"...That's why we have the Museum, Matty, to remind us of how we came, and why: to start fresh, and begin a new place from what we had learned and carried from the old."

Lois Lowry, Messenger.
...

Yellow tapes circled the block at which they arrived, attracting curious eyes of the citizens that passed nearby.

The museum was an old restored Victorian building with a greyish rock facade, beautifully crowned by a curved, stoned carved Fronton, and friezes adorning the highest part of the walls. The stairway, dressed on a lighter ochre colour was split on the half by a silver metal railing and crowned on both sides at the top with two round lamps.
It all seemed to be deserted and sunk in noiselessness. Sadly, it would remain that way, as the museum was closed to the public until police had extracted all the possible evidence regarding the case.

"Such a pity." Klein thought, wishing to see the place under its usual rhythm and activity, even when he wasn't much keen on crowds, it was sad so many artworks remained unappreciated.

Art was meant to be seen.

He was still waiting inside the car, lazily reposing over the grey seats and staring at the white ceiling. His body felt as it had been sleepless for a lifetime. That short trip had felt longer than travelling to China, especially because of the boredom and the silence that had accompanied them all the time, and the "little Jorah"-so he named the flimsy boy which name he couldn't remember-, who decided to take a nap over Klein's shoulder few minutes after their awkward introduction. The boy had claimed to join them on the trip, although Klein wasn't fond of that idea, his father was the boss, and there was nothing left to do against it.

The rest of the crew had jumped out of the car, stretching their legs and shivering on the awful cold wind that seemed to blow outside. The one with the colourful mint shirt was freezing to death even under his coat, which was made of delicate light cotton fabrics, absolutely useless in front that cold.
Jorah was talking to the museum's security guard, apparently explaining their presence at the crime scene.
A few minutes later he approached to Gibbs, as Bellamy was hugging himself. Klein couldn't stop staring outside the window, more than the beautiful structure of the museum, to the short boy with dark hair and tight jeans. Even though he forced himself to stare at something else, his eyes kept glancing at him.

Finally, everyone except for the boy climbed back in the car, making Jude wake up from his stargazing.

"You're staying at the museum Klein. Use your special powers to discover whatever those idiots missed." Jorah's pitch was obstinate and harsh.

"Wait I've already been here. I'm not staying again. Anything left to see is in the body."

"No is not." Jorah was looking angry now. "You're the one who said there was a message. Perhaps the message was here, somewhere. I have to go to the police department to collect the evidence they have in there, and Gibbs will go to the forensics office and ask them to let her take the body to her lab."

"How am I supposed to get there Detective?" Said the doctor raising her left eyebrow in a familiar manner of hers.

"You can call a cab. The quickest we finish here, the quickest we will get back home. Now, I want to see everyone get going to work."

"Oh thank you Jorah." Gibbs pouted angrily as she climbed down, slamming the door in an awful crash. Klein had never seen her acting like that. She was the most refined woman he had ever met.

"You better take your son, or he will freeze to death. Perhaps you could drop him in the Caribbean before going to the police station. I'm sure there's some good place for him in there."

Jorah sighed angrily. He was about to answer to Klein's stupid sarcasm when he realized Bellamy was still standing outside the car.

"What are you doing Bellamy? Get inside the car. We're out of time. I gotta reach the police station."

"I'm staying here, dad." The boy said brushing his nose with the back of his hand, which was now tinted with pink allergies.

"You're not staying with Klein."

"Why not? I'll be safe here."

"Around that arsehole? Are you kidding me right? Get inside the car now."

"Have you forgotten I'm sitting here detective?" Klein declared with a childish voice, but nor the son or the father seemed to care.

"Dad, I'm not a kid. I'm staying here where the fun is. I'm not going to write an article about the West Yorkshire Police, so, you can sort your business there on your own. I will take notes on the museum. Besides, there's a painting I want to see."

"This is not a school trip, Bellamy. That man is not any fun to be around."

"Wow. You have clearly forgotten my presence. The fun is with me Jorah, arseholes are always fun to be around, remember? Accept it, you're old and boring." Klein continued saying, still getting ignored, which was really annoying for someone who was always used to get all the attention. He got out of the car finally, lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves dawn.

"Dad, I can take care of myself, thank you. You're running out of time, remember?"

The detective sighed in uttered surrendering.

A few minutes later he was gone, and so was Gibbs on a cab, making Klein and Bellamy, the only living souls outside the building.

"This place will need some time before going back to its former glory." The boy said as he brushed his nose and sneezed a little. Klein looked at him with disappointed eyes, sighing once more, as he noticed it was just the two of them.

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're getting on my way."

The boy looked at him over the shoulder and raising an eyebrow. He moistened his lips and unlocked his phone. Klein was scrutinizing every each one of his moves.

"I'm writing an essay for school."

"How sweet. Couldn't you write about any museum in Sheffield?"

"Actually, I'm not writing about museums. I'm writing about The Painter."

Klein's skin ruffled a little at the mention. What did this kid know about The Painter? Why did he even know his name anyway? It looked like Jorah had been sharing more than paternal talks with him.

"What do you know about it?"

"I know enough."

"I'm sure you do. Your father has this terrible habit of being so discrete."

"He didn't tell me a thing about it. I got inside his laptop and read some part of an old report. I was really curious and intrigued about the case and decided it would be a great topic for my essay."

"What a lovely topic for an essay. Are you trying to scare the hell out of your teacher?"

"Nope. I'm studying journalism, and I'm trying to convince him I have a talent for crime stories."

"Have you?"

"I do."

Klein looked at him and sighed again. He thought Bellamy was still in Highschool. His small frame and his outfit didn't help to guess correctly, nor his dark hair and deep eyebrows framing his delicate face. He also knew the boy couldn't reveal anything of the case to anyone, so that was probably the worst excuse someone could use to sniff in that case. He wasn't even a real journalist.

He would've rather do this alone, but he wasn't feeling comfortable in his loneliness lately, so, he walked inside, allowing the boy to go behind him.

The guard led them to the room where the crime had been committed.

"Was it in your watch sire?" Bellamy said, addressing to the guard before he would leave them alone, a short, grey-bearded man whose face was drowned in ages.

The room was immensely white and filled with statues from ancient Greece and Rome, among other artworks probably the same old.

"The one who was in charge is the one who got chopped." The guard's voice was mechanical as he spoke, twirling his eyes in a disgusting manner, while he dragged his feet across the wooden floor, and almost ran away as if he saw a ghost.

"Did you know that Jude?"

"Don't call me that Jorah."

"I'm not Jorah, I'm Bellamy. And isn't Jude your name?"

"It is, but just call me Klein as everyone else does."

"I'm not everyone else. Did you know that? That the victim was the security guard himself?"

Klein sighed in exasperation. This was turning to be annoying, sadly, it was too late to get rid of the little flea.

"No, I didn't. I couldn't find out much when I came here yesterday. Probably because your dad said the case wasn't on his jurisdiction."

"Yeah, I know...My dad can be slow sometimes."

"A hell of slow you mean."

The detective pulled out a pair of gloves from his bag and handed another pair to the boy.

"Don't touch anything without these."

He approached the marble stand in the middle of the room. It was covered in dried blood, which he took samples with a stick and kept in a small plastic bag.

"The floor is so clean... He didn't leave any marks or blood drops." Bellamy observed, kneeling on the yellowish, impeccable wood planks that shined under the pale light coming through the large glass windows.

"He is a clean man. He never left a footprint or a mark...until yesterday." Jude's expression became grave at the memory. Bellamy seemed to notice and gave him a pitiful glare.

"How do you know he is a man?" He asked trying to deviate the topic from Klein's dead partner.

"Forensics analysed the crime scenes for two years and realized he is strong, fast, and tall. If he is not a man he's a little feminine woman with a lot of physical training, capable of killing with a professional's expertise and dragging and moving bodies easily."

"But he uses Fentanyl, he doesn't need too much skill as a killer. And if he was a woman he would trick the victims easier, as they were all men..."

"His first killings weren't using Fentanyl. He used a hunting knife straight to the heart with a clean wound. He perhaps likes hunting. We thought he lived in the woods, but we burnt someone else's property three years ago believing it was his."

Klein was still staring at the marble piece, but his heart was raising with the talk. He noticed Bellamy had fast reasoning, as he had thought about those things himself, years ago during the investigation. Perhaps the boy could be useful after all.

"He killed his first victims in his property in the forest, or near to it anyway. I found traces of mud on their nails. The clothes they were originally wearing have never appeared. I assume he burnt them or kept them as trophies."

Bellamy was listening carefully as Klein explained.

" The Fentanyl came after the 5th victim we found, when him, for some reason, found the need for killing the victims in situ. Why so much interest with this case anyway? Isn't too dark for someone of your age?"

"My age? How old do you think I am."

"All enough to drink alcohol perhaps, but not old enough to live on your own."

"I don't want to live on my own."

"Bullshit. All teenagers want to live on their own."

"I'm studying, I don't need it now. And I'm not a teenager. I'm 23. This essay will be a lift in my career."

"You won't be able to make this public. You will have to sign a confidentiality agreement when we get back to Sheffield."

"I know."

"So you lied earlier about your reasons for being here."

"Yes."

"That's obstructing justice."

"Hahaha. What justice Jude?"

"Me."

"Pff...You're not much than a private detective."

"And you're not much than a son of a simple policeman. Why are you here? You shouldn't be."

"I've always loved mystery. It's on my blood. And I didn't lie completely. My father and I made an agreement."

"What was that?"

"I want to stick around him on this investigation while writing this article, which I should be allowed to post after the investigation is closed. In return, I shall clean up and cook for an unlimited time."

"That sounds like a great deal. As long as you desire to be around your father. Which is not my case."

"But it is mine. I need to watch over him."

"I don't think the old Jorah needs you to watch over him."

"You don't understand. This case has changed him in ways you can't imagine."

Bellamy lowered his eyes as if Klein had reached a delicate spot during the talk.

"It has changed us all indeed."

"I know....I-I..I heard about what happened to your friend."

"He was my assistant. I need a new one now."

The boy studied Klein's expression for a moment, who had stood up and walked towards the window. His factions were taut and cold, but his eyes said otherwise. They had the distant glance of suffering carved deep inside, somewhere no other eyes could get to see, shield by this empty facade, but Bellamy, for some reason, was capable of going through it and see far beyond.

"Is that why my dad says you're a monster?"

A/N: I won't say much, just keep reading, next chapter gets a little bit more intense with the investigation. Just a little bit. I'm a bit afraid of making this too slow. 😅
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:))