James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 11:20:16 GMT -5
The Eastborough paper, the Herald, was on his desk. The edges of the paper were crisp because it was only the headline he had read. Ed Gorse was writing about the body that was found the other day despite the fact he had tried to discourage him with no interesting commentary, details or theories. As far as everyone was concerned the man could have been a visitor who had hit the drink too much and went into the river. After reading the report of the body's inspection, James had an uneasy feeling in his throat, just above the dip where his collarbones met.
The problem with the body was that the man hadn't been drinking and he wasn't an unknown face passing through town. As far as James knew, the man matched the identity of a shopkeeper who lived on the outskirts of the city. There were several hundred citizens of the city, not including those that were temporary residents or passing through. Currently the man's disappearance hadn't become local gossip but that clock was ticking fast. He felt that he had two days, perhaps three, before the connection was made. When people began asking, he intended to have an answer.
He didn't like the answer that was looming. There were other humanoid races out there, but each tended to stay with their own kind and in their own villages. Since Eastborough linked two other human city strongholds, it wasn't common for them to see much outside of their own kind. Plus, knowledge of what was out there was at best, limited. Some reported interactions and races were just rumors and small talk, but James had seen an Elf several times in his life, but the meeting was fleeting and the memory old. The reason that James contemplated his brief interactions with another race was because this murder case lacked the details that most had.
The man hadn't been robbed. As far as James had been able to discern, he hadn't been seen drinking or purchasing any alcohol that night. The man, whose name was Erin if his identification was correct, was only thirty and in reasonable health. Yesterday's gingerly performed leg work hadn't revealed the man to have passionate enemies but he still had more people to question. These were all preliminary concerns. James had found the most disconcerting part of the man's death was that his blood had been drained. This had made identifying him more difficult but James was lucky that some notes of little consequence were jammed into the man's pocket and bore his name.
He sighed and leaned back in his seat, putting one hand to his forehead as he looked down at the newspaper headline resting on his desk. Sitting here for the past half hour had brought him no ideas or leads for the murder. He had only the feeling that the motivation for the murder wasn't a human one and if he told anyone that thought they might laugh him out of the office. When he rose to his feet he pulled his coat in closely, put out his oil lamp which rested on the desk and stepped outside to the bloodline of the city.
The sun was already up but it hadn't done much to take the bite out of the cold. His black long coat and grey slacks were offset by his scarlet scarf which hung off the back of his neck and down his shoulders. Perhaps some of those contacts who knew the man and weren't available yesterday would be at their shops and residents this time for more questioning. As he walked the street some recognized him personally, being so close to the building her worked from. Others identified him by the silver emblem, a dime-sized symbol of a torch pinned to the breast pocket of his overcoat, as being in the business of justice. Most received him well, others who suffered from a dilute paranoia muttered about how he better not be coming to bother or accuse them. His first stop was to contact which had known Erin, but to the popular bakery shop half a mile down the road. James had noticed it was a hotbed for gossip so if a strange man, local argument or gossip was to be overheard, it was there.
Tiny Pockets would open its shutters to the public, most often at the rise of the sun and in turn with every other merchant or stall along the row. It would begin the day though, an hour or so earlier.
Mina Sinclaire rose quickly against the chill, taking her toilette by rushlight, and then dressing in either business black or labor white, depending upon the day. Today was business, for she hoped to gain a new client or two. She made her way down the narrow stairs to her shop, and light the fires under the washing pots. Then with a cup of tea, she would go over her list for the day.
A half an hour or so before the store would open, when the sun was just peeking over the horizon, the two girls that worked for her would show up, shivering and bundled against the cold, and complaining about the hour. She would allow them time for a warm cup, before they began the labor of ironing for which she paid them per item. Work began, when she would open the shutters and hang her shingle outside, and the day began for everyone.
Not far from Tiny Pockets was Worry Knot Bakery, and normally a line formed outside before they opened every morning, with the neighborhood women stomping their feet against the cold and warming themselves with gossip as they waited to get their daily bread.
Once opened, Worry Knot Bakery was a busy place all day long, the delicious smells giving a welcome relief from the normal smells of sewage and animals.
Inside, small round tables cluttered one half, and people occupied them with cups of chocolate and the daily news or hot teas and muffins. The other half of the bakery was taken up by the lines that formed and a high counter between the shelves of baked goods and the people that wanted them.
Ed Gorse found it important to insure the Worry Knot had a newsboy hawking the morning edition right outside an hour before they opened and indeed, gossip spread in this in-between town quite quickly and anything was fodder for talk.
Ed Gorse's article on the body found was talked about, most wondering who it was they had found, and what had happened to him. Of course there would always be false leads. Someone would mention so and so had been gone three days now..and the laughing response was that he hadn't found his way home from his mistress yet. Another would say they had seen merchant sailors down there and they bet someone had gotten in a fight and thrown into the drink. Even the gossipers seemed to know it was all speculation..at least until they knew who it was..and that information might take awhile to leak in.
Not if Ed Gorse had anything to do with it. James was not the only one to have the paper with its article face up on their desk. The editor and chief of the Herald did too, his feet kicked up on the desk and one of his best reporters having just left his office with a new assignment. Find out what was going on with the investigation.
Ed Gorse had a nose for news..and this up and coming investigator James Owen, seemed to always have a juicy case. Since Det. Owens refused to give any details..Ed Gorse would do some digging on his own.
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 11:24:34 GMT -5
The bakery was breathing sweetly with its crowd. He stood in line like everyone else. It wasn't often he was in the mood for something sugary but waiting in line at the bakery drove his mouth to water and convinced him he wanted any number of pastries. He thought that the person ahead of him in line could do with eating less of those. When he had stepped in he purchased a paper and pretended to read it with his head tilted to the side.
"Do you think you know who it is?" the woman asked the full figured man in front of him in line. James couldn't see it, but the man smiled shortly and looked her in the eye when he spoke.
"Sure I do."
"Oh yea?" Her hand pressed its back against her hip as she looked at him with a look mixed with suspicion and doubt.
"Yes, I do. But I'm not telling you."
"Oh, go on!" She swatted his ear and shook her head, taking a step forward as the line inched closer to the cashier, "Even if you told me I wouldn't believe you."
"Maybe that's why I don't tell you anything. No trust." The man rubbed the curve of his belly and then cut his eyes to the window, "How long you lived here, May?"
She wrinkled her nose at his question and seemed unwilling to answer it. After her fickle expression passed she blurted, "Five years."
"Yes? You know a tailor or something?" His hand had, in fact, not been rubbing his belly but at the button line of his shirt where one was missing. His company, May, covered her amused smile with one hand. Realizing that his request was serious, she was delighted to giv ehim a playful answer.
"Aren't you a clueless one!"
"What now?"
May swatted his shoulder and pointed out the window, "There's a shop within spittin' distance you knocker. There is a woman that runs it and gives a fair price I hear. Her name is... shoot," she paused to think it over and offered only, "I think it is Mandy or Mina or Miya. She gets all sorts there. I'd have remember her name if it was May."
"Recalling the names of only people with the same name as you doesn't count as recollection," the man huffed. Unbeknownst to both of them, the man and James were squinting in direction of Tiny Pockets.
The other gossip in the bakery didn't seem to be of much consequence. James listened and heard the news he already was expecting with just an ounce of relief that Erin's name hadn't been brought up. No one recognized him until the cashier addressed him as Detective. After being pointed out, it took some work to escape the bakery. There were those that wanted to interrogate him out of curiosity, others that hadn't met him and now and then, for reasons which he couldn't fathom, a woman would want a lengthy discussion with him about his work. He assumed that they were some Ed Gorse intern or the like.
Outside, a cinnamon bun steaming in his hand and early grey tea, barely sweetened, in the other, he stared at the shop called Tiny Pockets. James had blue eyes, they weren't sparkling or bright. They were sharp like a solid axe which could apologize. When he lowered his eyebrows like he was then, he looked as though he could see through anything. Often, his contemplating expressions carried with it an accidental sadness expressed by the natural slope of his brow. Perhaps he had gained such a slope from the way he was reared and not the way he was born. When he was a teenager, he found himself annoyed with how often strangers would ask him what was wrong when he was merely sitting down, thinking about a book he was reading.
It was hard to eat a cinnamon bun carefully, but James had a method. He used his fingertips to unwind part of it and then pop it in his mouth. This was not possible, however, with the cup of tea in hand. Impatient he took a bite, licked his lips and then took the final steps he had to so that he would enter the shop of the great Miya, Mina, Mandy, the woman who supposedly had all sorts of customers. to James, it was another den of gossip with which to tap.
Mina smoothed down her skirts of black crinoline and welcomed in her newest potential client with a soft smile. She always made certain her hands were full, for it deterred the want of a handshake in introduction. Today her hands held the labor of a shirt and the thread with which to sew it. Her hands worked on this without need of her eyes as she listened to the stern woman that had introduced herself as Lady Thorman. She was, by her own account, employed by the magistrate of the town and had a great and heavy responsibility in taking care of the laborers that were employed to do much of the work for the town itself. Mina endured the womans long lament of how difficult her chosen profession was, and how important it was, with the same soft smile and patience born of a saint.
She let the woman do most of the talking, only interjecting when it came to price, and working out the details. Lady Thorman would leave an hour later, her bustle as large as her bosom and her hat fuming green feathers as she stuffed her hands in her muff and strolled with a straight back down the street to the "better" part of town.
Mina would finish the shirt she was working on and take it back to the girls to have them press it, for the owner would be around sometime soon.
These tasks accomplished, her morning would be a busy one, with those coming in to pick up their laundry or repair, and those bringin in items to be fixed or cleaned and it seemed almost every other one wanted to gossip about the news in the paper, as to who it was, what had happened, and had she heard anything. She always replied with a shake of her head and an apologetic smile. She was as ignorant as the rest of the town as to the victim and for this she was grateful.
Too often, just a simple brush of a hand or arm could jolt her with sudden glimpses into someone..and most often, those were unpleasant and shocking things. Many secrets she knew and kept to herself, and though some of them she learned accidentally through her gift..most of them she learned from her clients themselves. There were tell tale signs on bedsheets..she had a reknown theif as a client, and made special cloaks and vests for him..there were women that wished to hide their pregnancies..others that wished to hide their affairs, some wished to hide their money and some liked to hide their weapons.
Some innocent..some illegal..and none was she likely to share. Her business was built upon her ability to keep peoples secrets. This seemed an honest and worthy way to make a living to Mina..but of course, she did not yet realize, how horrible some secrets could be.
As she handed over a wrapped skirt, between its linings sewn small pockets for jewels or coins, and received her pennies for the work, she just glimpsed a man she had never seen before, stepping into her shop. She smiled to him as he came in, for he seemed to be balancing both tea and bun, and looking rather concerned as her client brushed by him with a look of recognition. Again, the Detective would be assaulted by a nosey woman. "oh..y'er that new constable, arent ye? ..Detective Owens! Ye know your names in the paper today..about that body they found. Have ye any leads? Who is it? People are buzzing!" The woman seemed quite excited, but her own arms were full, and a small carriage had just pulled up out front. "oh drat..I must go...It was nice to meet you Detective.." and Mina had to smile a little, for the man had not gotten a word in edgewise, and still stood looking a bit frazzled with his tea and cinnamon bun. When the woman was gone, she spoke to him in a quiet voice. "My apologies..Detective. She was only curious." as of course, everyone was..except it seemed, Mina. "Is there something I can do for you?"
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 11:25:58 GMT -5
James had tried to respond to the woman several times and each time his sentence began, she spat another question at him. He was surprised at her sudden departure, it felt like a robbery without anything being taken. There was a proper air to him, some interpreted it as shy and others standoffish. Perhaps his balancing both food and drink made him seem friendly, he was surprised at the warmth in Mina's smile for him. Most didn't approach him with that sort of demeanor.
Immediately he set his cup down so that he could handle himself better. His eyes rested on her and he cleared his throat like to excuse his silly appearance from before, "My name is James Owen, I'm a detective working the murder case." They both knew he was saying the obvious, but it was part of being polite and formal. With all the talk around town, explaining in detail the story in the paper seemed more unnecessary that his statement.
Now it was time that he press onto other topics. He cleared his throat, eyes moving over the place, "I'm looking for a woman named Mina, or Mandy. I'd been informed that she knew much about the town's on-goings."
Now that he had stated himself clearly and his intent, he expected to be pointed the way to Mina or to meet her shortly. James didn't doubt that the woman before him could have been Mina, it was just not how circumstances normally worked for him. He was use to being directed to one place after another and generally those he asked for avoided him, even when they weren't guilty. James didn't understand that part about people... how someone could avoid him with worry though they hadn't done anything wrong. Too often did the role of detective walk the line of being a friend and a guest to be wary of to the public.
Mina's first impression of the Detective was not that he was friendly, or that he was to be feared for his badge, but that he was a rather funny man. Her patron's attack of him was amusing to Mina, for she had often found herself in the same position under the womans questions, and she could empathize with how disconcerting it was. To embelish this, was his added balancing act between roll and cup and then concerted effort put into recovering his decorum.
It made her smile and she could not hide it.
Calm, but bright green eyes blinked but once as her smile was replaced with a more somber aire. She had been approached before..by that newspaper reporter..and it was with a kind, but stubborn refusal to talk that she repelled it. She simply did not gossip, to anyone.
Her reaction was an open and honest one, for she saw no reason to hide. She was under no obligation, and while some of her business might have been considered a little..accomplice like to some petty offenses, she was not a criminal aand did not fear as one.
Her look was not a curious one, nor was it a reluctant one. It was just calm and steady and while more feminine, just as business like as his own.
"I am Mina. Mina Sinclaire, and proprietess.." she trailed off, a brief and tiny wrinkle in the smoothe skin of her brow. "though I cannot imagine how I might help you, Detective." It bothered her a little, that someone had been gossiping about her.
Oddly, she did not offer a hand, as most ladies might, and as one of the girls in the back appeared with a pressed and folded shirt, Mina was glad for it, and readily took it into her hands with a smile to the girl breifly before her attention was drawn back to Detective Owens. Her hands could now be busied with wrapping the shirt in crisp brown paper and tieing it with a string.
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 11:27:00 GMT -5
"You are Mina?" He paused at the introduction and his smile appeared. He had enjoyed the way she smiled at him in the beginning before he had asked a more business-like question of her. When he wasn't smiling it was as though he never had. It was when he smiled like that, small and pleasant, that he warmed into another person whose nature appeared in subtle, small moments.
"I have heard that you know much about the people in this town. I have been to the bakery two days and I have heard nothing. I wanted to ask you about someone in particular and must ask that you not repeat our conversation with the public." Little did James know how reliable she was for that. It was a safety maneuver he executed. She may have saw him look over his shoulder to be certain that no new customers were incoming.
Now his eyes looked to her for approval, for interest and agreement to what he was asking.
At least there were no customers to interrupt their conversation, and as he looked back to Mina, she was smiling regretfully. She paused a moment in the wrapping of the shirt. "I would not discuss our conversation, as I would not discuss any I may have had with others, Detective." Her smile and her tone were gentle, and she continued on with tieing the string around the bundle, and placing it on the shelf behind her before she stood calmly facing him. "You said you were investigating a murder...do you mean the body that was found? ..The town has been abuzz with it since the article in the paper..but I was not aware the poor soul was murdered." She frowned, that tiny wrinkle marring her brow again and finding this disturbing as only a woman living on her own could.
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 11:33:33 GMT -5
"Yes, that body," James nodded to her assumption and then his eyebrows lifted just slightly, "You seem well acquainted with the people in town. I was curious if you knew anything about Erin, the boot smith five or six blocks north of your shop?"
Troubling news to learn of a murder, and Mina shook her head a little, saddened. At his question, she nodded once. "Yes, I know of Mr. McCullough, I have sold him felt on one or two occassions. Nice enough man." and one with a gambling habit she thought, "..he was not the one found, I pray.." that would be darker news still.
"I'm afraid he was," James' smile far gone when speaking of the deceased. There was a soundless moment, much like a miniature moment of silence for the man that had passed. He was hesitant to speak but the questioning had to continue, "Do you know why anyone would want to kill him? If there were any grudges or unfamiliar people seen with the man several days ago? Perhaps three?"
This was very worrying indeed..and seemed to hit much closer to home. Mina glanced back over her shoulder to the curtain behind her, behind which worked the girls in the steam and heat of the laundry. She gestured for the Detective to turn to his right, where a small alcove held a consultation table and a few small chairs near a warm little stove. She would follow him in, and smoothing her skirts, she would take one of the chairs at the cloth covered table.
"You must understand, Detective, I do not gossip about my neighbors and I would not wish to implicate anyone. Yet I feel obligated somehow, to aid you in finding out what happened to him. This is tragic news."
She seemed to hesitate, to tell him anything, but if the man had been murdered...was it not her duty?
"..I have not seen him in a month at least, and I could not say who has been his acquaintances or customers. ..I can tell you though..that he liked to gamble and did so often."
It was all she really knew. She had brushed him accidentally while he looked at her felts..and caught glimpses of piles of coins, mens laughter..of empty pockets and saddened heart. Those were things she could not explain...nor how she knew them.
"Ms. Sinclaire," James said as he sat at the table she indicated. His eyes were on her's. James had learned that eyes said a lot and that currently, she was hiding something from him and didn't want to. He wet his lips and said in a discreet tone, "The manner in which the man died is of... capital interest. It seems to indicate someone who wasn't local and was... unusual. Someone that an observant person may have noticed. I know you didn't say that Erin had been with someone odd, but has their been any talk of a stranger?"
The town was big enough that such a vague detail could implicate a hundred men, but one hundred men was a number more manageable than the entire city. Their talk was perhaps easier for her because it wasn't so much gossip but business. James was uninterested in dirty laundry, it was blood on the streets he saw.
Mina was hiding something, but it had nothing to do with the Detectives case, or anything to do with it. It was just a thing she had hidden from everyone, her entire life..and a thing she would not have known how to explain or would have expected anyone to believe. Even in these days, when sights of elves or real magic was still believed in, her gift was a thing she kept secreted to herself. She gave thought to the Detectives question, but found it difficult to sort through what was every day occurrences to pick out something that might have seemed to relate to a stranger. They saw many strangers, all the time. "There is nothing really that I can think of, Detective. ..I know there have been some merchant ships at the harbor..more than usual for this time of year. I know that the town has hired a new crew for the winters work..but the merchants here on the row..we all see strangers daily."
She looked a little worried for him, imagining that puzzling out a case like this was not easy.
"I wish I could help you more..but I only dealt with Mr. McCullough every few months, and I cannot think of anything out of the ordinary that might point to someone as culprit..". A fleeting thought, that never really took root, was that her gift would have been more suitable for someone like Detective Owens, who could have done more with it than she ever could.
"I understand," James then afforded her a small smile. James could not tell what Mina was hiding, only that it was in her hands and the way her face and eyes moved. Though he would have been infinitely better as a detective with Mina's talent, he was good at reading the small signals a person unknowingly admitted. If she were ever going to tell him what was being held back, it wouldn't be today. He reached into the inner pocket of his light overcoat and withdrew a piece of paper which he handed to her, "If you do come across anything, I ask that you come to my office, here. It would be something greatly appreciated."
Mina returned the smile he gave her, and some instinct told her he was being kind in not probing more deeply. It made her want to help him as much as she could, and as she took his card, (carefully, so as not to touch his fingers), she nodded with the same warm smile.
"I promise, Detective, if I learn anything of relevance, I will let you know."
She waited for him to stand, before she would follow, but their privacy was over, as one of the town smithies was stepping in, to pick up his shirt, freshly ironed and wrapped and waiting him.
James' slight smile didn't disappear, he nodded to her and it was as though he wanted to ask her something else until the door opened up. Then he smiled, in a way somewhat suppressed when the new customer entered. His smile for her seemed different, perhaps more open or easy. This was his political smile, the face he wore for public engagement. He tipped his head to the man as he passed him and stepped out of the shop. The streets were brighter now that the morning had passed and the sun hung high. A cold cup of tea he had walked in with sat, abandoned on her counter top.
Mina always tried to look people in the eye, and speak to them with her full attention, and she had done so with the Detective. Catching his eye though, seemed to catch her as well right under the breastbone, and she was a little relieved the catch of their eye had been brief. His gaze had a way of seeing deep, and though she did not often feel an attraction for people..undeniably, she did with him. His card was slipped into her skirt pocket, as her customer briefly nodded to the Detective on his way out. She could then turn her attention toward the exchange with the smithie. He had torn his shirt completely under the arm when I horse he was shoeing tried to kick, and she joked with him briefly on how she had sewn it with reinforced thread. Laughing, the smithy left, and Mina turned her attention to the afternoon's work.
At some point, she wanted to go down to the docks, and see if she could offer service to the crews from the newest merchant vessels, for often after months at sea, they had their share of tailoring needs. It would be late in the day before she would get the time to go down there.
As the Detective stepped out of Mina's shop, several people would see him, and of course start more lines of gossip as to what he was doing there.
News of who the deceased was and how he was killed would get around eventually...but noone would learn it from Mina. One more person would notice the Detectives exit from Minas shop, and that was one of the reporters for the Herald, perched with a newspaper in front of his face, he leaned casually in a doorway, peering over the top as he kept an eye..and a tail, on Detective Owens. Already he had made a note, to find out why he had been talking to the Seamstress.
(( Live Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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