A windy Autumn, as it should be.
Detective Inspector Victor Campbell was throwing and catching a fluorescent tennis ball against the wallpaper that had browned with age while staring out of the window near it. He watched as the leaves gracefully pulled themselves away from the branches and drifted to the pavement below. He loved how the amber leaves danced through the sky. He then cocked his head and looked up at the old ceiling. There was black soot still crumbling off the dark smoke mark which indicated that the detective who had this office before him had been quite a heavy smoker; maybe even the detective before that used to smoke too, because the harsh smell of ash still hung around the room like a stubborn thick fog that refused to leave, even if he propped his door open or if he left the window open. He then thought about how many diseases those people must have had because of how much nicotine had been in their bloodstream. 'What a waste of their lives,' Campbell thought. He wasn't much of a smoker.
Although the days were getting shorter, the work hours were growing longer. The paperwork amounts higher, the precinct morale lower. Just about everything seemed to contradict itself those days. Even the weatherman said that it would be sunny and warm all over the country, but some angry looking grey clouds made their way over the cities and screamed, howled and bellowed all night. The thunderstorms struck the southern coasts near Cornwall and destroyed a whole village. Apparently full trees were blown over as well, roots and all. Campbell was floating in his mind again, thinking about all this, with nothing to do. Further and further away...
'We've a new case handed over from the Investigative Division, sir.' Good old Mike, always has his timings right. The DI sat up properly and rubbed his left eye with the back of his right hand. ' Y'know what, Mike? You're a damn hero , that's what.' Associate Sergeant Michael London (who would much rather have his name spelt with a 'k' instead of 'ch') then said, ' Its not much mate- was just getting bored sitting around so I emailed them to see if they had anything available.' The DI leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. 'Go on then, what's the case?' Sergeant London dropped a thick, manilla folder on his desk, resulting in a muffled, resonated thud. The front of the folder was decorated with six red rectangles each with the word "DANGEROUS CRIMINAL" embedded in them. ' Haha- something fun today, eh?'
'You bet.' Sergeant London leaned closer to the paperwork, turned the cover over and tapped twice on a terrifyingly old headshot that was clipped onto the first page with a small red paperclip. There was a moment's pause before he slid his long and spindly index finger over to the name of the criminal in bold, black letters.
'Christopher Ivan'.
London finally spoke, and the words rolled right off his tongue with a clipped flourish to each syllable. The DI's eyes widened to be so large that you could see his entire sclerae. 'The Christopher Ivan? I thought the Captain put him away years ago?' 'Fifteen years ago, if we're being precise. He was in there all but a few weeks before he revolted. He killed the watchmen by bludgeoning them in the head with a plank of wood and causing traumatic neuroma. While they were suffering on the floor, he nicked the keys and busted his way out of the place. The other inkeeps regarded him as a hero. He was put in the prison with the highest security in the country but somehow- he managed it.
'Damn-' The DI leaned back in his chair and spun back around to the window gradually, covering his eyes with his hands. Sergeant London waited patiently for the rest of his associate's sentence, because he had known him long enough to know that he wasn't finished. 'Let's go and have some fun, Mick.' Victor grinned from ear to ear, baring his large and abnormally pearly-white teeth. 'Aight guv.' London replied, returning the smile.
Campbell and London strode briskly over to the scene, emerging from their black Ford Fiesta. Basing off his police records, this was the place in which Ivan had last been seen. It was a luxurious mansion (possibly first erected in the Georgian era) with fine limestone brickwork, majestic, crystal-clear windows, and their puzzled expressions reflected in them; staring themselves down in confusion. 'Why, of all places, would a street killer choose a venue like this for murder?' The DI observed the house closely, looking at it from the forest-green tiles on the roof to the off-white stone stairs. 'A possibility could've been that he chose this place because of how tidy and well-kept it is- no one would suspect a thing.' Sergeant London explained while leafing through the yellow pages of Christopher Ivan's files.
'Hm. Apparently, he took a young lady here by the name of Leslie Thompson, quite possibly for a meal, which then led to her mysterious disappearance fifteen years ago, along with Ivan, who's body also strangely disappeared. Neither of their bodies were found, and no one managed to find even the slightest clue as to where either of them went'. He closed the folder with a soft tap, tucked the file into the crook of his arm and waited for the instructions from Victor. DI Campbell sighed while leaning over to signal the Sergeant to open the file again.
'Yeah, and that's not concerning at all.'
'Well then, shall we make our move?' The Sergeant gestured towards the manor's large, sky-blue doors. 'We are but pawns of this game that is the world.' The Detective looked down at his shiny work shoes. The laces on his left foot were undone- he'd do them later. 'Ahh, go on then. What have we got to lose?' Came the bored, decisive reply. The grand double doors creaked open eerily and gradually, and the clacking of their smart shoes echoed around the excessively large foyer. The reflection of the sound on the hard and smooth objects inside the room came to show that there were absolutely no soft surfaces, and it just made it seem as if the room was larger than it actually was, which was an addition to the overall eerie vibe. Their dark shadows were cast out upon the walls and loomed around them, cobwebs were scattered around each corner and the mustiness and humidity of the room was much too difficult to bear- it seemed like it was only tidy and kept on the outside.