For a week or two I had been struggling to sleep. It started with me waking up feeling wide awake between 1:30 AM and 3:30 AM. After a few days I woke up twice in the night. A day or two after that I slept through but woke up three hours earlier than I usually would. Then, after about a week and a half of this, I struggled to fall asleep -- without sound such as a podcast it would take be up to four hours to fall asleep. The night before I met John Jones again for the second time, I hadn't had any sleep at all -- this is probably why my stress levels were extremely high that day, then add on the extra work load.
After my second meeting with Jones, I went straight home, made myself some dinner and tea, washed up and went to bed. From 10:30 PM to 2:37 AM, I was sitting up lying awake. I had even tried to fall asleep listening to a podcast, but I was too restless.
So, at twenty to three in the morning, I got out of bed and began reading the last few chapters of a manuscript I needed to finish for work.
It took me until around 3:30 AM to finish the pages. I felt tired, deciding to go to bed. I was slipping into a sleep when the images of Daniel Elliot's body. I knew there was no point in sleeping; the image of her body...those eyes -- they were burnt into my mind.
I remembered that I had the card which John Jones had given me so I got up, went to my coat (which was hanging on my bedroom door) and searched for the card. I got the card out and looked at it.
Sitting at my computer, I opened an email to John Jones and wrote:
"John Jones,
I was at the crime scene last night and I think I knew the body. I haven't been told yet who it was, but I'm sure I know. I know you were at the scene too and I wonder if you could give me
any information on the case?
I suppose not.
Thanks, Max Laidlaw."
I sat my back in my chair and thought about sending the email. Truth be told, while I did care about the dead Daniel Elliot, I wanted to know more about John Jones. He seemed to not be wanted at the crime scene, but he looked as if he owned the place. Also, the name "John Jones" rang a bell.
I sent the email.
I sat in that chair for a while just thinking. I was thinking about Daniel, about the way the body looked. I went onto my phone to try and move these memories from my mind.
After around four or five minutes of sitting there, I decided to get up and go back to bed. As I pulled back the bed covers, my computer beeped -- I had an email.
So I sat back at my desk and read the following:
"Max Laidlaw,
Obviously, I can't tell you anything on the case. I don't want to use email anymore; it's slow and impersonal. If you have a case or something that I can actually talk about, come to my address and don't be a murderer. Thanks.
8 Pepper Street, Durkham Way."
I decided I would go tomorrow; it was a Saturday and it was my day off. I had to read the other novel by Monday but I had Sunday for that. John didn't leave a time he would be in, so I sent another email asking him if 3:00 PM would be okay. For fifteen minutes he didn't reply, so I went back to bed. By around 5:00 AM, I was asleep.
I woke up the next day at 10:30 AM. I felt tired but couldn't sleep. At this point in the day I shouldn't go back to sleep. Maybe if I was tired all day I might be able to sleep better tonight.
I went downstairs and made a bacon sandwich with toasted bread. A made a cup of coffee with three sugars and watched "The Office U.K" on Netflix.
I checked my emails after breakfast and saw that John Jones hadn't replied so I decided I would just go at 3:00 PM. I was used to people not setting times (which I thought was a weird trait in people), but I thought it was odd that someone making appointments would not do.
I went to the shops and got lunch and dinner in for later today and tonight, and I bought myself a new book by Stephen King and a film called, "Sunshine". I was back at home by 1:30 PM and watched TV as I ate a quick lunch; I wasn't sure how long I'd be out and I hated feeling hungry as it would make me tired and feel sick.
I also checked Google Maps for directions to 8 Pepper Street and saw that it was just a half hour walk from where I lived.
At 2:29 PM, I left the flat.
I am usually quiet the slow walker, but I was at 8 Pepper Street by 2:55 PM. I went to the door, feeling anxious, and knocked. For a short while I heard nothing. I went to knock again and the door opened.
John Jones was standing there. I hadn't really took note of his age, but he looked like he was in his late 50's and that his hair was dark, short and a little bit messy. He was wearing a white shirt, opened at the top with a black tie falling down his front.
John Jones looked at me and said, "Max Laidlaw, I assume."
"Yeah," I said, "is now a good time?"
"No time like the present," John said. I thought he sounded melancholy.
He turned and walk away. I followed him awkwardly and shut the door behind me.
The house was somewhat dark. The curtains were open but not much and the lights were off. The TV was off too, and situated under the windows on the right side of the living room. The living room was rather neat with a small oak coffee table in the middle, a chair on the opposite side as the TV and a sofa against the wall, which was facing me now. On the wall to me left (as I entered the room) I looked and saw a bookshelf. It was over filled with many books -- Sherlock Holmes books, Stephen King, Edward Lorn, Richard Herd, Tolkien, Joe Hill, H.G Wells. Most of these books were multiple additions of the same book.
John sat down on the chair and looked at me. "Feel free to take a seat," he said, his hand out, facing the sofa. I sat down and looked at him. "You've got a case or something?"
"Um, well no, not really," I said.
"Right." He looked disappointed.
"Uh -- I mean, you said in your email that you couldn't talk about the case from last night. I wondered if you knew who the body was?"
"No I can't 'cos I don't know who the body was. But, she was around your age, did you know her?"
"Yes."
"She was obviously close to you -- I'm sorry for your loss." He didn't sound sorry. Not in a bad way, but he sounded as if he was reading from a script.
"Who are you?" I asked, surprising myself.
"John Jones. Ex-detective, now a private consulting detective. Well, I was a consultant, but the police don't come to me much these days." He put his hand in his pocket and pulled a small blue box -- the box had buttons, switches and small analog sticks on. He was absently clicking the buttons.
"Why don't they come to you?"
"I dunno. Embarrassed probably." He was leaning back now, his face at the ceiling and his eyes closed.
"Embarrassed about what?"
"That they're idiots. Few years ago I told them this and they don't like me around these days."
"But how did you know about the murder last night?"
He stopped clicking the box and looked at me. "That's for me to know and for you to figure out." I wasn't sure what to say. "Now, if there's nothing for me to do, could you go away?"
"Wait, if you're a private detective, do you get people come to you about stuff?"
"Yes, a lot of the time it's about stupid stuff, but here and there, there are some interesting stuff."
"Like what?"
He looked at me very seriously then. "Once I had to investigate a hole in space and time -- it was ripping the fabric of reality open and destroying time itself."
I was stunned.
"Does that sound real to you?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
"Good. Bye!" He smiled, stood, went to the door and opened it.
Awkwardly, I stood, went to the door and stepped out. I turned back to look at him and he said quickly, "Don't come again unless you have a case or something interesting to say -- okay, bye!" he then slammed the door shut in my face.
I stood there. Not sure what to say. The man was rude, but he wasn't bad, he seemed quiet nice if he wanted to be.
I turned and walked away from the house. I was thinking about what to do next. Why would I care about a random private detective? Thing was, I knew his name. I had heard it before, I knew I had. I felt like I had met him before, spoken to him before. There was something that was very weird around John Jones and I wanted to figure out what it was.
I made my way back to my flat, thinking of a plan.