Fatal Reunion: A Very Unorthodox Murder Mystery

by Michael Sivyer

  Table of Contents

  Note from the author

  Editorial Review

  Characters

  Short Summery

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Review

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 Michael Sivyer

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, are purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise without written permission from the author.

  BOOK 3

  Detectives

  Ruskin & Ashley

  Fatal Reunion

  Cozy Mystery short read

  By Michael Sivyer

  Note from the author

  This is a current series of 3 books that can be read in any order with more pending. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them, you will find the other titles at the end of this book. Happy reading

  Editorial Review

  Once again, I really enjoyed reading and working on this story. I got hooked right from the "short summary." You're really good at what you do :)

  Marie

  Characters

  Ruskin and Ashley are half of a peculiar, yet very proficient partnership and total opposites of one another. Mike Ashley, who is 35 standing at 6’11” and some would say looks unkempt. But don’t be fooled by his attire as he soon takes a mental image of a crime scene and although sometimes doesn’t always go by the rule book is ruthless in his pursuit to bring criminals to account. Whilst Andy Ruskin, in his late 50s and around 5’ 10” is a total opposite, he is very methodical, carries a trusty worn note-book in his trouser pocket and unlike his partner Ashley takes great pride in his appearance taking his favourite suit to the dry-cleaner on a weekly basis. Many pondered how they washed up working together, yet despite their differences, their opposing strengths formed a formidable duo – one that had put many criminals behind bars over the years.

  Short Summery

  This is the most bizarre Murder Mystery that Ruskin & Ashley have ever encountered

  Andy Ruskin & Mike Ashley were called to a brutal murder scene near the Savoy Hotel, where the annual reunion was being held for those who liked to dress up in their favourite hero comic characters. Upon the asphalt of the road in front of them lie two men, dressed in rather distinctive attire; Namely batman and his sidekick Robin. As the sun drew up over the buildings, the more Mike and Andy began to realise that this murder was no laughing matter; The gutters around the scene were filled with now dry crimson pools, with the odd crumb of leftover food fossilised in the blood.

  It would appear at first both men suffered a large blow to the back of head rendering them unconscious but on turning the bodies it seems they were victims of some horrible ritual. With the sun now allowing the kiss of dawn to illuminate the alleyway they were now afforded a better view of the victims. A large barbed tubular object was driven through their jaws with such force, fusing their jaws together before it jammed their brains, causing a pretty much instant death.”

  “The irony of it.” Responded Andy, returning to his usual dry self as he forcefully struck some form of seriousness into his approach, “They're supposed to be the saviours of the city, yet here they are, moon-bathing in their own cold blood.” They start their investigations.

  Chapter One

  Rain pounded the asphalt on one fateful autumnal evening, a nearby sewage grate emitting a mysterious fog as a masked figure emerged from a darkened pavilion. The storm was so prevalent that the glass pyramid leading to the entrance of London's Excel building was barely visible through the dismal flurry of hale, prompting the mysterious man to hug the shadows as he lurked beside the building, glancing down Victoria Dock road. Even the usual buzz of traffic had ground to a standstill.

  Throwing his noir cape over his back as he found a nesting spot, he reached into his heavily encumbered gadget-belt to brandish a metallic silver device, which he balanced in the centre of his palm for several moments, almost as if he was mesmerised by the intricate patterns that danced through the length of the piece. He watched carefully as another individual followed him in close suit, a slightly shorter man who walked with a slight hobble. A slight break in the clouds allowed the moonlight to illuminate the second man's tightly fitted emerald suit, a red mask dashing across his facial flesh to conceal his identity.

  The first, larger man, flicked a dial at the peak of his device that procured a minute blitz, enough to set alight the rounded cylinder of tobacco that he held between his gritted teeth. The smaller man walked forwards, reaching into his pocket before facing a harsh realisation; he had forgotten it. He swallowed a ball of saliva, allowing his lips to twitch whilst he plucked the courage to talk to the other man. Eventually, he managed to form the words in the back of his mouth before speaking them, his pursed lips releasing a silver smoke into the air in front of him as he spoke.

  “Can I pinch a light, mate?” Asked the man in the Robin costume, taking a moment to appreciate his peer's batman costume. “Man, those are some convincing looking bat-gadgets you've got there!” “Thanks,” Smiled the first man, “I've been designing this costume since last year's Comic-con! I've made it all myself!” “Well, you've done a great job, I love how you've added your own touches, too!” The first man chuckled heartily, releasing a smile as he took a drag of his cigarette. “Wow. Today's gone too quick,” He spoke, looking at the face of the silver watch upon his wrist, “It's nearly closing time already!”

  Meanwhile, a mile or so into the heart of the capital city, two equally brilliant, yet wholly opposite detectives bickered over their current case; Who stole Mike's last sugar doughnut? It was a long and tiresome operation, but between them, they carried out several interrogations and reached the conclusion that it had, in fact, been Jill, the receptionist. It was the kind of investigation that they regularly drew up in order to kill some time on some of the slower days at the office, and today was unfortunately just another of those days.

  With just a few minutes left of their shifts, they clocked out and marched down the corridor, Andy's dazzlingly polished loafers reflected the precinct's lighting with a vivid shine, whilst Mike's well worn sneakers were the nightmare of many a cleaner. Andy hopped into the driver's seat of an exquisite luxury sedan, pondering whether to give his colleague a lift home, though after seeing the tattered wheels of Mike's bike, he decided against the deed, fearing for the life and well being of his cream leather interior. Instead, he wound down the window and bid his friend a good night before driving home to the comfort of his luxury south-bank apartment. Mike, on the other hand, faced a twenty-minute bike ride in the torrential downpour before he reached a Chinese takeaway in the suburbs of the city, fumbling with his keys before he made his way upstairs into his untidily kept little flat.

  The differences did not end in their material possessions either; their style of work was the polar opposite – Andy kept everything scrawled out upon a little notebook that he kept in his upper pocket, whilst Mike preferred to store his facts in his almost mechanical mind. However, even though Mike's ramblings meant very little too many, Andy was one of the few individuals that could understand him down to a brainwave.

  With both detectives finding peace in their own idea of 'home', they fell asleep within mere moments of setting down their belongings and nestling into the warmth of their duvets. It se
emed like a matter of seconds to Andy before he was woken up to a dull droning resounding from the mahogany surface of his bedside table, emitting from the handset of his phone. Defiantly, he tucked his head under his pillows, and muttered a series of rude words in his sleep, for some reason falling into the belief that the buzzing would leave him be peacefully, though no such luck came, resulting in him being forced to hold the device to his ear to reveal the identity of the caller.

  Upon hearing Mike's voice, Andy was, at first, under the impression that he was still wandering the depths of a dream; Mike never called anybody. In fact, Andy wasn't certain that his colleague's twenty-year-old brick phone still functioned. As soon as the senior of the two detectives realised that he was indeed awake, he bolted upright in his bed. It must be serious.

  “You up?” Asked Mike, barely giving Andy enough time to snort half-heartedly before continuing. “Good. We've got a bit of a situation here. You're gonna want to see this.”

  A little more than an hour later, Andy found himself within eyesight of the famous Savoy hotel. He was usually a very serious man indeed, especially when it came to his job, but on this occasion, he struggled to fight the wave of chuckles that broke through his lips – partly through exhaustion.

  “What's up?” Asked Mike, usually the more playful of the two, as he handed his partner a paper cup containing a lukewarm coffee that he had salvaged from a late-night takeaway truck en-route to the crime scene.

  “The irony of it.” Responded Andy, returning to his usual dry self as he forcefully struck some form of seriousness into his approach, “They're supposed to be the saviours of the city, yet here they are, moon-bathing in their own cold blood.”

  Upon the asphalt of the road in front of them lie two men, dressed in rather distinctive attire; A man and his sidekick. Batman and Robin. The two detectives backed away, allowing the forensic team to interact with the scene. As the sun drew up over the buildings, the more the detectives began to realise that this murder was no laughing matter; The gutters around the scene were filled with now dry crimson pools, the odd crumb of leftover food fossilised in the blood. Mike and Andy, then, watched on with growing eagerness as the medical examiner on scene, Dr. Crawford, continued to make notes for what seemed like an eternity.

  Finally, Crawford, an older woman with wispy golden hair tied in a tight bun, rose to her feet, discarding her bloodied latex gloves into a tightly sealed bag, which she then handed to one of her associates before hastily approaching the two senior detectives.

  “Well, this one is bad news for the cleaners,” Sighed the woman, almost hesitating as she decided upon how to approach her delivery of information. “Well... they died from a blow to the head,” She began again, “But that's not all...”

  “Not all?” Asked Andy curiously, now gazing intently at the examiner's mouth, eager to find out more about this case.

  “It seems... It seems as if they have been involved in some kind of horrible ritual. I've been working this job for coming up to thirty years now, but this... This is one of the worse that I've seen in my time.”

  The detectives approached the bodies once again. With the sun now allowing the kiss of dawn to illuminate the alleyway and the bodies having been turned by the forensics, they were now afforded a better view of the victims as the doctor continued her explanation.

  “It seems as if a barbed tubular object was driven through their jaws with great force, fusing their jaws together before it jammed their brains, causing a pretty much instant death at that point.”

  “Tubular object” had the potential to deal this much damage. Andy moved his eyes to the wounds. The entry point seemed to be a perfectly circular wound, matching the medical examiner's theory, though somehow Andy seemed to doubt that any

  He turned to Mike, nodding thoughtfully before the two made their way from the crime scene, with the senior of the two detectives half-tutting, half-whispering the phrase “Tubular object” repetitively as his mind scanned a database of potential murder weapons as he attempted to find the culprit. They now had everything that they needed, and at the very least, today would be a very busy day.

  As they turned the corner, a vivid light shone through a gap in the blooming branches of the tree, seeming to point towards a simple, small A4 sized poster that was taped to a nearby noticeboard. Andy seemed to ignore the divine calling, almost disgusted by the untidiness of the board on which it was taped, though Mike, feeling a little more invited by the appearance of the noticeboard, approached the poster and pulled it forcefully, freeing it of the chipboard behind it.

  “Comic-Con, 2016” Mike read aloud, peering at the range of comic characters appearing on the poster. “Andy, would you come and have a look at this?”

  Andy peeled the paper away from his colleague's fingers, taking a moment to allow his eyes to scan across the faded ink. The poster had seen many nights upon the streets of London, the occasional downpour not leaving the thin sheet of paper in the best of health. However, the date and location of the conference were more than readable, meaning that the two detectives had a location of interest to pay a visit to.

  “Good work, Mike,” Praised Andy, “Looks like we can pay them a visit while the bodies are processed in the morgue.”

  And so, they arrived at the Excel centre half an hour or so later, the glass pyramid forming a glistening silhouette in the morning sun as the two detectives reached the safety of the car park moments before the boom of rush-hour traffic billowed into the streets of London. With the sun burning in the sky, Andy reached into his glove-box for his Ray-ban glasses, with Mike reaching into his trusty, forsaken rucksack to pull out his own pair of visors, albeit a little more plastic and tacky than the older man's pair. And so, they made their way out into the daylight, their steps tracing the dew-polished blades of grass with several light thuds before they reached the lobby.

  At the door was a particularly nerdy looking guard, whom had obviously been instructed to only allow in conference-goers meeting a certain dress code.

  “I like it, gents. I like it. Who are you, the Men In Black?” He asked in a drab, monotone voice as the detectives approached. Andy shook his head, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he reached into his pocket for his badge.

  “No, actually we're the metropolitan police.”

  “Oh... Very convincing. Under-cover guys, right? I like it!”

  “He's serious,” responded Mike with a rather straight lip. “We're not here to play dress-up.”

  “Oh, I see,” Sighed the guard. “In you go, then.”

  Despite the early hours, the lobby was already filling with costumed heroes, villains, and other fictional characters, much to Mike's dismay as he followed Andy's lead, much like a tech-obsessed teenager being dragged into a nature store of some description.

  “Oh god,” The detective hissed under his breath, as if he was being dragged into the depths of one of his personal nightmares.

  Tapping his fingers on a painted wooden desk, Andy tried to attract the attention of a young, bubblegum haired receptionist, whom seemed to be gawking a little too closely to some of the younger, more attractive men in the room. Upon making eye contact, she giggled nervously as she admired the fine, tailored material of Andy's suit, though upon further inspection of the duo, and her eyes now resting upon Mike, the smile turned into more of a grimace. His creased chequered shirt was nothing to be overly fond of, and his hair looked as if it had not seen a drop of shampoo in quite some time. Andy glanced towards his colleague, and then back to the receptionist almost apologetically before he began talking.

  “Excuse me for asking...” Enquired Andy, “But how many people come here? Do you keep track of them all?”

  “Oh,” Exclaimed the girl, “Thousands. This is the largest comic event in the whole of the UK. We don't really keep track, people are free to come and go as they please. Oh, but we do have CCTV.”

  “So, nothing at all?”

  “Apart from the V.I.P list – I mean, we g
ive those guys a pass so they can get backstage.”

  “Shit,” Sighed Mike, peering around the room. It seemed as if about half of the people in here were dressed in a black cape and a mask, “We've got no way of finding our guys.”

  The two detectives began to turn around, almost resigned to failure before Andy's face glowed with hopefulness. “I don't suppose there's a partnership... Batman and Robin, on your VIP list that are a no show today?”

  The girl flicked a few buttons on her keyboard before her thumbs crashed down upon the mouse. She nodded silently before responding.

  “Yes, Steven Clarke and Tony Harper. Those guys are legends around these parts. Steven Clarke is one of the best costume designers this side of the Atlantic Ocean, and Tony helps him sell his designs. Why? Are they in trouble?”

  “I'm not sure, ma'am,” Responded Mike as vaguely as possible, “but could you give us an address? There are a few things that we need to check out.”

  The receptionist tapped away at her computer once more before the printer whirred. She handed the detectives a printout and smiled politely.

  Upon the sheet of paper was the address of the office where the two ran their business, and although it was a long shot, it was the best chance that they had – and they had a long while before the autopsy results would come back, so Mike, pointing at the sheet, whispered secretively to Andy.

  “Let’s get outta here. This place stinks like B.O and slurpees.”

  Andy nodded, leading the way through the buzzing crowd as he tapped the address into his cell phone, and before long they were well on their way – albeit using Mike's least favourite mode of transportation, the London Underground.