Chapter 1

London, the late 1880s

The smell was already stifling as the red-haired tall and slightly overweighed detective crouched with a handkerchief in front of his face. “The victim is a woman around her late thirties…” he said “her chest is torn open, a broken wrist – signs of struggle on her skin” he carefully took the dead woman’s pale wrist in his glove-covered hand to look at it from closer. “Scratches around her wrist – probably the murderer held her down forcefully… Blue marks on her hips and thighs – some of them are older than the time of her death, which is likely to have happened circa 22 hours ago…”

“How do you know this?” a calm but still eager voice asked from behind him.

“Well, my young partner, haven’t you listened during your training?” he looked behind him but did not stand up just adjusted his glasses “The rigor mortis is about to commence… See? It gets harder to move her limbs around – or… at least the ones the corpse still has…” he murmured and turned back to the victim “Did anyone see her heart?”

“No, sir. Although we found her liver, a part of her lungs and some pieces of meat in the bathroom – and plenty of blood” another policeman said and waved towards the door next to the bed.

“Let me see…” he said and walked to the open door which had a bloody and blurred palm-print on it. The room looked like the painting of a mad artist: the white marble was splattered with blood all over and in a pool of blood the missing pieces of the woman were shattered around on the floor. “So here did the murderer kill and tear her apart, hmm… But then why did he carry her back to the bed?” he murmured under his red mustache.

“Maybe it was a part of a ritual?”

“What?” the detective turned around and looked at the shorter curly blonde man with a little book and a pen in his hand “Did you write down everything I said yet, Mr. Gore?”

“Yes, sir, every word. And I asked the thing about the ritual, because the rest of the victim is kinda displayed like the ones I’ve read about in the latest studies…”

“Show me!” the detective said and followed his partner back into the other room. There he pointed at the way her limbs were adjusted and the detective crouched again “Give me some light here!” he asked and Gore quickly fetched a lamp from the side-table “You may be right, after all, Mr. Gore… See this? It looks like some magical circle or something under the bed, am I right?”

“Yes, I think so, sir.”

“A sexual ritual?”

“I don’t know, sir. What makes you think that?” Gore frowned and stood up with his boss.

“There are signs of sexual intercourse on the victim, if you take a closer look.”

“Was she raped?”

“No, I don’t think so. Her labia was swollen and I saw signs of sperm, too, but no sign of forceful entry or rape” he adjusted his glasses and watched Gore lean closer to check what he was talking about.

“With other words she seemed to enjoy it…” Gore said as he looked up from the stained sheet.

“I bet that’s a mixture of seed and her own fluids.”

“So maybe she knew the murderer and slept with him before he killed her?”

“Or he killed her during the heat of the act – yes, it’s possible. We have seen such crime scenes before” the detective shrugged and put his hat on his head and fetched his pipe from his pocket “But we have to wait what the doctor says back in the morgue. Come, Mr. Gore, I heard that we still have to talk with the imposing hotel’s manager. He said he has some information for us…”

“Yes, Mr. Fletcher, I’m coming” he quickly put away his notes and hurried after him on the long corridor.

---

“So, gentlemen, how can I help you?” the elegantly dressed dark-haired man asked opposite them after he waited for the waiter to put their drinks on the table – two glasses of water for the policemen and a whiskey for the third one – and left them alone.

“Mr. Gahan, my partner Mr. Gore and I are investigating a homicide that happened two days ago at the Hotel Metropole. Perhaps you’ve heard about it…”

“Yes. They say it’s a nice new luxury hotel” Mr. Gahan nodded and sipped from his whiskey calmly.

“So you’ve never been there?”

“No, sadly I wasn’t lucky enough to do so” he shook his head a bit with a tiny smile.

“Well... it is strange then…”

“What, detective Fletcher?” the brunette man asked and raised an eyebrow.

“We have a witness, who said to us that she saw you enter the victim’s room on the third floor…”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Fletcher…” Mr. Gahan said still calmly and Mr. Gore could have sworn that he even looked a little bored. “Perhaps your witness confused me with someone else, who looked like me” he shrugged “It happened before.”

Mr. Gore frowned and narrowed his green eyes. Looking at the other man he doubted that. He had a presence – to be honest, a strange presence – that affected his surroundings. As the blonde man glimpsed around, he could see that most of the women have noticed Mr. Gahan in the restaurant and some men eyed him as well, probably because they saw an opponent in him. And Gore had to confess that he felt that something, too, every time the mysterious man set his dark eyes on him. He was always good at observing people and things and knew that there are such kind of men and women who are like Mr. Gahan. The center of attention if they want – but he was sure they could hide whenever they wanted. “The victim’s name was Lady Jennifer Sklias, the wife of Lord Harris, a politician from the House of Lords.”

“I guess you’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mr. Fletcher asked.

“I read about him in the papers, yes” Mr. Gahan nodded.

“So you didn’t know his wife?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Mr. Gore watched him closely and didn’t miss as Mr. Gahan’s pupils narrowed in the moment he mentioned the victim’s name. He was lying. The blonde policeman looked at his partner, who took the hint and cleared his throat.

“Alright then, Mr. Gahan. Thank you for your time. That’s all we wanted to ask right now, but I’d advise you not to leave town for a while.”

“Am I a suspect?” he forced a half-smile on his handsome face.

“You are our only clue in solving this crime, and I guess you want to clear yourself in the given situation. Correct?”

“Yes, of course…”

“Then I advice you to stay in London for a while” Mr. Fletcher smiled at him from behind his glasses, but it was rather an uneasy smile than a reassuring one. “Here is my card. If something comes into your mind, please call my office.”

“By all means, detective Fletcher…” he looked up at them and watched as they walked out of the restaurant, crushing the little card in his fist.

“He’s lying…” Mr. Gore said quietly when they were already standing on the street, waiting for a carriage.

“Yes, I know” Mr. Fletcher answered “Let’s go back to the Lord and ask around a bit more…”

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