THE PARADOX OF BRAVEFORT (A MINI SERIES)

EPISODE 1: 'FEAR'

BRAVEFORT
BRITISH OCCUPIED INDIAN SUBCONTINENT
1890

The room was the gloomiest region of the house. It was a windowless portion of the victim's residence that gave off a ghastly aroma which seemed to be an amalgam of ancient cushions, dust and of course the corpse that lay in the centre. The cadaver was surrounded by sofas that had neither been used nor sat upon for months. They were ruptured and torn from multiple areas with wool oozing and springs popping through the affected regions. The walls were an even awful sight since they bristled with cobwebs and paint that had sliced off from places leaving yellow, sloppy patches. The afternoon was warmer than yesterday's and the room became unbearable by every passing second. It was crowded with constables roaming around further exploring the crime scene. They'd donned a full sleeved cotton coat with violet shade and pants that were a bit dull in comparison to their uppers. Their custodian helmets were obsolete and with the sun blazing over their heads, most of them had hanged them under their armpits. The taller ones stood by the main entrance questioning the neighbors and guarding the scene. Two constables inspected the furniture for any possible clues whereas one of them knelt beside the body and started examining the wound which felt the sole cause of the woman's demise. Before he could outline the possible scenarios that might've taken place during the murder, he felt slight warmth on his shoulder. It wasn't difficult to deduce that a palm was resting there. He turned his neck to discern a tall figure with a strong countenance looking down at him with hazel green eyes. He had a brown attire with a light brown full sleeved shirt and a dark pant belted tightly on his waist. He had a thick layer of dust on his shoes but underneath it was a pair of rugged black boots that desperately needed a replacement or at least an appointment with the cobbler. His hair was thick caramel but all shambled up to give a unique layout of his face which was neither a dismay nor a delight to watch.
"So? What do you make of it?" He demanded in an accent that felt quite unfamiliar to the constable. He stood up on his feet, got the measure of the intruder with a constant look of suspicion and finally uttered,
"Sir you're breaching the scene of crime. I have to ask you to leave".
"That doesn't strike me as an answer to my question" the intruder grinned dropping the ash of his cigarette from his index.
"To hell with your question, and if you don't leave right away I will have to arrest you for open violation of law in the name of her majesty, the Queen" the constable roared in the single breath making the entire nerve channel in his throat visible. With every passing second his grip on his baton tightened since he expected the stranger's reaction to be physical yet the actual one was more verbal.
"Are you going to arrest me for asking a question, officer?" the stranger replied putting off his cigarette with his index and thumb. By then the constable's writ was shattered to pieces and a move became extremely vital in order to triumph this encounter.
"Alright that's it!", the constable's jaw tightened. He grabbed the stranger's arm which was followed by a push on the shoulder blade, and as his baton bearing arm swung high the constables inspecting the house fittings encroached in. Their expressions were horrid and confused but their intrusion was hard and intense. A muscular one grabbed the constable's arm, whereas the petite hugged him on his waist and pushed him towards the other end as if everyone was trying to protect the stranger. The constable kept swinging his baton in mad rage which kept increasing since all that stranger did throughout the scene was smile and lighted up another cigarette. In a flick of a thumb every law enforcer, instead of inspecting the scene, got engaged in neutralizing the brawl when one of them yelled, "You foolish fuck! He is the newly transferred federal officer detective Blake Edwards". There was dead silence. The baton that was swinging wildly at the detective instances before was now at the constables' feet and all heads in the room kept tilting from one end where the constable stood to the other where the detective stood smiling. No one in the room dared to break the tranquility that prevailed the room until Blake went on to do the honors, "Now that's some introduction" Blake smiled which seldom did anything to offset the tension in the room. "Well staring at me doesn't sound productive. Back to work everyone" Blake suggested to the mob which dispersed the second he finished. "Not you!" He pointed his index at the culprit whose plot of quietly disbanding within the mob didn't go quite as planned. He twisted his head bearing a foolish smile which he thought would make his situation a little less bad than it already was. "A word officer" Blake suggested and marched down the aisle to exit the house from the front door which opened on the street lined with similar houses. The constable followed bristling with sweat which he kept wiping off with his sleeves. He found Blake with his back towards the house and his wrists tucked inside the side pockets of his pant. Giving off any sign of his occupation felt petrifying hence he stood by silently trying to strengthen his defense statement,
"What's your name?" Blake intruded with his back still pointing at the house and the constable.
"Larry Dickens, sir" he hesitated. Blake cast a glance at him from the corner of his eye and uttered,
"Let's take a walk Larry" and began walking by the street towards the main road. Larry jogged his way to keep up with the detective's pace who neither seemed happy nor angry but anxious in an uncanny manner.
"I..I..am extremely sorry sir...and..aa..And ashamed too for such...irrational behavior from my side" the constable admitted in dismay. The detective managed a sly smile, "It's alright. You were just doing your job" the detective cleared still staring at the pathway that lay ahead. Larry exhaled in relief, but he still wasn't sure what's about to come.
"So tell me about this town Larry. One needs to have know how of the place he's about to rule" Blake laughed and Larry partook after which he uttered, "Well I've been a constable here for seven years, sir. And believe me when I say, this town is not as quiet as it seems."
"And so I've heard" by then the duo had reached the end of the street which diverged into two streets. They crossed the main road and ended on the footpath which was lined with shops of every kind. Blake kept his pace steady but the sun was a great hindrance for Larry to meet up.
"Shouldn't you be immune to such weather by now, officer?" Blake demanded with a grin while eyeing Larry who was struggling with the weather. He smiled and lurked towards Blake to continue beside him, "You mistook the weather, sir. It's quite mild here in Bravefort and just a day before yesterday it kept raining from the entire noon till dusk."
"Well, then the murder might've taken place before Wednesday." Blake suggested quietly. Larry stared at him with his dilated eyes, "How is that even possible?" he murmured in his subconscious, however he decided not to comment over the detective's judgement.
Instead he decided to inquire the reason for this judgement, "How can you be so sure sir?"
"Well as I walked past the aisle I had enough time to inspect the floor and it's corners but nowhere did I find even a single spot of dried mud. So there we have it; the timing of the murder." Larry's mouth hung open. All his years of experience in crime scene inspection was wrecked in a million pieces by one single blow. He couldn't have fathomed someone making such appropriate assumptions with such trivial observation; however that was also the moment he realized that he was dealing with sheer brilliance.
"That's brilliant, sir!" let out Larry timidly. Blake smiled still gazing into space but his guise clearly indicated a state of distress which made Larry even more curious. There was silence for a while and the sun kept getting hotter with every step they took.
"So Larry", Blake began.
"You haven't answered my question", there was a smile on both ends but the question struck Larry as a sort which might affect his professional career. With a man like Blake he had to be smart, confident and above all appropriate in his assumptions.
"Well to begin with, and I only speak for myself here, the motive wouldn't have been thievery because there was nothing to take, in that pile of rubble." Blake nodded in agreement, "Also, no signs of physical assault or retaliation from the victim came under the scope of our observation which can only mean that the culprit was an acquaintance of Miss Mary." Blake gestured in agreement with a grin, "That's quite impressive Larry" Blake patted on his arms, "So who do you think this acquaintance could be" catechized Blake curiously,
"We don't have any legitimate information yet but there are rumors that indicate Mary's connection with The Driller but that's just hear say." Blake twisted his head to give a long inquisitive look at the constable, "The Driller?" he stressed elevating his brows which clearly meant an explanation is demanded. "Drake Belfonni, he's a representative of the Italian mafia in the sub-continent who smuggles cartridges and rifles to British allies in Western Europe."
"Why do they call him 'The Driller'?"
"He's known for killing his enemies by beating nails into their temples" Larry sighed.
"And the authorities let him do that?" inquired Blake with a certain stupefaction in his tone.
"Well some seven years ago, when I'd just joined the department, a Portuguese family operated here 'The Hapsburgs'. Bill Hapsburg was their head. I met him once he was a great guy and the locals loved him too."
"Then what happened?" Blake quizzed with his eye etched on Larry.
"The Hapsburgs controlled the dock and the authorities wanted Bill to smuggle arms to their allies but he didn't want Bravefort to turn into some smuggling den so he refused."
Larry paused trying to countervail his emotions that erupted violently inside him. Blake decide not to intrude and stayed silent.
"On September 13th, Drake Belfonni and a dozen of his men, by the order of Chief Campton raided Bill's house and burned his entire family alive. The whole Hapsburg house and its existence were wiped off in a fortnight."
Blake turned his head to gawk at the lane, "So what happened next?" he grilled huskily,
"The Belfonni family took over and started smuggling arms under the protection of British authorities. Chief Campton was given a handsome reward for his loyalty and since then Bravefort is known for the horrors it bears."
"Were there any survivors?" Blake demanded staring at his boots
"There were rumors that the youngest of Bill's sons managed to escape through the help of a few Hapsburg loyalists but had he been alive there would be some news of his existence." Blake managed a slight nod. By then the duo had reached the main commercial square after which they realized the substantial distance they'd manage to cover in such a short span.
"Time flies Larry.", exclaimed Blake as he turned his head to catch a proper view of the commercial centre, "Let's head back before it gets dark. I don't want my encounter with Campton to take place after dusk", Blake suggested with a wink at Larry who wasn't amused by the thought that he'd have to cover that distance all over again, "Back at that wrecked house for meaningless inspecting?"
"No, back at that wrecked house to unlock a mystery."

TO BE CONTINUED.

NEXT TIME HERE ON PARADOX OF BRAVEFORT:

More surprises await the duo when they reach Mary's house. Blake carries out his own personal inspection in a unique style while trying to learn as much as he can about the ghetto. Will Blake and Larry be able to unlock the murder mystery? Stay tuned for the next episode.