100 Ways to Solve a Murder-Chapter 183: The Skeletons III

7 Eastbourne Rd.

Marco left Levi’s flat late that evening to go home, something the Irishman sitting on the couch didn’t even notice because he was too engulfed by the journal he was reading.

What did she see?

Where would she go? He couldn’t help but wonder.

He had been to her Laboratory and her place in Camden. Surprisingly, the signs in both areas said she was coming back. Her closet stated she would have packed approximately 2-3 days worth of clothing at most since her suitcase was still there and only a medium-sized backpack had gone missing. Further checking revealed she took her passport with her, and from what Davies informed, her bank records showed she had withdrawn some money after he dropped her off to Guy’s.

At present they were still waiting for Elle to pull some strings to see if the redhead left the country, and if she did, where she was heading.

Levi stood up from his seat, now only wearing his white dress shirt and blue trousers. He had abandoned his matching vest, necktie and suit jacket on the edge of the couch and made his way towards the double windows with the view of outside. The sky held an orangey hue, and he pondered on all possible scenarios based on the signs she showed before she left.

Her reaction to Pattin’s arrests, her fixation on the Wilson’s double murder case. What did it all mean?

He turned to look at the copy of Pattin’s journal lying on the centre table; he had yet to finish reading it--it was too detailed even for his liking, and that’s said a lot. And he had been too preoccupied doing further digging on the Cabin Fire. Mostly papers, and reports.

The slicked blond also asked Davies to make some calls to have the case file transferred to London, especially the post-mortem report. The Detective inspector was still waiting for the Somerset Police response. Admittedly, Levi knew that the file transfer would move faster if he just grabbed his phone and asked Anna for a favour. But favours to his older sister meant he was asking for help. No can do. He wasn’t desperate enough. At least not yet.

Levi knows Sam will return; it’s a matter of when. And why the bloody hell didn’t she tell him? The answer: she didn’t want to be asked why. He knew that. She didn’t want to talk, a characteristic he shared with her. Both of them didn’t like to talk; both of them still kept secrets from each other. Something he honestly didn’t mind. The monsters in his life, after all, were something else altogether.

She had been keeping something from him, was it because of their sudden change in ’relationship status’ as what nosy friends call it? He was leaning on No; she wasn’t one of those kinds of women. That matter was absolutely unrelated to him; this was about the Wilson’s Case. In some way or form, she is connected to it---this was personal. That’s why he asked about her untimely parents’ demise. Very untimely. Bizarre too, in his perspective.

Two, grown, young couple. One he knows for a fact was very intelligent, wouldn’t have just died---in a fire.

There’s something fishy about it too, something that didn’t fit. That’s why his eyes had been bouncing back and forth on the newspaper print outs about the ’accident’.

Officials found two bodies in a cabin fire, yet to be identified.’

By: Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 16

’Cabin Fire Mystery: Wife and husband Identified.’

By Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 17

’Tragedy: Fredricksen HEIRESS DEAD?’

By Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 18

’Denise Fredricksen: Pleads authorities to check for foul play.’

By Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 19

’Fredricksen Heiress Death: Police checking for any Foul play.’

By Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 20

’Dead couple for DNA testing for Proper Identification.’

By Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 21

’DNA RESULT: Positive.’

By Michael Rogers

Published On: Mar 23

Load-some of it too.

He slid his hands inside his pant pockets as he looked at the scattered print outs on the table.

What is it? It’s staring him right in the face.

What is it?!

His eyes widened suddenly, and his jaw dropped to the floor. And his hand swiftly grabbed one of the newspaper print outs reading, then he grabbed another, and another.

"Oh! That’s it!" he said out loud, not caring that he was alone.

"The Paper!"

He manoeuvred towards his laptop on his desk and typed a name on the keyboard.

Searching.

He memorized the address on the screen, and he went straight for the suit jacket then his coat on the rack after pocketing his mobile phone. He didn’t bother to put on his vest nor necktie. He needed to hurry.

Levi left his flat seconds later, getting on his blue Shelby cobra and headed to the address.

It took 20 minutes for him to arrive at his destination, and he straightened his suit and swept his hair with his hand, making sure he looked presentable before he knocked on the unfamiliar wooden door.

An elderly woman blonde woman opened it seconds later, and he gave her his best smile. One that would make even geriatrics fawn. "Hello, I’m looking for Michael Rogers." He said, in a fake polite tone. The older woman invited him in instantly, after greeting him a good evening. She did not bother to ask who he was, and she pointed to the direction of the man’s flat. "Third floor, second door to the left." She said. He thanked her before walking right up.

...

Michael was sitting in his living room watching crap telly when he heard a knock on his front door; he lowered the TV’s volume for a moment trying to make sure the knocking was indeed coming from his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone after all. So who could it be? He wondered.

After realizing it was indeed his door, he opened it. His brows rose immediately at the familiar-looking gentleman. He had seen the slicked blond in the newspapers and TV, ’Hot detective Levi Jackson’ as what the media and his hormonal fans had dubbed him as. And as much as he hated to admit it, he deserved the name.

The man looked could easily pass as a model or a celebrity.

"Mr. Rogers, thank you for having me on such short notice." the Irishman said as he sat across from the older gentleman, drinking tea. Michael Rogers looked to be over 50, from his observation and not only that he was living with a yellow cat; which had been purring at the slicked blond’s leg annoyingly. At the back of his head, he wanted to shove it away gently, before its fur attached to his Brioni. But it was far too late. The place was covered with fur, her and there. And the strong scent of cat piss and litter filled the air of the small apartment.

Michael Rogers, with the help of Google, was a journalist and author, who used to work for Hidden Truth.

"Mr. Jackson, what a pleasure." the man said, incredibly pleased at the Celebrity psychologist/ private detective owner’s unscheduled visit. "How may I assist you?" He asked shortly, knowing his visit was not for social reasons.

Levi smiled pleased. He pulled a copy of one of the articles Michael wrote on the Cabin Fire from his pocket and handed it to him.

Michael took the paper from his hand, reaching for his reading glasses on the table and putting it on, and he started to read it. He recognized it immediately, and his expression saddened. It was a Tragedy. And he turned back to look at the Irishman in question.

"I wish to know the story from your eyes," Levi said, causing Michael to frown.

"It had been years." He said, followed by a shoulder raise.

Lie. Levi noted, but he smiled back at the man. "It was one of your best work. You covered it well, even an exclusive interview with the elusive Denise Fredricksen--a rich, powerful woman, grief-stricken with the untimely death of her daughter and son-in-law. You won the Breaking News Award category that year too, congratulations." he said, eyes scanning the older man’s face. What he saw were shame and regret.

Levi leaned forward; eyes narrowed at the man. "You didn’t, didn’t you?" he said, causing the man’s eyes to widen a fraction.

"You didn’t write these. But who did?" Levi thought out loud, baffled at his discovery. He suddenly stood from his seat and looked down at the man literally.

The blond clenched his jaw, annoyed at the man’s silence. He didn’t have time to dilly-dally by waiting for the man to grow a conscience. "Who!? Tell me?!" he demanded watching the man debate whether to tell him or not. And just when he thought he was to fold, the man recoiled. He shook his head, "Please leave, Mr. Jackson." he said, walking to the door and opening it for him for effect. He wasn’t welcome anymore.

The blond mentally scolded himself; he should have been more patient. Now he lost him.

Eejit. Now how would he know the real story?

Levi slowly walked towards the door, grabbing his coat draped on the couch’s arm; his eyes never leaving Michael’s once. Then the realization hit him, and he paused halfway. "Ooooh, that’s awful good. That is very good." he thought out loud, and a smile spread on his lips.

"You!" he looked at Michael Rogers excitedly, who was staring at him like a deer in headlights.

"You were more than happy to take credit for it." he started. Then he tensed, and he slightly staggered back; eyes wide. It was all so clear now.

He can see it.

It had always been there, Ms. Hart even said it.

"....Fredricksen provided Security for Jason Murdoch. Jason Murdoch controlled the Press for them."

"Jason Murdoch." passed his lips almost in a whisper, but loud enough for the other man to hear. And his reaction to that very name was enough confirmation for Levi. He smiled, filled with self-satisfaction. He was good, he thought. He was terrific.

"Thanks for the tea!" the slicked blond said, walking out.