A portion of this fiction story will appear in each issue of The Tiger Times this year.
According to the files of the Edinburgh archives, the case of Alasdair McKinely began and ended on January 2nd of 1896 with an open and shut case regarding a breaking and entering on Baker’s street. However, recent research uncovered statements that it could possibly be traced back to December 12th, over the report of a missing person.
It was mid-day when the report came. The sun was eclipsed by Monica station’s chimney and cold air drifted in and out of the windows. An air of urgency had fallen across Edinburgh, as the once silent streets had then crowded with protesters.
Reports of violence from police stations across the county had piled onto one Constable Lennox’s desk, who, overwhelmed by the sheer number, had pondered to himself just how swiftly his quiet college town had turned so volatile when the phone on his desk began to ring.
“Constable Lennox of St. Monica Station, emergency?”
“Somebody h-lp.”
“Hello?”
“-gone- missing, I don’-”
The voice on the other line cut out every other word, still, young and feminine, even if distorted.
“Who’s gone?”
“La-t night. I was-”
“Who’s gone missing?”
“I do-”
“Where are you calling from?”
Clear as day, the static had stopped and the caller had replied, “Wildfire street.”
And then the line clicked, he looked down at the phone briefly before placing it back on the receiver. He looked down at the notepad by his side, scant information written down beside the time and date and then he looked outside his window where the masses had flooded the streets. Missing persons cases were the least of his problems, and if weren’t for the call that proceeded, he may have disregarded the case altogether.
“Constable Lennox of St. Monica station, what is your emergency?”
“I suppose that you’ve received the call as well?”
The voice on the other line was clear and unhampered, so sure of itself, Lennox could conclude only one person.
“Detective, is that you?”
“Time is of the essence Lennox, someone has gone missing and no one knows who.”
“How did you know of that?”
“All of the nearby stations have been quickly contacted, some of my colleagues have stated that they’ve also received a call of a missing person, but both the identity of the caller and the person gone missing is unknown. Presume this case will be mine and I shall see you at Wildfire street at five after three.”
The line clicked again before Lennox had time to process what was said. He placed the receiver back down and grabbed his coat and two other men. The fact that Detective was not only were aware of it but also found it worthy of their work was enough to cause alarm.
The detective had always been a rather odd man. Almost stereotypical of a character. Always, they wore a long red coat and stuck to the shadows on bright sunny days. Boredom donned their face, and they seldom ever offered any other expression
Lennox and the detective had crossed paths many times, the first being a case where they were unwelcome and yet had put the police to shame and stood as a solid witness in trial. While reclusive in nature, they spoke professionally, insistently. Verbose and stood tall with confidence and never stuttered over their words. While eccentric, pretentious and five other words that the Constable wouldn’t share, the two could meet eye-to-eye on one thing: Justice.
“Five after three usually means five minutes after three o’ clock; it is currently ten minutes after three o’ clock.”
Lennox jolted and turned around, Detective stood square in the alley, studying their pocket watch.
“Understand that not everyone can bolt three city blocks in the span of ten minutes, next time schedule appointments within a respectable time and then you can be weary of tardiness.”
Ignoring him the detective continued to talk. “Do you have a map of Edinburgh?”
“No, why?”
“Wildfire street, missing person and a river, if it were a murder then the easiest place to dispose of a body would be the river in front of them. I need to see where this river leads.” They stalked out of the alleyway.
“Detective, what information did you receive?”
“The same that you did.”
“You don’t know that.”
Detective sighed “‘Someone went missing, last night, and Wildfire street is where it happened’ The caller had contacted all of the stations in Edinburgh, relaying the same information at sporadic hours of the night into midday today. The first reported call was sometime after one o’clock at Rebecca’s station.”
A question formed in Lennox’s head. “Detective?”
“Great, we’ve already got a number of leads.”
“Detective.”
The detective ignored Lennox. “I’ll start at the university. Woman was young and well spoken, could have something to do with the protests, do you know what those are about?”
“Detective.”
“Wildfire complex is also a student housing unit. Newest one on the block.”
“Detective.”
“What?” Detective replied, lips curled as if he had the right to be annoyed.
“How did you know about the call? You’re a private citizen.”
They hesitated on answering, eyes shifting elsewhere. “I was contacted on my home phone.”
Lennox was about to inquire more when the detective had brushed past them.
“I’ll send for you when I need help, for now I have leads to chase.”
“Then what am I doing here?
The detective shrugged and walked off into the distance.
Detective was drenched by the time he had arrived at the library doorstep. Though in their hand they gripped an umbrella, his coat had dripped, soaking the library floor. The university was closed until further notice, the student protests had kept it from opening. And the singular lady from Wildlife complex who had not admitted into curfew was quick to call in, she had stayed with a friend the night prior. Most students were shocked by the sudden protests, for the night prior there had naught a sound, except for the Leith.
“We’re closing.” Ewan, the head librarian had greeted the Detective by the door, tilting his head to search past him, looking for the rain that night. “I should say, ‘We’ve closed.’”
“I’m here on police business.” Detective pushed past Ewan to the reference stack. Stunned, Ewan let him. “Do you have a phone book?”
“A what?”
“Phone book, Oxford College had their own.”
“Why would I need that? There are police boxes down the road.”
“So, that’s a no.” Detective ran their fingertips over the spines of the volumes ’til finally they found an address book. They considered it then pulled out their library card from their pocket, holding it up and waving it. “I’m checking this one out.”
“I’d rather you don’t. It’s library property, no one can check it out.”
“There’s a map and all the prominent addresses in town. I need it.”
“For police business?”
“Yes,” They looked at the librarian rather dully and then droned on. “Do you want identification?”
“I should say not.”
“Good. Then I shall be going.” The detective didn’t bother to hand over the library card, rather they tucked it back into their breast pocket and sauntered out down the road and entered the nearest police box. Ewan, who was leaving the library regardless of the detective, had followed him down the street. It took the detective two minutes to return from the box, and by then Ewan had passed it by and had been caught. “The phone box doesn’t work.”
“It hasn’t worked since this morning.”
Detective blinked. “What happened this morning?”
Ewan sighed and shifted his grip on his umbrella. “Around midnight-”
“On the record, for police investigation.”
“Around midnight,” Ewan had started again. “Perhaps 12:30, a young woman had returned- actually, she had returned the address book. Then she had walked down the street for a phone booth, it was late so I offered to walk her home. She stopped inside the phone box and she never came out. I feared the worst so I knocked on the door and found the phone dangling.”
“This phone box?”
“Yes.”
“And this address book?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“Because she could not access the phone book,” he scoffed. “This young woman, you may have liked. She tried to bribe me, succeeded as well. Took the address book at 11:29. Came back at midnight to return it.”
“And her name? Surely you gathered that.”
“Ah, what was it? McKinley. She gave me only her surname, insufferable woman. She insisted upon walking herself, nearly struck me when I had refused to let her. So I did, streets were empty after all.”
“At 12 AM?”
“Yes.”
Detective nodded. “So you were the last to see her?”
“Excuse me, what has happened?”
The detective unfolded his umbrella over his head. “Nothing sir, I’ve just found our missing person.”
