Late 1800's
The detective shook his head in disapointment, staring down at the young female Caucasian. Lying in her own blood, face down. She was stabbed 4 times repeatedly in the back with a 12 inch knife still stuck upright innocently, the killer apparently had felt no mercy. Her top hat was lying a few feet ahead of her, and her jaw was upright on the foul wooden floor. Her death was agonizing. The victim's name was Sarah Marcell, a student attending the Univeristy of London. "What the hell is she doing in a Cabaret?". He thought to himself. The Univeristy of London was known for its reputation of fine, honorable lawyers and businessmen that form the country. What is a person of that future doing in a shows girl costume? Cabaret girls were known for their flirtatious methods of manipulating men to empty their pockets. Wealthy middle aged men would come have drinks after work to enjoy their shows. A young woman of her status should would never be desperately in need of money. It could be then again, that she wanted the thrill of fame.
He asked the policeman standing beside him, "Any witnesses?"
The scrawny policeman replies, "None sir."
"Whose that fellow over there?"
"That's the owner sir."
The detective heads over to the overweight man wearing a fine black suit.
"Are you the owner of this Cabaret?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"Oslo Prenkinson"
"Where were you between the hours of 1:30pm to 2:30pm?"
"I was in my office upstairs."
"Can we have any proof of that?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Hmm.. what is your relationship with Miss Marcell?"
"She was the lead singer in my shows" - Prenkinson says
"I see your not living with any regrets for her loss."
"Of course I mourn my girls! She was me lead after all! It was because she told me she wanted a raise in her monthly pay before she was killed . I refused, and she rampaged my office throwing objects at me. She could have very well killed me. I must apologize detective for I have business to attend to."
He scuttles off his beer belly trailing behind him, the detective leers at him suspiciously. It was strange that there was no sympathy in his voice. He creeps closer to the fresh body and descends on one knee. Slowly he places his hand on his chin. He leans closer to her face, taking a picture of her recently powdered face, her rosy lips wide open in terror. Oh but what's this?There was a black smudge on her left cheek, charcoal was it? He thinks uncertainly. It was very small, exceptionally difficult to notice unless someone's eyes were to be a few inches near it. Moments passed while the detective just stared blankly. Two heavily made up show girls enter the room in laughter practically grabbing each other to stay upright. They were obviously drunk and had not noticed the detective and policeman watching them.
"What a spectacular night!" - One exclaims provokingly
"Ello Dearie!" - Another proclaims with a following hiccup.
Both stopped when they caught sight of a figure soaked in blood, one releases a high pitched scream, the other lady however did not change her expression, or even emit any sign of shock. Only a blank emotionless expression laid on her face. Not a close friend to the victim, he presumed.
“Are you both acquaintances with Miss Marcell?”
“Yes ... she was the lead singer in our shows, she was a sweet girl… who could have done such a terrible thing?!” The shocked girl utters.
The detective then recieved their full names. The cold emotionless one was Scarlet Jones, the other with the look of utter disbelief was Debbie Miller. He asks Miss Miller to exit the room with him. They walk out the room facing the dark, depressing alleys of central London.
“What was your relationship with Miss Marcell?”
“I was her backup singer; we were partners after all we see each other very often.”
“Do you know anyone that might dislike her or grudge on her?”
“No… well Sarah was fighting with Scarlet the other night, I think it was that Scarlet felt envious of her. Scarlet wanted the lead role, but Oslo thought Scarlet should say put. So Scarlet felt furious and put it out on Sarah.
“Is that all you know?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your time, you may go.”
She walks down the narrow alley, her heels knocking down on the ground releasing an echo throughout the silent night. He walks back inside to retrieve Miss Jones, and starts questioning her.
“What was your relationship with Miss Marcell?”
“We were close friends.” She replies blankly.
“That is very hard to believe when you say it in that manner.”
“Do I have to start wrenching my heart out!?” She snaps back.
“When was your last encounter with Miss Marcell?”
“Today, backstage, we just finished our night show and then we were free to leave.”
"Where were you during the hours of 1:30pm to 2:30pm?"
"I was out to do shopping! Is that not one's right?"
"Why is it that you argue with Miss Marcell alot?"
"My clients were leaving me for dirt like her, so I spoke to her about the issue. But I did not kill that worthless cow. May I leave now? I have more important matters to attend to."
She started walking even before he agreed to dismiss her. She was a suspect from that moment on. It was orginal.. yes very, women would do anything for the need of attention, to fill that empty hole that eats away their hearts. He was confronted with cases such as these. Women kills other women for indivious reasons. He returns back to the beautiful lifeless body. He then gets sucked into her black blood shot eyes. The blackness on her cheek was a true mystery. The scrawny policeman from before breaks him while he was in focus. The detective's pupils grew wide when he distinguishes ... a black.. smear on the policeman's right index finger. What the hell?? He slowly rises, and grabs the policeman's finger.
"What is this on your finger there?"
"This?.. I'm not sure."
"Its the same substance on the victims left cheek. Have you encountered Miss Marcell today?" The other policemen stop discussing reports and turn their head toward them.
"Yes I always come here after work, I see her night shows." He says shamefully
"And why have you not given this information before?"
"I thought it was irrelevant"
"If I were to remember correctly you have a wife and child."
"Uh...yes I do.."
"What is that black substance on your hand?"
"Lead, I was creating a portrait of Miss Marcell, I have a skill for art you see."
"Where can I find the tools you used to create this portrait? And the portrait itself?"
"Here sir.." A fellow policeman brought the tools and portrait.
The detective inspects the tools and portrait, he lifts a lead with small rubies of blood on the edges.
"N..n.. No I loved her! I did not kill her!!" Already being carried away he cries out, "NOO!!!!"
His screams were silenced by the sirens heading to god knows where. The detective thought as he headed out to the streets. Smoke from the sewers rose up and cast a shadow on the detective's face. A disturbing smile formed on his face ... he had just gotten away with another murder.
