“Ok. I am J. Jordison, please refer to me as that you heard and we shall get on fine.”
“And I am C. Taylor. We will be working together a lot, so we will be seeing each other very soon.”
As they left me alone, I looked round my new office, the door was probably the strongest piece of material I had seen in this damned building so far, on it was the number 8Y5 plated on a piece of metal. The room had the smell of cigar smoke; it must’ve been from the previous guy who had used it. It was like the whole building was mesmerised with tobaccos. The desk’s surface was covered with sheets of scrap paper. Each had a different number or address written on it in illegible scrawl. Not wanting to be nosey, I gathered the sheets and placed them in the left hand side of the desk, which appeared to be lower than the right. I gently placed my suitcase on the surface of the desk and began to make notes on the events of the previous two days. I was actually having a good time, organising my files into order of importance. I had just about finished the second cabinet, when the phone rang. I quickly shot up; it quite scared me, as I was all relaxed.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Detective T. Blackman?”
“Yes, this is he.”
“Oh good. I am D. Alizettae. I think we may have our first case for you, and it is a gruesome one at that. A murder.”
“A murder!”
“Yes, you heard me right. This job is full of it, so I guess you have to have a pretty strong stomach.”
“I guess so. OK, who is the victim, and who are we victimising”?
“Well, this may come as a shock to you. The victim: Lorna Glamour.
“You mean the…”
“Yes, the famous French actress, before you ask.”
“Oh my God! When did this happen then?”
“Well, we still aren’t sure. We think it was around 20:00, but that’s a guess, from what we have gathered. We could really use your help in this Blackman.”
“Well, of course. I mean… it’s my job right?”
“Of course. Well you will have to come to my office, do you know where it is?”
“No idea.”
“Well, just hold on, plus I will be calling your partners soon, I will ask them to pick you up. This will probably be in a few hours. See you then.”
“Yes, goodbye sir.”
The phone went dead. Now, I felt disturbed and needed something to settle me, so I decided to add to the already smelling room by lighting up a cigar. Indeed, it did calm me. I just sat and read one of the old newspapers. As I sat back in my old chair, I started to daydream.
I dreamt about a show; one of Lorna Glamour’s takes for a movie, or something. And I was one of the crew, filming the action only a few yards ahead of me. I was on the set for one of Lorna’s most famous movies, entitled ‘La Voie Il Est.’ She was halfway through a shoot, when she suddenly just collapsed. We all ran for help, and some ran towards her to see why. The producer was slapping her to try to wake her.
“Dieu, Lorna, s'il vous plait se reveillent, s'il vous plait!”
which meant
“God, Lorna, please awaken, please.”
But she would not. I gazed down at her, silent as the dead themselves. She was so delicate, so tender. She was so thin. This made me think about her lifestyle, about how poor it must be for a woman with no privacy. Sure, it looks like fun on the spotlight, but behind the curtains, behind the filming crew, it was one poor life. Her face was bright red and dripping with sweat because she was working so hard. She had a very tight top on which read “Gourmandises…?” which means delicacies. It was pink, and it was slightly ripped because of the fall. Her hair was about shoulder length, but I couldn’t tell from the way she was lay. It was sandy and brown, and had dark roots. Her hair was also quite thin. She had huge gold earrings in. This was actually quite disturbing, as the dream did not make sense. Why would she just die, on stage, and for no known reason at all?
I lifted my head off the damp desk. As I stood up to answer the door, I felt unbelievably dizzy. I had to stand and hold my head for a few seconds before anything. When I finally felt ok, I answered the door, but by now, no one was stood there. I just grabbed my bag and headed back down the stairs. This I dreaded, yet I knew it was going to have to be an everyday thing. When I got into the main hall I discovered my partners were waiting. I politely greeted them, and they greeted me too. They headed outside and asked me to follow. As we headed outside, there was the faint sound of a police siren or two, and the sound of a cat, somewhere in a dark, back alley. They got into a black car. I joined them. The car was old, and it took some time to get started. It had horrible smoke coming out the back of it, and it smelled really bad. Inside, they had put an old, brown sheet over the seats, to hide them. When we finally set off, I asked how far Mr. Alizettae’s place was, but they didn’t answer me for some reason. I asked again, and this time, I got an answer, but it wasn’t the one I expected. They simply told me to shut up. Well, I knew I had to earn their respect, so I decided to do what they had said. They put the radio on, but it was quite impossible to hear what was playing. When we arrived at Mr. Alizettae’s place, I felt relieved; relieved that I would now be talking to someone with a little respect, and not these partners of mine I had to put up with. When we entered, Mr. Alizettae was stood behind some long, pine doors, waiting anxiously for us. He greeted me first, and then my partners. We all had a long conversation about the incident. Alizettae told me about how this was just a starter, and they will get worse, but how could they get worse? Some cold-hearted, evil person had killed the poor, defenceless Lorna Glamour! I told him about my dream, and he told me that it was very similar to the actual event. I also told him about how I was a huge fan of Glamour, and all of her movies.
“Before I applied for this job, I was reading an article in a newspaper about her new upcoming movie, ‘La Voie Il Est,’ and I was really looking forward to it. I mainly love her movies because of the language involved. Sometimes I find it hard to understand, but I don’t care, it’s Glamour.”
“Oh, I take it you really liked Glamour?”
“So much. That’s why this job won’t be as easy as most.”
“I understand. A while back, I was involved in a similar case as the one you are now, and hated every minute of it, but it will get easier.”
“I understand. My favourite movie was ‘Parler Tout Bas,’ which means ‘To Speak Low’ I think… It had so much soul and loving in it, and movies and music like this help me through life, being a single middle-aged man and all.”
And it was now. We had to go to the scene. We all walked out of the building, and stepped into the car. We let Alizettae drive, as he knew where we were heading. The journey took a few hours, and we were all very tired. In the long time we were in the car, I thought I had some respect. I thought… I started telling my partners about how much I loved Glamour, her movies, and even the few songs she released. I started talking about my favourite song that she had written herself for a charity, and I thought that was the nicest thing. It was entitled ‘La Vie Est Injuste.’ I told them about how I instantly fell in love with Lorna as soon as I saw her smash movie, ‘Je Reve Avec Les Loups.’
When we arrived at the scene, I knew I had to be strong, and then I could handle it. We arrived at the studio. It was a tall, dark building. It had a few broken windows on the North side, and it had posters on the walls about the new Glamour movie. Lorna was a huge success, you could tell. We entered through the doors. Also, on the doors, a window had been broken; I was starting to think this was not an accident. Inside, there was a man, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers and glasses. He was waiting for us, and he quickly shown us where it happened, and indeed, it was an awful site. Lorna lay on the floor. There was blood in her hair. The site was making me heave. A few lights were broken, the glass next to her. I looked around the set for clues. The curtains, which were on the floor, one of the walls had fell, and the mirror had something written on it. It read:
“Now, Really, It Is Not My Fault… Is It?”
Now I understood it was murder, and not an accident. We had to find out who done this, and I would personally make sure they got what they deserved. My partners got together, had a quick chat about what they had noted down. I just stared down at Glamour. She looked exactly how she did in my dream. I shouted Alizettae over, and what he said will go to my grave with me.
“Gourmandises” he whispered.
“What did you say?”
“Gourmandises, it means delicacies.”
“I know what it means! Alizettae, in my dream, she had gourmandises printed on the top she was wearing!”
“You’re kidding me… right?”
“No way sir. Would I do that?
“I suppose not, this is a very important investigation.”
“Damn right sir. But how can that happen? It is a very unlikely coincidence, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I do. It is quite unbelievable.”
“Yes, sir.”
I decided to take some notes. I wrote about the whole set, and what everything looked like, and how the filming was disturbed by her cries. The way our notes merged together, unfolded a story of horror, and of drama. I was starting to hate my job, just after a few hours of working, and I spent a few of them asleep. But now, I was awake, and realised the importance of my job. It was very important. I decided to hold a conference with my partners, to discuss what part of the job we will all undertake. I decided to study why whoever done this, done it. I really wanted him to rue the day he committed such acts. I was full of rage, but yet, I felt sadness. Also, I was wondering about the coincidence that happened earlier in the night. The one word from any language, and he chooses the one that was printed on her top in my dream! I was amazed and confused. Now, I had to search Lorna’s beautiful, delicate body for any clues at all that could link to the murderer. Or was it murder? That was for time and hard work to decide upon. Personally, I thought it was murder. Why would there be a message scrawled on the mirror? Why would there be so much blood in her hair? I started a conversation with the leading cameraman to see if he could help me somehow.
His name was James. I really got on with him, because he loved Lorna, equally as me. Before I asked any questions, we both talked openly about Lorna, and what we loved about her way. After a good half-an-hour of talking, I decided it was question time. The first question I was to ask was about the time, and who else was there.
