Chapter 6

Instinctively I lunged to the side and narrowly avoided having my skull caved in. Looming above me was a giant by anyone's terms, the town butcher Timothy. He swung the cleaver again at me, but this time I was prepared and ducked before it could hit me. I raised my hands in front of me and wiggled a taunting finger at him. He gladly accepted the bait and lunged towards me, huge hands outstretched. I stepped to the side and brought my elbow down on his neck as he passed by me. 

He crashed to the floor and lay still as a rock. I wrenched the cleaver from his grip and threw it across the room. Pulling out a vial of smelling salts I waved them in front of his face and watched as he gained consciousness. Slowly, Timothy sat up and stared at me groggily with a dazed look in his eyes. He reached down for his cleaver but found nothing. Slumping his shoulders in defeat he threw his hands up in the air. 

"All right, all right you got me. I can answer some of your questions, but will you let me go after?"

I pull up a chair and sit in front of him. Learning now towards him I inspect his face, nothing on it seems to be giving the impression he was lying.

"I'll take it that you're telling the truth then. Now why are you here at the Watson's residence? You're the butcher, what business do you have here?"

Timothy fiddled with his fingers and stared at the floor a long time before answering me. 

"Well you see Lupin, I'm in the business… of human meat. Livestock is expensive these days and I have a family to feed."

I'm staring at him now with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. Did he say human meat!? This was extremely unprecedented, I had never heard of someone like him before. Regaining my composure, I clear my face of emotion.

"So… am I right in assuming that you're the one behind these murders then? You kill for profit? You're no different than a hired killer you scum."

"You're wrong, you're wrong! I don't kill people, I have a client who informs me when they've killed someone. I thought that you of all people would…"

He cut off mid sentence and thumped to the ground in an unmoving lump. A small steaming hole had appeared in his neck and blood was beginning to trickle out. I checked his pulse, but it was too late, he was already too far gone now. 

I whipped my head around for the assassin and saw them standing in the doorframe casually cleaning their pistol. Clad all in red they were tall and lean, most likely no less than 50. They wore a most peculiar mask, with a snarling demon on it. They gave me a little bow and holstered their pistol. The mask muffled their speech but something about the voice gave me chills. It sounded so familiar but I could not quite place it. 

"I give you my regards to you James. I happened to pass by and see that man bothering you so I took care of him for you. I do hope you'll take a nice long rest now after seeing this, I have business to take care of.

With that he turned around and disappeared back onto the streets. Just another person walking by on the regular. Had I passed them, I would have given them a second look for their choice of clothing, but no more. And yet they had just killed someone in front of me, killed my only lead on the case. 

I check back on Timothy now and find he is dead. The bullet was clean and did quick work on his life. Severed his thin hold on the rope keeping him from falling into death. I can only hope that despite his actions, he does not end up in Hell. 

Yet again I can feel something deep inside of me grow. This frustration and anger is stewing inside of me, something needs to be done. This was more than just a case now, this was my sanity. I either solved this or something inside would break and I fear for what might happen then. 

Putting aside the frustrating thoughts, I focus my attention on the problem at hand. I had no leads, no connections and no help. I didn't want to rope my daughter into this mess and even Barnabas wanted nothing to do with me. This was to be my case and mine alone. Trudging back up the stairs I decide to check out the third and final floor. It's very dusty up here, probably uncleaned for years. I push away the various cobwebs from my face and enter the first room I see. 

It's stuffed with boxes, some full and bursting and others empty and sparse. A picture lying haphazardly on top of a box close to me catches my eye. I pick up and see Mr. Watson, Mrs. Watson and the rich merchant this morning. The merchant was laughing, but both the Watsons were grim faced and tense. Something about the way they stood so stiffly and and the way they kept their distance from the merchant bothered me. 

And then it dawned on me, I had always wondered why the house was in such disarray, why they only had one servant tending to everything. The Watsons had been borrowing money from the merchant in order to keep up the appearance that they were well off. Why they would go to such lengths was beyond me. 

But the question now was, who was the killer?

It could have just as easily been Henry or perhaps the red masked assassin. Was it someone working for the merchant or was it… the merchant himself? 

More methodic now I search through the scattered boxes for any hints. Most of them are stuffed to the brim with random items of all varieties, pencils, brushes and bowls. As I was turning around to leave, something in a box that seemed out of place stood out to me. 

It's a letter addressed to me, Sir James Lupin. There is no correspondent, but I pick it up and read it anyway

Dear James,

If you're reading this, well… good job, Mrs. Watson should be dead by now. I understand how confusing this whole case is, I get it, I know. But for a man of your intellect, this should all be wrapped up for you soon enough. 

Of course, by now everyone should be extremely wary of you. I want you to do this alone after all, no cheats and helpers. Try not to die on the way though, it would be a shame if everything ended that fast. 

There'll be more deaths if you don't hurry up and solve the case. And one last piece of information, watch your back James, everything is not as it seems. I'll see you when you solve this, or when your dead body is getting lowered into the earth.

None of this is making sense to me anymore. Who could the mysterious letter writer be? For all the information and expertise that I've accumulated over the years, this is the first case that has stumped me to this extent. Something above my caliber is running this circus and I'm afraid I just might be the main act.