Scarlet Homicide Sauntered On The Walls
by Kerem Simsek
As Valentines walked away from the poor goner, a cab pulled up outside the market, and a man in a fury with strawberry blonde hair which was tousled landed on the crunchy ground.
He had sagging cheeks and he glanced grimly at the market in front of him, and the lot of protesters standing sheepishly behind Valentines.
“Ah, hello Tommy” Valentines greeted, his voice stiff.
“What happened here?”
“A gang attacked.”
“I didn't need to hear.” He said, winking. “I could hear the damm whistling of the bullet all the way from the department." Then, as though a telegram switching on, with a grave expression, he asked, “Any casualties?”
“Almost all gangsters killed, I expect two escaped, and the leader is unconscious.”
“Well, Valentines, you're gonna have to talk this up with the department, we don’t let tiffs like this go non-licked.”
The elderly man jutted up an eyebrow. He wasn't amused.
“Well then,” a cringe stretched around Tommy’s lips.
“You oughta come.”
Valentines nodded, and got onto the cab.
“I’ll be at the motel, Eugene, you can go to my room, enjoy yourself to the champagnes.”
After the driver whipped the horses and neighing in protest, they trotted away, Eugene pursed his lips, and cast a long glance at Watson, before turning his head around with a deep murky feeling of remorse, and trudged up to the motel.
Eugene had waited for Valentines in his very own room, and surveyed the wary elder over his magazine as he entered the room.
Valentines with a quick “hello” sat down on his comfy chair, and got out an Adams Revolver which he had stolen from one of the hoodlums.
His watery eyes were somewhat deep in the sticky fudge of thoughts, as he examined the revolver.
He took out the ammunition, and looked at them too, and settled both the firearm and its bullets on the sofa, and babbled to himself uneasily.
“Well, it seems the gang leader is a crooked man.”
When Eugene glanced blankly at him he said, “See the sparkle and shine of the silver of this gun. It’s either polished, or new. But probably new, I have only mere suspicions you would polish something as fancily devilish as this.”
“Why so?”
“Grey matter, once again. I looked at him. And saw how quick the boss was to thinking I might be connected with Watson.” When he mentioned the name, his voice broke, but he continued on in a tumbling squeezed tone. “He thought I could be one of the protesters. Also, the state of his clothes. It was gray, slightly wrinkled, worn out, but apparently it seemed to whisk along with his sideburns, which is a stylish look licked on their heads by yobs, and bad chaps.”
“And the gun?” Eugene pressed.
“Well, I saw how smug and maniacally calm he was, holding the Adams Revolver, so he thought he was safe, and had big hands of power in the situation. He was also arrogant, and looked cocky once we saw his look after he shot Watson.” This time Valentines voice twisted around wistfully. “He had a look of cold satisfaction, which tells us he probably was waiting for some time to put the lick on Watson. Probably since he strolled with his group of hoodlums. Which means he often staggers on a stirring thought and sticks to it, meaning he might be distracted, or sometimes hard to get to his attention, as he could be focused on inner thoughts.”
Eugene stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m impressed.”
Valentines stroke his chin for some while, when the door gave a knock.
“Yes?”
A maid popped her head in, her eyes were bored with worry.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you sirs! But, I think something horrible has happened!"
The two exchanged glances, so Eugene getting up after Valentines did, they went out of the room, following the maid hurry down the halls and stopped at a specific door.
“What's happened?”
Valentine's eyebrows perked up in fizzling excitement. “Or maybe you would want to ask, what happened inside?”
The maid bit her bottom lip.
“A butler has taken reservations here, and for two days hasn't been answering, he said for me not to disturb, but he’s not taking any of the food, or drinks!”
Eugene rapped his knuckles on the door. “Hello? Sir, anyone there?”
Nothing.
“Well, I think I know what to do.”
He backed away, and then charged at the door, nothing, a second time, also nothing, and once more, and the door swung open grudgingly.
They peered around and then saw someone in the room.
Iced off to the cold reality of death.
It was a man eagle spread on the ground, blood trickled down his suit, and dabbed the floor, and a thin curtain of scarlet splotched one side of the walls.
The man's mouth was askew, and a vacant expression on his face, as his glazed eyes looked dully at the ceiling.
Eugene gaped at the sight, and Valentines with a sigh, swept into the room, and kneeled over the man, his face seeming to be scrunched into a lour.
“This is horrible” Eugene said with a grimace.
The maid gave a gasp, and covered her mouth with her fingers.
Valentines took out an old fashioned magnifying glass and examined the victim.
He took out a measure, and measured his wound, the body, and said, “The wound is 12 inches long, and belongs to a big fat knife. And theres a speck of blood close to his neck color. It’s…if I’m not wrong.” He licked it with an extended tongue. “It’s sauce.”
“Sauce?” Eugene asked in surprise.
“Quite frankly. And about…uh….4 feet and 2 inches away, is a splatter of more tomato sauce.
“Why isn't there regular blood?”
Valentines flashed a wry smile. “That’s just the mystery with murderers, they make things mysterious, and murder into your shock.” He looked like he wanted to give a barmy snicker, but then, pursing his lips, he trudged forward, gesturing to the splatter of tomato sauce on the ground.
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as though he was scowling at the imaginary foe of death itself, and scolding it for not giving a big enough challenge to surprise him good enough, for a good hand rubbing like a child who had discreetly found a slice of pie that was gonna be served for his grandfather, but he ate anyway.
“There's a flaw here.” He murmured. “It almost looks as though another person was lying dead here and was dragged out. See 5. 2 inches away? I think that’s the tomato sauce that belongs to the bogus victim.”
“Bogus?”
“Yes, I think that when our butler came in, there was a victim draped in tomato sauce, and he neared by, and the victim got up and put up a fight, and killed the butler.”
Valentines eyebrows crumpled. “But it doesn't add up. I drew a circle around the perhaps hoodwinking victim, and if he somehow thrashingly got up and pushed the other, he would surely have stumbled, but the distance is very short between both victims.”
They stayed quiet for a while.
“Do you think those gangsters would have anything to do with this?”
“I thought about it, but a gang who walked around with flashy sideburns. I mean, they must've taken that risk other than showing off people how snobbish cats they are.” Valentines mused himself by fussing with the hem of his smoking jacket.
Eugene's lips twitched, but winced at the thought of laughing while a dead man lay close to them.
It felt…wrong.
“Well, our butler maybe was thrown to the side of the wall, and the murderer stabbed him, then he slid down the wall, to the ground. And since the gash is only a couple inches long, blood did not appear behind his back and grim the walls. Then he was dragged to the ground, and so here he is.”
“Does he have anything in his garments?” Eugene inquired.
“Just a small letter talking hatingly to his victim. Though the letters are faint and it’s pretty much a spit of words, and it’s not signed, not much of a surprise.” He handed the letter, pulling it out of his collar, and Eugene opened the already opened letter, and read it silently–
“Yes, but I didn't find anything critical.” Valentines straightened his suit, and gestured for Eugene to follow him.
“Come on Eugene, let's go.” They left the room and were heading for their own rooms when another maid hurried towards them.
“Mr. Valentines?”
“Yes?”
“Some juveniles want to talk to you.”
“Ahh, they must have some news. Thank you, my lady.” Valentines strode down the halls, the direction changing and they went through the entrance door of the motel, and outside where some young minors stood there, shifting their weight from foot to foot, some of them bouncing on the balls of their feet.
“Well you lot? What’s the report?”
“We was inspecting some ledge close to the skirt of town, and found an old lady dead.”
“Again!” Eugene ejacaluated, turning pale, as though he was gonna faint.
“Yes, she was darn killed, looked pale, might have been strangled or poisoned.” Said another chap in a thick Scottish accent.
“Well, then.” Valentines said, seeming to fumble inside his garments for some coins, he flipped them out to them, who took it with ragged jubilation, like a boar sloshing around in mud.
“Where is the poor lady?”
The boys giving playful sneers swaggered away, going on a prattle about what they were gonna buy for food, and talking the choice of cigars and alcohol, motioning for the two men to follow them.
Valentines getting a cab, rattled down the road, as the teens kipped forward.
Soon the teens and the cab entered grassy fields, which were drooping down sadly or had withered.
Finally with only a couple houses a distance away, they came to a ledge.
“Here she is!” Cried out one of the boys in the front.
There was an old woman on the ground, she wasn't breathing, she looked pale, and a cringe seemed to have tugged at her mouth.
Valentines jumped off the cab, thanking the driver, and went to inspect the woman.
“Judging from her face, which is pasty, she must've suffered a horrible death. Hmmm.” He opened her mouth, and sniffed it. “It smells like a mingle of honey, and mint. Her hat is about 2 inches away from her head, and since the indications of hollowed sludge here, she must have slid down the ledge and fall to the ground, her hat falling a 2 inches away.” He examined her more, measured her from different angles, frowning as interest sparked up inside him.
He sliced the woman's arm delicately, and took a sample of blood, and then stared at her teeth. “It seems as though she’s recently cleaned her teeth, but—” He frowned. “If she was poisoned, I would've got a smell.” He stroke his chin, rubbing his temples.
“What is it Valentines?” Eugene asked quietly.
“Merely remaking a theory.” He murmured, and strolled around.
Eugene had a distant feeling he was either pacing about, thinking of how the murder happened, or looking for the shudder in the air.
He didn't find any, he supposed, because he didn't shudder, and then searched her pockets and found nothing but a small chained pocket watch, a handkerchief.
“Hey, Mr. Valentines, there's a cane here.” Chirped one of the boys, pointing to a small cudgel.
“The woman is careful.” Valentines remarked, walking over to see it.
“How do you know?” Eugene asked.
“Well, you see the cane here, it might indicate that she does cane fencing which shows that she’s precautious, wanting to have some defense if attacked, but unfortunately, she got conked to death, poor old lady,” he shook his head, sighing.
“What if she did cane fencing before and hadn't learned recently?”
“A good reasoning, but you must see the tussle weaving on the muddy grounds. She was first cornered, and swung for the the enemy here.” He pointed to a faint footprint on the muddy ground.
“The footprint moves back, and she grabs a rock and throws it at the other one on the other side, and man dodged it, but she clocks him somehow because he staggers backwards, and the footprint is deep, so he must have put much weight on it as he was struck.”
“Then the other man lunged, taking her by the neck and she must have thrashed and struggled, see the scuffle here at the area?” he motioned to the place close to where the woman lay.
“She might've clonked him but then he strangled her, or beats her up, and he slides down the ledge to the ground.”
“Excellent sir! Excellent!” Peeped a kid, showing big lit grins on their mouths.
“Quite the shamus you are.” Noted one other one, nodding his head.
Valentines smiled. “You rascals! I can see that you are trying to butter me up, even detective work is not needed to find that out!”
The juveniles were very pleased when Valentines took them to the town's popular dinky pub, and got a round of eggnog for the chaps.
While they quaffed it down, licking their lips, and pulling out tipsy jokes, as the barman polished the glasses, with a gruff depression, giving epic eye rolls sometimes.
Valentines and Eugene were in one corner, and Valentines thrilled him with the frustrating story of the mystery when Eugene asked about when Valentines mentioned a pattern.
“A string of murders had happened, and there was pattern the detectives would follow, a murder would happen in a country, and then in another place and the detective would go there. I had retired, but I took interest in the case, and went down my own path. I investigated, and I came to the motel we both stay at and where a murder happened, remember? Then someone died, that man. The one I showed you.”
Valentines got up, and slinked towards a German assistant behind the counter.
He got out a letter asked something at him, and handed him a letter. He held the letter in his hands and after a while he handed it back, murmuring something, before Valentines nodded, and walked by to the corner of the room where Eugene watched him intently.
“Come on you lot!” Cried out Valentines at the teens, who cocked around their heads.
“We’ve got to go, we're in the wrong place.” Eugene slid out of his chair and bustled after him, and the teens, grumbling, forced themself to move their feet out of the warm pub and into the moist outside.
Valentines flipped a coin at a cab, and got onto it, some of the teens getting inside, some just walking close to skirts of the cab, laughing and drinking their eggnogs.
After some while of chatting quietly, and making comments on the murder,
Eugene’s his face locked into a graveness, his jaw dropping.
“Oh no, Look at that!” His voice trembled barley trembled above a whisper, his face turning ghostly pale.
He gestured outside, and Valentines looked out, and saw a long trail of blood like a cloak of crimson wrapping around a body of corn, assuring the food that it would be whipped out by the beaks of the crows which would fly above in the air.
“Come now Eugene, we might be onto something!” Valentines murmured with bated breath.
“Follow that blood trail.” He said to the cabby.
The cabby nodded and whipped his reins on the horses, and they trotted to a faster pace.
There had been a cabin in sight when Eugene spotted the blood, and, shortly getting off the cab, thanking the driver, they bustled by the trail of blood, and every step his feet took, Eugene felt his heart pump harder then ever, feeling tense, his breath ragged, shivers going down his spine as he saw the blood.
They finally came to the cabin, and things seemed to slur slow, wether it was Eugene's eyes, and he seemed to remember Valentines lecture about illusions.
Things seemed gray, and dull, the air damp as their nostrils sucked it in hardly.
A whisper of death crawled around the place like a woebegone house spider scuttling down the dirty ground sadly.
Eugene bit his lips, chewing on it so hard and drawing blood.
The dark path of blood suddenly stopped around and went off to another direction but Valentines clambered up the porch stairs, examining the place slowly, using his magnifying glasses and looking for clues.
He glanced at Eugene, as his hand hastened around the doorknob, as though to ask if he was ready, and Eugene, swallowing, giving a forced nod, Valentines turned around the doorknob, an eerie emancipation seemed to tingle on their nerves, as the demand of the situation became so much more fascinating.
He opened the door a few inches, and a shadow curled out like a desperate bogey man wanting to terrify children.
The hairs on the back of Eugene's neck stood on edge, and already his senses screamed for him to run away, but hesitant he stood his ground, his feet practically wanting to sprint down the fields, get the cab and go downtown to some pub and drink down the feelings as though it never happened.
Valentines opened the door more, shadows hitting their eyes, and Valentines going inside, Eugene bravely following him into the gelid room.
Valentines got out a small lamp and lit the inside, and a fire whispered and even it groveled back at the darkness enveloped around it.
Eugene stayed close by the door, uneasiness tugging at him, as Valentines walked around the room, examining things with his magnifying glass, and sniffing it.
There were splotches of blood splattered on the bottom of the stairs, and dots of them close to the stairs.
Valentines trudged up the stairs and Eugene wanted to kick him for doing that, and hissed, “What are you doin?”
“Examining, my dear Eugene.”
Eugene swaying on the balls of his feet, biting his bottom lip, stumbling on what decision to make, and said, “If you want to find me, I’ll be outside.”
Valentines snickered. “In thought outlaws broke the law, and did bad things, is this too much for you?” He simpered in a mock baby tone.
Eugene muttering under his breath hurried behind him as he walked further into the house.
He waited for a while as the elderly detective examined the places, and he grew more tense with every agonizing second, as though Valentines was on purposely wanting him to drip painfully with fear.
He let blood trickle down his lip even more, and was biting his nails so much that he didn't bother smearing the blood away.
He opened a drawer, and inside was the photo of a couple, a strong man with a kind looking woman.
His fingers perched onto a painting, and trailed a finger down one of the stair boards, and stroked his chin. “Look, the wood floor is dotted with blood, furniture is tumbled about, almost as though some struggle took place.”
They climbed upstairs, where there were two chairs placed near a writing desk, and a bed facing it opposite.
“Look Eugene.” Valentines said, and placed his fingers around a half drunk glass of champagne. “This could tell us something.”
“That the drinker left in haste, and began the struggle with the goons?”
“Maybe, a good theory. This is nice exquisite evidence.”
“Also, the writing desk is open, and isn't closed.”
“Another thing that implied that the man left in a hurry, or forgot.”
Suddenly voices came, and two boys clambered up.
“What are you doing here?” Eugene asked.
“We was wanting to take a look at what you lot found. The others were scared, and did not come.”
“I see.”
They came to the table, and one of them said, “Found anything interesting?”
“Yes, a half drunk glass of champagne, as you see here, and the writing desk is open. Me and Eugene agree on the fact that the person left in haste.”
Valentines shuffled through some strewn papers on the desk and found a book.
“Ahhhh, Achilles, the best warrior in the Greek army. Let's see here.” He opened the book at a random place, and flipped through some more, and closed it, placing it back on the desk.
“Do you have any theory about that?”
“I’m thinking, old boy. Hmmmm.” He turned around and walked over to an old rusty stove, and swung its panel open.
He got the tong and picked up pieces of dry soot-covered paper, along with dust and ash.
“Interesting.” He murmured, and shuffled through the sooted ash, and chunks of paper, and soon closed it, and started searching the place like a border collie, and his fingers nestled under the bed, and he pulled at it.
Under the bed was a pile of letters.
“Ah, we’re getting somewhere.” He picked up the letters, and opened one of them, and started reading, his lips moving soundlessly.
“Well Valentines, what does it say?”
He held up a finger. “I shall tell soon.” Once he had read all the letters, he put them into his inside big coat pocket and walked over to a painting, his hands brushing it occasionally, and he opened the drawer of the writing desk where there was an opened letter.
He read the inside, and put that too in his coat pocket.
He picked up a letter opener and examined it.
“Hmmm, judging by the red stain here, he tore the knife through the red print, and left it there, and didn't clean it. Yes, Eugene, this suggest that the person was in a great hurry.”
“You don’t say.” One of the young teens said.
Suddenly a curl lit the corners of Valentines lips, and it straightened into a dewy warm smile.
“Ahhh, the jigsaw puzzle has started to fit, hasn't it.” He slowly stretched his arm over and picked up a pair of round rimmed glasses, and stared at it for some time.
“Yes, come Eugene. There is nothing more for us here. Follow me.” He hurriedly walked out of the door with the teens and Eugene on his tail.
They walked out of the door, came to the cab where the other teens were leaning against.
“Cabbie, to the town! I need to send a telegram.”
He had sagging cheeks and he glanced grimly at the market in front of him, and the lot of protesters standing sheepishly behind Valentines.
“Ah, hello Tommy” Valentines greeted, his voice stiff.
“What happened here?”
“A gang attacked.”
“I didn't need to hear.” He said, winking. “I could hear the damm whistling of the bullet all the way from the department." Then, as though a telegram switching on, with a grave expression, he asked, “Any casualties?”
“Almost all gangsters killed, I expect two escaped, and the leader is unconscious.”
“Well, Valentines, you're gonna have to talk this up with the department, we don’t let tiffs like this go non-licked.”
The elderly man jutted up an eyebrow. He wasn't amused.
“Well then,” a cringe stretched around Tommy’s lips.
“You oughta come.”
Valentines nodded, and got onto the cab.
“I’ll be at the motel, Eugene, you can go to my room, enjoy yourself to the champagnes.”
After the driver whipped the horses and neighing in protest, they trotted away, Eugene pursed his lips, and cast a long glance at Watson, before turning his head around with a deep murky feeling of remorse, and trudged up to the motel.
Eugene had waited for Valentines in his very own room, and surveyed the wary elder over his magazine as he entered the room.
Valentines with a quick “hello” sat down on his comfy chair, and got out an Adams Revolver which he had stolen from one of the hoodlums.
His watery eyes were somewhat deep in the sticky fudge of thoughts, as he examined the revolver.
He took out the ammunition, and looked at them too, and settled both the firearm and its bullets on the sofa, and babbled to himself uneasily.
“Well, it seems the gang leader is a crooked man.”
When Eugene glanced blankly at him he said, “See the sparkle and shine of the silver of this gun. It’s either polished, or new. But probably new, I have only mere suspicions you would polish something as fancily devilish as this.”
“Why so?”
“Grey matter, once again. I looked at him. And saw how quick the boss was to thinking I might be connected with Watson.” When he mentioned the name, his voice broke, but he continued on in a tumbling squeezed tone. “He thought I could be one of the protesters. Also, the state of his clothes. It was gray, slightly wrinkled, worn out, but apparently it seemed to whisk along with his sideburns, which is a stylish look licked on their heads by yobs, and bad chaps.”
“And the gun?” Eugene pressed.
“Well, I saw how smug and maniacally calm he was, holding the Adams Revolver, so he thought he was safe, and had big hands of power in the situation. He was also arrogant, and looked cocky once we saw his look after he shot Watson.” This time Valentines voice twisted around wistfully. “He had a look of cold satisfaction, which tells us he probably was waiting for some time to put the lick on Watson. Probably since he strolled with his group of hoodlums. Which means he often staggers on a stirring thought and sticks to it, meaning he might be distracted, or sometimes hard to get to his attention, as he could be focused on inner thoughts.”
Eugene stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m impressed.”
Valentines stroke his chin for some while, when the door gave a knock.
“Yes?”
A maid popped her head in, her eyes were bored with worry.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you sirs! But, I think something horrible has happened!"
The two exchanged glances, so Eugene getting up after Valentines did, they went out of the room, following the maid hurry down the halls and stopped at a specific door.
“What's happened?”
Valentine's eyebrows perked up in fizzling excitement. “Or maybe you would want to ask, what happened inside?”
The maid bit her bottom lip.
“A butler has taken reservations here, and for two days hasn't been answering, he said for me not to disturb, but he’s not taking any of the food, or drinks!”
Eugene rapped his knuckles on the door. “Hello? Sir, anyone there?”
Nothing.
“Well, I think I know what to do.”
He backed away, and then charged at the door, nothing, a second time, also nothing, and once more, and the door swung open grudgingly.
They peered around and then saw someone in the room.
Iced off to the cold reality of death.
It was a man eagle spread on the ground, blood trickled down his suit, and dabbed the floor, and a thin curtain of scarlet splotched one side of the walls.
The man's mouth was askew, and a vacant expression on his face, as his glazed eyes looked dully at the ceiling.
Eugene gaped at the sight, and Valentines with a sigh, swept into the room, and kneeled over the man, his face seeming to be scrunched into a lour.
“This is horrible” Eugene said with a grimace.
The maid gave a gasp, and covered her mouth with her fingers.
Valentines took out an old fashioned magnifying glass and examined the victim.
He took out a measure, and measured his wound, the body, and said, “The wound is 12 inches long, and belongs to a big fat knife. And theres a speck of blood close to his neck color. It’s…if I’m not wrong.” He licked it with an extended tongue. “It’s sauce.”
“Sauce?” Eugene asked in surprise.
“Quite frankly. And about…uh….4 feet and 2 inches away, is a splatter of more tomato sauce.
“Why isn't there regular blood?”
Valentines flashed a wry smile. “That’s just the mystery with murderers, they make things mysterious, and murder into your shock.” He looked like he wanted to give a barmy snicker, but then, pursing his lips, he trudged forward, gesturing to the splatter of tomato sauce on the ground.
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as though he was scowling at the imaginary foe of death itself, and scolding it for not giving a big enough challenge to surprise him good enough, for a good hand rubbing like a child who had discreetly found a slice of pie that was gonna be served for his grandfather, but he ate anyway.
“There's a flaw here.” He murmured. “It almost looks as though another person was lying dead here and was dragged out. See 5. 2 inches away? I think that’s the tomato sauce that belongs to the bogus victim.”
“Bogus?”
“Yes, I think that when our butler came in, there was a victim draped in tomato sauce, and he neared by, and the victim got up and put up a fight, and killed the butler.”
Valentines eyebrows crumpled. “But it doesn't add up. I drew a circle around the perhaps hoodwinking victim, and if he somehow thrashingly got up and pushed the other, he would surely have stumbled, but the distance is very short between both victims.”
They stayed quiet for a while.
“Do you think those gangsters would have anything to do with this?”
“I thought about it, but a gang who walked around with flashy sideburns. I mean, they must've taken that risk other than showing off people how snobbish cats they are.” Valentines mused himself by fussing with the hem of his smoking jacket.
Eugene's lips twitched, but winced at the thought of laughing while a dead man lay close to them.
It felt…wrong.
“Well, our butler maybe was thrown to the side of the wall, and the murderer stabbed him, then he slid down the wall, to the ground. And since the gash is only a couple inches long, blood did not appear behind his back and grim the walls. Then he was dragged to the ground, and so here he is.”
“Does he have anything in his garments?” Eugene inquired.
“Just a small letter talking hatingly to his victim. Though the letters are faint and it’s pretty much a spit of words, and it’s not signed, not much of a surprise.” He handed the letter, pulling it out of his collar, and Eugene opened the already opened letter, and read it silently–
Dear ye’ Rouge. Don’t know if this letter will reach you swine’, if it does, I hope you read it while you be poisoned and are on the dawn of death. I hope I quaffing down some wine while I do that. You drag me’ siren like a mule, and I’ll put the lick on you for it! Stab me in bold drollness, hmm? Well, I’ll get you, pound you for what you did, making a sore sight for my eyes. So I shall bring you to the withers of justice.“Did you search other places?”
“Yes, but I didn't find anything critical.” Valentines straightened his suit, and gestured for Eugene to follow him.
“Come on Eugene, let's go.” They left the room and were heading for their own rooms when another maid hurried towards them.
“Mr. Valentines?”
“Yes?”
“Some juveniles want to talk to you.”
“Ahh, they must have some news. Thank you, my lady.” Valentines strode down the halls, the direction changing and they went through the entrance door of the motel, and outside where some young minors stood there, shifting their weight from foot to foot, some of them bouncing on the balls of their feet.
“Well you lot? What’s the report?”
“We was inspecting some ledge close to the skirt of town, and found an old lady dead.”
“Again!” Eugene ejacaluated, turning pale, as though he was gonna faint.
“Yes, she was darn killed, looked pale, might have been strangled or poisoned.” Said another chap in a thick Scottish accent.
“Well, then.” Valentines said, seeming to fumble inside his garments for some coins, he flipped them out to them, who took it with ragged jubilation, like a boar sloshing around in mud.
“Where is the poor lady?”
The boys giving playful sneers swaggered away, going on a prattle about what they were gonna buy for food, and talking the choice of cigars and alcohol, motioning for the two men to follow them.
Valentines getting a cab, rattled down the road, as the teens kipped forward.
Soon the teens and the cab entered grassy fields, which were drooping down sadly or had withered.
Finally with only a couple houses a distance away, they came to a ledge.
“Here she is!” Cried out one of the boys in the front.
There was an old woman on the ground, she wasn't breathing, she looked pale, and a cringe seemed to have tugged at her mouth.
Valentines jumped off the cab, thanking the driver, and went to inspect the woman.
“Judging from her face, which is pasty, she must've suffered a horrible death. Hmmm.” He opened her mouth, and sniffed it. “It smells like a mingle of honey, and mint. Her hat is about 2 inches away from her head, and since the indications of hollowed sludge here, she must have slid down the ledge and fall to the ground, her hat falling a 2 inches away.” He examined her more, measured her from different angles, frowning as interest sparked up inside him.
He sliced the woman's arm delicately, and took a sample of blood, and then stared at her teeth. “It seems as though she’s recently cleaned her teeth, but—” He frowned. “If she was poisoned, I would've got a smell.” He stroke his chin, rubbing his temples.
“What is it Valentines?” Eugene asked quietly.
“Merely remaking a theory.” He murmured, and strolled around.
Eugene had a distant feeling he was either pacing about, thinking of how the murder happened, or looking for the shudder in the air.
He didn't find any, he supposed, because he didn't shudder, and then searched her pockets and found nothing but a small chained pocket watch, a handkerchief.
“Hey, Mr. Valentines, there's a cane here.” Chirped one of the boys, pointing to a small cudgel.
“The woman is careful.” Valentines remarked, walking over to see it.
“How do you know?” Eugene asked.
“Well, you see the cane here, it might indicate that she does cane fencing which shows that she’s precautious, wanting to have some defense if attacked, but unfortunately, she got conked to death, poor old lady,” he shook his head, sighing.
“What if she did cane fencing before and hadn't learned recently?”
“A good reasoning, but you must see the tussle weaving on the muddy grounds. She was first cornered, and swung for the the enemy here.” He pointed to a faint footprint on the muddy ground.
“The footprint moves back, and she grabs a rock and throws it at the other one on the other side, and man dodged it, but she clocks him somehow because he staggers backwards, and the footprint is deep, so he must have put much weight on it as he was struck.”
“Then the other man lunged, taking her by the neck and she must have thrashed and struggled, see the scuffle here at the area?” he motioned to the place close to where the woman lay.
“She might've clonked him but then he strangled her, or beats her up, and he slides down the ledge to the ground.”
“Excellent sir! Excellent!” Peeped a kid, showing big lit grins on their mouths.
“Quite the shamus you are.” Noted one other one, nodding his head.
Valentines smiled. “You rascals! I can see that you are trying to butter me up, even detective work is not needed to find that out!”
The juveniles were very pleased when Valentines took them to the town's popular dinky pub, and got a round of eggnog for the chaps.
While they quaffed it down, licking their lips, and pulling out tipsy jokes, as the barman polished the glasses, with a gruff depression, giving epic eye rolls sometimes.
Valentines and Eugene were in one corner, and Valentines thrilled him with the frustrating story of the mystery when Eugene asked about when Valentines mentioned a pattern.
“A string of murders had happened, and there was pattern the detectives would follow, a murder would happen in a country, and then in another place and the detective would go there. I had retired, but I took interest in the case, and went down my own path. I investigated, and I came to the motel we both stay at and where a murder happened, remember? Then someone died, that man. The one I showed you.”
Valentines got up, and slinked towards a German assistant behind the counter.
He got out a letter asked something at him, and handed him a letter. He held the letter in his hands and after a while he handed it back, murmuring something, before Valentines nodded, and walked by to the corner of the room where Eugene watched him intently.
“Come on you lot!” Cried out Valentines at the teens, who cocked around their heads.
“We’ve got to go, we're in the wrong place.” Eugene slid out of his chair and bustled after him, and the teens, grumbling, forced themself to move their feet out of the warm pub and into the moist outside.
Valentines flipped a coin at a cab, and got onto it, some of the teens getting inside, some just walking close to skirts of the cab, laughing and drinking their eggnogs.
After some while of chatting quietly, and making comments on the murder,
Eugene’s his face locked into a graveness, his jaw dropping.
“Oh no, Look at that!” His voice trembled barley trembled above a whisper, his face turning ghostly pale.
He gestured outside, and Valentines looked out, and saw a long trail of blood like a cloak of crimson wrapping around a body of corn, assuring the food that it would be whipped out by the beaks of the crows which would fly above in the air.
“Come now Eugene, we might be onto something!” Valentines murmured with bated breath.
“Follow that blood trail.” He said to the cabby.
The cabby nodded and whipped his reins on the horses, and they trotted to a faster pace.
There had been a cabin in sight when Eugene spotted the blood, and, shortly getting off the cab, thanking the driver, they bustled by the trail of blood, and every step his feet took, Eugene felt his heart pump harder then ever, feeling tense, his breath ragged, shivers going down his spine as he saw the blood.
They finally came to the cabin, and things seemed to slur slow, wether it was Eugene's eyes, and he seemed to remember Valentines lecture about illusions.
Things seemed gray, and dull, the air damp as their nostrils sucked it in hardly.
A whisper of death crawled around the place like a woebegone house spider scuttling down the dirty ground sadly.
Eugene bit his lips, chewing on it so hard and drawing blood.
The dark path of blood suddenly stopped around and went off to another direction but Valentines clambered up the porch stairs, examining the place slowly, using his magnifying glasses and looking for clues.
He glanced at Eugene, as his hand hastened around the doorknob, as though to ask if he was ready, and Eugene, swallowing, giving a forced nod, Valentines turned around the doorknob, an eerie emancipation seemed to tingle on their nerves, as the demand of the situation became so much more fascinating.
He opened the door a few inches, and a shadow curled out like a desperate bogey man wanting to terrify children.
The hairs on the back of Eugene's neck stood on edge, and already his senses screamed for him to run away, but hesitant he stood his ground, his feet practically wanting to sprint down the fields, get the cab and go downtown to some pub and drink down the feelings as though it never happened.
Valentines opened the door more, shadows hitting their eyes, and Valentines going inside, Eugene bravely following him into the gelid room.
Valentines got out a small lamp and lit the inside, and a fire whispered and even it groveled back at the darkness enveloped around it.
Eugene stayed close by the door, uneasiness tugging at him, as Valentines walked around the room, examining things with his magnifying glass, and sniffing it.
There were splotches of blood splattered on the bottom of the stairs, and dots of them close to the stairs.
Valentines trudged up the stairs and Eugene wanted to kick him for doing that, and hissed, “What are you doin?”
“Examining, my dear Eugene.”
Eugene swaying on the balls of his feet, biting his bottom lip, stumbling on what decision to make, and said, “If you want to find me, I’ll be outside.”
Valentines snickered. “In thought outlaws broke the law, and did bad things, is this too much for you?” He simpered in a mock baby tone.
Eugene muttering under his breath hurried behind him as he walked further into the house.
He waited for a while as the elderly detective examined the places, and he grew more tense with every agonizing second, as though Valentines was on purposely wanting him to drip painfully with fear.
He let blood trickle down his lip even more, and was biting his nails so much that he didn't bother smearing the blood away.
He opened a drawer, and inside was the photo of a couple, a strong man with a kind looking woman.
His fingers perched onto a painting, and trailed a finger down one of the stair boards, and stroked his chin. “Look, the wood floor is dotted with blood, furniture is tumbled about, almost as though some struggle took place.”
They climbed upstairs, where there were two chairs placed near a writing desk, and a bed facing it opposite.
“Look Eugene.” Valentines said, and placed his fingers around a half drunk glass of champagne. “This could tell us something.”
“That the drinker left in haste, and began the struggle with the goons?”
“Maybe, a good theory. This is nice exquisite evidence.”
“Also, the writing desk is open, and isn't closed.”
“Another thing that implied that the man left in a hurry, or forgot.”
Suddenly voices came, and two boys clambered up.
“What are you doing here?” Eugene asked.
“We was wanting to take a look at what you lot found. The others were scared, and did not come.”
“I see.”
They came to the table, and one of them said, “Found anything interesting?”
“Yes, a half drunk glass of champagne, as you see here, and the writing desk is open. Me and Eugene agree on the fact that the person left in haste.”
Valentines shuffled through some strewn papers on the desk and found a book.
“Ahhhh, Achilles, the best warrior in the Greek army. Let's see here.” He opened the book at a random place, and flipped through some more, and closed it, placing it back on the desk.
“Do you have any theory about that?”
“I’m thinking, old boy. Hmmmm.” He turned around and walked over to an old rusty stove, and swung its panel open.
He got the tong and picked up pieces of dry soot-covered paper, along with dust and ash.
“Interesting.” He murmured, and shuffled through the sooted ash, and chunks of paper, and soon closed it, and started searching the place like a border collie, and his fingers nestled under the bed, and he pulled at it.
Under the bed was a pile of letters.
“Ah, we’re getting somewhere.” He picked up the letters, and opened one of them, and started reading, his lips moving soundlessly.
“Well Valentines, what does it say?”
He held up a finger. “I shall tell soon.” Once he had read all the letters, he put them into his inside big coat pocket and walked over to a painting, his hands brushing it occasionally, and he opened the drawer of the writing desk where there was an opened letter.
He read the inside, and put that too in his coat pocket.
He picked up a letter opener and examined it.
“Hmmm, judging by the red stain here, he tore the knife through the red print, and left it there, and didn't clean it. Yes, Eugene, this suggest that the person was in a great hurry.”
“You don’t say.” One of the young teens said.
Suddenly a curl lit the corners of Valentines lips, and it straightened into a dewy warm smile.
“Ahhh, the jigsaw puzzle has started to fit, hasn't it.” He slowly stretched his arm over and picked up a pair of round rimmed glasses, and stared at it for some time.
“Yes, come Eugene. There is nothing more for us here. Follow me.” He hurriedly walked out of the door with the teens and Eugene on his tail.
They walked out of the door, came to the cab where the other teens were leaning against.
“Cabbie, to the town! I need to send a telegram.”
