Chapter Text
Date: 4th June, 1987
Location: A small town a ten minute drive outside of London
Time: 3:34am
Temperature: staring into an empty fridge for five minutes hoping for a snack to materialise
~*~
"Hello? Is this Eric Slingby? Private investigator?"
"Not until eight in the morning."
"Please- Please, I need your help- I'm desperate-"
"Who is this?"
"Nobody, but- please- I'm begging you, please- My girl is dead."
~*~
This is, by far, the freakiest case that Eric had worked on so far in his whole career.
And Eric has seen some shit.
First of all- an anonymous caller; normal, perhaps, for a police department. Not a private investigator. You're meant to pay private investigators. That's kind of how they make a living.
Eric, obviously, had pointed this out, to which the caller hurriedly assured him that they would send as much money as he needed to him monthly. They sounded desperate. It made his heart ache a little.
Upon learning what the case was- a death- Eric put his foot down, telling them that they absolutely had to call the police, and that there was little that he could do without them.
The caller burst into tears.
They begged him, almost choking on their huge gasps, to please not call the police, they would send as much money as Eric wanted if he just wouldn't call the police. He gave in, assuring them that he would avoid getting the police involved, and asked for their details.
They hung up.
Eric was left with just the train station.
No one but him and a dead body.
To be fair, Eric has handled his fair share of dead bodies- he used to work as a police investigator. So he just got to work, as was natural to him.
He scans the body, crouching down- no visible trauma, so that meant it was a job for the freaks down at Forensics. Great. Not only does that involve the inescapable smell of human corpses, but almost definitely getting the police involved.
Hey, it would be worse to get the journalists on it, though.
Eric can't stand journalism- he knows that it doesn't pay well for a lot of the newer ones, so it isn't fair at all for it to open up its arms to kids fresh out of university with an English degree the way it does. And the way that they just pounce on a story as soon as their ravenous eyes can see it, and the way they devour it, yet somehow turn it into something elegant, disturbs him. He can't understand how those people can approach the story with such cold unfeelingness, and make a story that makes people worldwide press their hands to their hearts and cry real tears. He just can't understand their writing after seeing them in action. The way they jump on something truly awful because it's the opportunity for a promotion. The way they work themselves to the bone.
It scares him.
"Aw, shit, I was hoping for something pure grim- the fuck is this?"
Exhibit A.
Eric turned to the voice- a man in his early twenties, with huge plastic frames, tanned, freckled skin and blonde hair, and holding a huge camera with the neckstrap over his shoulders, "Who sent you?"
"The police, innit," He replied from behind the camera, a blinding flash going off, "Ain't you the police?"
"No, I'm a private investigator." Eric replied, blinking rapidly, purple spots obscuring his vision.
"Fancy," The photographer commented, and spotted a friend who had just arrived, "At last, Al! I was starting to think you'd gone back to bed!"
"I wish," The aforementioned Al mumbled, waving a press pass in Eric's vague direction, "I'd only just finished that article on the election next week when they called me about this."
"Hey, freckles, make sure you get some good shots of the face- I need her identified first, alright?" Eric told him, and he nodded, grinning.
Al strode over to Eric, his face business-like, Doc Martens clacking against the cobblestones, "My name is Alan Humphries, I'm a junior reporter for the local newspaper. I'd like to ask you some questions."
Eric scanned him- He was Asian, and had full, dark brows and equally dark, hooded eyes with huge dark circles underneath. He had full, rounded lips, a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. He had a quick glance at his clothing- this was the kind of person that old people gave half-judgemental, half-fearful side eye in the street. He was wearing black denim jeans, and Eric got the distinct impression from his height that they weren't designed to be rolled up. His denim jacket was rolled at the sleeves, too, and covered in all kinds of pins and badges and patches. He sneaked a little peek at them, absorbing his character- Anti-police. Anarchist. A suspicious rainbow pin.
Oh, cool, he has a NASA pin.
Eric lit a cigarette, "Do you have to?"
Alan stared at him, raising a dark eyebrow, "I mean, if I want to get paid." He scathed, deadpan, his eyes narrowing dangerously behind his huge, round frames, "And considering that I've been living off microwaved vegetable soup since Monday, I think we both know what the best answer would be."
"No need for the attitude, short stuff- Learn some patience." Eric was more than taken aback at the response, but he didn't show it. Alan appeared to have a very definite way with words, where the tone would intimidate you, but the words themselves made your soul soften. It clearly doesn't get across to Alan, who just looks significantly more pissed off with him, and eyebrow raised while he waits for him to reply, "Eric Slingby. 30. Private investigator."
"You've clearly done this before," Alan comments dryly, and Eric isn't entirely sure what to make of that, "What do you think is the most likely cause of death?"
"I would say heart failure or poisoning," Eric said, glancing back down at the unharmed body, "But we can't say until the autopsy. Look, there's no trauma to the body."
Alan scribbled that down, and Eric caught a glance at the paper- illegible, as he expected, "So, how come you're up here and the police aren't? Don't you think that's suspicious?" His tone was almost condescending.
"The person that called me didn't want the police involved- and yes, it is suspicious, especially since the caller was anonymous." Eric said, full of contempt already at the question, "And the police have already got involved actually, they're on their way."
He saw Alan's dark eyes glimmer, "And you're yet to identify the body, yeah?"
Eric nodded, taking a drag.
God, he hates it when journalists realise that they've got a good story.
"So, this phone call," Alan begins, "Could you describe it to me?"
Truth be told, Eric genuinely felt that he shouldn't have told Alan this, for him to then publish to the country.
Well, too late for retrospection.
Alan stared at him for a moment, "You're taking the piss."
Eric grinned- he loves it when people do that about his job, "I promise you I'm not."
"You have to be."
Eric shrugged, "I wish I was," He admitted, "Freaked me the fuck out."
"I can see why," Alan mumbled, writing, "To be fair, this town is full of weirdos. Always something freaky going on."
Eric nodded, taking a drag, "You live here?"
Alan looked over the top of his notepad, "I'm asking the questions," He insisted, "So, do you think that this might have been an accident? Or is a murder or a suicide more likely?"
Eric's brow furrowed, "Looking at it now, I'd say its a suicide- if it had been heart failure, then she'd have fell quite suddenly, but let's say she poisoned herself, then there's a good chance that she could have lied down to do it."
The first boy came over, "Al, the cops have just pulled up outside."
Alan turned around, "You talk to them."
Ronald laughed, shaking his head, "Alright, man, but you're writing up this story."
Alan smiled, withholding a laugh, "Just write good notes, that's what you have a uni degree in, dumbass." He teased, while Ronald giggled, walking away.
Even Eric had to admit, Alan's soft side was pretty nice to see.
Alan gave an almighty sigh, unceremoniously throwing himself into a vague sitting position on the stone stairs, "I'm so fucking tired." He whined, his notepad abandoned in his lap as he put his fingers in his thick, black hair.
Eric sat next to him, offering him his packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He must have been looking cold once again, as he saw Alan hesitate slightly before taking one, and then lighting it quickly, as if he though Eric might take it off him again. He took a drag so deep that Eric thought that it might have been a truly impressive sigh, "Hate these things," He mumbled, then looked at Eric, "I'm sorry we didn't get off on the right foot. Just, you know, it's late, I've been working all night..."
Eric nodded, "I know, kid-"
"I'm twenty five."
Eric mentally slapped himself, "Sorry," He said, humble, "So... You ever worked on a death before?"
Alan shook his head, growing excitable, "I've been trying to get into crime reporting for years, our editor called me about this one and said if I do well then I'll have a permanent place."
Eric felt a vague sense of nostalgia from Alan's excitement over his job, "This is a big deal for you, then?"
"Huge," Alan said, and it's clear that the anxiety has set in for him, "I kind of need this promotion."
Eric was about to speak, but the photographer was running over to them, breathless, "Slingby- you're Slingby, right?"
Eric raised an eyebrow, "I hope so."
He gasped, his chest heaving, "Coppers want you- Asap," He pointed to the inside of the train station, "I think they just want a run down of what's gone on."
Alan looked cynical, "I really don't see how that warrants exercise, Ronald."
"Get it up your arse." Ronald swats, playfully defensive, and Alan smirks at him like it's some kind of secret code.
Eric smiles as he walks away- He loves that kind of humour between close friends that never really matures.
His footsteps echo in the vast building, eerily empty and liminal. He hears faster, more professional footsteps approaching him.
"Ah, Slingby. It's good to see you're doing well."
Eric nods respectfully, met with the hard, green eyes of his former boss, "Spears," He greets stoically, "What do you want?"
"I just need the details of this call you received- we may need to take the phone," He mentioned, vaguely apologetic, "Just to trace the caller."
"Mm, sure," He sighs, dejected, "Take what you want."
Spears shakes his head, "You've changed, Slingby." He comments, distant, "I need the details of this call."
"Anonymous," Eric monotones, "They were very distressed and emotional- desperate, that's the word. I asked them for their location and they hung up, they only really seemed willing to give the location and case."
"I see," William frowned, "This will be fun."
"Look, Spears-"
He raises an eyebrow, "I'm not your boss anymore, I don't mind being on first name terms, Eric."
"It really doesn't matter, just- look, this journalist, he's desperate for this promotion, if I could just take him down to the autopsy when it's time-"
"Oh, that charming young man outside?" Eric blinks- that's possibly the nicest think William's ever said, ever, particularly considering that he spotted at least two anti-police badges on that denim jacket, "He's welcome to tag along with you, if you wish to continue your own investigation."
"Sure thing," Eric agrees, "I'll keep you up to date on what we've found."
William nodded, "I think you ought to tell that journalist the good news."
In ten years of working with him, Eric has never seen William take such a shine to anyone.
Eric strolled our, Alan's head snapping towards him, "Go home," Eric calls, walking over to him. Alan's face falls, and Eric conceals a grin, "Type up your story, call up your boss about this and get some rest. You're sticking with me now."
Alan's face practically glows, "Should I give you my number? When will I next see you?"
"When the body gets the autopsy done," Eric promises, "I'll call you when they tell me it's done and I'll pick you up."
He has to admit, he prefers seeing him this happy, rather than his near expressionless gaze that he'd become aquatinted with.
"Okay, I'll see you there," Alan grabs his back from the stairs, running down them to Ronald, who was near his car, "Thank you!" He called, the sun just beginning to rise overtop the clouds.
Eric shook his head.
This kid really doesn't know what he's getting himself into.