Chapter 4: The Smell Of Taint

What do I like to drink? What beverage do you expect a cannibal to consume as he gently slices open the fragile pink surface of the superior lobe of a lung, to devour the secondary bronchus and all its juices? Fear not! I am no vampire. Though I enjoy the gentle meats of man flesh, I do not drink blood from a chalice in a darkened room.

Though I very much like alcohol, I prefer a simple glass of milk with my meals. It is cold and refreshing and gives my bones a stupendous amount of calcium.

I love all the stages of cannibalism from selecting my next target to devising a way to subdue them to removing all the organs and seasoning them with an array of herbs and spices. I find it exhilarating. Compelling. Intoxicating. Though I enjoy the game, the detective I previously mentioned has started prowling ever closer to my establishment. His nose is as sensitive as a jaguar and his attention to detail is keen. I admire him in a way and I will be watching his work very closely from now on.

I have been feeling perturbed as of late. It was evident an investigation would be launched sooner or later. A corner of my mind was electrified with the colossal thought of being a mastermind that persistently evaded the law. A hound that continued to do their bidding whilst being able to outsmart the average man at their every move. Like I mentioned before, it is like a game of cat and mouse. I find that exciting. However, I did not expect such a keen and…young detective to catch the scent so quickly.

Keeping this close to the chest is a skill I am familiar with. Though caution is a pawn I must save, I am tempted to move my king to see what this William Percy Morgan will do next.


It was a new day. A fresh start to the investigation. I sat in my office once more with a small brandy and my case notes neatly aligned in front of me. I had taken the quiet early hours of the morning to set them in alphabetical order. To my left was a folder labelled ‘crime scenes’ that possessed all the details of the one crime scene I had so far on Abbotts Way. Next was a folder labelled ‘locations’ that contained all the information I had on the fishery, coal mine and the factory. The furthest one on my right was called ‘suspects’ that I had taken the time to compile an extensive list of suspects and their backgrounds.

Daniel Walsh was an interesting fellow. When I had first met him, it was evident he was a man of some importance and wealth. I was not quite sure however, why he was there in the first place. Though it was his establishment someone of his stature, I would suspect, would rather not set foot often, on a premise full of foul smells and lower-class workers. A development that I could not shake was how he knew the name of the victim. I discovered that Daniel did not come from a rich family. His current wealth was gained on his own accord. He started off working as a miner when he was quite young. That would explain his stocky build. It wasn’t until he was in his mid 30’s when he had used all his savings to start his own fishery business and, due to the location, it grew rapidly. He is 58 years old but seems to still possess the strength of a young man.

Mark Zimmerman was an intriguing individual but had an abnormal presence surrounding him. He was a German, 50 years old and manager of the fishery. I couldn’t help but notice his office had a large quantity of alcohol in the corner within the globe. I took a few moments to observe the scent of the three whiskey bottles he had and the smell of one was, and I had no doubt, the exact same as that on the body. Zimmerman had moved to England only 5 years ago and was almost instantly hired by Daniel to work for him. They had developed a strong bond over the next 5 years though all the workers said the same thing. That Mark Zimmerman hardly ever left his office. This was most strange.

Finally, David Schmuck. Though my encounter with him was brief, it revealed much to me about his character. He was younger than Daniel and Mark. 38 to be precise. He had a slight limp which was evident yet I knew not what the cause of this was. He was the assistant manager so I had thought he worked closely with Mark but yet again, he had said he seldom sees his boss.

There was more to be gained on the three suspects but my legs needed a stretch and my brandy was gone. I stood up from my desk and decided it was an appropriate time to go and interview the family of Kyle Revel.

It took me a little over 10 minutes to reach Mr Kyle Revels house on Abbotts way. The last time I had been to this street was the previous morning the moment I was informed of the crime. The street felt peculiar and gloomy and each step I took on the stone slated walkway left an echo of scepticism within my mind. I knocked on the door and awaited a response. A poorly-looking women answered.

“Evening ma’am. I am detective Morgan, I do hope you are well. I believe you know why I am here?” I asked.

“I do and I have nothing more to say.”

She attempted to close the door but my foot prevented her from doing so.

“Forgive me, this is of the upmost importance. I have crucial questions about your son. I understand there is nothing to do to bring him back but it is imperative that we capture the one who did it and make them face justice. And by justice, I mean the rope.”

It took her a moment to open the door once more. She had not been crying during this but I could sense her mind was troubled a great deal. She eventually invited me in and shown me to the living room.

“As I say miss, it is imperative that you answer my questions to the best of your ability. I understand that you may be tearful during my lines of inquiry but I must urge you to persist in a clear, and consistent telling. I understand you are a mother of two. It is with my deepest condolences that they are both taken from you. I understand your brother lives here with you? May I ask of his whereabouts?”

The woman continued to twitch and stir in her armchair (which had a considerable amount of tares upon the cushion) as if she was battling against an inner demon. Though there was no demon at present, it was evident her war that was waging within was with the memories of her two lost sons. I was desperate in receiving an answer but I was no stranger to how uncomfortable these types of situations were. It would be remiss of me to neglect her feelings to simply speed up the process.

I left her be for some time until I noticed 5 minutes had passed. 5 minutes of pure silence save the ruffling of fabric when she tossed and turned. I asked again and she almost instantly answered.

“My brother is ill. He is at the chemist.”

“What is wrong with him?” I asked.

“He was told he had cholera. The doctor says tis something to do with the water. Well can you blame him? We’re not exactly living a life of luxury mister!”

“No, of course not. I am sorry.”

I retrieved my notebook and pencil.

“How did your first son die?”

She sniffled and grabbed a handkerchief from the mantle.

“Ben. Sweet Ben. He was so young. He was looking for work you see. He was determined to put food on the table. His brother asked his boss to give him a job and he was lucky enough to get one. I was so proud of him. We all were. He worked there for a short while until…he died of pneumonia.”

“Was Kyle close with his boss then?”


“Do you know exactly who Kyle asked? If it was Mr Walsh or Mr Zimmerman?”

“I don’t believe I do. No.”

“I see. Let us talk about Kyle. What type of man was he?”

“He was a good man. Most people wouldn’t agree you see. He often spent his wages on women’s company or alcohol. He would frequently come home in a drunken haze. But he was my Kyle! I knew he meant good.”

The woman began to cry once more and she collapsed in her armchair as the pool of tears in her eyes glistened off of the sun that shone extensively through the open window. I crossed a few things off of my list but paid close attention to her posture, making sure I did not miss anything crucial.

“Kyle Revel worked at the fishery, yes? How long had he worked there for?”

“A few years. About 6.”

“I see.” So, Kyle Revel had worked at the fishery before Mark Zimmerman became the manger. Though it wasn’t tangible now, I felt as though this would be the missing piece to my puzzle later down the line.

“Whenever Kyle was drunk, did he ever do anything reckless? Anything to harm or harass anyone?”

“He would often curse the owner of the fishery. Said it was his fault his brother caught the disease and died. I don’t see how. I hear most of the workers see the owner more than the actual manger.”

“Thank you for your time miss. You have been most helpful.” I stood up and brushed myself off before leaving with a gentle smile. As my hands were deep in my trouser pockets, and I took a slow stroll back to the station, I went over everything in my head.

What reason would Daniel Walsh have to visit his fishery so often? Surely, he would be busy elsewhere? Daniel Walsh had been seen more by his workers. There was no doubt that Kyle must have blamed his brothers death on Daniel and, based on the kind of man Kyle was, I do believe he would of done something about it. I knew it was now time to delve deeper into the relationship between Daniel Walsh and Kyle Revel.

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