[December XX, 4 AM. University College Campus.]
He was being chased.
He ran, frequently looking over his shoulder to see how close his unidentified pursuer was. The fog began to gather on the empty sidewalk blocks. He knew what this meant.
The hunt had begun.
Being the prey instead of the hunter was not a pleasant experience. But he couldn’t stop. Stopping here was dangerous. He had to think like a hunter. Where should he go? He muttered to himself. Not a dead end. That’s too dangerous. He couldn’t predict how long this fog would last, but he had to escape at least until morning.
“Where are you? Where are you?” His shout echoed on the empty street. He kept running, but the fog only thickened, as if it was being drawn up from the Thames. He should have brought a gun. The dimming gas lamps made his vision increasingly obscured.
There were no sounds of pursuit. The fog spread like a serpent, licking at his pants and dragging at his steps, making his entire body feel heavy.
Someone was here.
He could feel the presence. An oppressive, predatory presence. No sound, but it was definitely following him not far behind. It seemed to be watching him, not approaching easily. What was it waiting for? For him to get exhausted and give up?
It wanted to crush him, pull him down, and prevent him from escaping…
“Where did it all go wrong?”
He muttered. But no matter how much he thought about it, there had been no signs. Today, he simply had many tasks, and when he finally looked up from grading, it was already this late. He never expected this while returning to his dormitory.
He had been chased for a long time, yet dawn showed no signs of breaking. Eventually, he slipped into a building to hide. Inside, deeper inside. Into a windowless room! A room where once the door was locked, nothing could get in!
After locking the door and blocking the entrance with furniture, he finally felt a sense of relief. He had made the right choice. The fog no longer followed him. He had escaped the pursuit.
“Damn it….”
His voice was hoarse from running. His legs, released from tension, could hardly stand.
He rummaged in his pocket and took out a matchbox. With a deft motion, he lit a match. The damp tobacco leaves slowly caught fire. He took a deep drag, regaining his composure. He needed to contact someone.
Then he noticed footsteps. There was someone else in the building. The sound of regular footsteps echoed down the corridor, and each time they did, the presumed lamp light flickered, casting shadows.
A caretaker? Right, it’s time for rounds!
His guess was correct. He heard the sound of a caretaker checking and tidying empty classrooms, eventually reaching the room where he was hiding.
“Huh?”
A familiar voice. Where had he heard it?
“Why is this locked? Is anyone in there? Students, you’re not allowed to sleep in the classrooms after drinking—”
The caretaker grumbled for a while, then seemed to give up when the door didn’t open. The footsteps receded. The man felt relieved.
“—Oh, come on.”
And then froze at the following voice.
The voice came from the corner of the seemingly empty classroom. He saw a gleam in the darkness. Bright yellow eyes. The eyes, shining like those of a beast, became clearer. Something detached itself from the clinging darkness on the wall and began to speak in a human voice. A voice he knew very well.
But how? There was no way it could be here….
His thoughts ended there.
＊ ＊ ＊
“Died in a locked room?”
I was eating breakfast and my mouth fell open.
London had been relatively quiet lately. Small crimes like pickpocketing and petty theft occurred occasionally, but the reliable police of London could handle those.
But a death? And a mysterious one in a locked room?
Liam, reading the telegram, wore a troubled expression and handed it to me. The policeman who had delivered it also looked puzzled.
“A locked room?”
The content of the telegram requested our cooperation since they couldn’t understand how someone could die in a locked room.
Someone died, and right in the middle of a university campus! The name of the university was somewhat familiar. It hadn’t even been open for a hundred years yet.
Liam frowned, deep in thought as he reread the telegram.
“Died in a locked room. A teaching assistant….”
He kept repeating it, caught between bewilderment and astonishment.
Is that even possible? Usually, locked rooms have some kind of trick or aren’t truly locked. It’s nearly impossible for someone to die in a completely sealed room unless it’s suicide! But since it wasn’t suicide, Scotland Yard must have requested our help.
The policeman, sensing my confusion, offered additional explanation. I’d seen him a few times while going back and forth from Scotland Yard. I didn’t know his name, but he seemed to be the one handling the telegrams at 13 Bailonz Street.
Right. From Scotland Yard’s perspective, having Liam handle their cases must be intimidating. It proved their incompetence.
“The students were confused when the classroom door was locked for their 9 AM lecture. They had to force it open and found….”
“Found the body.”
“Blood everywhere, even splattered up to the ceiling. Matches were scattered around, and the man was lying in the centre of the room.”
“You didn’t see it yourself?”
The policeman widened his eyes in surprise. Why so shocked? He just explained it all himself. I sighed and took a sip of tea.
Clink. Liam looked up at the sound of the cup being set down. His grey eyes sparkled with enthusiasm despite his pale face.
“We have to go.”
“This case is certainly intriguing.”
The policeman shook his head as if exasperated by our reaction.
“You find this interesting?”
Liam Moore nodded while stuffing three biscuits into his mouth (moments like this made me doubt he was a London gentleman). He looked like he hadn’t eaten for days. Seeing this, I tore off a piece of bread and offered it to him. He accepted it with a small smile.
We hadn’t had a proper meal lately. After the train incident, there was no pretence between us. Our mornings stretched longer, leading to late meals, and this morning’s visit from the policeman disrupted even that.
I kindly brushed the crumbs from his lips. Liam blinked.
“We shouldn’t eat sandwiches at the crime scene, right?”
I joked. Liam chuckled, and Mary, peeking through the door, sighed.
＊ ＊ ＊
The campus air was tense. Understandably so, given the mysterious death of a teaching assistant. Students glanced at us, recognizing Liam Moore, the famous detective, and his assistant. Some were more interested in recent news, whispering amongst themselves.
“Wow, that’s Mr. Moore! Who is he?”
“You fool, he’s the famous detective! And the woman next to him?”
“His wife? No, she’s his assistant!”
With so many NPCs around, I was used to the [Mrs. Moore Event] occurring. It had been a while.
The path to the building where the assistant died was gloomy, with occasional glimpses of sunlight through thick clouds. This place? Usually, assistants would be in professors’ offices, right?
Liam asked, timely.
“Which department was the assistant from?”
“Literature. Shakespeare and such. We learned from interviews that he stayed late grading assignments for a professor.”
Liam raised an eyebrow, his expression questioning the policeman’s unusual efficiency. The policeman grumbled.
“Identifying the victim is standard procedure, Mr. Moore.”
The classroom where the body was found was deep within the building. Why would the assistant come this far inside? The building itself wasn’t easily accessible, located in the most remote part of the campus. Even if he stayed late grading, why come to such an isolated, enclosed space?
The gathered people parted. Inside, older individuals were clustered, the younger ones all in uniforms, their affiliations clear. Only key decision-makers among the faculty seemed present, as students were kept away.
As I saw the blood before me, I muttered.
“Good heavens.”