The damp breeze of London rolled through the area, making people shake and shudder. Of course, the men quickly took their coats off and covered their ladies in an honest act of affection. It would have been a wholesome scene if not for the event that was taking place in this area.
Multiple rows of black metal chairs lined in a half circle, with a small wooden podium standing in front of them. On top of the podium stood a massive canvas that was painted with the image of a middle-aged man, the name 'Deven Smith' written with white paint and the words 'Rest in Peace' written beside the name with black paint.
Moving around the stage with light steps was an old man who wore a thick police jacket. Holding a microphone in his wrinkled hand, the man moved from the left side of the stage to the right, speaking out to the audience as he did.
Despite the hacking cough that escaped the man's lips every now and then, he did not stop to take a rest. The topic was just too important to him.
The audience and the people walking nearby heard his hoarse elderly voice boom across the block:
"This man was one of our proudest and most dedicated detectives that had ever entered our doors. He helped so many people find the justice that they deserved, and he helped so many more move on from the hurtful truth that they couldn't bear to hear. Deven was a kind man that served the community, he was an amazing co-worker that always took responsibility, and most of all he was a loving husband to his wife Linda Smith who is present in the stands of this memorial today."
A few people turned their heads to look at the widow, though most decided to be respectful and kept their gazes to the old man on stage.
After another spiking cough, the old police officer continued, his voice rough and hoarse:
"Deven was respected by everyone and loved by everyone, his life as a detective was coming to a fitting end and his life as a husband was just about to begin. But all that happiness that he could have had was snatched away from him by those Polish pigs..."
Suddenly the old man's voice became a lot sharper and his face contorted to an ugly grimace.
As the ending sentence was said, a lot of people in the stands winced and began to look to the side or straight down, some even looked up at the cloudy sky as an escape.
However, one particular man did not do any of that. Instead he leaned in and listened closely to what the old officer was saying.
"Deven never had any signs of being mentally unwell or insane, I would know this since I was his best friend. Before he went to solve that case in Poland, Deven was his usual self—respectful and positive, and everyone who knew him personally could testify to that. Only after he went to Poland did he suddenly show signs of being mentally unwell..."
The old man coughed once more but this time it was not nearly as jagged as usual, it even seemed a little bit forced.
As the old officer continued to talk, two streams of water began to slither down his slackened cheeks.
"Tell me dear audience, how does a man like that randomly kill a 19 year old woman and then kill himself. He was kind and yet the Polish police claim that he was the one that murdered an innocent woman. He was responsible and yet the Polish detectives claim that he ran away after committing the murder and then killed himself to escape punishment. How... How does that make logical sense. It doesn't and we all know it."
Again, people hung their heads low though this time it was for a different reason.
A few whispers flowed through the rows of men and women attendance:
"It's true though. It doesn't make sense at all."
"I have to agree with the old man. This whole situation is just really suspicious."
"Don't believe anything someone says just because they say it with heart. That guy Deven could have been deranged all along and hidden it."
"Even from his wife you think?"
But still, one man kept his head high and continued to listen.
And this man did not fail to get noticed by the wife of the deceased American detective.
Linda Smith who sat in the front row continuously turned her head around to look at this man, a fragile expression painted across her face.
But her attention, as well as everybody else's, would quickly be brought back to the stage as the unraveling of a man began to happen.
The officer was now fully crying, the sounds of his tears hitting the microphone were loud and clear. Before anyone could interrupt him, the old officer walked over to where his best friend's memorial painting was and hugged it.
Despite his old age and his fragile body, the man's arms made the sides of the painting cave in from either side. And with one final strain, the officer screamed:
"Justice for Deven Smith!"
The crowd remained silent, most looking at the broken man with sympathetic looks, though a few did seem a little angry at his unprofessional actions.
Two young police officers quickly ran up the wooden steps of the stage and managed to slowly get the old officer to calm down.
Once he was calm, the two police officers escorted him to somewhere more private, and another man took his place to finish the memorial.
This new guy was not emotional or passionate like the old officer, because he had never met Deven Smith in his life. So he spoke professionally and unbothered, making the rest of the memorial a pointless formality.
Once the man finished, the people gathered slowly began to rise from their chairs. Most, of course, went to the wife to give their condolences and to comfort her.
Though strangely enough, the wife seemed eager to rush through these conversations. It was as if she was in a hurry to meet one particular person in the attendance.
While this was happening, a middle-aged man moved over to the edge of the stage. He looked up at the dented painting of the dead detective, a somber expression clear on his face.
"Justice for Deven. Indeed we must."
As the man turned around, ready to leave, he was suddenly interrupted by a very disheveled looking woman.
"Wait, please don't leave."
Linda leaned on the man's shoulder as she worked to catch her breath.
The man, meanwhile, looked at her with a woeful expression. When he spoke, his voice was even and soft.
"You must be Linda Smith, the wife of Deven. I apologize for attempting to leave without giving my condolences. It's just that I am in a bit of a hurry for—"
"You're him, right, the famous detective?"
Linda straightened herself and looked at the man with her eyes wide and emotional. Her voice screamed of desperation.
"Mayhew Brown, that's your name, right?"
There was a short silence as the man took a few seconds to study Linda's face. Once he was done, a sudden smile painted itself on his lips. It was a bright smile, a hopeful smile even.
"Yes, that is indeed my name, Mrs.Smith. I know that it is a big favor to ask, but may we talk somewhere more private where prying eyes won't make our conversation uncomfortable."
The woman took a pause to stare at the man's smile, a small smile forming on her own lips as she did.
"Yes, we can."
The duo moved out of the stage area and began to walk down the street. Throughout the walk, Mister Brown kept making small talk to Mrs.Smith. He talked about how beautiful London looked today and how bright everyone's eyes were.
Linda didn't really understand what he was saying, but she couldn't help but smile at Mayhew's words.
The two of them eventually reached a lonely alleyway. In this spot, they could finally have a somewhat private conversation, or at least a conversation where the people nearby didn't care to listen.
Once they stopped, Linda immediately started to explain the reason why she bothered Detective Mayhew.
"My husband, he-he..."
A sigh escaped her lips, and she looked at Mayhew with a sorrowful look.
"I know I will sound crazy, but you have to believe me. My husband was not the one who murdered that girl, it's simply impossible. H-he dedicated his life to bringing people justice; there is no chance he would ever do what the media says he did."
A myriad of tears began to roll down her cheeks. Linda just couldn't handle it anymore.
"Please—please tell me you understand, detective. Deven was just like you; he only worked to find the truth, to find justice. I know it's a disrespectful request, but... can you investigate my husband's case?!"
A long stretch of silence played, although it was disrupted by the sounds of weeping that came from the American widow.
As Linda prepared herself for a few harsh words, she instead got something completely different.
Mayhew Brown looked at her with a heartening look, and he spoke in a soft and caring tone.
"Mrs.Smith, answer me one question, and I promise you that I will find the justice that you seek for your husband."
Linda opened her eyes wide, her tears continued to run down her cheeks as she did. With a low voice, she spoke:
"...Really? Tell me then, what is your question?"
Mayhew took a short pause before asking something that no normal person would understand the meaning of.
"Linda, before your husband went to investigate that case in Poland. I know that it is probably a painful memory to revisit, but tell me... when you last saw Deven, were his eyes bright?"
Linda took a long pause.
The question she was asked did not make sense, but she didn't care. She would do whatever it took to find the truth and clear her husband's name.
'Last time I saw him, were his eyes bright...'
The fleeting memory of her husband waving at her from the entrance of the airport played on her mind. She placed a hand over her mouth and barely managed to hold herself from bursting into tears again.
With a shrieking sound, she simply said:
"Yes. Yes, they were bright."
As Linda began to break down once more, she was slightly comforted as she saw Mayhew's merciful look.
The hazel-eyed detective then decided to ask one more question.
"Tell me, how bright were they?"
Linda couldn't handle it anymore. Without warning, she grabbed Mayhew's coat and buried her face on his arm. A big wet stain consumed the detective's expensive coat; however, the man did not seem to care that much, as a small smile was present on his lips.
Mayhew's smile only became more pronounced as he heard Linda's answer.
"They w-were really bright, really—really b-bright. Bright like you have never seen before."
The famous detective patted her on the back, and slowly Linda managed to gain control of her emotions.
Once her tears dried, she took to apologizing for her behavior.
"I am so sorry, detective. I should not have wiped my tears on your coat, it's probably pretty expensive, right?"
Mayhew waved a hand in clear dismissal.
"My coat is not to worry; in fact, I am glad that it was of use to your emotions, Mrs.Smith. As for your husband's case, do not worry. Truth will be found, and if that truth aligns with what the community thinks of him, then justice for him will be served as well."
Linda took a brief moment to rub her eyes before giving the detective a small smile.
But then, her eyes suddenly widened as if she remembered something.
"Detective, I almost forgot."
Mayhew looked at Mrs. Smith with a raised eyebrow as she fumbled through her handbag.
After a few seconds, she pulled out a stack of papers, a few yellow and a few white in colour.
Handing them over to Mayhew, she explained in an energetic tone:
"I am sure that these will help you, detective. The yellow papers are all the letters my husband sent me while he was in Poland. The white papers are numbers for the Polish authorities near the city where Deven was investigating. In the white papers you'll also find additional information, like the name of the city where my husband was, the report that came from the responding officers of the city as well as a lot of other stuff."
Mayhew took a moment to flip through the papers, an unmatched level of focus in his eyes as he did.
Eventually, he said in an even and serious tone:
"I am much obliged to you, Mrs. Linda, this will be very useful in helping me figure out this case."
A small sigh escaped his lips and Mayhew turned his back on the dark alley.
"Well Mrs. Linda, I need to get to work now. I must say that your company was very enjoyable, I hope to meet you again once I solve this case."
As he began to walk away, his step halted once he heard a voice call out to him.
"Wait, detective. I haven't—"
Mayhew turned around, a question mark formed on his face.
Linda meanwhile was once more searching through her handbag, this time in a slight panic as if she had forgotten an even more important thing than last time.
Detective Mayhew thought: 'What else does she want to give me?'
His question was shortly answered as a thick stack of cash was presented to him.
Linda cursed inwardly.
"I know that your services cost more, but please accept this for now and I'll pay the rest later."
The detective took a moment to look at the cash held up in her hand.
Then he simply said:
"Alright."
Linda closed her eyes, worrying thoughts plaguing her mind.
'I was going to pay my debt with this money. How will I survive the people I owe money to now.'
She felt as the detective's hand reached out and grabbed the cash. Then she felt a pull and...
"Huh?"
She opened her eyes wide and looked at her hand. The stack of cash was still mostly there, except for a singular dollar bill that was missing. The stack was mostly formed with hundred dollar bills, but a few single dollar bills that were left in her handbag had made their way to the pile of cash.
Linda looked up at Detective Mayhew.
He stood there, a singular dollar bill hanging loosely from the left pocket of his coat.
"Detective b-but—"
The usually polite detective was quick to cut her off this time.
"I am a private detective, Mrs. Smith, so I can choose how much I charge people. For this case, one dollar will be plenty, trust me."
As Mayhew continued to walk away, Linda smiled and shed a few tears at the same time.
Lifting her hand up into the sky, she waved the detective away.
"Thank you. Thank you so much, Mayhew."
The detective of course waved back as he left the area.
And before long, he was gone into the busy streets of London.
'Eight people gone missing with no bodies found before he arrived there. It seems that Detective Deven was not on a blind mission after all.'
Detective Mayhew flipped through the white papers that Deven's wife had given him. And as it seemed, her and the old officer's claims for Deven's innocence were not based on nothing.
A line in the paper suddenly made Mayhew's eyes focus.
'Town of Pustków, southern Poland. It's right on the border of Slovakia.'
That placement was interesting considering the worrying rumors about that area in particular.
Many people reported seeing secret 'Nazi' groups smuggling weapons between the borders of Poland and Slovakia.
Of course these were just rumors but interesting to think about nonetheless
As the detective continued to look at the papers, he made his way through the city streets and into a pay phone booth.
He took a small break from looking at the paper and slowly pushed a coin down the pay phone slot and dialed in a number.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
'Has she not returned from her morning run yet. I swear that she makes it home at around this hour.'
A clicking noise resounded, and that signaled to Mayhew that the phone had finally been opened.
With an optimistic tone he spoke into the phone:
"Hello Margret. You back from the morning run?"
A woman's voice replied. Sharp and direct.
"Yeah, I just got home. I am guessing that you found a new case to work on. So where are we going this time, Spain, Italy, Norway?"
Mayhew chuckled.
"Nope, we're going to a more hostile environment this time. How do you feel about going to Poland?"