As Lieutenant Faisal and Corbin Graystone arrive at the cordoned-off hotel room, they spot Guinevere Flaherty lying in the watery tub with her legs spread and her soulless green eyes rolled back. Her face is adorned like a clown's, smeared in white all over and red lipsticks extending beyond her lips. The small pink vibrator sits buzzing in her mouth.
"Somebody take that thing outta her mouth, for Christ's sake!" Faisal scowls distastefully and hollers at the men around him.
"No can't do, sir. Mister Lyles instructs us to not temper with the crime scene until his team have collected enough samples for the forensics lab."
"Bloody hell..."
"Sir, this fax just came in. I think you'd better have a look."
A junior officer jogs over to Faisal, handing him a piece of paper and clearly out of breath. The Lieutenant eyes the words carefully with a frown, then lifts his head to the winded young man.
"When did this come in?"
"About half an hour ago, sir."
"Bloody hell, we'd better let the Chief know about this..."
Evidently aggravated, he shoves the document into Corbin's hands, who reads it over out loud:
"The Irish Republic National Police Force 'Garda Síochána’, in light of the latest development, has decided to send Special Operations Inspector Max Hennessy to investigate the death of Irish citizen Guinevere Flaherty. The government of the Republic of Ireland requests the full cooperation of the London Metropolitan Police Precinct."
"So... this is good... right? We're getting some outside help on this investigation."
Corbin glances up at his superior, perplexed by Faisal's annoyance.
"First of all, lad, don't make the mistake of thinking they intend to help us with our own problems. He's only coming because the victim is an Irish national..."
Faisal gestures contemptuously while walking out of the hotel room with Corbin closely behind.
"Second of all, this inspector they're sending- Max Hennessy. He's known in the United Kingdom law enforcement community as the 'Drunken Hound'."
"Drunken Hound?"
"A full-fledged rogue, this bloke is notorious for lacking discipline and being insuboridnate to superiors. Rumor has it he once shot a local priest who had been charged with kidnapping and molesting a minor, after the geezer had already surrendered himself. Shot him square in the bollocks."
"What? Why are they sending him?"
"To be a pain in our arse."
The disgruntled Faisal turns with a fatigued sigh before entering the lift, shaking his head as the doors shut.
Meanwhile, in the Celestial Empress Strip Mall near London’s Chinatown, the doll maker has opened a stand, setting up rows of hand-made dolls and trinkets on display. Families with small children pass by occasionally and purchase a plaything, fully unsuspecting of the unassuming middle-aged toy maker with the thinning hairline and unshaven stubbles manning the stand. Further down the mall, a small cosmetic shop is visible and usually staffed by several women on a rotation. Everyday, the doll maker observes them out of the corner of his eyes, carefully picking out the next plaything for himself. Eventually, he sets his sight on the young oriental woman with long, straight black hair and bangs, and secretly begins to build a doll in her image...
A few days later, at the London Gatwick Airport, Lieutenant Faisal and Corbin Graystone amble about near the arrival gate to pick up Garda Inspector Hennessy, uneasy about the type of man who will soon emerge from between the sliding glass doors.
"So what does this guy look like?"
Corbin turns to his superior, holding up a sign written with Hennessy's name. The police lieutenant responds with a halfhearted shrug.
"The Irish Guards didn't send a photo, but I'd imagine he would look something like that bloke right there..."
Corbin turns to the crowd of Irishmen that Faisal gestures at with his chin.
"Maybe that's him right there, burly guy with the full red beard down to his chest... looks like he can break a horse in half with his bare hands."
"Or that lean-looking chap there, with the crazy eyes."
As flight passengers walk past them one by one, the two find themselves somewhat amused by this guessing game of which one was their guy. Finally, a man looking to be about his early to mid-30s, with a scruffy beard and unkempt medium-length dark brownish-red hair, approaches them, lays his piercing grey eyes on the sign in Corbin's hand, and glances lazily from one man to the other.
"How ya. London Metro Police?"
"Mister Hennessy, I presume? I'm Lieutenant Rezo Faisal. This is Community Support Officer Corbin Graystone."
"Well met, gents. And please, Hennessy will do. Nobody at the Guards calls me Mister anything."
The Irishman exchange handshakes first with the Lieutenant, then with Corbin, who is somewhat surprised to find the "Drunken Hound" so cordial, but also gives off an all-to-laidback vibe, accentuated by the faint scent of whiskey and smoke as they exchange greetings. He studies the man up and down- dressed casually with an open-buttoned collar shirt, showing outlines of toned chest muscles against his white undershirt. He wears a pair of faded blue jeans and dark brown leather shoes that's somewhat worn out. A modest, silver-colored Catholic cross dangles discreetly from a neckchain.
"You religious?"
"Me mother's. A gift before she died."
Hennessy responds casually as he pulls out a packet of cigarettes and puts one to his mouth, before holding the pack out to his two hosts, both of whom decline the offering as the trio exit the airport and make their way on foot to the carpark.
"First we'll take you to where you'll be staying, get you settled in. Officer Graystone here will pick you up later and bring you to the station to get you caught up on our investigation. He'll be working with you directly."
Faisal explains as he puts his car in drive. Hennessy tosses his fag out the open passenger window, exchange a glance with Corbin through the rear view mirror, and gives him an acknowledging nod. For the first time, Corbin senses that someone has recognized him as an equal rather than a subordinate, and it turns out to be a policeman from a different country.
Soon, the patrol car arrives at the designated residence prepared by the police department- A single flat in the Upper Wicksley Residential Complex. They lead him up the creaking staircase of the worn-down building and enters his flat: A single room with a bed and built-in kitchen. The discolored wallpapers have long sustained water damage and are crusting off. The non-carpeted wooden floor creaks with each step. Hennessy glances around with a whistle.
"Not necessarily the best London has to offer. But for now it'll have to do."
Faisal hands him a folder and says with little hint of remorse. Hennessy looks back at him with a nod and a chuckle.
"I like it. Feels just like me home."
After the two officers bid him good evening and depart, Hennessy digs around in the kitchen, opening one cabinet after another.
"Ah, yes... here we are."
Setting down the can of light beer he found in the cupboard, Hennessy cracks it open and drinks while looking over the investigation files on the small round kitchen table.
The following day, Corbin picks him up and drives him to the East London Metropolitan Police Precinct. As the duo enter the station, almost every uniformed officers present turn to stare in silence.
"Hello there."
The loosely-dressed Hennessy gives a slight head nod and grin to the crew of scowling men, ignoring the cutting tension as Corbin leads him into the conference room.
"You must be Max Hennessy."
Chief Helmwood stands in front of the room, in front of a board pinned with multple photos and news clips. He gestures to two empty chairs as Hennessy and Corbin takes their seat beside a thin, tall mustachioed man, who gives Hennessy a look of obvious disdain.
"I'm Herschel Helmwood, chief of the London Metropolitan Police. You've met Lieutenant Rezo Faisal. This here is Forensics Specialist Neville Lyles. The man sitting next to you is Deputy Inspector Stewart Cunningsley. Now then, Mister Lyles, if you will..."
As Lyles takes center stage, Hennessy produces a small silver flask, takes a quick swig, and offers it to the man next to him. Cunningsley raises an eyebrow and looks him off with a slight snort. Lyles points to the board and commences his analysis.
"We have reasons to believe these recent homicides are all somehow connected- On the one hand are possible serial rapists from the warehouse crime scene, the newswomen homicide, as well as Miss Flaherty's homicide. On the other hand, we have one or two vigilantes who are hunting them."
"Have ye lot found out who's hunting them?"
Lyles shakes his head. Faisal rises up and adds.
"This is where you come in. Community Support Officer Corbin Graystone will assist you in the Flaherty case, but you ask that you cooperate with us in investigating this vigilante."
"That's fine by me, mate."
Hennessy puts up his hands and looks over at Corbin sitting next to him with a grin.
After the extensive meeting, Corbin is asked to drive Hennessey back to his flat. On the way back, Hennessy spots a corner diner.
"Say, lad. Why don't we grab a bite to eat. Haven't had any decent bait since I got here my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut."
"What?"
"I'm hungry, lad. Let's eat. It's me round."
Corbin parks the car and the two make their way through the front door. The diner appears to be some sort of American-style establishment, lined with red leather booths and a counter with an overhead menu. The two men sit down at one of the booths and is soon greeted by a waitress with long blonde curls, seemingly in her late 20s, wearing a low-cut longsleeve shirt and blue jeans that tightly hugs her thighs.
"Welcome to Georgia Spring Waffle House. My name is Cynthia. May I take your order, gents?"
"Hmm... American-style waffles for me. How about ye, lad?"
"Right then, sure... same as him."
As the waitress writes down their orders and saunters away, the duo glances about the diner. There are several patrons having meals and chattering. But each booth is secluded enough that the conversation could be heard without faces being seen.
"What ye think, lad?"
"About what?"
"We can sit in places like this. Listen in on people’s chatter and see if we can't pick up something about these cases."
Before Corbin can respond, the waitress scurries back to the table and combs a strand of blonde curls away from her face with a look of embarrassment.
"Excuse me, gents. I'm so sorry. I just realized I forgot to take your drink orders! Anything to drink?"
"Right then, Irish whiskey for me. Jameson. How 'bout ye lad?"
"Sir, are you sure about having whiskey with your mid-day waffles?"
The blonde chuckles politely, not without some amusement, to which Hennessy glances at her and back at Corbin with a grinning shrug.
"Sure, why not? Anything for ye, lad?"
"Er... no whiskey for me. Some juice will do."
The blond nods and adds to their orders in her notepad, then looks over at Hennessy one last time curiously.
"You're not from around here, are you? New in town?"
"From Dublin, lass. And ye'self? Ye dont look English to me."
"I'm from Georgia, moved here from the US a few years ago myself."
"Well met then, lass. Max Hennessy. This here's me partner Corbin."
"Pleased to meet ya both. Oh, lemme go put in that drink order for you fellas before I forget!"
The waitress exchange convivial pleasantries with the easygoing Irishman before hurrying off to the kitchen.
Back in the shopping center, the doll maker decides to make his move. On a particular day, he casually strolls across the walkway into the cosmetic shop, browsing products as if looking for something specific, all the while side-eyeing the female oriental store employee and inching closer. The young woman, seeing what she perceives to be a potential customer, cordially approaches the nervous-looking middle-aged man, cracking a genial smile at him.
"Sir, are you perhaps looking for something for your wife?"
"Er... no, I'm not... married..."
The doll maker stammers while barely looking up. He does, however, lift his eyes enough to see her bare silky legs standing in a pair of black heels, up to a short black pencil skirt. As he cautiously moves his eyes up across her white blouse, he manages to catch a glimpse of her name tag just over her left breast: Emi Rin.
"Oh? Then perhaps something for a female acquaintance or relative? A sister? colleague?" Emi innocently inquires, leaning over and trying to meet his gaze with her dark brown eyes.
"Well, er... Ah, by the way, I own that toyshop down yonder... you're welcome to come over and... er... have a gander sometimes."
"Oh, is that so? That's quite lovely!"
Emi nods politely, but the doll maker could tell it was a non-committal nod.
Just then, a handsome-looking young man with dark hair, wearing the mall security guard uniform, walks in and greets Emi in a frivolous fashion.
"Top o' the morning, Miss Rin!"
"Oh, stop it, Shane. Can't you see I've got a customer? If you wanna come in here so much you should help me sell some lipsticks."
"Top o' the morning to you too, sir."
Shane flashes a semi-salute to the doll maker with a polite grin. But the middle-aged man doesn't acknowledge his greeting. In fact, he is inwardly burning with a jealous rage that this lad has swooped in and stolen attention away from his current object of affection.
"Say then, what time is your lunch break today? A new food stand just opened up down on level one. I was thinking maybe you and I can have a go at it?"
"Sure, that sounds lovely! I'll be off in about twenty minutes. Now then, sir, is there anyth...?"
As Emi turns to the doll maker, he was no longer there. On the floor where he had stood was a cotton doll dressed like a clown. Emi stoops down to pick up the doll and glances over at the toy stand, but it was dark and unmanned.
"Who was that? Wasn't he going to buy something?"
Shane looks down at the doll and then over in the direction where Emi was staring.
"No... I don't think he was... He's the toy shop owner from over there."
"Do you know him? Did I interrupt something important?"
"No... we've only just met..."
Emi responds absent-mindedly, an ominous feeling creeps up inside her.
