Beginning
William Mort was a well-known detective in London, a modern-day “Sherlock” in real life. He had just returned from arresting a murderer in Greenwich. All he wanted now was to rest, but he still had to write a report—and on top of that, a new trainee had latched onto him.
— Was he very angry, did he shout? Did he resist arrest? Did he regret what he’d done? Did he cry?
William was about to snap at him, but when he saw his puppy-dog eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
— Kai, not now. I’ll tell you everything later, okay? I need to write the report.
Kai didn’t have time to ask anything else before Inspector Laris walked in. The old man always grumbled about how arrogant William was and how much of a suck-up Kai was. But now his expression looked almost mournful.
— William, Kai.
The inspector greeted them and continued:
— They’ve just found Sir Stone’s body…
William grimaced as if he had eaten a box of lemons, while Kai looked at him with a question in his eyes: “Who is this Sir Stone?” Within minutes, they were at the corner of Tight Street. The sight was not for the faint-hearted. Forensic experts were spread across the area, police officers had cordoned it off, and journalists were already swarming the place.
— Sir Mort…
Kai muttered quietly; the young trainee wasn’t used to so many people yet.
— Yes?
— Who is this… Stone?
William sighed heavily.
— Oh, these Americans. Sir Richard Anthony Stone is one of the most influential people in London.
In the dead man’s hand was a crumpled piece of paper with the text: “Nbklm Gbipgtyuli.”
— Kai, start by deciphering the text.
Over the next few days, Kai searched for patterns in the cipher. It turned out to be a Vigenère cipher. Kai didn’t take long to figure it out—he had learned it at thirteen out of boredom. The encrypted name was “Michael Wazowski.”
After checking records in London, Kai found there were four people named Michael Wazowski: one was a paralyzed old man, another was only twelve years old, and the third had been locked in a psychiatric hospital for a year. When Kai went to the address on Tight Street 2B, no one was home. So he headed to the second address in Brighton, a nice seaside neighborhood.
Kai expected to see anything—but definitely not this. In the middle of the room stood jars filled with murky liquid, pots on the stove, lots of syringes, and two men. One was cooking, the other watching. Both wore masks and gloves. Sunlight barely entered the house; all the windows were covered. The air was filled with a sharp chemical smell, like gasoline or paint. Kai’s nose and eyes started to sting.
The men were arrested for drugs, but Michael had an alibi for the day of the murder. For five days, he and his associate had been cooking drugs.
Kai dropped his forehead onto his desk in frustration. So much work for nothing. William looked at him with a smile.
— So, young detective?
Not getting a response, he continued:
— Didn’t you think that “Michael Wazowski” might be a pseudonym? By the way, the forensic report on Stone’s messages has already arrived.
Kai immediately perked up.
— What does it say?
William smirked.
— Take a look yourself.
And he walked off. Probably had “very important” things to do.
Kai opened the laptop. A message window filled the screen. The last person Stone had been communicating with was a little-known writer using the pseudonym “Michael Wazowski.” Kai checked everything and found out that two days ago, the person behind that pseudonym had come to the station himself and confessed to the murder of Richard Anthony Stone.
Furious, Kai stormed into William’s office.
— How am I supposed to understand this?! You knew the murderer had already confessed and didn’t tell me!
William calmly sipped his black tea.
— You wanted to know what it’s like to be a detective. And you even tracked down some drug dealers—there you go. Now sit down and have some tea with me.
Annoyed, Kai sat beside William and took a sip. He nearly choked.
— How do you drink this stuff? It’s stronger than vodka—and without sugar
!
The older man ruffled his hair.
— There’s a packet of cookies in the second drawer of my desk. They’re for you.
Already softened, Kai took the chocolate chip cookies—his favorite. They spent the rest of the day together, over tea and cookies.
