Name: Richard Barker

Age: 33

Apperance: The quintessence of the Private Detective, the "'Dick" and Professional Snoop, Richard Barker looks like a man who's got knocked down quite a few times but always gotten back on his feet. Mostly. Richard stand at an average height with an average build, with combed back black hair and brown eyes. What's most striking about the private detective isn't his dress or skill as a snoop, but the big scare on his nose. Few people know really what happened, but Richard sure won't tell just anyone.

Occupation: Private Detective, Private Eye, Private Investigator, Snoop and Gumshoe. Richard's been attributed many of these titles, though he personally uses the first professionally.

Interests: When not in his office or out working his ass off on another case, you can find Richard in any typical joint, drinking whatever legal or illegal beverage they serve to the clientele. A cigarette dangling from his lips, he'll go over the may-have-beens, the what-if's, the if-only's, trying to crack those cases still uncracked. If not, you'll find him taking long drives in his automobile, catching a picture or chatting with his old police buddies from the Force. But there's always a case on his mind.

Fears and phobias: Fears? Listen pal, after serving nearly ten years in the NYPD, you'll get used to a hell of a lot. Either you crack under the pressure, or you grow numb from it. Richard's of the latter, grown to have a lead belly. There's only two things he fears - Never finding his missing daughter, and barbers.

Superstitions: Richard has seen so much in his years that he rarely finds the necessary to explain the happenings of the real world with superstitious mumbo-jumbo. There's no God, and if there is, he's nowhere to be found. No, the world can be a bad and messy place just because people are bad and messy. No need to add an extra step to include anything we can't see or feel.

Skills: Arabic, Deduction of clues, psychology, Driving, Intimidation, Alertness, Stealth, Research, Dancing, Breaking & Entering, Stamina, Streetfighting and unarmed, Pistols and Shotguns.

Intelligence/Sanity: Richard never attended anything close to Harvard or anything those men in high places attended. No, Richard only got the regular educated most American kids did back in the day, but that's all he needed. While not naturally inclined to be book-smart, Richard's intelligence was rarely questions when he was in the New York Police Department. Richard is a quick thinker and a quick learner. What's the use of learning what the essence of Wiliam Shakespeare's "The Tempest" if you can't dodge a blow of a guy who's no Romeo? Not that he doesn't like a good read, just never really was his thing.

Is Richard a sane person then? Maybe, it's difficult to say. He's stable, that's for sure. But having been through all that he has, you'd be surprised if some wacky thoughts hadn't crossed him. Still he keeps his head cool and collected.

Backstory:

Richard was born the first of four children to the Barker-couple, born and raised in one of New York's shadier neighbourhoods. While things could get rough now and again, the four Barker-children had a fairly good childhood, even when their parents didn't have time for them. For Richard's father, Richard Barker senior, was a cop in the New York Police Department. Which was what Richard junior too wanted to become. So when he wasn't attending school or watching over his siblings, Richard could most often be seen following cops on duty to learn as much as he could. He even sometimes watched them from afar, witnessing how many conducted their work with ruthless efficiency and batons. But they only attacked the bad guys, right?

Richard never got a degree, but managed in 1906 to become a cop just after turning 18 partly thanks to his father already being in the same station. But a few short years later Richard junior was the only Barker left on the force. His father was suspected of taking bribes from a certain Italian establishment and swiftly kicked off-duty for an indefinite amount of time. At first Richard outright refused to believe that his father, the hero in shining armour and blue uniform he had looked up to for so many years could do such a thing, but with age came the creeping realization that no-one was uncorruptable. Every man had his price, even Richard himself.

His idealistic view on his duties as a cop brought him close to the neighbourhood he regularly patrolled. It was commonly known as "Little Egypt" for obvious reasons, as the main demographic of its inhabitants came from the Middle East and many spoke Arabic several generations after emigrating to America. Richard came to know those streets and its regulars more and more as the years on patrol went, and even learned an decent amount of Arabic himself. Of course he never got the accent right, but the others thought of it as characteristic of him, perhaps a bit cute? And he enjoyed it all; his work, his friends, his wife Beatrice and his soon-to-be-born child. Even if his father was a tainted mark on him, life was good.

It wasn't until after the Raid in 1914 that it all started falling apart.

It was meant to be routine task for the now promoted Richard and the rest of the team; they had solid information of a opium trade taking place, who would attend, and when and where it would take place. It would all be simple, put up an ambush and catch the criminals in the act, before going home just in time for dinner. It was anything but simple. They hadn't anticepated the pepretrators to put up resistance like they did, revolvers and knives all thrown into the mix of dark alleyways and too many cooks in one kitchen, so to speak. One of the Portugese guys grabbed Richard from behind, while another came at him with a razor and cutting his nose nearly clean off. Hadn't it been for the backup, Richard knew he'd probably be dead. And he also knew that this operation was doomed from the start. Someone from inside the Department warned them. It angered him, hardened him, even made him a little colder.

Either it was him turning colder that pushed his wife away, or it was his wife's departure that cooled the already shaken police officer, because a year later Beatrice wanted nothing more from Richard. Nothing more except his money and their daughter Elise. He could let go of the money, but Elise he couldn't part with. Not in a million years, not when he needed her the most to stay above water mentally. So when Elise disappeared without a trace another year after his and Beatrice's separation, he had no doubts as to who did it. At least he thought he did, until Beatrice out of all people came crying to him demanding to know where their little Elise was. Richard didn't know, she didn't know, and nobody else did either.

Richard couldn't take the pressure, and quit the force. When the police themselves stopped looking for her, he started on his own, even without many leads. Like she was torn out of this very reality and stored away in another. Richard was a broken man, left with little in that world to live for. Perhaps except for the slim hope of Elise returning home safe. Perhaps that's why he became a private detective, to earn enough money to still be alive if...when Elise comes home, or he himself found wherever those devils had taken her.

There doesn't pass a day without Richard looking up at the door in his office, waiting for Elise to walk in and tell him she's home, like nothing's wrong. Like everything is all right. Like things were almost ten years ago before all of this; The scar on his nose, his tired-looking eyes, the wedding ring lying in his mostly empty safe, and the letter on his desk from a certain Harry Everfield.

Richard didn't know the name, but he instantly recognized the one of Jeremy Stockhold. Odd fella, had been hired by him years ago in order to track down a certain book. Richard rarely took on such odd-jobs both before and since, but hey the case payed, and Richard managed to both find and deliver the book to strange Mr. Stockhold. Drove all the way up to Arkham, as per Jeremy's instructions and handed off the book. Never heard from him since, though the case stuck with him. Perhaps this was the case he would turn over this time?