On the Other Side of the Table

It was the second day in a row that Llewellyn had been brought into the station house for questioning concerning the events that had lead to the death of Nigel Baker, concerning his inconsistencies in the story he had given them about what had taken place. He thought that he had turned things in the right direction with his testimony, that he had explained them away well enough as he stuck by his accounts of what happened. Of course Murdoch would have to dig deeper and find someone who was present during the investigation of Daniel’s case. “I should have told you.”

“You replaced the thumb mark.” Murdoch’s voice has a harder edge to it today, tinged with confusion. The man wants to understand what would have possessed him to take such a huge risk on a case for someone he supposedly didn’t even know.

“It wasn’t difficult... The victim’s corpse was still in the morgue.”

“Clearly a bit more difficult than you thought. You replaced it with the wrong thumb.”

Hunching a bit in the seat (it was so uncomfortable, his back was already protesting after having spent most of yesterday in the awful chair), he smiled a little, it’s a wry and almost sad thing. “I get left-right mixed up. Same with East-West. Up-down, North-South I’m mm... quite good at.”

“Why would you take such a risk? To the case? To yourself??”

Swallowing thickly, Llewellyn’s face turned dark and heavy with guilt. “Because it was my fault. I was the one who told Constable Baxter to leave his desk.”

“To aid with the mêlée outside?”

“... Baker’s boys had started it, obviously. It was an idiot trap, and I was the idiot I had to make it right.” Picking up the cup off the table, Llewellyn leaned forward uncomfortable. “It wasn’t right— of course. It destroyed the case. And it’s now destroyed my career.”
———
Murdoch left him there, to the silence and his own thoughts only to return hours later with the most damning evidence yet. A photograph that he dropped on the table and slid over to Llewellyn. The man giving a light start at the sight of it, rising in his seat and straightening his posture as much as he ever did. It’s the photograph. The only one that had been taken when they were young. Three boys stared up at him. Hubert, Daniel, and himself. “I... remember this. It was taken shortly after I moved in.”

“You lived with the Marks twins?” Murdoch’s tone is harder still, perhaps upset that Llewellyn had kept this secret. That he’d lied.

“The landlady’s family took me in after my parents died.” Not necessarily a woman who had been mother material in the traditional sense, but she had a good enough heart to not let three boys end up in an orphanage or in one of the boy’s homes. Mrs. Young had taken in the Marks twins before him, and then when his sister had disappeared she had taken him in as well.

“Odd that you didn’t mention it.”

“Well— I knew what you would think.” There’s tears in his eyes now, nerves starting to get the better of of him. Feelings rising as everything started to fall apart.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“That I had reason to kill Nigel Baker.” And he had so many reasons to.

“Did you?” Murdoch’s tone is clipped, all business. None of his usual soft approach or delicacy left.

“Did I have reason?” His voice breaks, emotions finally getting the better of him as he struggled to not leap from the seat. “Nigel Baker tortured and killed a man I...” Swallowing a sob down, Llewellyn frowned and lowered his voice. It still trembled as he continued, “A man who was in every way my brother. Someone who deserved my protection! I had ample reason to kill Nigel Baker! But as I have already made clear, I didn’t recognize him! So did I kill him with intention? No! Am I sorry he’s dead? No— I’m not.” Llewellyn pulled back away from the edge of the table, trying to calm himself and regain a little composure. “To be honest, even if given the chance to exact my revenge, I’m not sure I’m capable of it.” A distressed shake of his head, “Obviously, my philosophy rejects the very idea. ...No one asks to be the way they are, not even boys like Nigel Baker.”

It’s a slip up, and Llewellyn realized it immediately. Another strike against him. Murdoch jumps on his words immediately. “Boy? You knew him as a child?”

“He was the same age as Hubert and Danny. Lived a few doors down on William Street.” Llewellyn gets a far away look on his face, memories coming to the surface unbidden. Things he tried to not think about, things his subconscious had tried to repress. “Even then, you could tell there was something wrong with him. Most bullies have a purpose in their torment. They seek status— protection... Nigel Baker was only happy when he could cause pain. He delighted in it. And boys like Hubert and Danny,” Boys like himself, “They were fodder for his cruelty.”

“You were their protector...” Murdoch’s tone had shifted again, not exactly forgiving of his blunders and the secrets kept. He was gentler about the question though, not as forceful as he had been.

Llewellyn ducks his head, looking away. “When I could be.” He had never been much for fighting, too much of a pacifist. Often as easy a mark as his brothers were. But when he could redirect Nigel’s attention? When he could jump in and give them a chance to escape? He did. It was worth the pain and the fear. He never regretted coming home injured if it meant they were safe. “I reported his deeds to his father, but Mr. Baker could never accept the truth about Nigel.” And how that had stung. For his words, his pleas for help, to fall on deaf ears. All because Nigel’s father loved his son too much, was so blind to how cruel and destructive the boy was.

Picking up the photograph, Llewellyn looked at it tenderly. “Poor sweet boy...”
———
Llewellyn was rolling the cup back and forth with a pencil, resting his head in his arms on the table when Murdoch returns next. All quick and to the point, a renewed sense of urgency in his words. He came with a question about how many gunshots had been heard, only for Llewellyn to absentmindedly ask if this were some sort of riddle. Frustrated, Murdoch’s hand snaps forward to grab the cup and slam it down firmly on the table and asking if he could explain it. Explain why there were reports of three gunshots that night. Murdoch continued to counter all his explanations with growing irritation. Like a dog with a bone, he wasn’t going to let it go. The detective accused him of tampering with the gun, of removing the original empty bullet casing and firing off sequential shots to hide the original.

Murdoch suggested a hypothesis on what really happened after that. One of Llewellyn getting a call at his desk from Hubert, his brother informing him of his intention to kill Nigel for what he’d done to Daniel. The story playing out to the effect that Llewellyn hadn’t arrived in time to stop his brother, but had covered the crime up after forming a plan to give Hubert enough time to get away.

It wasn’t entirely wrong, of course. Llewellyn had gotten the call and hadn’t arrived in time to stop Hubert, but his brother had already fled the scene. Llewellyn didn’t know where Hubert was, and as worried as he was, he knew it was better that way. You couldn’t divulge a secret you didn’t know. He had still panicked and covered it up, of course. Shot himself, shot again to mimic a struggle for the weapon even though Nigel was already dead. Hubert wouldn’t be blamed for this, he wouldn’t allow it. Not after he’d failed both his brothers so much already... Even if sticking to the story meant going to prison... Even if it meant hanging for the crime. It would be the one thing he did right by his brothers.

Moments later, Llewellyn loses his temper when Murdoch hits a particular nerve. He’s so tired of the world as it is, and that even Murdoch would stoop to suggesting his brother were incapable of feeling guilt in the situation, that they could take a chance on the court finding Hubert mentally incapable and send him to an institution instead. It hurt to hear such a small minded opinion from someone so like himself.

He snapped out a challenge then; if Murdoch really believed that Hubert had committed the murder and not him? Then he would have to prove it. Llewellyn picked up a book off the table, opened it to a random page and refused to look Murdoch in the eye, unwilling to say another word.
———
It’s a while before Murdoch returns again. When he does, it’s with a mixed expression. One Llewellyn can’t quite read... So he focuses instead on his book. “So? Am I to assume you have your proof?” A small gesture, a waggle of his finger. “You had a theory.”

“Oh... I’ve since changed my theory. I no longer believe Hubert Marks killed Nigel Baker. No, that was you.” His tone is softer this time, resigned in a way.

“Well... Good. That’s what I’ve been saying all along.” Finally, what ever development had occurred, it meant that the case seemed to be heading back the way he wanted it. Suspicion would move away from Hubert, and back to him where it belonged.

“But I don’t believe it was self defence. It was murder.”

Looking up from his book, Llewellyn can’t help the confusion bleeding into his tone. “What?”

“We found this in a shed near where you confronted Nigel Baker.” Murdoch responds, sliding a picture of a bloody footprint into his line of sight. Llewellyn picks it up as the other detective continued, “I believe you were there that night. You’ve since changed your shoes, but that’s your bloody footprint.”

His bloody footprint? Now that made no sense, Llewellyn had never been in a shed that night. Had never stepped in blood, aside from perhaps his own after wounding himself. The question popped out, quiet and confused. “Whose blood?”

Murdoch is silent, instead sliding another collection of pictures across the table to rest in front of him. Llewellyn’s stomach dropped, everything falling into place. The reason he hadn’t seen Hubert that night, the reason that he hadn’t been seen since that night...

Anyone looking at the photographs would think that these were from Daniel’s case. The sheer volume of blood, the gashes were so close to those that had marred the man’s form when his murder had been discovered. Llewellyn knew better though, he had always been able to tell the difference between the Marks twins.

No, this was Hubert and he was dead. Everything had been for nothing.

Llewellyn’s jaw quivered, sifting through the photos before shoving them away in a rush. “No... No. No! NO!” Sobs wracked his body, drawing his arms close and thrusting his hands in front of his eyes, as though not seeing the images would somehow make them untrue.

He doesn’t even hear Murdoch leave the room, too wrapped up in his sorrow.

Cheating and Chess

Llewellyn hummed lightly, staring intently at the chessboard sitting in front of him. He’d been doing so for a while now, and it was clearly starting to annoy his friend if the sound of a foot tapping under the desk were anything to go by.

The man felt slightly bad, but not bad enough to rush his move. After all, Llewellyn wasn’t accustomed to sitting still for such a long time himself, and if George wanted him to be his opponent for a game that tended to be long and drawn out then he was going to have to be patient.

He’d never really played chess all that much over the years, and his scattered focus had already cost him dearly as far as the match was concerned. The collection of pieces George had taken was growing steadily every turn, and he only had managed to capture a few meagre looking pawns. So another slow-down was clearly in order if he was going to stand a chance at winning.

Or at least losing less horridly.

“Oh, I see. You’re cheating on me!” An amused, teasing tone broke through the silence and prompted both the men to look up from the board. Nina, George’s sweetheart, strode up to the desk, heels tapping lightly as she went. “Very disappointed, George.” She grinned lightly, clearly the very opposite of disappointed. She stopped next to Llewellyn’s shoulder and giving him a particularly curious look that he couldn’t quite work out the meaning behind.

Regardless of his confusion, Llewellyn was fond of Nina. She was an open-minded and passionate individual. A woman who never failed to speak her mind, and was quite unapologetic of being who she was in a world that tended to judge her rather severely. It was quite admirable, brave even if he were to say, so it was always nice to see her.

“Miss Bloom! You play?” He turned, from where he was currently sat, arms propped on the back of the chair he had turned around to kneel on top of. A few people had commented that he should sit in it properly, but doing that wasn’t comfortable. He certainly didn’t see the sense in doing so just to satisfy everyone’s expectations of how furniture should be used.

Her smile shifted to something softer, less teasing at the question, “My father taught me.”

George, ever proud of her, was quick to chime in. “Miss Bloom is by far the finest player I’ve ever encountered.” It made Llewellyn smile, there was something about seeing his friend happy that made him feel better in turn. Even if he were alone, and lacked that particular sort of relationship... It was good to know that George had it. He’d seen his friend lose Miss Bloom once before, and it had been a worrying time.

His attention shifted back to the conversation as Nina spoke up again.

“Chess is one of our pastimes,” That cheeky grin had returned, “I didn’t think he cared to share with others.” She looked between both men in amusement, though neither reacted with more than a vague wave from Llewellyn as he returned his attention to the board. Really, they were both entirely oblivious.

Of course, that might be just as amusing as their reaction would have been had they understood what she had been alluding to since she had arrived.

Her brows raised, noting just how poorly the man was doing against her beau. He barely had any pieces left! The game would be a short one if he didn’t do something soon... So with a quick glance to study the board and a small huff of a laugh, she leaned down to hold a hand over Llewellyn’s ear to whisper something into it conspiratorially.

Move your rook from H6 to A6, he’ll really have to think to counter that~ ...

Llewellyn glanced up questioningly, slightly uncertain himself before he turned back and slid the rook across the board. Oh, if the look on George’s face (an awkward frown, eyes darting between pieces in confusion) were anything to go by then it was absolutely the right move.

“Let’s see you wiggle your way out of that, George.” Nina spoke with a light laugh as she watched Llewellyn’s expression turn to one of delight. Her expression slightly curious once more, and just a touch knowing.

Llewellyn missed it entirely, too focused on the game.

When Boredom Sets In

Llewellyn was bored...

Yes, he knew he was lucky to have a place here at all. They technically didn’t even have room for another detective at station house 4, especially one who’d been dismissed from his prior station. Even if Station House 1 was the way it was.

But it didn’t mean he liked sitting around at a desk (not even one he could call his own, just one that was randomly free that day) while everyone else had things to do. There were even constables that had more to do than Llewellyn did currently. He almost wished the Inspector would yell at him to get on his feet and go look into some small incident. Anything to have something to do...

He got up a few minutes later, stretching his legs a bit and slouching over to the water cooler to grab a drink. Letting out a small sigh, he took the cup back to his desk.

Or at least he had been doing that until something in Detective Murdoch’s office caught his eye.

Sure, Llewellyn knew the Detective didn’t like when he messed with things. It wasn’t his office (he’d lost his office, though he didn’t miss the other station), and a lot of the man’s personal projects were a bit finicky (sometimes vaguely explosive he’d been told) if you messed with them the wrong way.

... But it was big, and had lots of wires, and appeared to have eye pieces. What was this contraption for? “Mm...” He hesitated, looking at the cup of water, then at the device. Ever since the case with the wine, Murdoch had been warming up to him... Maybe he wouldn’t mind a little peek?

And if he did, the man’s expressions were often quite hilarious. It would be worth a light scolding.

Putting the cup down, Llewellyn moved quietly into the office and picked up the device (oof it was heavy, very unwieldy) to carry back to his desk to fuss about with. At least this would occupy him for a bit!

Twenty minutes passed, and Llewellyn still had no idea what this thing was. It was so peculiar! Slouched over the desk, he tugged at a couple wires and turned it one way or another... When, he was surprised to find the thing’s creator walking in to address him. “Detective Watts, are you occupied?”

“In terms of police work— no.” He responded, looking up as the man brusquely rounded the desk to stop in front of him.

3... 2... 1... “Are those...?”

Oh, his expression was so befuddled today! That was kind of funny, considering how confused Llewellyn felt himself. “I borrowed these from your desk.”

The befuddlement shifted to something a little more... long-suffering. Like an elder sibling who was trying very hard to have patience with their younger brother who wanted to mess with all his stuff... Without asking. “In the future, I would appreciate—”

Oh... Llewellyn’s attention span is cringing at the idea of a long lecture already. He hefted the large item up and looks through the eye holes at the other detective. “You can’t see out of them.” The interruption is both to avoid being scolded further, and genuine curiosity. Detective Murdoch was brilliant, even if he was a little boring. It was interesting to learn about some of these things, and it was so rare that he had the man’s attention to ask about them. He did love to talk at length about science and invention... right? So surely this was a good way to get to know the man a little better?

“They’re meant to see heat. Eventually... More work is required.”

Llewellyn could see it, there was just a slight inclination of the man’s head and a small grin creeping onto his face. Murdoch wanted to talk about this thing. Putting the device down, he looked up at the older detective expectantly with a tilt of his head. Brows furrowed and intent on learning more, even if he knew he’d probably lose track of the conversation or get bored with all the scientific terms after a while. “Perhaps you might explain why heat needs to be seen?”

Murdoch nodded, though stared a little as the device was set down, perhaps not as gently as it should have been. Llewellyn was a tad clumsy at times... “I will, on the way to the storage shed.”

An explanation, and a chance to help? His day was turning around! He got up from his chair, leaning forward curiously. “What’s the task at hand?”

Murdoch’s expression shifted a little, a half wince. “A messy one, I’m afraid.”

Messy or not, it was undoubtedly important. So with a little fumbling as Murdoch moved to get his invention off the desk and Llewellyn moved to grab his hat off the lamp at the same time bumping into the man, they left the station behind...