“My name’s Hiram Atwood.”
Like wood from a tree, strong and reliable. He was exactly how a detective should be, unlike the rest of the useless Blue Capes who’d ignored me.
He paused, waiting for my name.
Although ignoring an introduction went against my upbringing, I said, “Detective, can I look through your recent missing person reports?” Considering the woman had only been dead for three hours or so, she likely hadn’t been reported missing yet, but I had to start somewhere even if I was grasping at loose screws. After all, maybe someone had found the body.
He quirked a brow that was much darker than his blond hair. The move highlighted a faint scar on his left temple. “I suppose that won’t hurt, since it’s a matter of public record. How far back do you want to go?”
Hope fluttered in my chest. Finally, someone was taking me seriously. I straightened my shoulders. “Anything from the last few days.”
He gestured for me to follow, and I rushed to catch up to his long strides. We walked down a hall to the right, and I squinted in the bright aether lights.
Detective Atwood pulled a small brass key from his pocket and unlocked a door with the words “Records” stenciled onto the glass. File folders and a few desks filled the otherwise empty room.
“The reports are in here.” Detective Atwood strolled to a cabinet and pulled something out of his pocket. His blond hair curled a little at the nape of his neck as he bent over a drawer, and his broad shoulders hunched under the short blue cape while he rifled for a file. He turned and plopped a folder on the table right in front of me.
“Thank you.” Without meeting his gaze, I began flipping through the papers in the folder. I tried to focus on the faces on each report and not the intent way the detective studied me—the silly girl with the silly story.
“Are you sick?” he asked abruptly.
“No.” I glanced at him, then back to my task.
“Then why is your face so red?” He sat on the corner of the table. “Your cheeks look like poppies.”
“They most certainly do not,” I said, despite the heat in my face. I fiddled with the corner of a paper.
“It isn’t a bad thing, you know. They were my ma’s favorite flowers.” He leaned back again, giving me some much needed space.
Instead of responding, I internally cursed my makeshift hood for not hiding my blush and went back to flipping through the recent missing persons file. But with each report, my hopes dwindled. A minute later, I put down the final one with a sigh.
“Didn’t see her?”
“No.” Which wasn’t surprising, just disappointing. “Have any other reports come in that might not have been filed yet? Maybe in the last hour or two.” At the shake of his head, I sighed.
Detective Atwood’s eyes narrowed. “You really have no idea where this murder happened?”
“I’m sorry. My friend gets lost easily, and it was dark and she couldn’t see well.”
“Fear can do funny things to our minds, and I’m sure your friend was scared,” he said. “Besides, where’s the fun in a case where all the answers are handed to you?”
“Yes, I can see how that would be extremely inconvenient when you’re trying to solve murders,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.
A grin flitted across his face, revealing a dimple hidden in his scruff. “Did she give you a description of the man, by chance?”
“Just a little,” I said. “He wore a top hat that hid his face, but he was tall and had dark hair. Oh, and he wore a ring on his finger in the shape of an hourglass made from two scythes.” I bit my lip realizing all of that detail completely contradicted the rest of my story about my friend not being able to see well, but the detective took it all in stride.
“And can you tell me anything else? Any detail, no matter how small, could be important.”
“She mentioned a bench with a warped iron frame and wooden slats.”
Detective Atwood rubbed his chin. “That could be anywhere in the Lower Chimes.”
“She also saw a factory,” I added.
“That could narrow the location down to the First.”
“She’s pretty sure she did.”
“I grew up in the Lower Chimes, and I know those streets as well as I know the gears in my father’s pocket watch, but, unfortunately, that still isn’t enough detail to get this case off the ground.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, searching my memory for details. The woman had looked at her pocket watch, then she’d sat on the bench. And she’d traced a design on the bench. It was so little to go on, but... “My friend also mentioned a heart-shaped gear etched into the right side of the bench.”
Detective Atwood leaned forward, his blue eyes shining. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, hope giving my heart a wild, pounding rhythm. “Does that mean something to you?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll go check it out.” He straightened and returned the file to the cabinet. “If I find anything to report, I’ll call in a team.”
The woman’s horrified face flashed through my memory again.
Although my instincts screamed at me to leave now before I got any more tangled up in the case, I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling of watching that woman die. I couldn’t walk away now. I would help them find her body, even if it risked exposing my identity.
I squared my shoulders. “I’m going with you.”