Olivia knew the best place to start her investigation into the Worthington crypt vandalism was at the graveyard itself. As an experienced cop, she understood the value of examining a crime scene firsthand before the trail went cold. She had heard many an experienced detective scuff at a poorly written Crime scene report. The reports could still be useful, but nothing could substitute for being on location to pick up clues with her own eyes.
The cemetery was sure to offer insights and information not contained in the constables' statements. The mood and lighting of the environment, the precise method of forced entry, footprints in the soil, disturbances in the crypt - these details could crack open new avenues of inquiry.
More importantly, Olivia sensed this case went beyond a simple act of desecration. Why force entry yet take nothing? The aura of wrongness she felt demanded investigating right at the source, where residues of dark intent might still linger. Cemeteries and graveyards held stories not just in gravestones but in the very air.
Olivia needed to immerse herself in the scene, letting her intuition pick up on what might elude logical analysis. To walk where the perpetrator walked, see what they saw, perhaps glimpse the malevolent glimpse that drove them. Some haunting mystery dwelled in this place, beckoning to her.
And if she was lucky, examining the crypt herself might even provide the chance of encountering clues the criminal left behind. Stray hairs, muddy footprints, a dropped matchstick - Olivia's trained eye could spot the tiniest detail out of place. But she had to start at the heart, at the gravesite itself, if she hoped to unravel this shadowy plot.
*******
"Ah yes, nasty bit of business, that was," the tired older desk sergeant with a large mustache huffed. "Not sure what you think you'll find, but here is the scene report. Hobbs and Willis were on duty that night"
The Desk Sergeant, Walter Fraser, had regarded her skeptically at first. But when Olivia explained Inspector Brown's Illness and her current assignment, his manner became more accommodating. He handed over the file without too much trouble.
Hobbs and Willis, she knew. She had been out on Patrol with one or the other of them on many different occasions. These days, the pair seemed always to be joined at the hip. She knew exactly where to find the pair.
*******
Olivia was greeted by their familiar faces when she entered the break room at the constabulary. Constables Hobbs and Willis sat immersed in a game of cards, as was their usual method of passing the time. A haze of pipe smoke hung thick in the air as she entered.
"Olivia! By Jove, it's good to see you again," Hobbs exclaimed, rising to shake her hand heartily. "It's been, what, six months since we’ve had a shift together?"
Willis grinned around his pipe stem. "Heard you be filling in for Inspector Brown? Nasty Illness?”
Olivia smiled wryly as she pulled up a chair. "My word travels fast, though I can't complain about some official investigation work coming my way.”
"So you're looking into that nasty crypt business over in Highgate, eh? It was the oddest thing," Hobbs said, scratching his head as he recalled the scene. "Me and Willis were the first on site after the groundskeeper reported the break-in. The iron crypt door had clearly been smashed open, and the lock busted right off. But looking inside, nothing seemed disturbed. No bones out of place, no valuables stolen that we could see."
He shook his head, perplexed. "Gave me the chills being in there, I'll tell you. All those generations of Worthington buried together, their stone coffins sealed up tight. Why force your way in just to leave everything untouched?"
Willis nodded along as he puffed on his pipe. "Those Worthingtons have been buried there for ages. Never liked the bunch myself, all high and mighty since they built their fortune in the textile trade. But desecrating graves is bound to bring bad fortune."
"The weird part was, the door was the only thing damaged," he continued. "It's like someone wanted to get in and have a look around, then thought better of it and scarpered. But what could they have been looking for?"
Hobbs shrugged as he laid down a card. "Doesn't make a lick of sense why someone would break into that musty old crypt. But I reckon you're smart enough to figure it out, Miss Detective. Let us know if you need any other insights."
The constables wished Olivia luck before returning to their card game, the peculiar cemetery case already fading from their minds.
*******
The carriage clattered to a halt on the crowded cobblestone street, the horse’s shoes striking sparks against the stone. Olivia grasped the side handle and stepped down, smoothing her skirt. All around her, the city bustled with activity.
New age motorized carriages puttered by, sharing the road with horse-drawn hansom cabs and carts loaded with goods. Chimney stacks belched plumes of inky smoke that mingled with the low-hanging fog. Vendors cried out from cluttered storefronts lined with hand-painted signs, selling everything from fresh bread to polished shoes.
Newsboys waving papers jostled and wove through the throngs of passersby. Street musicians added a lively soundtrack of accordion melodies and tambourine beats. Clusters of smartly dressed gentlemen stood conversing while nannies in crisp uniforms pushed elaborate prams.
Olivia set off on foot, merging into the steady stream of bustling traffic coursing along the sidewalks. Vendors called out from crowded stalls, selling flowers, newspapers, and hot chestnuts. Around her rose tall townhouses, their wrought iron balconies and window boxes overflowing with crimson flowers.
At the end of the lane, the road opened up into a major thoroughfare. Olivia paused, waiting for a break in traffic before crossing. Reaching the other side, she continued down a less crowded street, passing by tidy shops and a small park where children played hoops and flew kites.
The farther she walked, the more the cityscape shifted. Buildings became more scattered, smoke-belching factories lurking behind high stone walls. The housing grew shabbier, and laundry lines strung between apartments. Fewer people jostled along the narrow sidewalk. Up ahead, the Gothic spire of the old church rose above the rooftops.
Turning down a nearly deserted side lane, the cemetery gates finally came into view, wrought iron worn with rust and age. Olivia felt an air of melancholy descend as she approached the threshold to this island of the dead amidst the living, pulsating city.
Member
shallow grave
Ezekiel
Kaithe Dame
Snowdrops
Sep
World Traveler
EpicRoleplay
Abstract Proxy
rabidbacon
Festive