Mayhew and Margret stepped on to the icy concrete, their gazes falling on the five-story building in front of them. This was apparently where they would find a decent apartment—at least decent in this town's standards. Though to be fair, the building did look much better off than what the duo had seen from the rest.
"Meg, would you mind going inside and getting us a room, please."
She sighed and said in an even tone:
"Sure thing. You want me to make dinner for you as well."
As Margret began to walk toward the doors of the building, Mayhew couldn't help but let out a chuckle.
'That would be wonderful actually. Her cooking is amazing.'
Turning around, the detective walked over to the white van where old man Józef was smoking another cigarette.
"Don't take this as an insult, but don't you think that smoking that much will cause some trouble for your—uhh..."
The old man shook his head and chuckled.
"Lungs, is that what you wanted to say?"
Rubbing the back of his head, Mayhew's lips curled into a smile and he nodded at the old man.
'I forgot how to say a word again. Polish is really hard, huh.'
Shaking off some of the residue from his cigarette, Józef looked around the area with a somber expression on his plump face.
"Well Mayhew, I also don't want you to take this as an insult but... don't you think that your kindness will be taken advantage of in this hell hole. With the border police it worked out because I was there, now I am leaving and you and your partner will have to take care of yourselves. With your mindset I can't see that working out well."
Placing a hand on the old man's shoulder, Mayhew looked at him with a warm expression on his face.
"It's alright, we'll manage just like we always have. Thank you for the concern."
Analyzing the detective's face, Józef lingered for a moment before a sigh escaped his mouth.
"It's getting late, I need to drive back to Kamienica before it gets too dark. You got my payment ready, detective?"
Removing his hand from Józef's shoulder, the detective reached into the pocket of his thick jacket and pulled out a stack of Polish Złoty. And without hesitation, he pushed the money into Józef's hands and began walking toward the building.
Looking at the cash in his hands, the old man stuttered a few times before his creaky voice finally managed to say:
"I thought you knew how to count Złoty, detective. This—this is too much, it's nearly double of what we agreed on."
The hazel-eyed detective simply dismissed his words with a hand wave. Then, with his back turned to the old driver, Mayhew spoke—his voice carrying the sense of a fatherly type of joy or proudness.
"That's what you deserve for being the person that you are today, and not letting your past bleed into your present and eventual future. Tell you what, if we meet again and your eyes are the same as today—I'll gift you whatever Polish money is left in my pockets after the investigation is done. That's a promise."
Before the old man could even reply, Mayhew had already entered the building and closed the doors behind him.
Standing beside his van, Józef couldn't help but wonder:
'Keep my eyes the same. What does that even mean? Jesus, British people are weird after all.'
Holding off a smile from forming on his face, Józef put the cash into his pockets and got back into his van. The wheels spun and the white van very quickly disappeared under the snowfall.
Looking around the base floor of the building, Mayhew almost immediately spotted a stranger just at the foot of the stairs.
It was a very plump woman, who looked to be around her early 50s. And it seemed that the elder woman had spotted him as well.
Both smiled at each other, though the emotion behind their lips was completely different from each other. Mayhew's smile was genuine, polite, and gave out a warm feeling. The woman's smile, meanwhile, seemed almost mischievous.
"Hello miss, my name is Mayhew—Mayhew Brown. Mind telling me your name?"
Instead of replying immediately, the woman took her time 'checking' the detective out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, the woman's smile widened a little and she finally spoke back.
"My name is Helena, but you can call me Lena if you want."
The detective nodded with a smile.
"I'll go with Helena, it's a beautiful name and does not need to be cut down for the convenience of speaking."
The old woman giggled.
"Aren't you a smooth talker. But it's a little inappropriate considering that I just had a conversation with your wife, mere minutes ago in fact."
Suddenly, Mayhew's unshaken smile wavered for the first time in a while. Waving his arms around in clear dismissal, the detective had to clarify the type of relationship he and Margret had.
"No—no, that's not it at all. I and her are partners... partners as in co-workers, I mean. And also, I am 38 years old and she is only 25, and I don't know about you but I am not comfortable with dating people much younger than me or the other way around."
Hearing that last statement made Helena sigh, her disappointment not being hidden at all.
"Well, I see how it is then. No worries though, I already have another young man who is not held back by someone's age."
Regaining his composure, Mayhew spoke, his voice even.
"That's good to hear and I hope that you both have fun with each other's company. But if you don't mind me asking, where did my partn—co-worker go."
Helena rolled her eyes and pointed a finger up the stairs.
"Second floor, third door to the right. That's the apartment she rented. If you need any help with anything, you can talk with the landlord—which is me unfortunately enough."
Walking up the old and creaky stairs, Mayhew waved goodbye to the one-of-a-kind old woman.
'Well... at least our landlord is an interesting person to talk to.'
The detective made his way up to the second floor and into the apartment that Margret had chosen for them.
"So, how was it with the landlord?"
Sitting on a dusty couch, Mayhew chuckled awkwardly.
"She is certainly an interesting person, that is to say the very least."
Stretching his arms to the side, the hazel-eyed detective glanced at Margret with a small smile.
"How about you—Margret, how was your conversation with the landlord. Because last time I remembered, you don't know Polish. So how did you arrange everything with the apartment?"
Side-eyeing him, the blonde detective scoffed with attitude.
"With sheer competence and professionalism. The two things that you could only dream of having."
Letting out a low chuckle, Mayhew let his head rest on the brownish fabric of the old couch. And eventually after some time, the middle-aged detective fell into the embrace of sleep, right there on the couch.
It was the 30th of January 1985, and once Mayhew's sleep was done, the investigation of Deven Smith's suicide and homicide case would start on the morning of the very last day of this cold and snowy month.
Tomorrow would be a special day indeed.