A young gentleman helps an experienced detective solve yet another case. As the investigation progresses, the circumstances of his family tragedy are revealed. Soon, the gentleman becomes a real private detective and takes on his first risky case, as a result of which he discovers something he could never have imagined.

      The girl in the pink dress trembles like a fawn. Fear controls her fragile body. The gentleman is moved by her distress and doesn’t say anything unnecessary. As a man and the master of the house, he’s obligated to remain calm, to be courteous toward the young girl and guest of the house. He escorts the young lady to the living room to leave the veranda, which is entirely saturated with the tension of unknown waiting combined with the vague and incomplete news from the policeman.
      The young features of the man’s face, with the thin mustache, said more than the novice himself. It’s a shame the mustache only spoke about the policeman and not the incident. The gentleman asks the kitchen for calming tea for the girl and black tea with milk for himself. The host’s wish is fulfilled immediately. The tea is served. The girl takes a few small sips. The gentleman speaks carefully, trying not to revive the young lady’s anxieties.
“I had the impression the young policeman was familiar to you,” the gentleman remarks, raising his teacup.
“Why would you think that?” the girl asks, slightly surprised.
“You looked at him in a certain way,” he says, trying not to show emotion.
“How so?” she asks, becoming more serious.
“First you looked closely, your eyes widened. Then your gaze returned to its normal state. After that, you didn’t look at him again, which confirms my guesses.”
“You imagined it,” the girl quietly replies, taking another sip of the soothing concoction.
“Perhaps,” the young man whispers, returning to his tea. He feigns indifference, though he knows he isn’t mistaken. They’re acquainted. After all, the policeman, however excited and hurried he was, looked first not at the elder man or his assistant in gray, but at the girl. And not just as a young man looks at a stranger, but as someone looks at a well-known and close person. Only after seeing her gaze fall to the lace tablecloth did he deliver the news. He wonders why she hides her acquaintance with him.
“What do you think,” the girl says, changing the subject, noticing the gentleman’s deep thoughts and suspicious look, “is she alive?”
“Who?” the host clarifies, abruptly returning from his stream of thought.
“The sister of that unpleasant lady,” the girl explains.
“She struck you as unpleasant?” the gentleman smiles faintly.
“Quite,” her thin voice no longer sounds so innocent.
“I don’t know what to think,” the host muses. “You were right, the policeman didn’t report that. And if one sits around trying to guess the true state of things, one can wander into a mental dead end or plunge into a bottomless abyss of conjecture.”
“Yes, you’re right,” the girl agrees. “It’s better to wait for the truth.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t offer you breakfast!” he makes to call the maid.
“And you were right not to,” the girl soothes, putting her hand on his forearm, seating the young master back in his chair.
“You’re not hungry?” the gentleman asks, surprised.
“Worry robs me of my appetite,” the girl explains. “Tea is enough.”
“I understand you perfectly,” the gentleman says supportively. “My appetite also vanishes without a trace when my nervous system is working harder than the rest.”
“How was your evening yesterday?” the girl asks.
“My evening yesterday?” the young man clarifies uncertainly.
“Yes, yesterday’s,” she repeats with a smile, not letting him avoid the question.
“Don’t you remember?” the gentleman smirks. “Everyone was dancing, drinking champagne and whiskey, eating delicacies. I was among the idle crowd.”
“It was a lovely evening. Yet I didn’t see you, although I was in the ballroom the entire time.”
“I left for the balcony during the lottery drawing.”
“Oh yes, the lottery,” the girl says, recalling it.
“Did you catch it?” the gentleman asks calmly.
“Yes, of course,” she replies confidently.
“Tell me quickly, who won?” the gentleman asks excitedly. “Count Saintom? No one else could have won!”
“That’s right, Count Saintom,” the young lady answers, slightly strained.
“Well, I’ll be,” the gentleman’s eyebrows raise slightly. “That Count always has luck. Quite the lucky fellow,” he says with a hint of envy.
“Yes, yesterday was clearly his day,” the girl smiles more easily.
“Please forgive my rudeness,” the host rises from his seat. “Allow me to ask your name. This situation has completely stripped me of my manners.”
“It’s nothing, I forgive you,” the girl says with a condescending smile, offering her right hand. “Arvin, Miss Gwyneth Arvin.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” the gentleman says respectfully. He barely touches his lips to her fragile hand. “Christopher Godlight.”
“A pleasant acquaintance indeed,” Gwyneth reciprocates. “Tell me, Mr. Godlight, why did the waiting for the search results take place at your house? This is your house, isn’t it?” the girl asks.
“Yes, it’s mine,” Christopher replies proprietarily. “I also hosted the reception. Responsibility for the events unfolding partially rests with me.”
“Partially?” Gwyneth repeats.
“I don’t influence the fate of all my guests. I’m expected to provide pleasant music, expensive liquor, exquisite snacks, and worthy company. But I don’t intend to snatch destiny from the hands of my invitees.”
“Do you find this company worthy?” Her tone casts a slight shadow over Christopher’s words.
“Among these people are many good friends of my family for many years.”
“Do you trust everyone?” she asks, as if trying to sow doubt.
“I’ve known every one of them since childhood. All have been welcome in this house since the estate was founded. Each of them has proven their loyalty, sincerity, and reliability over the years, not just with words, but with deeds that helped preserve my family’s estate and fortune.”
“Fortune?” the girl quietly repeats.
“Yes,” Christopher confirms. “Didn’t you know? My family occupies quite a high place on the list of the most revered families in the city.”
“I think I heard,” the girl says, taking a sip of the cooled tea. The young man refreshes her drink, adding hot water. “How will we hear the news?” she changes the subject again.
“Mr. Caines will send a policeman to us.”
“A policeman?” the girl tenses fleetingly.
“Possibly the same one we saw earlier today.”
“Why do you think so?” she asks in a calm voice.
“When something happens, Caines usually sends one of the novices to us.”
“Is Mr. Caines accountable to you?”
“No, he’s a close family friend.”
“A policeman?” the lady in the pink dress doesn’t hide her surprise.
“A freelance detective,” Christopher clarifies. “Caines is only affiliated with the police in an advisory and assistant capacity.”
“And is he allowed to give orders to policemen?”
“A significant contribution to solving crimes opens up possibilities.”
“And what if he requests a mansion with a huge garden and servants?”
“They wouldn’t refuse him anything. However, there’s no need for that. Caines is frugal and modest. If he wanted a luxurious life, he would have spent some of his own money. An amount imperceptible to his fortune.”
“What? He’s rich?” Gwyneth asks, surprised.
“You could say that,” Christopher smiles.
“Is the assistant rich too?” the girl asks.
“No, Mr. Thacker is a regular retired policeman.”
“Retired so early?” the young Miss wonders.
“No, he was dismissed,” the gentleman answers more seriously.
“I thought they didn’t dismiss people from there.”
“They dismiss people in special cases.”
“What kind of special case?” Gwyneth’s interest grows.
“He refused to carry out a death sentence.”
“Was that his direct duty?”
“It was a direct order, and Thacker refused to obey on principle.”
“How did he become Caines’s assistant?”
“The detective was present during the execution, as the man who caught the criminal. Noticing what was happening, he immediately hired Thacker right after the word ‘dismissed’ was pronounced.”
“A sign of kindness and pity?” Gwyneth suggests.
“Nonsense! Thacker has always been and remains one of the best fighters on the side of the law. Caines had been waiting for the right moment to poach him. When Thacker demonstrated his strength of character in refusing to take another person’s life, the detective had no doubts left.”
“And how long have they been investigating crimes together?”
“About three years. Maybe a little more. I don’t remember.” The doorbell breaks the calm, followed immediately by a knock. The butler goes to open it. The door isn’t visible, but a familiar male voice is heard.
“Lieutenant Orvet is here to see you,” the butler reports.
“Please invite him into the living room,” Christopher stands up from his chair.
“Forgive me, please,” the young policeman who visited this morning says confidently. He momentarily stumbles upon seeing Miss Arvin.
“You’re just in time,” the host reassures him. “What’s the news?”
“Mr. Godlight,” the policeman says, a little less strongly, “you’re requested to appear at the station.”
“And you weren’t told the reason for the summons?” Christopher asks.
“I can’t say. It’s above my level of secrecy.”
“Then the matter isn’t simple,” Mr. Godlight quietly concludes. “Alright, wait for me in the car. I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Understood! Permission to leave?” the Lieutenant asks in a crisp voice.
“Of course, go ahead.”
“Andrew, please order a car for Miss Arvin and pay for the fare to the location she names.”
“It will be done,” the butler says, walking toward the telephone.
“Thank you for your concern,” the girl says, smiling, pulling her gaze away from the archway where the young policeman had disappeared.
“The host is obliged to care for his guests,” Christopher says, not focusing on the girl’s reaction. “I must apologize. I have to go.”
“Of course, of course,” Gwyneth smiles. The gentleman nods and leaves, abandoning his guest alone to wait for the taxi.
      Gwyneth checks to make sure no one in the house is watching her. She quietly gets up. Her first action is to look out the window. Godlight and the policeman drive away. She walks around the living room, examining the furniture from past centuries. With such care, no changes are visible. Everything looks new. Every element, every millimeter of gilt and paint. As she studies the paintings, she approaches the door to Mr. Godlight’s private study. She carefully takes the patterned doorknob. She applies pressure. The door opens slightly, releasing the smell of books and ink. A tall armchair blocks the desk from a curious gaze. She looks at the cabinets crammed with scrolls and books. She walks over to one of them. She takes a scroll.
“Miss Arvin,” the butler addresses her.
“Yes!” the girl whirls around nervously, dropping the newly opened scroll. The sheet rolls up as soon as it touches the floor.
“The taxi is waiting,” Andrew reports.
“Thank you,” the girl says modestly, leaving the study.
“Entry to the study is forbidden to everyone but Mr. Godlight,” the butler says calmly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gwyneth says, annoyed by the comment.
      The butler escorts the girl to the taxi. He remains in the yard to personally ensure Miss Arvin’s departure. The girl gives the driver an address. Tires leave tracks on the gravel center area of the Godlight family estate. Andrew returns to the house when the taxi leaves the boundary of sight. An irritated Gwyneth scratches the seat upholstery with her nails, looking fiercely at the road, clenching her teeth in anger. One wouldn’t guess that such a fragile and delicate-looking girl could harbor so much malice.

      They drive to the station via an unfamiliar route. He hasn’t taken this road even once before. A different path, different houses and people. His thoughts change. Earlier, he was contemplating his role in the police investigation; now, he’s engrossed by the strange streets. He watches the passersby. The residents in this part of the city look more tired than those in the well-known districts. He glances at young Orvet and wonders if he was wrong about his acquaintance with Miss Arvin. For Christopher, there’s no doubt. His usual habit of trusting people, even strangers, forces him to question his judgment. They pull up to an unknown house.
“I thought I was invited to the station,” Christopher says, surprised, as he enters the house on the outskirts of the city, the one mentioned in the report about the found women.
“I ordered them to report it that way,” Caines replies, walking up to the young gentleman. “So as not to attract undue attention to the crime scene. You are here without the police chief’s explicit permission. Please don’t disclose the fact that the rules have been violated.”
“There was no need to say that,” Christopher conceals his slight indignation with a trustworthy smile.
“I have to be sure,” Caines insists. “A gentleman’s word, spoken aloud, is worth more than a thought.”
“That’s true,” Christopher agrees. “I give you my word, everything seen and heard here, as well as the fact of my presence, will remain a complete and inviolable secret,” the gentleman vows solemnly.
“Thank you. Let’s proceed,” with a single glance, the detective ushers everyone out of the apartment, even his assistant. This exceptional treatment flatters Christopher and simultaneously puts him on alert.
“Is it really that serious?” Godlight asks in a low voice.
“More than,” the detective says, serious. “Come this way,” he guides the young man into a dark room. The heavy curtains let in practically no sunlight. “Watch your step.”
“What’s here?” Christopher looks at the broken floorboards. He walks behind the detective, stepping only on the surviving sections.
“Someone was looking for something,” Caines concludes.
“In the floor?” the young gentleman clarifies.
“Everywhere,” he indicates the state of the room. “Everything’s been turned over.”
“Performance?” Christopher suggests.
“I don’t think so,” Caines sits down. “They found what they wanted. Or the case for it,” he says, pointing to an empty case with an asymmetrically shaped recess. It looks like a distorted pyramid.
“Where are the women you were looking for?” Christopher asks.
“We were looking for one, and we found two.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant.”
“See for yourself,” the detective smoothly opens a wardrobe. Among the evening dresses, a pale girl in a black dress hangs from a yellow belt. She resembles the lady in the blue suit they saw recently. Most likely, her sister.
“And the second one?” the young gentleman gestures for him to close the wardrobe.
“Here,” Caines lifts the blanket on the sofa. A naked girl, tattooed all over her body, lies so quiet and still that he initially mistook her for part of the sofa beneath the cover.
“What did this girl die from?” the gentleman asks, indicating that the blanket can be put back.
“Presumed cardiac arrest.”
“Why is one girl undressed and the other in a dress?”
“We’re finding that out.”
“Show me the body one more time,” Christopher prepares himself.
“Please,” Caines removes the blanket.
“Did you see this?” the young gentleman points to the victim’s neck.
“Yes, I noticed it,” the detective says calmly.
“It’s a very fresh tattoo. Looks unfinished.”
“Yes, most likely,” Caines agrees.
“The shape resembles the recess in the case.”
“So you noticed that too,” the detective smirks.
“It’s hard not to notice. Do you have any hypotheses?”
“I’m hesitant to say anything until I get the forensic results. Otherwise, the whole investigation could go in the wrong direction.”
“You’re right,” Christopher agrees. “Check the new tattoo for any substances.”
“I’ve already arranged it,” Caines reports calmly.
“The girl in the closet,” Christopher turns around. “Simple strangulation?”
“According to the initial signs, yes.”
“How did the sister react?”
“Without emotion or comment. She’s at the station now. You can talk to her.”
“I will,” Christopher agrees. “And did you speak with her?”
“Didn’t have time,” Caines replies while Godlight examines the yellow belt.
“Let’s go,” Christopher exits the room.
      They make their way to the station across the entire city. They don’t reach it. Caines’s and Christopher’s car is intercepted a few blocks earlier. Not by criminals, not by police. By friends of the Godlight family. The young man wasn’t mistaken about them. Without noisy signals, they motion for them to follow. They wind through blocks to another part of the city. They arrive at a place unknown to anyone. Everyone knows it, but not from this perspective. The ruins of an old, conventional house. Black with mold, the bricks rise in a mound, like a mountain of bloody remains of a living building, killed for lack of need.
      The friends stop behind the brick mound. The detective and Christopher leave the car nearby. The men, Caines’s age, in black tuxedos, approach the rubble. After looking around, one of them pulls on a rope. A door with glued-on pieces of bricks rises from the remains of the house. Caines and Godlight descend silently. They have questions, but no desire to ask them. The door closes. A click turns on the lighting. Four rooms surround a central one. It looks like a normal furnished apartment. The walls are decorated with paintings. The parquet floor is varnished.
“An apartment under the rubble. Excellent idea,” Godlight praises.
“Thank you, my dear Christopher,” the friend says with a smile, shaking his hand.
“Allow me to introduce you,” Godlight says to the detective, shaking the hand of the second friend. “Gentlemen Travis Bolton and Wallace Shane. Detective Wayne Caines.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the friends extend their hands to the detective.
“Likewise,” Caines looks at them coldly.
“Why are we here?” Christopher asks.
“The station is dangerous right now,” Bolton explains.
“What’s so dangerous there?” Caines asks.
“It’s better if you don’t know yet,” Shane whispers.
“As you say,” Christopher agrees trustingly.
“We need to interrogate the witness,” the detective reminds them.
“Please,” Shane opens a room door. “Miss Marion Hayley.”
“Will you leave us?” Christopher enters, closing the door.
“What’s all this for?” the girl in the dark-blue suit asks.
“Forgive me, we haven’t figured it out ourselves yet,” Godlight admits.
“Perhaps you can help us with that,” Caines says.
“I know no more than you do,” Miss Hayley answers coldly.
“But you know your sister better,” Christopher observes.
“Not a fact,” Marion replies indifferently.
“Why do you say that?” the young gentleman asks, surprised.
“We haven’t seen each other for fifteen years. Since the day Tina ran away from home. We met for the first time yesterday. I’m ready to vouch that I no longer know that girl.”
“In what sense?” Caines clarifies.
“Nothing of my sister remains in her.”
“Do you know the second girl?” the detective asks.
“Gina Rise.”
“How do you know that?” Christopher asks.
“Tina ran away with her.”
“Why did they run away?”
“How do you picture two lovers in modern society? It’s considered wild now, but recall what it was like fifteen years ago. They were about seventeen then.”
“Are you familiar with her tattoos?” Caines asks.
“No. When we last saw each other, her skin was clean and white. These horrible drawings have disfigured her.”
“Why do you think she got them?” Christopher asks.
“To ward off men. Their attention weighs on women like her.”
“Are you familiar with this image?” the gentleman shows a sketch of the fresh tattoo on the victim’s neck.
“Something looks familiar,” Marion examines it closely. “No, I don’t remember.”
“Why did the women return?” Caines continues.
“I don’t know. Certainly not for an inheritance. Our parents left us nothing.”
“Your parents died?”
“Yes, last week.”
“Perhaps Tina came to visit the grave?” Christopher suggests.
“I strongly doubt it,” the girl sneers coldly.
“Why?”
“Our parents despised her lover. Their anger forced Tina to leave home. I go to the cemetery every day. No one has come.”
“And why do you go there so often?” Caines asks.
“Doesn’t that seem a little too personal a question?” Marion snaps.
“Forgive me, Miss Hayley,” Christopher apologizes carefully. “Every detail can play a role.”
“We rarely saw each other. I’m telling my parents what I didn’t get to say while they were alive.”
“For a whole week?” Caines is surprised.
“Another week will be needed. We hadn’t seen each other for fourteen years.”
“Why did you leave home a year after your sister?”
“I got tired of hearing constant mentions of my sister. I was sick of the words and prophecies about Tina’s future and my own life.”
“What did they prophesy, if it’s not a secret?” Christopher asks cautiously.
“The prophecy about my sister came true. And they told me I would never marry, that no one would want someone like me. As for me, it’s already coming true.”
“It was wrong of them to treat you that way,” Christopher says sympathetically. “You’ll still find a dear person in your life.”
“Thank you,” Marion smiles sincerely. “But I don’t believe it.” The girl sheds a tear.
“Believe me,” the young gentleman assures her.
“How much longer will we be here?” the girl asks.
“We need to ask our friends,” Christopher says mysteriously, leaving the room. Caines and Marion follow him out.
“Did you discuss everything so quickly?” Shane asks, surprised.
“Share the secret with us,” Christopher says.
“What secret?” Bolton asks, feigning bewilderment.
“Why are we here and not at the station?”
“Do you know who the second girl is?” Shane asks mysteriously.
“Gina Rise,” the informed Caines replies.
“And do you know this girl’s background?”
“Not the slightest idea,” the young gentleman admits honestly.
“Her real name is Diana Pierce.”
“Pierce?” Caines repeats.
“Yes, you heard correctly,” Bolton confirms.
“Vincent Pierce’s daughter?” Christopher clarifies.
“Exactly. Diana Pierce. The daughter of one of the country’s most influential men.”
“I thought he didn’t have children,” Marion whispers, surprised.
“No one knows about her. Diana is an illegitimate daughter,” Bolton explains.
“Why are we hiding like criminals?” Christopher protests.
“The story could be disastrous for Pierce’s reputation,” Shane explains. “His people will do anything to suppress an unwelcome affair. You’ll be the first to face his wrath.”
“How interesting,” Christopher smirks. “Why us, specifically?”
“You’re investigating the case.”
“That’s our job,” Caines replies.
“There’s one more factor,” Shane says cautiously. “The murder coincided with the reception at the Godlight family house.”
“What are you implying?” Christopher looks at his friends suspiciously.
“Pierce suspects you of organizing the crime. He views the reception as a distraction maneuver,” Bolton explains.
“They think I’m the one who murdered Diana Pierce?” the gentleman clarifies.
“The organizer,” Shane says carefully.
“So we’re hiding here?” Christopher asks, indignant.
“Hiding ourselves and hiding her,” Bolton adds.
“What do you mean?” Caines asks.
“They’re not just looking for you. Tina Hayley is considered the root of all evil. A desire for revenge for his daughter. Pierce might arrange a reprisal against Miss Marion Hayley,” Bolton says, looking mysteriously at the visibly surprised girl.
“So, the murder investigation is taking a back seat to preventing a new one?” Christopher concludes.
“Precisely,” Bolton confirms.
“How did you find this out?” the gentleman asks suspiciously.
“Influential acquaintances suggested it,” Shane smirks. “Your friends, by the way,” he winks at Christopher.
“It’s good to have true friends,” Caines says, pleased.
“Especially if your friends are influential people,” Bolton adds.
“Do you have a plan of action?” young Godlight guesses.
“A rough one,” Shane evades.
“What is it?” Christopher grows wary.
“You’ll stay here until the case is solved or it settles down on its own.”
“We’re going to hide until everyone forgets about it?” Godlight protests.
“They’ll deal with everyone as criminals,” Bolton says quietly.
“And who’ll catch the real murderers?” Christopher asks.
“The police. Do you really have no faith in them?” Shane smirks.
“Do you even believe what you’re saying?” Godlight says skeptically.
“What do you suggest?” Bolton asks more bravely.
“We investigate the murder. No one will stop us,” Christopher assures them.
“Do you expect the whole city to become a wall, shielding you from reality?” Shane asks more seriously.
“I’m not asking anyone for anything for myself. Just allow the girl to stay here until we find the murderers,” Godlight requests of his family friends.
“Let her stay. She won’t bother us,” Bolton permits.
“Did you ask me?” Marion Hayley protests.
“Your life depends on staying inside, and we don’t intend to risk it,” Christopher answers harshly. “As you could tell, things ended quite sadly for your sister. We can’t allow a similar fate for you. You will remain in this sanctuary.”
“Understand, Christopher,” Bolton says. “We won’t be able to guard you every step of the way.”
“We’re not asking you to. Your job is to keep this girl alive.”
“Where are you going now?” Shane asks.
“We’ll go outside, breathe some fresh air, and decide. I can’t think straight in here,” Christopher answers, looking exhausted. “Are you ready, Caines?”
“We can go,” the detective walks calmly toward the exit.
“Thank you for your help,” Christopher says gratefully. “We’ll take it from here.”
      The girl stays in the sanctuary under the pile of bricks. The remnants of the lives of the people who lived here for many years protect the living person. This is how ancestors care for succeeding generations. Care is often imperceptible, quiet, and full of secrets. People use the benefits inherited without thinking how valuable the ancestors’ gifts are. We also inherit problems, grief, and suffering. The important thing is to learn how to react correctly in time. If you learn to resist, then victories will follow defeats. If you learn how to lose correctly, you will become invincible.

      Caines and Godlight step out, glancing around. They must not reveal the sanctuary. Secrecy is the guarantee of Miss Marion Hayley’s survival. They couldn’t have been followed on the way here, but if ordinary people see them, human curiosity will awaken. Unnecessary rumors will spread, and unwanted visits from uninvited guests will begin. When the news circles the city, the sanctuary will be exposed, and a deadly reprisal will be unavoidable. Time stops under the ruins, but outside, it speeds up. The twilight helps conceal their return to the outside.
      They hail a taxi. Shielding their conversation from the driver, they give Christopher’s address. The Godlight family estate is known to everyone in the city. They drive past the house where the women’s bodies were recently found. The detective asks the driver to slow down. A light is visible through the curtain in the window. They get out of the car and dismiss the taxi, paying the fare to the final destination. Young Godlight asks the driver to relay that they won’t be expected at home. They walk over to the house across the street. From here, the apartment windows are clearly visible. There’s no movement. After fifteen minutes, nothing changes.
      Young Godlight can’t endure the agonizing wait and walks toward the apartment. Caines hurries after him. On the way, he looks up. The light goes out. A dilemma presents itself. Should he wait downstairs for the apartment’s visitor to run out, or run after Christopher in case of an attack? He can’t leave the young man alone. He races into the entrance. On the stairs, he hears a shout and a thud.
The detective bolts up the stairs. A person in dark clothing knocks him off his feet.       Caines tumbles down the steps. He stands up despite the sharp pain. Another dilemma. Chase the person or check on the young gentleman. At his age, he might not catch him. And what would he do if he did? The young man is silent; not a single movement or sound is heard. He climbs the stairs. Godlight lies on the steps near the apartment door. Clearly, the person in dark clothing slammed the door into Christopher as he rushed out. Caines brings Christopher back to consciousness.
“Are you alive?” Caines asks tensely.
“I think so,” Godlight whispers, rubbing his forehead.
“Did he hit you hard with the door?”
“Not as hard as I hit the wall myself,” he touches the back of his head.
“Get up,” Caines helps the young man to his feet. He peeks into the apartment. He listens. No one. “Let’s go.”
“Do you think we should?” the young man doubts.
“We need to treat the wound.”
“At a crime scene?” Godlight asks, surprised.
“It doesn’t matter where, the main thing is that it doesn’t get worse,” the detective says, entering the apartment confidently.
      He turns on the light. They go into the kitchen. Christopher sits on a chair, pressing his hand to the spot where he was hit. He looks at the blood on his hand, and puts it back on the back of his head. The detective searches the cabinets and drawers. There’s no first-aid kit. He picks up a bottle of unfinished whiskey. Without a word, he pulls the young man’s hand away and pours the whiskey on the wound. He barely manages to cover Christopher’s mouth with his other hand. The sound is muffled within him. They can’t make a fuss. After an incident like this, neighbors will report the slightest deviation from the norm.
      They each take a gulp. They exchange glances. Only now do they realize that the bottle might have contained poison. Regardless, Christopher has already received a dose through the wound, if there was anything in it. Caines doesn’t spit out the whiskey, realizing the young man is doomed if the drink was poisoned. It’s better for him to die in solidarity than to watch young Godlight die.
      They mostly communicate about business. Yet, their friendship has been built over years of mutual understanding. No one else understands Caines as well as young Godlight. And Christopher finds it difficult to find a peer with similar priorities and interests. Everyone is only interested in the receptions at the Godlight family house, the exquisite food, and the unlimited quantity of liquor. Everyone is ready to help with money, to bail him out in case of trouble. The friendship ends there. When young Miss Arvin asked about trusting the people at the reception this morning, he had to lie a little, talking of his boundless trust in everyone. The young gentleman has no friends among them.
      No ill effects from the whiskey are observed. They each take another gulp. It makes the stress easier to handle. The young man might not have survived if the person who ran out had struck Godlight’s head with any heavy object. They recover themselves. They go into the room where the bodies were found. This morning, there was a complete mess here. Now, everything is neatly put in its place. It’s clean, quiet, as if nothing had happened. Nothing out of the ordinary. And the case for the unusual pyramid is gone. Christopher summons his courage and abruptly opens the wardrobe. Tina Hayley’s body is gone. Only one reminder of the incident remains. A note, rolled into a tube, is threaded through one of the holes in the yellow belt that took the girl’s life.
      Godlight calls Caines over. He shows him the finding. The detective carefully removes the note. He always wears gloves in case of unexpected evidence. He unrolls it. It says: “Soon.” In the bottom right corner, the outline of the unusual pyramid is drawn. Caines puts the note back into the belt. If it’s not meant for them, it’s better not to interfere with the recipient. He closes the wardrobe.
      The detective runs his hand over the sofa. There are no bodies under the blanket anymore. This is a relief. He checks the sides. A cufflink falls out. They examine it closely. It’s quite expensive. Where did it come from in such a cheap apartment? It’s worth noting that the district is questionable, with housing bordering on poverty. It’s surprising that the apartment’s owners found money for a sofa and a wardrobe. Caines doesn’t return the find to its place. He puts it in his pocket. He’s interested in finding the second one. He looks under the sofa, and peers beneath the worn carpet. There’s nothing else.
      They hear a noise in the stairwell. They turn off the light. They wait until silence returns. They go out, closing the door. They leave the crime scene. As they hail a taxi toward the Godlight estate, they consider how dangerous it might be to show up there. They walk on foot to another location. They don’t talk on the way, trying not to attract the attention of passersby. Among them might be someone who knows their voices. They try to walk in the dark. If passersby approach them, they cross to the other side. They keep looking over their shoulders the entire way.
      They notice a person following them at an unchanging distance. Caines quietly names a destination. They scatter in different directions, hiding in the courtyards. The person runs after them and gets lost at a fork in the road. He runs in Christopher’s direction. The young gentleman has long been involved in track and field. The pursuer was mistaken. Or perhaps only Godlight is needed.
      An hour after walking through the dark back alleys, Christopher reaches the designated place. Caines emerges from the darkness and leads him between the houses. They look around. They enter a door in the middle of a wall. They walk a little further ahead. They enter a room. The door closes. Caines doesn’t move. They stand in the dark. Christopher keeps his questions to himself, waiting for the right moment. The door opens. They hear a hand moving along the wall, feeling the wallpaper. Godlight holds his breath. The light turns on in the windowless room. They shield their eyes from the sudden change.
“What have you done?” a sleepy Thacker, the detective’s assistant, asks.
“We were followed,” Caines answers.
“Did they just start following you for no reason?” the assistant asks suspiciously.
“We were at the crime scene,” Christopher admits honestly.
“I was there too,” Thacker says. “They made such a mess.”
“They’ve already tidied up,” Caines reports.
“How do you know?” the assistant asks, surprised.
“We just went back there a second time,” the detective explains.
“Tidied up?” Thacker repeats.
“Yes,” Caines confirms. “Strange, isn’t it?”
“That’s never happened before,” Thacker muses. “Did you find anything new?”
“Only a note,” the detective replies. Christopher looks on without emotion.
“What does it say?” Thacker asks.
“One word: ‘Soon’,” Caines stares intently into his assistant’s eyes.
“And that’s it?” Thacker is surprised.
“Just that word. You don’t happen to know anything about this pyramid, do you?” Caines asks.
“It’s a tricky thing. A star bursting from a pyramid. This is the first time I've seen something like this,” Thacker considers.
“Neither have I,” Caines agrees.
“Maybe it’s a simple amulet?” the assistant suggests.
“Possibly,” Caines agrees, unexpected by Christopher.
“Where will you go?” Thacker asks.
“We haven’t decided yet,” the young gentleman replies.
“Yes,” Caines supports. “We’re going,” they approach the door.
“If you need anything, you know how to find me,” Thacker turns off the light.
      Caines and Godlight walk out into the alley between the houses. They walk in the opposite direction down a narrow street leading into a part of the city left unlit due to an accident. They stop. They’re silent. They wait, deciding what to do next, observing the alley. A car pulls up. Thacker gets into the back seat without looking back. They disappear into the darkness of the other side of the street.
      Caines feels Christopher’s tense gaze directed right at him. He lights a cigarette. He offers one to the young gentleman. On edge, Christopher gladly accepts, even though he only smokes Indian tobacco, and the detective can’t offer anything good in terms of cigarettes. Two orange glows slice through the black canvas of the night.

I am not urging anyone to do anything.

All events and characters are fictional.

Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

I sincerely apologize if I have offended anyone.

Highly Recommended Age: 18+

The author bears no responsibility for the reader's perception of the book.