The hours pass and the day begins to die, the smog of the city tinting the sunset an awful blood red.
Spencer pushes open the door of the bar.
He looked even more disheveled than what he'd shown up like the previous day, not even making his usual effort not to slouch.
Marceline had been leaning on the bar, talking to someone. She joked about the person's poor sense of humor, which got a laugh out of a few folks. She hadn't noticed him walk in, she took a sip of a cup that was behind her.
Spencer slides into the seat right next to the poor soul, and leans his weight on the counter.
"Marcie," he says in his soft way. "Evening."
She looks at him, smiling. "Good evening Detective." She put her cup down, tucking her curl behind her ear and putting her hands on her hips. "So what will it be?"
"London Dry?" he decides after a pause. He sighs. "Inspector Abberline was much too unkind to me today. Even though I deciphered the kidney letter and everything."
She grabbed a cup and placed it on the table. She turned around to grab a fresh bottle of gin, cracking it open. "Yeah well, he's a dick." She poured it into the cup, now closing the bottle and putting it underneath the counter. "I don't understand how you could work for someone like that."
"He's more tolerable around men," Spencer explains, looking down into the contents of the glass. "And he's especially unpleasant around women he thinks are pretty, because to him it's a character flaw and a sign of low morals. That's why his wife makes amorous congress with the scullery maid and he sleeps on his couch."
He says this in a very matter-of-fact way, taking a sip of the gin, and fights against making a face. He clinks it softly back onto the counter.
She tries to cover her laughter, "My word, I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment." she grabs her cup, sipping on it. "Well, I shouldn't laugh at that, I sure it's not his fault he underperforms."She clears her throat to cover her laughter. "So.. the letter? You solved it?"
"It is very much his fault since his ideas are what disenamoured her," he mutters, then raises his voice back to normal to answer the actual question. "Yes. I left this on Abberline's desk, but it seems you missed it when you wrote me the note."
He pulls out a paper folded in four and spreads it on the table. It's a statement form, but all the printed areas are ignored. It's split into two sections; one a transcript of the letter, then a bullet point list.
His handwriting is not very good; the hand is heavy, omits capital letters, and all over appears closer to print than to the usual cursive handwriting styles.
"From hell
Mr Lusk,
Sor
I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer
signed
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk"
- more familiar with vigilance committee than Metpol
-big letters
-cramped
-heavy-handed, ink blots
-prasarved = Irish/cockney?
-phonetic spelling
EXCEPT
YOU ARE READING
Crimes Against The Heart (Spencer Reid X OC)
Storie d'amore"Marceline Lyra Salden, at your service." "Spencer Reid," he says, "Detective Spencer Reid, actually. At yours." ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ +Spencer Reid X OC A weary detective strides into the dimly lit bar, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of the patrons...
