London had many docks. Shard Thames was filled with warehouses, bustling with people coming and going. Inspector Jefferson was scrutinizing each person, observing their behavior.
“What do you think, Inspector? We can’t search every warehouse in Shard Thames. Any information that only Scotland Yard knows?” Liam Moore asked.
Jefferson shrugged with a nonchalant look, implying that he wasn’t sure either.
“Why don’t you solve it with that remarkable insight of yours?” he suggested.
Liam Moore clearly didn’t appreciate the response. Folding his arms, he replied sardonically, “Oh, at least I know that you got scolded by your wife for trying to invest your retirement money recently.”
Jefferson appeared surprised but quickly regained his composure and snickered. He knew Liam Moore well enough to be familiar with his deductive quirks.
“It’s obvious from something like the ink stain between my right thumb and forefinger, isn’t it?”
“No,” Liam Moore grinned. “The rumor’s already all over Scotland Yard; I didn’t need to see anything.”
A hearty laugh erupted from Jefferson. With a benevolent expression, he looked at Liam Moore, then abruptly stopped laughing, drew his handcuffs from his belt, and began chasing after Liam. Instinctively, Liam started running.
I was slightly surprised. I knew Liam Moore’s cheeky attitude well, but I never imagined Jefferson would actually chase him. Laughing at the scene, I realized it wasn’t the time to be idle. I needed to catch up with the two as they started to disappear from sight.
“Damn rascals…” I muttered as I began to run after them.
＊ ＊ ＊
The two suddenly stopped, causing me to halt as well. Liam Moore placed a finger diagonally across his lips, indicating for silence, and pointed at a nearby warehouse. The decayed roof exposed its skeleton, giving the place a sinister look. The warehouse was old, its door chained to prevent vagrants from entering, with discarded debris strewn around.
“Here?” Jefferson whispered.
“Just an abandoned warehouse, isn’t it?” he remarked.
“No,” Liam Moore replied, his eyes scanning the surroundings busily. He turned to me. “Jane, do you see anything?”
Caught off guard, I scrutinized the warehouse. There wasn’t much to notice immediately. Given the pervasive stench of rotting fish, I guessed it might have been a fish storage previously.
Ah.
“For an old warehouse, the chain on the door is new,” I pointed out.
“Indeed, and look at those muddy footprints around it,” Liam added.
I examined the area. The sticky mud left tracks everywhere. Given that the top layer was just beginning to dry, it seemed relatively recent. The mud near the sea was sandy and gray, whereas this mud was dark, as if dredged from deeper layers of soil.
Liam brushed his fingers over the mud, wiped his hands, and drew a revolver from his coat. Drawing a concealed weapon in front of a police officer? Jefferson raised an eyebrow but seemed to understand the necessity given the situation.
“Someone was here not long ago. We might encounter them. Inspector, arm yourself. It could be dangerous.”
We approached the warehouse cautiously. Instead of breaking through the front door, we found a slightly open side window. This was less likely to alert anyone inside. Unchaining the door would have been too conspicuous, especially in such a secluded area where the occupants would be highly vigilant.
Liam squeezed through the window first and disappeared inside. His voice soon followed, “It’s safe to come in.”
He helped me down. Jefferson refused assistance and jumped down nimbly, despite his nearing retirement. I, lacking such agility, struggled to climb over the materials inside.
Jefferson’s low mutter reached us, “Damn…”
A hole gaped in the warehouse floor, revealing dug-up earth, resembling a tunnel leading somewhere.
“Did they dig a tunnel to connect to somewhere, like a bank?” I speculated, bending over to peer inside.
The tunnel was dark, overgrown with what might have been mold or moss, and well-trodden. The surrounding soil was smeared with a whitish, sticky substance (likely decomposed body fat).
“Disgusting,” I murmured.
Jefferson grimaced, “I won’t be eating meat for dinner tonight.”
The tunnel stretched into the unknown, and something odd caught my eye. The tools used to dig it left five-pronged rake marks, rather than those of a typical shovel.
“Why use a rake instead of a shovel? It’s not like they’re digging up leaves.”
“No, that’s not it,” Liam interrupted. “Inspector, did you check the coffin in the grave? Did you see it clearly?”
Jefferson, confused, replied, “No, just saw it filled with dirt and closed the lid…”
“Damn it!” Liam cursed, visibly frustrated.
“Liam,” I started, concerned.
Liam, seemingly on edge, shouted, “This isn’t an entrance! It’s an exit! This is the escape route!”
“An exit?” Jefferson echoed.
“Yes, an exit for the dead bodies to walk out!” Liam clarified.
Ah.
I grasped what Liam meant.
Ah!
“It connects to the graveyard! That’s why we didn’t know! The criminal escapes by being buried, then comes out through a tunnel leading from the graveyard.”
Liam continued, “That’s why the coffins had dirt inside. We thought it replaced the bodies, but the bottom of the coffin opens, and they fill it with the dug-up dirt. The small amount of dirt here compared to the tunnel’s depth and length confirms it.”
“Then other criminals’ coffins…”
“Must be the same. We need the list of recently deceased criminals immediately!”
The outside footprints were undoubtedly from someone emerging through this tunnel.
As we hurriedly prepared to leave, Liam grabbed my arm. His face was ashen, blending with the dim warehouse light, making him look ghostly. He whispered to me, “It’s our kind of problem.”
Our kind. Greenwich. A group monitoring supernatural phenomena, where many eventually go mad…
Suddenly, I feared that Liam Moore might end up the same. Though his sanity seemed intact now, limits are always tested.
I recalled Liam leaning on me in the train carriage, gasping for breath, his face fragile and trembling.
“Are you okay?” I asked, hoping he would reassure me he wasn’t losing it.
Liam avoided my gaze, quietly supporting me to climb out.
“Liam.”
“I’m fine,” he rasped softly. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
We exited the warehouse.
The wind from the lower Thames carried a slight saltiness and a slimy discomfort. The cold air cooled my forehead. Liam Moore’s hair, previously slicked back, now fell over his forehead, sticky with sweat. He wiped his clammy forehead and spoke.
“Jefferson, we must leave now. And you…”
“I’ll send you the list of deceased,” Jefferson replied.
“I’ll contact you if the investigation progresses.”
I nodded lightly. Jefferson departed.