Casper brought a pink suitcase into his apartment. Finding it was quite elementary.
The killer had driven her to 213 Boulevard. While he did take her into the apartment to kill her, he forgot one simple thing — her case.
Blinded by the rage, he thought of one thing which was killing her, forgetting all about the suitcase in the carriage. After committing the act only did he realise his mistake.
Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing too much attention to themselves, particularly a man which is statistically more likely.
So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it. The moment he noticed he still had it, wouldn't have taken more than 5 minutes to realise his mistake.
Casper had checked every backstreet wide enough to fit a carriage — took him more than an hour to find the right skip.
Ah, he truly was fit to be a detective.
Opening the suitcase, he found some books, a few pairs of clothes, a diary and a small tin case.
Casper quickly lifted the lid, a neat row of little white tablets sat inside, each pressed into a paper sheath revealed itself.
Casper had seen this once before when he — no, his previous body went to a whorehouse — it was a pill they consumed to avoid pregnancy.
This left no ambiguity
She had either gotten pregnant or was working the streets.
But the diary containing how she felt after getting fucked indicated the latter.
Poor Rostava, Casper sighed upon reading the diary.
To try and make some petty cash to ease the burden on her mother, she started working the streets a few years prior.
It was a diary detailing her experiences after every job and her everyday life.
Rostava turned out to be basically friendless with only one friend who stopped talking to her a few days before she arrived at Backlund after finding out she was a prostitute.
There were also some entries about one particularly handsy and obsessed customer that frequently chased after her.
Well this is an unexpected development… Hmm, did this customer have delusions that Rostava truly loved him and started chasing after her and when she rejected him. He felt heartbroken and decided to merc her because if he couldn't have her, no one else could?
Casper thought, flipping through the entries to find his name.
But in the end it seemed fruitless, as not a single entry contained his name.
Leaning back against his chair, Casper sighed. Why can't men learn to accept rejections?
Still, the case wasn't dead yet.
Rostava had a friend, one whose name was mentioned in the diary, who knew her work. If he could send a telegraph now, he could potentially find out his name by the day's end tomorrow.
Flipping open his pocketwatch, he saw it was 6 in the evening — it wasn't too late.
Grabbing his fedora, Casper rushed to reach the telegraph office before it closed.
…
"Good afternoon sir, I have a telegraph to send." Casper said, placing his coat on the rack.
The receptionist nodded, typing up something on his typewriter before handing Casper a check for five soli.
Casper paused for a moment as his face darkened, it was another hit to his wallet, his funds were running low. At this point, he might have to start begging to earn a square meal.
After much hesitation, Casper finally handed the receptionist the fee.
He quickly got up from his seat and then led Casper through the door on his left where
He stopped before a narrow booth divided by a wooden half-wall, the telegraphist already seated inside with his sounder and key.
Casper handed over the slip containing the address and the short message.
The operator read it once, adjusted the headset, and began tapping out the dots and dashes with mechanical precision.
Finally, after a few long minutes. The operator tore off the confirmation strip and passed it to Casper without a word.
With the message now en route, Casper stepped back into the lobby. If the telegraph reached her tonight, the reply tomorrow would determine his next move.
Casper deliberated whether to reveal to the old lady about his findings before deciding not to, there was no need to get her hopes up.
There was a chance Rostava's friend might not know the man. After all, once she told her about her side hustle. The girl stopped speaking to her entirely, Rostava might not have gotten time to reveal all the intricacies of her work.