Casper entered a dilapidated apartment on Boulevard, the ground floor felt like a relic left to rot. The wallpaper once patterned with deep burgundy florals — had faded into dull browns, peeling back in long curls that revealed water-stained plaster beneath.
The stairwell was narrow and steep, the worn out oak creaked under his steps. The iron railing was rusted, missing in some portions too.
As he ascended, the air grew colder. Drafts slipped through gaps in the windowpanes.
Finally, Casper arrived at the room young Rostava was found in.
Entering it, he quickly noticed some splotches of dried blood in clumps on the floorboard.
If only DNA profiling existed in this world, he thought regretfully.
Casper crept closer and closer towards the center, his eyes moved throughout the room, glancing at every nook and cranny.
At the centre of the small square room, the word Rache was written.
Casper closed his eyes, Rache had many meanings.
In Loenese it meant revenge.
In Jotun, a name — Rachel.
In Hermes it meant Driver.
But this was a street urchin who only knew one language — Loenese.
So, the question arose, revenge for what?
…
"If the body wasn't cremated already and wasn't a month old, maybe I could have figured out more."
Casper whispered to himself, basking in the warmth of the sun before moving to a seat a little to the side of the building.
According to her mother, she loved pink, all her outfits were pink. They found her with nothing on her except the clothes on her body. But she was coming to Backlund to visit her mother, so she would definitely carry a suitcase.
So, where's the suitcase? The killer probably has it. Then again, why would a killer take a person's suitcase? Sure, she might've looked well off with her pink clothes but a suitcase isn't something a crook would steal.
They would steal the wallet, moreover, even if they wanted to steal her suitcase why would they kill her? A murder is a much more serious crime than theft. She also carved out revenge, which means, it's someone she knows.
Casper thought.
Pinching his glabella, he sighed. This really was an impossible case to solve.
Suddenly, his thoughts were disrupted by a small boy of twelve shouting out for papers.
His clothes were two sizes too big, a fraying shirt hanging loose over patched trousers, both stained with old dust and ink from the stacks of newspapers he carried.
Casper glanced at him, then at the entrance to the apartment.
Suddenly, an idea came to his mind.
He quickly made his way over to the boy.
"Paperboy," Casper called out, tone flat but controlled. "You pass through this street every day?"
The boy looked at him, and unconsciously took a step back. "I'm not in trouble am I? I promise you mister, I've been good. I just do an honest day's work to care for my sick sister!"
He cried, turning to run.
"Pah!" Casper said, "Nothing like that. I just want to know how long you stay out here."
Hearing his words, the boy lowered his guard and sighed. "From sunrise to midnight." He said, walking over to him, "Why do you ask, sir? Might I also introduce you to today's newspaper."
Casper shook his head, "No, by the way. Did you ever see a pink woman entering that building last month, you must've noticed her. She had… um peculiar taste — dressing in all pink," he said, pointing at the dilapidated apartment.
The boy's eyes lit up before dimming, "Hmm, I'm not too sure. My memory's a bit foggy, maybe some paper will jog it."
Casper grit his teeth, this little gremlin was trying to hustle him! Though he did respect the grind. Sighing, he pulled out his wallet from his coat and handed him 6 pence.
Looking at the money in his hands, the boy's eyes beamed. "Oh yes, I do remember her. She was dressed quite strangely. Moreover it was very weird…. actually nevermind, that isn't important. What do you want to know, sir."
Casper's eyes glinted upon listening to him, his money was well spent. "I don't care if it's strange or not, tell me everything you remember from that night."
"Well first things first, she arrived in a carriage. Though her coachman came into the apartment with her. I thought he was helping her with her luggage but thinking back… he didn't carry no suitcase. It was quite weird.
"That and the fact that the apartment had been abandoned for years, no one entered there except junkies. I thought that she had recently purchased the building and wanted to renovate it. You know how that's a popular venture nowadays."
Casper's eyes glimmered slightly, finally a clue!
So the murderer was a coachman! But why would a coachman want revenge? They wouldn't know each other….. unless, the person she wronged disguised himself as a coachman!
Thinking of that, Casper couldn't help but chuckle. Oh, it was such a devious plan. It might've worked — if Detective Casper wasn't on the case.
"Can you describe the man?" he asked quickly.
"Nah, it was very late." The boy responded, shaking his head.
Casper nodded before turning to leave. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned towards the paperboy.
"That sick sister story was a fake right?"
As his words fell, the boy's eyes suddenly darkened. "Why do you care?" He asked spitefully.
Casper glanced at him, sighing, he pulled out a pound from his wallet and placed it in the boy's hand. "Take care of your sister," he muttered before turning around and leaving, nonchalantly.
But inwardly, he was on the verge of tears. Why am I a good person?! That's an entire pound! I worked so hard for it, no wonder Klein is such a miser. Parting with your hard earned money makes your heart ache!
Thinking of his money, he couldn't help but cry.
All of a sudden, he felt his potion digest slightly.
Huh?
Stunned, Casper paused.
"Is it because I used a paperboy to gather information — someone the cops would normally ignore, thereby exploiting a social rule and hence digesting my potion?"
Casper muttered under his breath with a content grin. Today couldn't be better…. except for the teeny-tiny fact that he was investigating a murder.