6:12 AM, Cyril City
LEIGH
I sat at my desk and began to rummage through the pile of paperwork there. It had been adding up over the past week, and my partner, Detective Blackwill, said that I should start getting on it. So here I was, picking up different reports I still had to fill out and sorting them into “boring” and “even-more-boring” piles. Paperwork had never been my area of expertise, but some things just had to be done.
Once I had gotten through sorting I leaned back in my chair with a sigh.
“I need coffee,” I muttered to myself.
“Did someone say coffee?”
I turned around to see Blackwill standing there with two cups of coffee in his hands.
“I figured you’d want one right about now,” he said as he handed me one of the cups.
I accepted the coffee gratefully and took a sip, allowing the faintest smile of satisfaction as I felt the liquid slide down my throat.
“I don’t suppose any new cases have come up?” I asked, eager for an excuse to put off the work that sat in front of me.
Blackwill shook his head. “The most interesting thing that’s happened around here are those arson cases, which I’m sorry to say have already been taken.”
I sighed once more and looked balefully at my two piles of paperwork. Blackwill gave me a sympathetic glance. “I’m sure something will come up soon,” he said as he turned to leave.
After he was gone I turned back to the paper on my desk and set to work.
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An hour later and I had worked through about half of my first pile. I could feel my energy starting to build up in me like water in a broken pipe. My mind started to wander, and I couldn’t help but think about those arson cases that Blackwill had mentioned. I didn’t really know too much about them, just that they had something to do with numbers. Either way, it sounded more interesting than what I was doing now.
Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I left to go stand in the break room for a while, hoping that maybe I’d at least be able to engage in an interesting conversation. Luckily, I wasn’t disappointed.
While I was busy chugging my third cup of coffee Reeves came in with a perplexed look on his dark features.
“Tough case?” I asked, watching as he filled a cup with pitch black coffee and gulped it down.
He nodded as he quickly tossed the now empty paper cup in the trash.
“You’re working the arsons, aren’t you?” I asked curiously.
Reeves nodded again. “Whoever it is they certainly know how to cover their tracks,” he said.
“What’s the story behind all that anyway? I can’t say I know too much about that case.”
“Someone’s been torching different establishments around the outskirts of the city,” Reeves replied, eager to share. “But they always do it at night when the places are deserted, and whenever they burn the place they leave a trail of gasoline in the shape of a number.”
“What numbers have they left so far?” I prompted, hanging onto every word that he said.
“Five on Wednesday, four on Thursday, and just a few hours ago, three.”
“Interesting…” I said. “Sounds a bit like a count down.”
“That’s the theory,” he responded somberly. “Though if this is the count down, I’d hate to find out what comes after one.”
