RoseBlood

Danny

"His name was Daniel Tyrel. He was in his early forties, a single dad, and a private investigator of sorts. His wife died from a natural illness by the time the oldest of his children, Elias, was five, so he was a single parent from then on. But... he was a great parent."

I write everything they tell me down on a fresh page of my casebook, scarcely looking up.

Victim: Daniel Tyrel. Early forties, single father of three.

It feels good to be able to write down something new, even though it happened a few years ago, knowing that it'll get me a lot further than the rut I've been stuck in my head. Elias seems a lot more relaxed than when he was when he first came into the library, though I know his fists are clenched a little as he holds one hand in the other, linked across the table space he's at. Edith watches me write quietly, smiling slightly to herself.

"Yeah, he was a great dad," Edith says wistfully. "He tried to make sure we weren't exposed to all the criminal violence and cases he was involved in at first, but when he saw how we were interested and wanted to help too, he didn't shut us down. We predicted the endings and who did it of Agatha Christie's Poirot on TV. We watched pretty much every episode together before bed, and Emerson almost always got them right. Do you remember that?"

I look up to see his response, and Emerson nods, a hint of a half-smile on his face.

"Yes, I remember. Brunsley and him, since they both worked on some cases well together," Emerson continues, "and when Dad became a proper private detective, Brunsley got him to help with some cases, because he picked up on some things the others didn't, and could really understand the people he spoke and asked questions to. So, if there's ever a strange set of murders, or disappearances, oddly complex cases that they could benefit with his outlook on, the Tyrel Trust did some digging and reported their findings. We take after our dad."

"Cases like this one," I say under my breath, back to writing. "Okay. And what was your dad like as a person? Did he keep himself to himself as a detective, or was he quite open with people?"

"Well, he was too open," Elias comments, "because if he wasn't, he wouldn't have gotten killed."

"It isn't that black and white, Elias," Emerson interjects. "Yes, Dad was private when he should have been, and never discussed cases with others. He never named names when he was on a case, even to us. But he taught us about the kinds of things people do and how they do them, and then how to catch them. Like fake identities, alibis, tell-tale traits of a liar, weapons and how to spot them by the blow. Then he'd test us, every month or so."

"So, he was very clever and good at what he did," I sum up, looking to the Tyrels for approval.

"Oh, yeah," Edith nods brightly. "He solved tons of cases with and without Brunsley's team. Most of them were murders. One was even a really difficult water death, which is the hardest to solve, because of the lack of evidence and everything."

I hum in agreement, onto the next page of my book by now. "What seemed odd to you before he died, then? When did he meet the killer? Could you tell? Did he talk about it with you?"

"It was in the late summer," Elias says, and when I glance up at him, he's back to staring down the table. "He mentioned meeting someone a week or so after he did. That's what Dad did. Looked into things himself, became familiar with it, and then decided to talk about it when he was half-certain of his ideas and it was alright to mention. But Dad's friends were mostly old mates college and work and stuff, so it was kind of weird when he met someone new."

"Describe it to me. Where did it happen?"

"It was a cafe or something," Emerson tells me, and I note it down. "Somewhere vague and informal. He didn't even tell us her name. I don't think he knew it himself, to be honest. That's usually a red flag, or so you would think, but my understanding of the situation is that he'd never met anyone like her before."