“The scream came from near Hyde Park, so I ran straight in that direction. Through the fog, a dark figure emerged, barefoot, with disheveled hair, covered in blood. I didn’t think for a second that this person could be the attacker. I thought they were someone who had escaped and tried to talk to them, but instead…”
Liam took a sip of his drink before continuing.
“They seemed out of their mind. Like a rabid dog, they were foaming at the mouth, their pupils were hugely dilated. I heard an animalistic growling, but there was no smell of drugs. Jane, you know I have a keen sense for identifying drugs based on symptoms alone. But this person—no, this thing—looked as if it had a clearer mind than anyone, yet it wasn’t human.”
I pushed aside my brief confusion and started thinking. So, it was something that seemed human but wasn’t truly human?
The fact that it could still move after taking a bullet meant it was numb to pain. Dying from a second shot indicated it could suffer fatal injuries. But what could explain such insane strength? Was it overly stimulated by drugs?
Jefferson had mentioned that the person was carrying a hunting knife, which matched the weapon we had theorized. Was it a coincidence that this person attacked Liam with it? Or could this person be the one who previously attacked, and also brutally murdered Mr. A?
Liam finished his brandy soda and set down the glass. He was using his left hand, which he typically didn’t use, probably because of the pain in his shoulder.
“Jane, you should go back to your room. I’m sorry for scaring you in the middle of the night. Inspector Jefferson, please stay here tonight. It’s too dangerous to wander around with the fog still thick.”
“That was my plan. I don’t want to be in the papers tomorrow.”
* * *
When I opened my eyes again, it was morning.
Waking up safely, I habitually updated the slot in my notebook beside my bed, got up, and checked the lock on the window. Immanuel Kant was known to follow strict habits every hour, and perhaps I exhibited similar symptoms—obsessive-compulsive disorder or neurosis.
“Good morning, Jane.”
I smelled the rich scent of bacon and eggs. It seemed George, the landlady’s son, had brought in a prepared breakfast.
“Did the inspector leave?”
I asked. Liam, flipping through the newspaper and sipping his tea, nodded.
“He left at dawn, saying he had to get to Scotland Yard to report yesterday’s incident promptly. Truly a responsible officer.”
“Don’t be too harsh on Scotland Yard. They’re just doing their jobs.”
“Yes, although somewhat incompetently.”
That attitude is the problem. No wonder the Scotland Yard folks grit their teeth whenever they see you.
Though Liam Moore worked as a consultant for Scotland Yard, he was not particularly welcomed internally, which was a bit amusing.
“Any news?”
I asked as I sat on the sofa, glancing at the pile of newspapers on the table.
“There’s a mention of yesterday’s events.”
“Everyone would know if there were gunshots in the city.”
Several copies of different newspapers were delivered regularly. Liam Moore believed in getting accurate information by reading various newspapers instead of relying on just one biased source.
Flipping through these papers felt like the kind of research we did back in university. Honestly, our professors didn’t even assign us such tasks often. But ever since I started this game (joined Liam Moore), he has maintained this daily habit. Hence, I didn’t complain.
‘If he wants to read, so be it…’
While he read another paper, I picked up one from the remaining stack to see if there were any interesting articles. I found one:
[Sixth Victim Found Near Hyde Park.
Around 2:25 a.m. today, the sixth victim was found near Park Street, Paddington. The notorious ‘Misty Murderer’ has claimed another victim. The body was…(details omitted)… A police officer from Scotland Yard fired twice, but the criminal escaped into the thick fog.]
Park Street—that’s where Inspector Brixon and I walked before!
The emergence of a new victim there was surprising. This confirmed one of my hypotheses.
Going to Hyde Park on the second day results in a murder.
The only one who didn’t get killed was the man armed with a weapon. Whether he prevented a death flag unconditionally or not needed more observation.
I was surprised to find no mention of Liam Moore shooting at someone. It seemed the police had kept things tightly under wraps.
“Where are you going today?”
I asked.
“A social club. I intend to gather some information.”
Was he a member of a social club?
I knew young men from public schools went to Oxbridge (Oxford and Cambridge), followed prestigious curricula, and formed exclusive clubs. These gentlemen’s clubs were known for flaunting their status and enjoying their elite separation. Young men who graduated from London’s universities maintained these networks in society, creating stagnant, exclusive circles.
I frowned.
“You, in a place like that?”
“Oh, Jane. Sometimes meeting with those types can be helpful.”
Well, I didn’t think so.
Anyway, after seeing Liam off, dressed impeccably for a change, I decided to get on with my work.
I checked the tabs containing the gathered materials and clues, and reviewed the case records that had come into the office. I couldn’t afford to miss anything.
Even when George, the landlady’s son, brought fresh scones and tea, I remained buried in my mountain of papers. Information was piling up. Any disruption would break my focus.
“Um,”
A young voice. It was George. He hesitated before speaking again.
“Miss Osmond, aren’t you going to have your tea?”
Ugh, my concentration was broken. I was irritated but tried to keep my voice calm.
“I’ll drink it later, George. Thank you.”
He didn’t press further but looked at me with a hint of disappointment. I quickly returned my attention to the documents, disregarding his lingering presence.
It was about an hour or two later, as I was absorbed in the papers, that I felt the pieces coming together.
I cleared everything off the table and spread out a paper map from an atlas.
A map of London.
I tore and cut the newspapers, attaching the clippings to the map, arranging them one by one. Paper scraps piled up on the floor, which I tossed into the fireplace.
The hidden truth behind the murders began to reveal itself.
Eliminating the wrong leads eventually brings you to the correct answer. The process of digging out the truth was tedious, but necessary.
“Let’s see…”
Six bodies, murdered in horrific ways, all converged around one point.
Some might speculate that the narrowing proximity to Belgravia and Westminster meant Buckingham Palace was the target. But that theory was entirely wrong. Buckingham Palace just happened to fall within this trajectory by chance.
“Oh my God, why did I only realize this now?” I muttered.
These six cases were drawing a circle around Big Ben!
Everything became clear. Whatever their goal was, it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.
If Big Ben was their target, why did they take the heads?
That was a question for later. First, I needed to meet with Liam. I had to convey this information and alert him to their intentions.
…And as I threw on a cloak over my bustle dress to run out, I suddenly had a thought.
Too much time had passed.