Work Text:
London, England - 1949
The stern footsteps clicking behind him did not faze him. They had been following him for what felt like fifteen minutes, thirty if they had in fact been in the train that he had taken from Warren Street to Kennington. There had been urgent business. Unimportant. The business of the mysterious footsteps however deemed to currently be of utmost importance.
What absolutely boggled him was the fact the suspect of which the violent shoes belonged to seemed to think that the steady patter of rain was doing anything to hide the monstrous clanging of heel on concrete. He could easily turn his head. See the face of this offensive walker. But Alex was a romantic. And decided to wait to find out.
He turned a corner to approach the office, and as he did a taxi swooshed past, consequently drenching him in opaque slush. He stopped to review the horrifying damage on his ex-pristine beige wool coat. This pause in the journey caused a hiccup of the pursuer behind him, an irritated yelp all that was evident. A woman?
“I truly hope you did not succumb to any further damage than I, Madam. This rain truly tests the patience of all who venture out into it.”
A beat from behind him. A hint of a gasp. She was not expecting to be caught. He dared to turn his head to reveal the suspect.
“There is no evident damage on my part, sir. Just a bit soggy. However your coat has seen better days.” She said with a hint of hesitation. She was stunning, despite the aforementioned sogginess.
The brim of her hat protected her heavy eye makeup which made her eyes pop out and shine like silver geodes in a dark cavern. Her lips drops of dark arterial blood, and skin pale against her dark locks, now weighed down by the water they held. Every time she blinked there seemed a dream like quality in her gaze, and paired with her black velvet dress and gloves she was a melancholy sight.
There was a pause as they seemed to be weighing each other, curiosity in both their eyes.
She was the one to break the silence.
“I’ve heard much about your work.” She was incredibly soft spoken.
“I truly hope they’ve all been good things. It would hurt my heart if ladies such as yourself have been introduced to a bad impression of me.” He gestured for them to walk, eager to get out of this rain and into the warmth of an interior. She quickly obliged.
“Oh, they are some stunning reviews. I have never heard so many people speak so highly of a person as the Mr. Turner. I just had to approach him myself as I was dying of curiosity. How do you do it, sir? Mysteries that even the most highly trained policemen couldn’t solve, you do in one sitting.”
“That is because I am highly trained, dear. Just not in the same category those men are. Whatever I have learned has been from experience, both in my private life and in business. Coppers could never understand the mind of a criminal as a criminal can.”
She looked taken aback. “Mr. Turner, are you calling yourself a criminal?”
“No, madame, simply a normal man with selfish intentions. Is that not the most basic definition of a criminal?”
“I suppose so. However, wouldn’t that make any man a suspect of crime? Having selfish intentions are not very rare, especially of your species.”
“The only difference between a man and a criminal, is that one has not yet been caught. Which is where I come in. Separating the two, then deciding who is lying and putting on the facade of an ordinary man.”
With her lost in thought, they walked on, heels in rhythm with the rain pouring around them. Finally she spoke, “Are we by any chance heading to your office?”
He glanced at her humorously. “Why else would you have been following me? You clearly have a case for me, and I must hear what you have to say.”
With this, they approached the office, settled in between a shoe-shop and Brook's Baked Goods.
He unlocked the door, ushered her gently inside, and closed the blinds.
“Unfortunately, I have not been in here all day and I’m fresh out of coal. Haven’t yet invested in those new boilers either. You might want to keep your coat on.” He picked up a stack of papers off his desk, threw them on the floor, and sat down heavily, putting his feet up on a set of nearby drawers. “So, can I call you, love?” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered them to her.
She took a cigarette. “They call me Lana Rey. If you want to be any more specific, there’s a “Del” in there somewhere.” She leaned forward for Alex to light it for her. He brandished an extra-large, crimson steel lighter, carved with intricate circular patterns which seemed like it weighed far more than it ought to. With the cigarette glowing amber on the end, she sat back, watching as he lit his own in silence. “That looks like it weighs you down,” She whispers through her smoke, nodding her head at the offending chunk of metal.
“This old thing?” He chuckles out a puff of grey, showing it off in the light then tucking it back into his pocket, “t’was a gift from an old friend.”
This time he’s the one to sit back, hands folded in his lap. Once again, they simply watch each other; curiosity and hesitation were fighting a tense, gruesome battle.
Thankfully, he spoke.
“You’re that famous author’s daughter, correct?” He grinned at her abashed expression. “I knew I recognized you somewhere. I remembered a newspaper from about two years ago advertise your marriage. I’m afraid to say, but they had used an incredibly devastating photo of you. Very glad to see the media hadn’t reflected your true vanity. Tell me, how’s the gentlemen?”
He hadn’t noticed what with the smoke filling the room, but her eyes had begun to well up at the mention of the wedding. Only when the sound of her racking sobs reached him did he realize his grave mistake.
“I- I apologize, sir,” She sniffed loudly, “But, my dead husband is why I’m here.”
He internally kicked himself.
“You see, he’s been killed… or so the authorities believe.” She wiped her eyes gently with a handkerchief before violently blowing her nose.
“Brutally murdered in the middle of the street. I cannot fathom who would do something so horrid.” With that last word, she dropped the kerchief into her lap and threw her face in her hands, her shoulders racking with the effort of her sobs.
Alex leaped out of his seat and rushed to her side to comfort her. He started with slightly rubbing her back and cooing into her ear that everything was alright. After handing her tissue after tissue she seemed to cool down, relaxing back into her chair with a final sniff and sigh.
She looked up at him through her clumped, wet lashes. “Mr. Turner. Please. For the sake of my sanity. Help me find the culprit.”
How could he ever refuse?