Chapter 5 – An Orphan Child(5)

Inside a small apartment there were several forensic officers equipped with all sorts of tools and gadgets needed for their job, gathering evidence of a homicide case.

Two guys, who looked like senior officers in rank, showing off, noted what the other officers found. And up to that point ... it seemed they didn't note anything except the number of people killed and that a four-year-old child was found in one of the closets in another room at the crime scene.

'I noted the names of the two. Eliot Edwards and his wife ..."

The second officer, who was believed to be just as important as the first, took a short break.

'And ... Rigantona Edwards. What kind of name is that?" he asked the other.

Whatever, the other officer didn't answer, maybe he didn't know what the other said, or because Gangsley Taylor and the other two appeared in that awkward little flat, still cosy and agreeably set up. Or rather it was cosy, because there was not much left of it.

'Hi, Taylor. It seems two people died, husband and wife. The Edwards. I remember you didn't believe such things, but look. There's no blood. Despite that, as you can see, the walls and the furniture are destroyed as if someone threw bombs everywhere."

He showed Gangsley the damage to the flat, as if the latter couldn't see that visible affliction.

'Of course, the couple was transported for checking. Curious that, although there was a big explosion here, they had no injuries. But…"

'They were ... sent to the other world", the other hanger-on mimed the hint of the Edwards' death.

'I also saw a wolf following you", Jones intervened.

'Yes ... much strange stuff. And the weather is as it is. I don't know what kind of ...", that officer tried to continue chatting, but he stopped.

He said in firm and cold voice, turning to the guy who entered the flat.

'Excuse me, sir ... you can't go in. It's the scene of a homi…"

A harsh voice interrupted the officer.

'I gave him permission."

A secretive gentleman entered, dressed elegantly, with long hair, slightly greyish and wavy, put in a ponytail visible under his hat. Probably the gentleman wasn't that young any more, but his appearance and body posture revealed a strong, ageless man. When he entered, he had a small tattoo on his cheek, representing a dragon, but it disappeared.

He had a short staff in his hand, with a sculpture at the top, representing the torso of a creepy creature with huge fangs, a kind of werewolf or vampire.

The gentleman who spoke was behind him. A plump little man. Yet, the others looked up to him standing in line like a row of poplar trees on the side of a road, therefore his importance was inversely proportional to his stature.

'Good morning, Commander", all the officers greeted.

The police commander was a high respect-breeding guy among the officers. Maybe because of his position or the frowning manner he looked at people under the huge glasses covering his eyebrows and almost his forehead. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. He definitely dominated them, in a game of cat and mouse.

The commander only looked for a moment with the same grim, fierce gaze at one of the police officers, a young man who just graduated the school that trained these criminal officers, for the simple reason that he just stood there, listening to their talk. When he caught the commander's sharp gaze, the young officer turned around startling, and accidentally hit a nightstand, off which several things fell, including a picture.

'You've got no business?!" the Commander took that little scared ‘mouse' to task."

When asked, the 'little mouse" began to tremble with fear. On the spot, he went next to a colleague to ask for help, though he didn't know what he wanted.

The commander watched the policeman only for a moment. Though, the young officer didn't have the courage to turn his head again for several minutes. He constantly felt that sour glance thrown at him. He rushed to do something, too, anything.

The commander turned to the two 'important" police officers and said in the same authoritative voice:

'He is Mr. Vlad Dragoesti. An important person ... very good friend of the British Empire. Give him any information he wants!"

He approached one of the officers and whispered:

'He has a paper signed by the prime minister ... With order to have any question answered."

The commander spied several minutes, one at a time, on the officers investigating the crime scene. Pleased that everyone got involved in their work, he gave talk to that elegant guy, Mr. Dragoesti.

'Mr. Vlad, I turn you over to my officers Will Blanc and Kevin Wheatstone. They'll answer any questions you have. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I have a serious problem just a few blocks away. You got the idea..."

Surely anyone wondered what could be more important than two people's death, but perhaps the Commander's walkout wasn't a loss at all; on the contrary, it was to hasten the completion of proofs and evidence collection.