The Murderer Sitting Next to You [USUK]

       Alfred could have just denied it, or simply claimed to be caught up and incapable to handle another load of work, especially one that brought back so many uncomfortable memories and drove him away from his own State. However, he hadn't and rather had been handed the thickest, and most clumsily put together, folder he had gotten in all his years of employment. The photos now spreading out onto the desks gleaming surface from when he had thrown them down, leaning back into the desk chair as he rubbed his eyes after hours of attempts to piece together even the smallest bits, puzzle pieces that he found none of which, neither the same size, nor print were remotely the same pieces.

       Determined his case was hopeless he pulled a coat over, grabbing his key card before making his way out. It was late, he understood that, but clearly not enough for his mind to register that perhaps, no shops were open nor would they be at such an hour. Walking the pavement for quite sometime in hopes of stumbling across an open coffee shop, despite knowing it was a rather tragic to hope that even when it wasn't possible, and he should simply settle for the coffee pot in the hotel room. Oh that was laughable, and he did laugh, because he didn't need to know much of anything to know those things were only cleaned once a week and barely at that, he wouldn't touch that with a fifty foot pole and certainly would not be drinking anything out of one - not unless he wished to be dead. As he figured, he had no such luck, and rather every place he looked around, outside of the bars, were pitch black, until he stopped at a building that shone it's old age compared to those that had rebuilt themselves, on top of that a settlement that was open. That was odd. It was already half past nine, every other establishment was shut down for the night, so out of all the places known to man, why a library?

       Whatever it may have been he found an echo of an old voice, 'whenever in a state of panic or discouragement, flock to a libraries aide'. Compelled by such words, and hell he really didn't have anything to lose at this point, he made hast up the steps, pace slowing once through the door, which pleasantly didn't have any type of signal like a bell or whistle, met with walls and shelves galore filled with books of every width and colour, it felt so surreal as though the place was from a fantasy. He didn't much know what he was looking for, maybe a calming getaway from his failures, to unveil who may have been behind the homicides while leaving behind no trace, and from what he had gathered along with those who had the case snagged out from under them, it appeared to be a rather well organized group; or, perhaps, to look back into the past, find someone who mimicked his life, and yet had a horrible life - really all he had to do in such a case if he wanted to look back to someone who had a worse time than him, was look into Europe's history and more than over two centuries of American history, it truly wasn't a difficult task. Well, he was going to stray from certain genres and individual topics as of now if he could manage to, there was no point to further stressing himself than he already was.

       "Do you need any help?" The calm voice startling him from his own thoughts, which had gone far from normal, attention turned to a man who sat behind a desk, who had clearly been nose deep in a novel as he carefully bookmarked the page. Folding his reading glasses to place them aside before standing to greet the other, fixing his loose-knit beige sweater. "You must be new around here." Not a trace of a smile to his expression, he must have been as worn out, if not more, which was something Alfred could relate to.

      That seemed to snap him from his dazed state, giving a soft laugh. He didn't need to tell the whole truth. "Yes, travel for work. I'm sorry, did I come in on your closing hour?" Great, he thought, throwing a question right back at them, that ought to thrill the other. His communication skills just kept getting better it seemed.

        He scoffed, shaking his head, "Perhaps, if we were in England that is." Joking around with the other, the man looked like he could take a slight jab from where he stood. "No, I don't close until ten." The others silence could have made him laugh, if it wasn't for his arching exhaustion weighing over him, along with how he was slowly examining the other who stood before him. Was he mad! A coat in late July when it was hardly ever over sixty, this man had to come out of the lower northwestern hemisphere with such an attitude.