The Mysterious Incident of the Glass Eye - Part 2

Here is part two of my story.

 The Mysterious Incident of the Glass Eye - Part 2

A few minutes later, uniform and forensics arrived on the scene, taking statements and details from all five witnesses, before allowing each to go home.

Suddenly, one of the forensics team handed Jones a wallet.

“Found it in his pocket,” the young man proclaimed as though he expected a medal or something. Bailey sniggered to himself. Bloody newbies and their damned enthusiasm. They'd learn.

Jones thanked the young officer and examined the wallet, which contained a driving license with an address in London and a receipt from a B & B down the road. The man's name, it seemed, was Victor Cyclops. Bailey's inner comedian sniggered and twirled his moustache. Bailey kicked him aside. It was a starting point, at least.

Leaving forensics to work their magic, Bailey and Jones left. It was a relief to be out in the fresh air, even if the ominous sky was pregnant with rain.

Once comfortably installed in Jones' BMW, they drove the short distance to Castle House - the B & B. Pulling up outside, both officers climbed out of the car. The street was eerily still. Nothing moved. Even the wind had ceased blowing. Bailey looked at the building – A Victorian house with serious delusions of grandeur. Did a house really need battlements where the fascias should be? Bailey realised he needed to get his grumpy side under control. He was in danger of giving Victor Meldrew a run for his money.

Opening the red gate, Bailey padded sharply down the concrete path, straightening his jacket before rapping smartly on the door. A bit of muffled chat went on, from within, before a slender lady opened it. She was only in her early forties, Bailey guessed, but her old fashioned attire and perfectly set pensioner's perm suggested she was much older.

“Good morning. Welcome to Castle House,” her parrot-like voice pealed into the street. “I'm Mrs Bray.”

“Good morning, Mrs Bray.” Bailey responded. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“Yes.” she announced, indignantly.

“Excellent. Detective Inspector Bailey,” he flashed his badge, “and this is DI Jones.” At the mention of his name, Jones ceased picking moss off the garden wall, inexpertly brushed the dirt from his hands and flashed his badge at Mrs Bray. She raised a cursory eyebrow at him, before turning her attention back on Bailey, who continued speaking. “Did you have a customer recently by the name of Cyclops?” She thought for a moment.

“Cyclops … Cy...clops ... yes. Left this morning in a hurry. Had three more days booked in but paid and rushed off. Weird coincidence, that … man with a glass eye called Cyclops. He was a weird one, wasn't he Gavin? Gavin!” she yelled. “Come in, Officers.” They both stepped into the hallway feeling as if a world of chintz was swallowing them. A shrew-like man poked his head out of one of the rooms. He looked nervous and, Bailey assumed, a bit henpecked.

“Yes dear?”

“Gavin – that man – Mr Cyclops,” she looked, pointedly at Gavin. “Odd, wasn't he?” she nudged Gavin, a tinge of frustration leaking from beneath her cool exterior. “Tell them, Gavin – about his eye. So strange.” Gavin opened his mouth to speak. “Glass eye!” she went on. Gavin closed his mouth, his shoulders slumping. “Right odd it was. Looked … wrong – all still and unnatural. Never seen one before, never want to again.” Gavin trudged back into the room he had just come from. Jones followed him, giving Bailey a nod.

© Annie Bell 2012