The curious case of Joe Bloggs

Chapter 2

3PM

Joe Bloggs sat at a mahogany desk, writing on the paper about his latest cases. 10 years had passed since he received his private eye for turning in the hag called Ella. Now he was onto his seventh case in as many months, and criminals were increasingly populating the streets of London. His latest case involved a series of mass murders, and the only clues the killer left behind were fur. Always fur. No footprints, no fingerprints, just fur. 

A man burst into the room, he was short dumpy, and altogether a bit dull.  He also happened to be Joe’s secretary. The man’s name was Billith. Billith panted. The stairs had obviously exhausted him. 

‘Another one dead sir.’

A thousand thoughts whirled around in Joe’s head. The last murder had been last night, a banker who bought in glass and other rare materials from abroad. Who was it this time?

‘Where?’ Joe replied.

‘Mulgrew lane. Number 12. The maid found it just now.’

Joe pulled on his weathered leather jacket and started out the door. He turned and spoke to Billith.

‘Organise those notes will you? I’ve got enough on my plate dealing with dead bodies. I don’t want to be dealing with paper as well’

 With that he walked out the door.

A couple of hours later, Joe arrived at his destination; a dainty white cottage, with a thatched roof, immaculate garden filled with exotic flowers, and ivy growing out of all the nooks and crannies in the exterior. It seemed almost comical that this was the scene of another murder, Joe walked towards the front door. It had rained on the way, yet there were no footprints in the soggy grass. Joe stored this nugget of information in the back of his mind. That meant the killer was still inside. The inside was a mess. Papers, books and shelves lay scattered across the floor like litter. Joe heard screams from upstairs. 

He sprinted up the stairs, skidding to a halt on the landing. The screams were coming from the only room with a door. Joe tried the handle. Locked. He cursed. He had to get inside that room. An idea sprang to mind. 

Joe ran into another room, looking for a chair. Propping it against the wall, he was able to grab hold of the timber rafters. Hauling himself up, he tried to punch through the thatched roof. It didn’t work. Joe took a match out of his pocket. He put a cap on it and lit it. The cap ensured that the flame only burnt a selected area; his own invention. Soon, a hole appeared big enough for him to squeeze through.

Balancing carefully on the roof, he looked down towards the window. The noises continued, but hey were growing fainter. Quickly, Joe clambered down to the windowsill. Steadying himself, he then smashed through the pane. A man stood there, a beast really, not a man. Fur covered his entire body. This was obviously the killer of the previous people. The man beast had blood on his shirt, evidently from the murders he had committed. No one moved. Finally the man beast snarled and charged forward. Joe spun away from the attack, producing a gun. The man beast whimpered and hopped through the broken window, landing on the wet grass and running away. 

Joe studied the two bodies. One was cold, and had maggots eating and diving into every hole. One was still breathing, just. She coughed blood and whispered one final word.

‘Bonvilain’