The Whitechapel Case [abandoned]

Part 1: The Hypothesis (Chapter 1)

The Whitechapel Case
Fox-Trot-9

PG-13
Horror/Suspense/Mystery (How-Catch-'Em)

Disclaimer: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

Part 1: The Hypothesis
Chapter 1

Day 1—It was ten minutes to 2:00 p.m., and Martin Davis knew he had a lot of explaining to do. In fact, he was itching to tell Noll about these murders in England for five months now, but he couldn't because of the present circumstances he found himself in. Circumstances neither Noll nor Lin were aware of. So he, Noll and Lin were sitting on two sofas facing each other in the private study, the record player turned on with the "Maple Leaf Rag" on low; Luella was out doing errands, but she said she'd be back within the hour.

First was the obvious. Martin said, "You're probably wondering why I changed our home phone number, right?"

"Why did you?" said Noll.

"Because someone told me to."

"Someone?"

"An anonymous person who will stay anonymous."

"Is this person credible?"

"I would not have taken his word seriously if he wasn't."

"And the reason for that?"

Now that was not so obvious. In fact, it was a tricky question to get around. Martin thought for a moment, then said, "Because I'm assisting in a police investigation. You see—" but before he could explain further, the door bell rang. "That must be your mother. Don't worry, Lin, I'll get it," and he got up, walked to the door and opened it only to find a man there holding a briefcase. "Who are you?"

"Detective Bert Grendal," he said. "Did Jacob Meiler let you know you were expecting me?"

"Yes, but not until 2:30. But do come in; make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks."

With the closing of the door, both men entered the private study where Lin and Noll were seated.

"Ah, and this strong fella must be the famous Oliver Davis," said Bert, extending his hand for a hand shake, but mistaking Lin for the one next to him.

Lin shook, anyway. "Actually, he's the one," he said, nodding in Noll's direction. "I'm Lin."

"Oh, geez, sorry about that." Then he offered to shake with Noll. "My deepest apologies, man. I didn't expect someone of your reputation to be so young."

The boy didn't shake or even reply. He just looked at him. Not glared at him. Looked at him. It was enough to send chills down the detective's spine, as he seated himself across from the kid. And Bert was no spring chicken, either; he has stared down many of London's worst offenders in the interrogation room, but this kid was way out of his league.

"Don't mind him too much," said Martin. "Oliver's always been a little rough around the edges."

"You haven't convinced me yet," said Noll. His father looked at him, still sitting on the sofa looking as indifferent as ever. "I'm not convinced why I should join your investigation."

"Actually, it's not only my investigation. It's Scotland Yard's investigation, which still has them baffled for seven months now."

"Scotland Yard's incompetence is none of my concern."

"Watch your mouth, kid," said Bert. "You may be famous, but I will not have you put people down."

Martin sighed. "Oliver, this should concern you. You've been away from here for almost eight months, and you know nothing of the horrors that now has London in its grip. Seven months ago, a long string of unsolved murders began, of which the most recent was just four days ago. I volunteered to help investigate five months ago because of your mother. She came home one night huffing and puffing and scared, and she told me she was followed a short distance to her car after her shopping. And that night was the night of the tenth unsolved murder. I tell you I have never been so scared in my life."