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As many stories do, this one starts with a rainy day. Specifically, a rainy day in the city of Old York.
Old York was not a large town, but nor was it small. The people there couldn’t claim they enjoyed living in it, but they couldn’t complain either. Overall, Old York was a very medium town where not much happened, besides the occasional rainy day, when the constant, grey clouds would finally do something besides make the town appear even more dull than it already was.
But of course, a rainy day in Old York would often mean something was happening. What it was, was yet to be revealed, but it was bound to be unpleasant. At least, that’s what detective C.C. Tinsley figured, as he hurried through the streets of Old York.
Had you asked Tinsley when he’d gone home the day before, he’d have said he’d gone home early, after his seventh cup of coffee that day. That would, however, not be in the least factual, as the detective had left his office just after midnight (Spilling his ninth cup of coffee on his way out). C.C. Tinsley was not one for getting a good night’s sleep, nor for acknowledging what was probably a serious caffeine addiction. He had greater things to take care of, like the last week’s few incidents. They were nothing unusual for Old York, but tragic nonetheless. In just a few days no less than two stores had reported items being stolen, an elderly lady had lost a majority of her cats (two out of three, to be specific) and then of course, the local teenagers had been sneaking around at night. All in all, a very busy week. And Tinsley had, through all of it, had a feeling of dread. Like it was about to get worse. His colleagues would blame it on sleep deprivation, but in response to that Tinsley had done as he historically had always done when faced with concern from colleagues. Completely ignored them and drank more coffee. He’d also put up a new evidence board, which he was certain he’d get some use out of in the near future.
And for once, detective C.C. Tinsley of Old York’s police district, was right in his predictions of doom.
He got his confirmation as he passed by one of the stores that had been stolen from. He’d made a habit of saying hello to the owner every day, as he passed the store. The owner was a grumpy old man who rarely returned the favor, but today he was surprisingly lively. Tinsley didn’t even get the chance to speak before the storeowner shoved a newspaper in his face, demanding to know if something was true. It took some time for Tinsley to calm the man down so that he could actually read the paper. Or well, the headline, which he presumed was what the storeowner was worried about. After all, it did read:
”Couple Slaughtered In Home- Axe Murderer Still To Be Found”
”Still to be found is a bit dramatic isn’t it?” Was the first thing Tinsley said when he arrived at work. ”If I missed this axe murder it can’t have been more than a few hours since it happened.”
”We got the report just after you left.” Detective Alfred Jonsson didn’t even look up from his work as he responded. On the contrary, he stared at it like it had personally offended him, while he wiped his forehead with a napkin. ”A mister Wilkins showed up to tell the tale. Must have popped by the paper on his way back home.”
”So what’s the story? The paper was pretty vague on anything but the goriest of details.”
”I’m not sure myself, if I’m to be honest.” Jonsson finally looked up at Tinsley. He appeared to be quite stressed by the event. Of course, it was something decidedly out of the ordinary for Old York. ”Poor mr and mrs Baker had never done anyone any wrong to my knowledge, but whoever carried out the crime clearly didn’t care about that.”
”Ah, the Bakers. That’s a shame. They seemed nice.” Tinsley shook his head. ”And you’ve no leads yet.”
”Not that I know, but you could always go see for yourself. We have detective Lynham on the scene, but I’m sure he could use your help.”
”I’ll see what I can do.”
The crime had been carried out not too far from the station, in a little house on Sergeant’s Street. Even if Tinsley hadn’t gotten the adress he’d have instantly recognized the house by the town’s press trying to get in, and the sound of detective Lynham’s voice giving out instructions to his assistants. The sound only got louder as Tinsley made his way through the crowd in front of the house, and once he reached the door he could make out full sentences.
”Detective, we found a pool of blood here,” a young assistant was yelling from the hallway.
”Oh gross,” Lynham responded. ”Mop it up!”
”Yes sir! Oh, and hello mister Tinsley.” The assistant had noticed Tinsley entering and turned to him. ”What do you make of it?”
”Not much yet, but I only just got here.” Tinsley looked around the hallway. There was indeed a pool of blood there (Though ”pool” made it sound like there was way more blood than there was. It was really more of a puddle in Tinsley’s humble opinion), and from its color he assumed it’d been drying for a while. Besides the blood the hallway seemed to be untouched, with no signs of a fight happening. It also lacked signs of detective Lynham, so he was probably somewhere further inside the house.
”It’s real good to have you here mr Tinsley, I gotta say.” The assistant had opened one of the doors in the hallway and was rummaging about inside. ”Say what you will about detective Lynham but he can be a bit intense, sir."
”So I’ve been told.” Tinsley walked over to the assistant and peeked over his shoulder into what turned out to be storage for a variety of cleaning supplies. ”You need any help in there mister…”
”Felten, sir. John Felten. And no, that won’t be needed, but if you could just hold this” Felten handed Tinsley a mop then left the cramped storage, holding an empty bucket. ”I just gotta go fill this up, be back in a minute.”
Once he left the hallway Tinsley went back to checking the place. As he’d previously observed, there was nothing that would indicate a fight in the hallway, besides the blood puddle. Tinsley crouched down next to it to get a closer look, but it didn’t make him any wiser. He did, however, once he turned his gaze away from the puddle notice something else. There was, besides the puddle, some additional blood in the hallway. A trail of drops, in fact, and judging from their decreasing size they were leading towards the exit. Tinsley opened his notebook, flipped to a blank page and took note of the discovery. Just in time as well, because the moment he was done Felten returned, with detective Lynham at his side.
”Ah, detective Tinsley. It’s good to have you here.” Lynham nonchalantly stepped over the puddle to shake Tinsley’s hand, apparently not minding that Tinsley was still crouching. ”Real nasty crime scene in there. Lots and lots of blood.”
Tinsley stood up and handed Felten the mop before responding.
”Oh yes, so I heard. Have you found anything of interest?”
”Well, so far we have a murder weapon and two witnesses, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”
”Who are the witnesses?” Tinsley once again opened his notebook.
”Well there’s Wilkins, who reported the whole thing, as well as a man named Dean Sawyer. Says he saw the killer leave the building, but of course-”
Detective Lynham was cut off by a sizzling sound, and Felten shrieking in surprise. The two detectives quickly spun around and found Felten staring at the blood in horror. He had dropped the mop, and it now laid in the puddle of… decidedly not blood. The liquid had grown considerably darker around the mop, and to Tinsley’s surprise it seemed to be emitting smoke.
”Get back, Felten,” Lynham ordered. The young man did as told, as Tinsley strolled over to the liquid. Upon closer inspection, the darkened parts of the liquid appeared to be spreading from the mop.
”Mister Felten, when did this happen?” He asked, just to confirm.
”When I touched it with the mop, sir.” Felten’s voice was a little shaky.
”A-ha.” Tinsley looked at the bucket of water standing next to the puddle. He considered his idea for about two seconds before dipping his hand in the water and splashing a few drops on the puddle. The reaction was instantaneous. The liquid sizzled like a frying pan you’d just poured oil in, and began to darken where the drops had hit. Tinsley quickly got out of the way, when more smoke started pouring from the puddle.
”Detective!” Lynham looked shocked- ”Just what do you think you’re getting up to?”
”I’m just testing a theory!” Tinsley would admit he sounded a tad defensive. ”And as I thought, it seems this liquid, whatever it is, reacts strongly to water.”
”Well could you at least give us a warning before you start experimenting next time?”
”I’ll keep it in mind,” Tinsley said, having already forgotten what he was supposed to keep in mind. ”Well at least we know something specific about our killer now. Whoever he is, he carries this weird chemical around.”
”How do you know it’s his?” Felten sounded like he’d calmed down considerably since getting spooked by the puddle’s reaction.
”There’s a trail.” Tinsley pointed to the smaller stains. ”The stains get smaller the closer to the door they get, so my guess is someone carried something dripping of this liquid as he headed out. Unless you find a chemical lab in the Bakers’ basement, I’d wager on it being the killer.”
”I see, sir.” Felten nodded. Then, he hesitantly added. ”Should I still try and mop it up?”
”No, I’d like a sample. Preferably one we haven’t touched with water yet”
”Yes sir.”
”Detective Lynham, if you could show me where the actual crime scene is.”
”Sure thing.” Lynham gestured towards one of the doors. ”Right this way”
Tinsley nodded to Felten as he left the hallway. Lynham led him through a corridor, past a staircase and what looked like the kitchen, finally stopping in front of a door.
”After you.” He gestured to it and let Tinsley pass through.
The scene before Tinsley was not a pleasant one, as murder scenes rarely are. A person who Tinsley assumed was mr Baker was lying on the bed. There wasn’t much to go on in terms of facial features, since where once a face had been there was now nothing but a bloody mess. Mrs Baker was on the floor, looking like she’d been on her way to crawl out the door. Tinsley quickly managed to deduce that she’d been stopped by an axe, going from the fact that it was still sticking out of her back.
”Well,” he said. ”This is gnarly.”
”Gnarly indeed,” Lynham agreed. ”Work fast if you want to look at the full scene. They’re taking these two down to Saint James in…” He checked his pocket watch. ”…Half an hour. Hey! Make sure to get me some chalk! We need to draw chalk around where the bodies are, so we’ll know where they were.” The last part was said to Felten and yet another assistant, who quickly got to work on the chalking. Tinsley stood back and alternated between watching the young men work and taking notes of the scene until a group of men finally arrived and announced they were taking the bodies with them. At that point the axe had been taken care of by Felten’s colleague, so the men could get the two bodies onto stretchers quite easily. Tinsley followed them as they left the house, and found detective Lynham waiting outside.
”I think I’ll go have a talk with this Saw- uh, Sawman?” Tinsley said.
”Sawyer,” Lynham reminded him. ”Lives on Petunia Road 42, it’s not too far from here.”
”Excellent! I’ll be on my way then.” Tinsley tipped his hat. ”Good day to you, detective Lynham.”
Petunia Road 42 was indeed not far from Sergeant’s Street. It only took Tinsley just above ten minutes to get there, which gave him some time to think things over. At present he didn’t have any ideas of who the killer could be. He really didn’t have much previous experience of solving murders in Old York to go off. The last time someone had been murdered in the town it had been an old man, who’d been killed by his caretaker. The culprit had broken down and confessed not an hour after police arrived to question him and had later passed away in the mental hospital he’d been sent off to. That had been twenty years ago, so Tinsley had been far from active duty when it happened. Nonetheless he figured solving a murder couldn’t be too hard.
He knocked on Sawyer’s door, and was soon welcomed in. Sawyer looked a bit pale, but otherwise healthy and he offered Tinsley a cup of coffee, which was welcome. Once it was done the two of them sat down in Sawyer’s living room and Tinsley began the questioning.
”So, what did you see and when?”
”Well I was on my way home on Sergeant’s Street. It was pretty late, past midnight I believe, and I was all alone. Or so I thought.” Sawyer shuddered. ”I was just about to turn left to Raabe’s Street when I heard a woman scream. I turned around and noticed someone standing outside the Baker’s house. He must have heard the screaming too, because he looked startled.”
”Can you describe this man?” Tinsley asked.
”Well at first I didn’t recognize him, but I got a little closer and I realized it was Thomas Wilkins. So that mystery was solved pretty quickly.” Sawyer let out a hollow chuckle. ”The two of us were pretty shaken, but we didn’t do much until someone opened the front door.”
”And?”
”Well we both ran like hell. Him first, because he was closest. I didn’t completely realize what was happening at first, I believe. Was probably too shocked, but when I heard him running I realized something dangerous must be going on, so I turned around to run home too.”
”Did you ever see the murderer?” Tinsley felt more than a little disappointed when Sawyer shook his head in response.
”I’m afraid not. I did get a look of another shady looking fella, though. If that helps.”
Now that was interesting. Tinsley hadn’t heard of more than two witnesses, but it was possible this ”shady looking fella” knew something more.
”That does help, yeah.” Tinsley smiled, trying to look as comforting as possible. ”Can you describe him?”
”Sure thing, detective. He was short with dark hair, I believe, and he wore a long black coat.” Sawyer frowned and seemed to think for a moment. ”It looked to me like he ran into Sergeant’s Hotel, but who knows if he stayed there.”
”That is extremely helpful.” Tinsley wrote the hotel’s name down in his notebook. ”I think we can call it quits here for now, I’ll go check on your mysterious stranger.”
The Sergeant’s Hotel wasn’t very tiny, but Tinsley couldn’t imagine more than half the rooms were useable considering the state of the building. From the street he could spot more than five boarded up windows and the building was in dire need of a repaint. Along with the interior, he realized as he entered. The lobby was dark, due to the heavy curtains and the fact that it only contained one working lamp. The area most obscured in darkness was the front desk, where Tinsley could only just make out the shadowy shape of an elderly woman. She looked like he had offended her personally just by walking into her hotel once she finally looked up from her newspaper at him.
”What do you want?” She barked.
”I’m here from the police department, I’d like to ask a few questions.” Tinsley decided not to say that what he actually wanted was better customer service, figuring that would decrease the chances of the woman answering him by tenfold.
”Well you better hurry. I ain’t got all day.” The woman glared at him while he opened his notebook, and continued to do so as he started asking questions.
”So to start off: what’s your name?”
”Margaret Finch.”
”And are you the owner of this uh…fine establishment?”
”Since I was sixteen.” Tinsley presumed that would be about two hundred years ago, but elected not to mention that to ms Finch.
”Right,” he said instead. ”I was wondering if you’d seen anyone come in here somewhere soon after midnight last night?”
”No I was asleep then. Obviously.” Ms Finch’s glare grew sharper. ”But if they got in here that late they’re a guest. All guests get keys to the front door along with the one to their rooms. We provide full comfort here at Sergeant’s.”
”I can see that,” Tinsley said dryly. ”Well, I’m looking for a short man with dark hair. Do you currently have any guests that would suit that description?”
”Well…” Ms Finch seemed to think for a moment because she shifted her glare from Tinsley to the ceiling. ”There’s that creepy man in 1046. He’s pretty short.”
”I’ll go talk to him then.” Tinsley closed his notebook, relieved to have a reason to end the conversation with ms Finch. She looked to be just as happy as him with getting back to reading her newspaper and didn’t even respond when he said goodbye.
Room 1046 was on the hotel’s top floor, and looked like it was the only occupied one since every other door that Tinsley could see was open, revealing rooms in different states of disarray. Room 1046’s door was closed, however, and at first Tinsley didn’t get a response when he knocked. He waited for a minute, then tried again. This time he got a muffled response that he couldn’t quite make out.
”I’m sorry what was that?”
”I said who’s there
?”
”Oh. Uh, my name is C.C. Tinsley, I’m from the Old York police department.” When there was no response from the person inside the room he added. ”I’m just here to ask a few questions. Can you let me in?”
The person still didn’t respond for a while, and it wasn’t until Tinsley started to suspect his potential witness might have jumped out the window that the man finally opened.
He was indeed very short. The height difference seemed to dawn on them both as Tinsley looked down and was met by the man whipping his head up with an annoyed frown.
”Didn’t know the circus was in town,” he remarked and Tinsley had to physically bite back a retort about how he didn’t know hotels let raccoons in.
”Could you just answer my questions, please?”
”Fine. Come in.” Somehow he made both things sound like orders. He sat down on a chair by the open window and gave Tinsley an impatient look.
”So to begin with, what’s your name?”
”Robert Rossini.”
”Right.” Tinsley wrote the name down. ”So I’m here because I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. Have you read the paper?”
”I have.” Robert Rossini was truly a man of many words, Tinsley though to himself.
”Well, one of my witnesses says they saw you as he was leaving the scene. I was wondering if perhaps you’d seen anything?”
It could be Tinsley’s imagination, but he could have sworn his question surprised Rossini.
”I…was there, yes. I didn’t see much, but I can tell you as much as I did see.”
”That would be great.” Tinsley got his pen ready and leaned back against the room’s desk.
”Well I was out on a stroll. Just trying to get to know the neighborhood since I only just got here. I think it was around…” Rossini paused for a moment. ”One in the morning, maybe? I was walking down the street just outside when I heard a bloodcurdling scream from one of the houses. Me and two other gentlemen were in the area at the time.”
”Adds up.” Tinsley nodded. ”Did you see the killer?”
”I’m getting there, don’t interrupt me.” Rossini glared at him. ”Yeah, I did see him. Not very well but he was around my height, with a hat that covered his face. And he was carrying a knife.”
”Hold on, a knife?”
”Yeah a knife. Is that so weird? He’s a murderer.”
”No, I just wanted to make sure.” Why was there a knife? There had been no knife wounds on the bodies, at least not according to Tinsley’s notes. ”Anyway, you’re sure you didn’t see a glimpse of the killer’s face?”
”Of course I’m sure.” Rossini rolled his eyes. ”If I knew anything more I’d tell you.”
”Oh I don’t doubt that, mister Rossini.”
”Kinda sounds like you do.” Rossini glared at him, and Tinsley eventually realized that he was glaring right back.
”Anyway.” He finally broke the staring contest. ”You said you were on Sergeant’s street taking a walk?”
”Trying to get to know the area, yeah.” Rossini nodded. ”I just got to town about a week ago and I figured I’d get a look at the neighborhood.”
Tinsley wasn’t sure what hit him, but whatever it was it was like a sudden flash of lightning after a day of rain hanging in the air, and he didn’t even have time to think before he blurted it out.
”You’re lying.”
Rossini’s face darkened.
”What makes you think that?” He said it slowly and his face was calm, but somehow that just made Tinsley even more certain. The sudden collectedness seemed out of place compared with the irritable man he’d just been questioning.
He thought his answer through carefully before giving it.
”I don’t know.” He met Rossini’s gaze, keeping his face as calm as the other man’s. ”And I don’t know about what. But I know you’re lying.”
Rossini was silent for a moment. Then, suddenly, he started laughing.
”I’m guessing Old York’s detectives aren’t to mess with.” He was still smiling. ”Who’s to say if you’re right. You’ll just have to figure that out for yourself. But for now I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my room.”
Tinsley got up and headed for the door. As he was about to exit he turned around.
”I’ll be back.”
”Oh I don’t doubt that, longlegs.”
Back at his office, Tinsley spent some time drinking coffee and thinking over his conversation with Rossini. He hadn’t changed his mind, he was still convinced Rossini had been lying, besides the man hadn’t exactly denied it either. More like invited Tinsley to figure out what he was really up to.
And quite frankly, C.C. Tinsley wasn’t one to back down from a challenge like that.
He sat in his office sorting the day’s collected evidence on his evidence board until the sun started going down. Then he grabbed his coat and hat and headed out into the cold evening. Most people who were out were heading home, no doubt worried they’d be part of the next headline. Tinsley didn’t want to expect there to be one, but had a creeping sensation that would be the case nonetheless. Wether or not keeping an eye on Rossini would stop any more murders from taking place remained to be seen, but it was better to do something than nothing. And yes, Tinsley would be the first to admit that his curiosity played a big part in his mission tonight.
He stopped outside the Sergeant’s hotel and waited. The scarce windows with any light in them got fewer and fewer, until only one remained. The only one that had been lit on the top floor. As unnecessary as he found it, Tinsley thought back to the time he’d spent in room 1046. If he remembered correctly the view from the window was of the street he was currently on which meant the lit window was definitely-
His thought process was cut off when the lights went out in the window. Tinsley straightened up and kept his eyes on the door. He could spot ms Finch rummaging about inside, most likely about to head to bed, but there were no signs of Rossini yet. He could, of course, just have gone to bed, but Tinsley wasn’t going to head back to the office until he was absolutely certain Rossini wouldn’t be running around unsupervised.
The lights in the lobby were turned off.
Tinsley was still waiting.
He checked his pocket watch. It showed half past ten, but after more than a minute of staring at the unmoving hands he realized the clock had stopped. When, he wasn’t sure about, but he’d have to wind it up again and set it as soon as he could. With a curse, Tinsley stuffed the presently useless machine into his coat pocket and turned his gaze back to the hotel door just in time to see Rossini open it.
The man looked around, but didn’t seem to notice Tinsley. He took a few hesitant steps out of the hotel, then let the door shut behind him. For a moment he just stood on the sidewalk, as if contemplating where to go. Finally he settled on a direction, namely straight for Tinsley who decided it was best to reveal himself.
”Out for another midnight stroll, mr Rossini?” Tinsley stepped out of the shadows, but to his dismay this didn’t seem to startle Rossini as much as annoy him. Well, that was something, at least.
”What do you want?” Rossini appeared to be back to his usual, permanently annoyed self, with no trace of the eerily calm manner he’d shown in his room.
”Oh well I figured since you’re looking to make yourself familiar with the area I’d show you around.” Tinsley shrugged and put on his okay-est impression of an innocent look, which obviously didn’t fool Rossini for a second. The short man was fuming and Tinsley was pretty sure that Rossini was used to getting people to cower before the look he was currently directing at Tinsley.
”That’s not needed.” There was the calm voice again! Tinsley found himself fascinated by the way Rossini had jumped from general outrage to an even, cold fury that he could evidently direct perfectly, if only for a little while. The technique wasn’t perfect. If, for example, a somewhat lanky detective walked over and threw his arm around Rossini’s shoulder, it quickly set the man back to his first setting.
”No, but I insist.” Tinsley smiled as wide as he could down at Rossini, who’s upper lip was curling into something that was almost a snarl. ”Since you’re evidently a fan of walking around late at night I’ll be sure to keep you safe. You do know there’s a killer in town.”
”Oh I’m well aware.” Rossini was still mad, but that comment seemed to have lightened his mood slightly as he smirked at Tinsley. There was a momentarily pause before he sighed in defeat and asked. ”So where are you planning on taking me, longlegs?”
”I’ll make it a night you’ll never forget! You have my word as a detective on that.”
That was a bit of an overstatement, seeing as Old York didn’t offer much in terms of amusement. There was a park, of course, but Rossini made it abundantly clear hat he wouldn’t get on the swings even after Tinsley promised to push him. The detective’s remark about Rossini being the perfect size for the things didn’t go by unnoticed, in fact it earned him a punch to the arm that was probably meant to be playful but was a little too hard for that.
In the end they ended up doing exactly what Rossini had claimed to be doing the night before: walking around Old York, trying to get the visitor acquainted with its streets. It really didn’t seem like Rossini was enjoying himself, but then again that wasn’t really the point.
”Well,” Tinsley asked as they walked down Bitter Almond Road. ”Do you feel like a part of our lovely city by now?”
”To be honest.” Rossini pretended to think for a little longer than necessary. ”No. Not in the slightest. I would have preferred to stay in my room all night.”
”Glad to know you’re having fun.”
”You know if you want to keep eyes on me there are better ways to go about it.” Rossini said.
”Oh I’m well aware of that.” Tinsley had even considered a few of the alternative ways. ”But this is so much more fun, really. And there’s always the slightest chance I’ll annoy you into telling me what you’re lying about.”
”So that’s what this is about?” Tinsley didn’t have time to respond before Rossini continued. ”Have you gotten any wiser?”
”Not in the slightest!” Tinsley grinned. ”I’m somewhere between you actually being the axe murderer or your name not being Robert Rossini.”
”Well that’s just-”
A shriek cut Rossini off. Him and Tinsley looked at each other for a second and Tinsley was just about to say something when yet another cut through the silence of the night. It sounded like it came from further down the road.
”Should probably check that out,” Rossini remarked.
”Yeah,” Tinsley said.
He took off running down Bitter Almond Road.
Trying his best not to forget where the sound had come from, Tinsley frantically looked at the houses around him. They all seemed to look the same, and now it had grown eerily quiet, save for his own footsteps echoing at an even pace.
Or actually- He cast a glance over his shoulder and found Rossini just behind him.
”Morbid curiosity, longlegs,” he yelled before Tinsley could ask.
”Fair enough.” Tinsley nodded, turned back to look where he was going and found that they were reaching the end of Bitter Almond Road. He slowed down and looked around, trying to find anything out of the ordinary. Just as further up the road, all the houses looked almost comically alike, with the exception of a few where the garden had been allowed to run a bit more wild and one with an open front door.
Tinsley made an educated guess that that was probably where he needed to go.
He took a step forward but was halted by someone grabbing his arm.
”Just what do you think you’re doing?” Rossini asked.
”I’m investigating this house, obviously.” Tinsley tried to get his arm free, but Rossini wouldn’t budge. ”What’s the matter?”
”You armed, at all?”
”Nope.” Tinsley shrugged. ”But I figure the killer wouldn’t want to stick around, and it’s been some time.”
”You have an unbearable lack of self-preservation.”
”I get that a lot. Are you going to let me go?”
”Fine.” Rossini let go of Tinsley’s arm and reached into his pocket, eventually pulling out a jackknife. A really fancy one at that, with a handle of dark, polished wood. When he caught Tinsley looking at it, Rossini angled it vaguely in the detective’s direction.
”Since you’re not armed,” he explained. ”Shall we?”
”I’d say after you but I think I’m far more enthusiastic about this whole thing than you are.” Tinsley walked through the garden’s open gate up to the front door, all the while keeping his ears open for any suspicious sounds. At the doorstep he stopped and looked inside.
The hallway was dark. And quiet.
Tinsley took a careful step in, and after a moment of silence he heard Rossini follow him. The two of them stood next to each other in the hallway, barely even breathing so as to not make any noise. Tinsley’s eyes darted across the dark room, checking for signs of an intruder, until they finally landed on a dark spot on the floor. Tinsley took a few careful steps forward to get a closer look. Not entirely surprised, he found the dark spot to be a puddle, similar to the one he’d found in the Bakers’ house. There was only one way to be sure, however.
”Hey.” Rossini seemed startled at Tinsley’s relatively loud speaking volume.
”What?” He hissed, casting glances into the house.
”First of all, you can relax, if it’s the same killer as yesterday he’s left by now. Second of all, do you have any water?” Tinsley asked. ”I need to test something.”
”I have…a little water, yes.” Rossini’s tone was strangely hesitant. ”But I’d rather you don’t waste it.”
”I’ll be careful," Tinsley promised. Rossini hesitated for a moment, then reached into his jacket to fetch a small, ornate glass bottle. He handed it to Tinsley without a word, and Tinsley himself was just as silent as he took it and poured a few drops on the puddle.
The second the drops touched the liquid there was a loud bang, almost like a clap of thunder. The puddle started bubbling, and each popped bubble brought on a plume of brightly colored smoke. Tinsley took a few steps back and accidentally bumped into Rossini. When he turned around to apologize he found that Rossini had gone completely pale.
”You spooked?” Tinsley asked. Rossini shook his head in stunned disbelief.
”That’s- That’s not fucking normal,” he finally stuttered.
”Last place had something similar.” Tinsley shrugged. ”Though it wasn’t this violent. Was there something in that water, by the way?”
”Yes and no.” Rossini took a deep breath, probably to collect himself. ”It’s holy water.”
Tinsley frowned. ”So, what, you got it blessed? Why would that matter?”
Rossini finally seemed to have calmed himself somewhat, because his voice was back to annoyed when he responded.
”Because if something reacts like that when you pour holy water on it I’d guess there’s probably something massively wrong with it.”
”Or it’s, you know-” Tinsley had to admit he was a little surprised at Rossini’s implication that something unholy would be afoot. ”A chemical. That reacts strongly to water”
”Yeah, yeah whatever.” Rossini shifted between glaring at Tinsley and casting the puddle worried glances. ”Let’s just get this over with and go inside.”
”If you say so,” Tinsley said as Rossini passed him. The two slowly walked up to the first door in the hallway. Tinsley opened it and carefully peeked inside, finding an empty living room. He leaned back out of the room and gestured to Rossini that they were to keep going. The next room was the kitchen, also empty. That left one final door in the hallway. The bedroom, Tinsley presumed.
He was just about to open the door when he remembered Rossini.
”This might get worse than the hallway.”
Rossini smiled. ”It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
”Suit yourself.” Tinsley shrugged and opened the door.
It was…most decidedly worse than the hallway. Just like at the Bakers’ house one of the victims seemed to have been woken up by the killer making short work of the other. A woman laid on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. There was a deep wound in her neck, and the blood still flowing from it stained the covers around her.
A man, possibly her husband, still had one arm on the bed, at an angle that was definitively not something a human arm should be able to comfortably perform. He too was staring upwards, but with one eye only. The other had been crushed by an axe.
”Still think I’m your axe murderer?” Rossini asked.
Half an hour later, Tinsley had contacted his colleagues at the department and they were showing up to have a look at the scene. Detective Jonsson looked even more distressed than he had the day before at the office.
”This is just absurd.” He wiped his forehead. ”Nothing short of dreadful. Simply shocking.”
”All of those things, indeed.” Tinsley nodded. Because, well, Jonsson was right. It was absurd, dreadful and shocking. Something that might not be as absurd, dreadful and shocking, but wasn’t very fun either was that Rossini had disappeared sometime around when Jonsson and his assistants had arrived. If his goal had been to appear less suspicious he’d failed completely, Tinsley thought. Then again, he’d been pretty much cleared of any and all suspicions of being the axe murderer.
Still, Tinsley wasn’t sure what to think of the man, but that thought process would have to wait. For now, the new axe murders were top priority. The two victims had been Joan and Thomas Matthews, he’d learned, and besides the manner of death they didn’t seem to have anything in common with the Bakers at first glance. Of course, one never knew what could be revealed by taking a closer look at the evidence, so Tinsley decided to excuse himself and head back to his office once the Matthews were taken away to join their predecessors at Saint James Infirmary.
By the time Tinsley left the house it must have been early morning. He couldn’t be entirely sure what time it was, of course, since his watch still had to be set, but he’d spent quite a while at the Matthews’ house.
The streets were still dark, as well as most houses he passed. At the police station the lights were still on, however. In fact, Tinsley noted, one of the lamps in his room had been lit. He waited outside for a moment, but couldn’t see anyone moving inside. It could be as simple as him having forgotten to turn it off, but Tinsley couldn’t be entirely sure with how many suspicious figures were roaming the town at the moment.
He walked into the station and found it quiet. Detective Lynham was home, he knew, and with how few people there were at the station at this hour, it was probable that most of them would be at the Matthews’ house. Still, someone should be around. Tinsley cast a glance at the reception desk, something he rarely bothered to do, and found it empty. He tried his best to remember which of their three receptionists would have been on duty, and if his memory served him right the person he needed to keep an eye out for was miss Wagner. She was nowhere to be seen from his current position, so he moved closer to the desk and called out her name quietly.
No response. Tinsley hadn’t exactly expected anything else but it still made the oddness of the situation even more apparent. He stood for a moment and just listened. At first he didn’t hear anything besides the clock’s rhythmic ticking.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
He tried his best to ignore it and sharpened his ears.
Tick. Tick. Haa. Tick. Tick. Haa.
There was something else. Tinsley tried to focus on it and found that it appeared to come from behind the desk. It wasn’t as loud as the clock, but came at just as even intervalls. Tinsley moved even closer to the desk, and the sound got louder.
The moment he looked over it the pieces fell into place.
Miss Wagner was laying on the floor behind the desk, fast asleep. It was her breathing he’d heard. Tinsley walked around the desk to carefully shake her, but she wouldn’t wake up. After a moment of consideration, he flipped her over to a more comfortable position and threw his jacket over her as a blanket. Then he stood up, walked over to detective Jonsson’s desk and opened the bottom drawer to retrieve the pistol he knew Jonsson kept there for emergencies. Luckily for him it was loaded. He gripped its handle tight and headed towards the closed door to his office as silently as he could.
Some light spilled out from under the door, but it was dimmed. Probably from the reading lamp on his desk, then, Tinsley reasoned. Whoever was in there clearly didn’t care for good lighting. Tinsley leaned against the door with the pistol raised in one hand and the other on the handle. Any other detective would probably have been a little worried about his lack of experience in storming rooms with potential madmen inside, but self preservation was- as Rossini had pointed out- not Tinsley’s greatest strength. So instead of worrying more than was necessary, he simply counted to three and threw the door open.
The moment Tinsley aimed his pistol at the man inside, he aimed his at Tinsley.
”Relax, longlegs,” Rossini said. He was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. The one Tinsley was supposed to use when he had guests, but mainly used as extra space for paper. The paper in question had been moved to the floor next to the armchair, in a seemingly careless fashion since it was pretty spread out.
”You messed up my evidence.” Tinsley didn’t lower his pistol either. ”I had everything in order.”
”It looks just the same as before I moved it. It’s just on the floor. It’s no big deal.” Rossini sounded tired, Tinsley realized. Like it had been weeks since they last saw each other instead of hours, and like Rossini hadn’t slept in all those weeks, for whatever reason.
”You clearly have no respect for a man’s office.” Tinsley scoffed. ”What brings you here? And what’s with the weapon?”
”I could ask you the same thing.” There was a hint of a smile on Rossini’s face. ”And I’m here because I saw your axe murderer.”
”Now that is interesting.”
”Isn’t it?”
”Right, so-” Tinsley’s arm was getting a little tired. ”How about we both put our weapons down and you tell me about what you saw over a cup of coffee or something. You sound like you need it.”
Rossini narrowed his eyes. For a moment Tinsley was certain he was just going to shoot him, but that never happened. Rossini put the pistol in his lap, and let his hand stay on it as Tinsley put his own weapon on a pile of reports next to the door. Only after Tinsley put his hands in his pocket did Rossini seem to relax fully. He shifted his hand from the pistol to the chair’s armrests and didn’t move a muscle as Tinsley got closer and sat down on the chair’s matching footstool. It was a little awkward for him to sit on something so low and he ended up leaning his elbows on his knees, finding that it was more comfortable that way.
”So,” he began. ”What happened?”
”I went back to my hotel room after your colleagues showed up.” Rossini shut his eyes, seemingly painting a picture of the events in his head. ”Got there around…one o’ clock, maybe? Anyway, my door was unlocked so I got suspicious. Got my knife ready and all that, then opened the door.”
”And?” Tinsley leaned forward even more. ”Was there anyone there?”
”Sure was.” The corner of Rossini’s mouth twitched upwards. ”The knife didn’t do me much good, the fucker was fast.”
”Hold on, pause, what exactly do you mean by that?” Tinsley had a certain suspicion, which Rossini confirmed by wordlessly opening his coat. His white dress shirt was stained a bright red.
”It’s not too bad.” He must have realized that Tinsley was staring. ”I’ve had worse, and it really isn’t that deep.”
”You- I mean you still got stabbed.” Tinsley decided not to ask about the fact that Rossini had apparently lived through worse than getting stabbed by an axe murderer. ”And, what, the killer ran off into the night?”
”Pretty much yeah. I did manage to stab him back first.”
”Well that’s extremely reassuring. Did you see what he looked like?”
Rossini hesitated for a moment before he answered.
”I did. But I don’t think you’ll believe me.”
”Convince me.” Tinsley wasn’t sure what Rossini could have seen that would have been so unbelievable, but he was a little offended at Rossini’s lack of faith in him.
”He looked…well he looked like me.”
Tinsley raised his eyebrows.
”Is this your way of confessing to the murders?” He asked, earning him a glare from Rossini.
”I’m serious. It was like looking in a mirror.” Rossini did look genuinely uneasy, but Tinsley wasn’t about to trust him based on perceived unease. Especially not on something as crazy as this.
”I mean that’s certainly…wildly interesting and almost as unhelpful.”
”I figured you’d be interested since it’s your fucking case.” Rossini looked like he was starting to regret coming to Tinsley’s office. Which was all fine by Tinsley.
”Is that why you broke into my office and knocked our valued and appreciated receptionist out?” He asked, which made Rossini groan loudly.
”She’ll be fine,” he said. ”If I wanted her to get hurt she’d be hurt. Or worse.”
”That sounds troubling.”
”Why don’t you mind your own business?”
”Because you’re in my off-”
A loud crash made Tinsley and Rossini turn their attention to the door.
The noise had come from outside it.
”Any chance our valued and appreciated receptionist just woke up?” Tinsley whispered. Rossini just shook his head in response and reached for his pistol.
There was another crash. And a third. Tinsley took a few silent steps towards the door, picking his previously discarded weapon up on the way. To begin with, he put his ear against the door and listened. There were a few more crashes and what sounded like footsteps. Tinsley turned around and was surprised to see Rossini had joined him by the door without a sound.
”Colleague of yours?” He mouthed with a nod towards the door. Tinsley shook his head.
”Not likely,” he whispered. Then ”Are you okay?”
Rossini was clutching his side with one hand and Tinsley might have been wrong, but it really looked like the blood stain had grown. Rossini just made a dismissive gesture and directed his attention to the door. Whoever was outside had gone quiet now, but Tinsley was almost certain they hadn’t left.
”Right,” he whispered. ”I’m gonna take a look.”
Rossini didn’t look like he thought that was a good idea, but stepped away from the door nonetheless. Tinsley put his hand on the doorknob and turned it as slowly as he could. The door opened without a sound, no more than a few centimeters so that Tinsley could look out.
There was a man standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by overturned furniture. Tinsley guessed they were what had caused the crashes. Perhaps the man had flipped them for some reason? That seemed to be the most logical explanation.
Now the man stood still, with his back to the door, so Tinsley couldn’t get a good look at him. The height, at least, matched Rossini’s initial description of the killer.
Or did it? It suddenly looked like the man was stretching out, like he’d been hunched over and suddenly decided to stand up straight. For a while, at least, that was what it looked like, but it seemed more and more like he was actually growing the longer Tinsley looked at him.
He took a step back and closed the door just as quietly as he’d opened it, then turned to report to Rossini, only to find him sitting on the floor with a knife and his bottle of holy water in front of him. The knife was covered in a dark liquid.
”I’m about to test something,” Rossini whispered. ”It’s most likely going to get loud, so you better have that pistol ready.”
Tinsley raised it in response and turned to face the door. He was so focused on it that the by now rather familiar sound of sizzling took him by surprise. Tinsley allowed himself a glance over his shoulder at Rossini, who- as he’d thought- had poured some of his water on the knife. If it weren’t for the fact that the man outside had started making noise again Tinsley would have loved to get a closer look, but as it was now he had to be prepared to face…whoever it was. Slow footsteps were approaching the door and Tinsley instinctively took a few steps back, all the while keeping his pistol ready to fire at any moment. Suddenly, Rossini entered his field of view. Tinsley didn’t take his eyes of the door as Rossini pressed himself against the wall beside it, but he did ask.
”What are you doing?”
”I have an idea,” Rossini whispered. He had his fancy water bottle clutched in his hand, Tinsley noticed. He decided not to ask about it, though, since the footsteps were just outside the door now. The man stopped for a moment, then slowly turned the handle. Tinsley watched it move, millimeter by millimeter, and realized that he was tensing up. He took a deep breath, not too shaky all things considered, shifted his fingers slightly on the pistol’s handle and-
And the door opened.
Tinsley didn’t get a chance to take a closer look at the man’s face before Rossini sprung into action. He gripped the man’s arm and threw the water in his face, then just as quickly threw himself out of the way. He must have lost his balance, however, because he fell over.
The sound of him hitting the floor was drowned out by a scream, that for some reason made Tinsley shudder. The man was clutching his face where the water had hit, obscuring it from Tinsley’s view. Rossini had to duck as the man swiped at him in blind rage with an axe that Tinsley recognized as being the office’s fire axe. He didn’t hit, but Tinsley wasn’t so sure that Rossini would be able to dodge another strike. His movements were sluggish and desperate, and there was always the risk that the axeman would get lucky.
Tinsley took a deep breath, aimed and fired.
The axeman screamed again and dropped his axe, his now injured arm hanging useless by his side. Rossini had gotten up by now, and while he wasn’t quick he managed to put his knife in the man’s leg. With yet another howl, he staggered out of the door and disappeared. Tinsley would, many years later, still wonder why he didn’t follow the man out and would never have a clear answer. Maybe it was because he had an injured man to take care of, maybe because he wasn’t equipped to chase down a serial killer.
Maybe it was because the axeman’s voice had been familiar. Familiar enough that Tinsley would secretly be glad he hadn’t seen the man’s face. Just because of the slight, barely even there risk that he would have recognized that too. Far, far too well.
The door to the police office slammed shut, probably behind the axeman, and Tinsley’s shoulder’s finally relaxed.
”So,” he said. ”Our man got away.”
”I don’t think he’ll come back.” Rossini stood up slowly, nearly slipping again when he tried to support himself on a stack of paper. He winced, but seemed to be okay.
”Well that’s just perfect.” Tinsley sighed and put his pistol on his desk. His fingers were a bit stiff. ”The first murders in town in twenty years and we can’t even catch the culprit.”
”I’m sure you’ll manage, Tinman.”
”Tinman?”
”It’s from this book I read about- you know what, never mind.” Rossini shook his head. ”It doesn’t matter. What matters is I have to get going now.”
”Got any business to attend to?” Tinsley considered helping Rossini move, but halfway across the room he realized that’d probably get him a punch to the throat, so he stopped and crossed his arms, watching Rossini grab his coat and pistol.
”As a matter of fact I do. Had to put it on hold after what happened to the Bakers, but I’ll be back on schedule soon enough.” Rossini walked over to Tinsley, and to the latter’s surprise, put a hand on his shoulder.
”Sorry about this,” he said before hitting Tinsley on the side of his head with his pistol.
Tinsley wasn’t sure but he thought he had time to mumble a ”What?” before the world went black.
Detective C.C. Tinsley of Old York’s police department woke up with a splitting headache. On the floor, it should be mentioned, but he did have a blanket thrown over him. Once he was sure of his surroundings he sat up and blinked against the sharp morning light. The station was noisy, but not too loud since his door had been closed. Tinsley was grateful for that, since just taking a step felt like someone hitting his head with a hammer. Or a pistol.
Fucking Rossini.
Tinsley sighed and sat down in his office chair. For a while he considered going back to sleep, but duty called. With yet another sigh he turned to look at his desk.
There was an envelope sitting on it.
One that he definitely didn’t recognize, and that hadn’t been opened, by the looks of it. Curious, he reached for it and his letter opener, tearing open the envelope to read what was inside.
Dear Tinman
I truly am sorry about knocking you out, but I can’t have you following me around for the next few hours and I really didn’t think you’d approve of what I needed to take care of.
I expect by the time you’re reading this it’s been some time. If it’s morning I’d recommend sending a few of your colleagues over to Dean Sawyer’s house. He’ll need to be taken away.
I won’t say I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, because I’m not. I enjoy doing what I do, I’m good at it, and I’m even better at getting away with it. If it makes you feel any better, he has it coming. I try to stick to the ones who’ve earned it.
While you may not consider me a friend, I think I can safely claim to be an enemy of your enemy.
Until we meet again
R. Goldsworth
Tinsley put the letter down. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, but he had his suspicions…
The police station was lively, and the second Tinsley stepped out into it his headache got worse. Rubbing his temples, he headed for detective Lynham who was doing what he did best- handing out instructions.
”Oh, detective Tinsley,” he said when he noticed Tinsley. ”You spend the night at the office?”
”Yeah, yeah I did.” Tinsley rubbed his eyes. ”Anyway I need some help with something. I got an anonymous tip that we should head over to Sawyer’s house. I think it was important.”
”Oh we’ve already been there.” Lynham shook his head. ”I was shocked to say the least. Didn’t think we’d have more incidents here in town for years.”
”What?” Tinsley asked. ”What’s happened?”
”Well to begin with, Sawyer’s dead,” Lynham said. ”Knife to the throat, so it could be a new killer for all I know.”
Tinsley honestly wished he could say he was surprised. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. Instead he let Lynham continue.
”That’s not even the strangest thing, though,” he was clearly riled up by the events. ”We checked his house, you know, standard procedure, and in the basement we found this girl.”
Now, Tinsley was surprised.
”A girl?” He asked. Lynham nodded.
”A girl. No one knows who she is and we don’t have any missing people matching her. She might be from a few cities away,” Lynham explained. ”Whoever she is, it looked like he’d kept her down there for a while.”
’I try to stick to the ones who’ve earned it.’
Tinsley could almost hear Rossini say it.
No, scratch that, he could almost hear R. Goldsworth say it.