Peter Pan The Killer

Chapter 18: Peter Pan Hates His Folks

James walked into the dimly lit bistro to the farthest table where a man was waiting for him. He was dressed in a thick brown coat, the recent shower evident on the material. The man looked up his long grey mustache twitching as James approached.

"Mr. Stewartson," James said in greeting, extending his hand.

"James Hardwing I presume," Mr. Stewartson replied as they shook hand. His thick Scottish accent did not give away he was a Londoner.

"Do you have the information I requested?" James asked, seating himself, as the waiter brought another tall mug of beer to the table. Mr. Stewartson gulped it down, while James declined the waiter's offer for a mug.

"'Course I did," Stewartson said, reaching out for his satchel pulling out several old yellow paper files. James took them and scanned their contents.

"Tis' an old case. What yer' up to, boy?" he asked as James read through the files.

"As a detective yourself Mr. Stewartson, you know what I'm up to," James replied. The middle-aged man turned grim.

"This here is only a part of what yer' looking for. Gotta head to London if yer' want more," he said. The man crossed his arms as he leaned back against his seat. James closed the files.

"Mr. Stewartson, I actually came here to talk to you personally," James said.

"You were the head investigator of this peculiar case. I want to know what exactly you saw, and who exactly were you after seven years ago," James continued, as he flipped open the file to a certain page.

Stewartson shifted uncomfortably, "The case is nothin' but bull crap. Got demoted cos' of it. Said I was seein' things," he said.

"Seeing things?" James repeated, trying to get the ex-detective to elaborate.

Stewartson stared at his beer mug, consumed in thought, "I saw 'im. No one believed me. A man... He made em' see things..." Stewartson himself seemed like he was having a hard time believing his own words. It was as if he was digging up memories long buried in the deep recesses of his mind.

"You couldn't find him in the end. He escaped?" James asked.

Stewartson narrowed his eyes, a frown marred his features, "Here's where it gets a lil' weird..." he said.

"I remember I was huntin' down a man. I was assigned the job by the head himself.... But, suddenly out of the blue... They changed the suspect," Stewartson said leaning in.

"Can yer' believe, they told me seventy-nine murders and uncountable thefts, were commited... By a kid?" He leaned back and left out a bark of laughter.

"Fools' were out of their minds... Or maybe I was... They found correspondin' evidence. I had nothin' to say..." he said with a heavy sigh.

"But they did not find the culprit. Even the kid escaped. Right?" James reconfirmed.

Stewartson nodded, "They closed the case. Demoted me cause' I was spouting nonsense," he said with a shrug.

James had a lot to think about. The case clicked very similarly to their current situation. There had to be more to this story. He probably had to take a trip to London.

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"I thought I told you not to follow me," Gwen said with an annoyed sigh as she walked out of the library, the killer on her tail.

"You expected me to listen?" he asked. Gwen shook her head and rolled her eyes. She walked up to her car, sparing a quick moment to relish the fine warm air that evening. She opened her car door and was just about to dump her things in the passenger seat when the obnoxious Peter Pan got into the car.