Inspector and Fish

Inspector and Fish (2)

CHAPTER TWO

He was right, and he hated it. As he stepped off the train onto the small country platform, he was immediately greeted by the gallons of water that were falling from the sky. With no roof on the flat rectangle of concrete he had no choice but to stand there, squinting against the rain, he suddenly became very aware that he was absolutely completely alone.

The rain bounced off the ground and he could see it rolling down the rim of his bowler hat.

He looked down at the fish in the bowl, the little thing was making the most of the additional water pouring into its home by swimming in small circles down to the bottom.

The rain was getting heavier and somewhere the distant grumble of thunder echoed back to the platform, with no sign of the carriage he was promised would be there to collect him, Robert realized that there was no use standing there as his clothes absorbed the cold water. Stepping down off the platform he looked at the soaking ground. Noticing what was left of a pair of rapidly dissolving footprints.

The last person who left this platform went west, so there must a town, a house or even the manor he was looking for up that road.

Robert tightened his grip on his suitcase and around the bowl, bracing himself against the rain, he started to slosh his way through the water, following the road.

3 miles. 3 miles. Never had three miles felt so long and hard, than walking the distance in ankle deep rainwater while fighting the unforgiving battering winds in a cold darkness with only warnings of thunder where unknown horrors lurked, all while trying to carry a fish bowl and keep a drenched hat on your head.

Never had an isolated old manor looked more inviting to the inspector as it had now, even if it was a crime scene for a murder.

The windows were brightly lit with an appealing warm glow and the silhouettes of the occupants flickered and moved.

Shivering, Robert dragged his feet into the dry doorway dropping his suitcase and kicking off his wet shoes. His hand seemed to have frozen to the fishbowl and looked a sickly blue color, contrasting with the scarlet fish within the bowl.

Using what energy he had left, he banged on the door with his fist. The notice echoed. There was no movement on the other side of the door. He waited an minute before violently banging again, in his mood he would happily break the door down just to get into the heat of the inside.

"Stop that racket!" Screeched an inhabitant.

BANG!

"SHUT THAT UP!" The voice was female and undeniably American.

The door flew open letting out a wave of welcomed heat and the unwelcoming face of a disgruntled red haired maid.

"What?!" she snapped in an obviously annoyed manner. Then she blinked, clearly surprised at the dripping tramp shivering at the door, shoeless with a suitcase and clutching a goldfish bowl.

Robert tried to smile extending his free hand towards the maid.

"I'm Detective Inspector Robert Cassidy, here to solve the murder ."