his way out from under my watchful eye by taking off with his assistant for the following day, but I was too tired to care.  After all, it would give me an excuse to search the premises and ask the doctor’s neighbors about his activities and behavior.  I had little to no hope that I would receive any sort of pertinent information, nosy as the rich tended to be about their neighbors.  No, I had a feeling I would get the best information from Rosa herself, if she could be persuaded to talk.  Considering how Wick treated her, I doubted I would need to be very persuasive at all.  With a clear idea of my schedule for the following day, I crawled under the plush comforter on Wick’s guest bed and was soon asleep.

Next Chapter ->

Off-Topic:

Fun Fact:  The last paragraph of this chapter was actually the first paragraph of the next, but I decided it would be best simply to start the next chapter off with the next day, rather than a single paragraph closing off the evening.