Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) by Robert III (best books for 7th graders .txt) 📕

had to look in the hidden to find the solution. This incident may have been unsolvable to them, but this was her chance to use her giftings. Her motivation wasn’t pride or womanhood—no, it was much simpler than that.

She wanted to find her murderous fiancé, the Ripper, within the accordance of the law and bring him to justice.

Just like he dared me to.

“You have fifteen minutes, Constable!” Master Detective Meys called out.

She ignored the warning and went back to the table, knelt, and peered underneath. Nothing unusual. No weapons. No wires. She circled the table and sniffed the glass of Scotch whisky. No poisons. Nothing useful. She examined the other glass. Vodka. It was mostly empty. She crossed her arms and studied the table before taking the dead man’s seat. Her eyes searched for answers. There had to be something. Some clue as to how this man had been decapitated with no visible means.

I suppose a last prayer would be appropriate.

For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

She paused and looked straight up.

Do you hear me? Or am I—

“Oh,” she whispered, turning her head sideways and squinting. She looked down at the table and spread her hands over the smooth surface. Then she traced a finger along the line of her jaw, staring at the mirror behind the bar. Her finger moved down to her neck and stopped.

She pushed herself away from the table and knelt by the body. She mumbled to herself and spotted something interesting. Pulling back his pant leg, she studied the soles of the man’s shoes. Blood on his soles and at the edges of his pants. But not his blood. Interesting.

She scooted over and examined the decapitated head, using her fingers to search his bushy hair. She knew what she would find and was thrilled when she found it.

“Oh,” she said, examining a tiny hole at the crown of the head. The judges had left the gallery now and were standing a few yards away. They stood silent and studied with her as she used her fingers to run along the inside of the skin of the neck.

Her finger moved slowly along the edge where the skin had been cut. She stopped and rubbed her finger and thumb together before raising them to her nose. She breathed out and paused before smelling the blood on her fingers again. Her eyebrows scrunched together. She wiped her fingers on her handkerchief and stood to inspect the blood-spattered wall.

“Six and a half minutes, Constable,” said Meys. Some judges were mumbling in hurried, excited whispers while others scribbled on notepads.

She studied the wall from different angles, training her eyes on each spray of blood, placing her finger on a few spots along the wall. And then she said, “Oh.”

She held a spot on the wall and traced a single, straight line that raced away from the doorway. By now, the judges had filed inside the large room and stood directly behind her. All eyes followed her fingertip along the wall until it stopped. She picked at a spot on the wall until her fingertip caught something. She tugged carefully until she could pinch it between her thumb and forefinger and finally pulled out a curious object. It was as long as a threading needle, wide as a shoelace and flat as a razor. In fact, it was a razor. She inspected the object in the light when she heard the announcement.

“Time’s up, Constable Coyle,” Meys said. He dismissed the actors and waited until they were outside the gates before proceeding, “Constable Coyle, you may present your findings and supporting evidence to the judges and myself. Usually, the gentlemen wait at the stands, but in your case, they have arrived for a more intimate view.”

She turned to face the judges and a wash of ice water flooded her veins. Butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach. Someone cleared their throat.

This was it.

“I found...” she said. She waved the razor between her fingers, but the lump in her throat made it difficult to speak.

Perhaps they can hear my heart pounding like a steam-powered train. My cheeks are redder than roses. Everyone’s looking at me. Say something!

“Yes? What did you find?” Meys huffed, and she flinched.

“Right,” she said. “The victim, Mr. Trevin, had just arrived from, ahem, a house of ill repute.”

“I’m sorry, Constable,” said one of the older judges. “Could you explain how you know his whereabouts?” He tilted his head and frowned.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Two things. There were bits of wool-carpet fiber on the soles of his shoes and near the bottom of his trousers. The carpet fibers were different colors, including purple, the most expensive dye in wool carpets. He—or rather, his body—smelled of spiced citrus with floral accents. Being a constable, I have had my share of run-ins with prostitutes and am quite familiar with this perfume. Ergo, he most likely visited a house of ill repute.”

She didn’t tell them everything, though. There were spots of darker, older blood on the inside of his left trouser leg, and the same blood was smeared across the soles of his boots. But she had learned to hold her cards close and only reveal essentials. This man, Trevin, had been involved in some other altercation earlier that evening. Over what? She couldn’t say for certain. Not yet, anyway.

All of the judges turned and inspected the shoes and trousers of the victim. A rush of excitement burst through her chest and arms. Finding facts others had passed over filled her with the confidence she needed so desperately. It was a good feeling. Things were looking up. A tight smile crept across her lips, but she looked down and forced it away.

“Thank you, Constable,” the older judge said. “You may continue.”

“Yes, sir.” She swallowed. “He sat at the table for roughly seven minutes before—”

“Seven minutes?” another judge asked.

She walked over to the table and pointed at the glass of