The Midnight Caller

1. The Midnight Caller

Gabriel Bedford had always had a poor opinion of the forces. It wasn't his awful luck following his decision to employ his talents as a freelance detective that inspired this bias. It wasn't his rather comfortably off friend Devin who boasted of cases he had no hand in solving and who he considered the bane of his existence either. And of course, it wasn't the stunning Shreya Mishra who had jilted him for Superintendent Jones of the State police.

At any rate, Gabriel felt nothing but contempt for them. Not only had they the nerve to enlist his help for a twenty-year-old case (he had promptly pocketed the wad of cash he had received on clearing the cheque; all good detectives needed to swallow their pride now and then), what was worse, they had taken the liberty to invite him to the annual employees' party. The colossal nerve!

And so, Gabriel Bedford, famous broke Detective of Lockwood town, lay in his second-hand bed, a frown on his disctinctly ordinary face and a phone to his ear. A half-eaten chicken sandwich lay neglected on a plate beside him, which he now picked up in boredom and brought to his mouth. He nibbled on the bland sandwich which usually constituted of his dinner as well as breakfast (the money saved on his meals went to pay his rent; all good detectives needed to forgo meals now and then) as Devin droned on about the party in his ear. He would let out an occasional whine about the collective decision to bring partners to this year's party which prompted Gabriel to hold the phone away from his ear.

Gabriel wasn't too concerned about it, really- he had neither a partner to flaunt nor the will to drag himself out of bed to said party. On the other hand, he had every intention of accepting the invite just to get a glimpse of Shreya- it was silly of him, he knew. But despite his sour feelings and bruised ego, he had once loved the woman. Perhaps he still did. Either way, he seemed to have joined the League of Jilted Lovers and taken to the standard procedure of getting oneself invited to likely places and watching from afar. In the past, he had had to deal with some of these lovelorn young men himself- the police didn't usually regard the grievances of ladies with stalkers as worthy of their time. Now, having turned into one himself, he only felt sympathy for them.

Devin's complaints faded into the background as Gabriel's mind wandered to his latest case- the first in months. He had been offended at first, to be engaged for a case that had been closed nearly twenty years ago. But the suspiciously generous cheque and the reiterated emphasis on discretion told him there was more to it than met the eye. Moreover, it was Harold Grey who had personally employed him.

Mr Grey was a government official- a hardened old man with a nasty face and a nastier manner. But he wrote generous cheques, and those were quick to persuade Gabriel; all good detectives needed cheques now and then.

But despite the sum Gabriel had shamelessly pocketed, it puzzled him to no end why he had been employed where it was clear as daylight he wasn't needed. Mr Grey's countenance had also struck him as rather odd- or was he thinking too much? At any rate, the case couldn't do much damage to his reputation should he not succeed in whatever it was that his employer expected of him- it was already in ruins. Besides, he had the cash to soothe him.

But not even the beautiful crinkle of notes could make up for what his employer had pushed onto him next- an assistant. His protests had been redundant. "I don't need one," he had said bluntly and thought to himself, "And can't afford one either." Mr Grey, of course, had seemed to understand the unspoken words and proposed that he should supply him an assistant from the ranks. Gabriel had found himself unable to refuse- Mr Grey simply wasn't the kind of man you could turn down.

Thus equipped with a low-ranked sub-inspector for an assistant and next to no evidence, Gabriel couldn't help but doubt the outcome of the investigation.