Case Closed

• Twenty-One •

There were strange sounds coming from the kitchen as Lucy stretched in bed. Like... pans, and cutlery, and plates. But she lived alone?

The events of last night slapped her around the face. She sat up and groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It took all the willpower she had to clamber out and pull on brown leggings and a top.

Under the door wafted the smell of warming toast. It was that that made her step out and walk down the narrow kitchen, only to be met with a sight so abnormal she almost ran back to the bed.

The Prof was standing by the cooker, holding a spatula which he used to prod a pan of scrambled eggs. His wild hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he'd replaced his trademark white lab coat for a maroon and blue sweater. It was most likely what he'd been wearing last night, but she didn't notice - nor hold the hope that he might not mention it.

By the window stood an ancient oak table that'd she'd inherited from a relative almost as old. Usually, it was a storage place for files and paperwork, but all that had been cleared away to make space for two plates, two cups, and a jumble of cutlery.

Obviously unaware of her presence, the Prof started to hum quietly, a tune she didn't recognise. She took a couple more steps forward, deliberately knocking into a chair in the process. The sudden noise made the Prof whip around, holding the spanner like a weapon.
"Oh, it's only you."

"Morning to you too," she smirked, before peering over his shoulder at the contents of the pan. "It's burning."

Swearing under his breath, he dug the spatula under the eggs to find the bottom blackened and smoking.

"For f-"

"Stop, I'll do it." Grabbing an apron, she fumbled to tie it behind her back as the Prof threw himself into a chair. She whizzed around the cramped kitchen, snatching up eggs and buttering toast. Within a few minutes, two plates of breakfast sat on the decluttered table.

The situation became gradually more awkward as they ate. Neither of them said a word, mainly because they had nothing to say. The unspoken seemed to hang in the air before them, like some kind of physical barrier. When they had both finished, Lucy stood up a little too quickly and shoved both plates into the aged dishwasher. She stood there for a second, wringing her hands.

"Shall we, er- go to the office?"

"Sure," the Prof said brightly, and pushed his chair back too.

Shoving her keys into her pocket, Lucy headed off after him down the crowded streets. Now, the noise of the traffic masked the silence, giving her the false illusion that nothing had happened last night. That she was ok.

*****

The reconstruction machine whirred to life, pop-ups and windows filling the screen. The Prof closed them all down before loading up the software that would give them a perfect view of the crime scene. Nothing had been changed since they had last studied the cell, but something itched at the back of her mind. Some part of this case just didn't seem to fit. The Prof handed her the mouse and went to grab the file. She zoomed in on the cell, and dragged the view around the screen. Then, she spotted it.

"Prof?"

"Hmm?"

"What's this?"

He jumped up and came to stand behind her. "What?"

"Look," she said, zooming in even further. Under the bed, up against the wall, was a tiny metal grate. One screw appeared to be missing, leaving the grate hanging at a slightly off angle.