[ WP ] As a private detective , your newest murder to solve has you feeling skeptical and wary , as the victim 's case increasingly begins to remind you of yourself .

The night traffic and city lights blur from one day to the next as my mind confuses the scores of unfaithful lovers caught in the act, runaways deemed'missing' and dead end murder investigations long since dropped by police that the family just ca n't let go. 
 I know I drink too much but on cold February nights the weight of my faithful companion in my coat pocket eases me into my watchful waiting. 
 
 
 This one was different. The case had been brought to my attention by an old childhood friend I thought I'd never see again. The gruff voice had been so far from the childish whispers we'd talked in all those years ago but the eyes were unmistakably his. He'd stopped at my office for just long enough to give me a who, a when and a where, signed a lucrative contract that just lacked money in advance and left before we had time to talk about our past or that place. But if all went well this contract could see me living quite well for the next few years. 
 
 
 The'where' was a warehouse I believed to have been abandoned after the shipping company who used to own it had been found complicit in the trafficking of people and had gone out of business. Not that the CEO faced any charges but that's another story for another time. The'when' for this murder was two days ago, as best as Will, my gruff visitor, could guess. This was golden news to me for the trail to be so fresh. Police have an unspoken 72 hour rule with homicide investigations where if there are no leads before that point the chances of catching the killer are next to none. Nearly all my cases are presented to me a long time after the deed was done and to work on a case so recent put my hair on end with a shiver of excitement. 
 
 
 With another generous gulp from my companion to chase down another xanax I shift my weight and stretch out a leg that's getting to old for this watching and waiting game. So it was the'who' this time that was of most interest to me, usually the who is just an opportunity to get some understanding of habits or contacts or relations, most murders know their victims, but this time the'who' was little Jack Farbury. 
 
 
 Unlike Will, I had seen Jack more recently and more frequently than I would have ever wished and while I sometimes drank enough to not remember the nightmares sometimes when I close my eyes I clearly see his, big dark eyes wide in fear and wet with tears from the night they died. 
 
 
 He'd made me responsible for him in that place and would n't talk to anyone except through me and after Ms Brecker tied him to the radiator and burned him badly for the 3rd time I got out and never looked back. I'd abandoned him then but carried him with me ever since, in my thoughts and my dreams and now finally, I might know peace. 
 
 
 The other leg started cramping and a fine drizzle started making my evening worse, just cold and wet enough to penetrate my clothes and attack my chest and limbs. It'd been 6 hours of sitting and watching and waiting. There were no signs of movement in any of the buildings and I'd not seen any evidence of activity on my first reconnaissance and nothing incriminating in the alleys or trashcans in and around the industrial area. 
 
 
 Sometimes you got lucky and people return to the scene of the crime but no luck here. Dropping down to the balcony and climbing down the stairs I feel the familiar pangs of discomfort and age and take a quick bump of speed to get me back in the zone. I'd seen an open roof access panel from my vantage point and felt natural hauling myself up and over the railings and down into the bowels of the warehouse. 
 
 There was a drip from a broken skylight and little else in the dark space. 
 Decay and musky age leaked from the office room high up on the side of the warehouse space but only some papers and an empty desk and some shelves remained. This was n't right. Will had said this was the place but there was nothing, crouched over on the carpet with my blacklight there was no blood or other bodily fluids, no signs of a struggle, nothing out of place or damaged and no footsteps in the dust save my own. Head now spinning as my eyes flick back and forth over the industrial floor, the laughter starts again and the usual mocking voices but what was that crying? Huge wracking sobs that fill my head that I have n't heard for years. 
 
 
 Why would Will turn up now? Why lead me to this place. FOR WHAT?! The fuck do you want with me Will. I gave you enough, all my secrets and all my attention and all my time and you never gave ME shit. I protected YOU and you bring little jack to my present to take my sleep and fill my thoughts. Well fuck you will, this bullshit was going to end one way or another and you can shut the fuck up Jack, stop crying you pathetic little whiny crybaby all alone here in this warehouse, you died along time ago Jack and still you cry. Go on Jack, go to sleep, `` be a good boy for daddy now''. Shushhhh now Jack, the whole bottle now, that's right, big gulp and now the whisky to wash away the taste and tears. 
 
 
 Not long now. 
 
 **** 
 
 Room 23: Patient 00459: Jack Farbury 
 
 
 Severe psychosis, auditory hallucinations and fragmented personality. 
 No records of his existence in the public sphere since he ran away from his foster care home, remaining reports list severe antisocial behavior and a refusal to talk to any of the other foster children. 
 
 
 Recommend continued caution with the subject while he is weaned off of Opioid addiction, replacement medication can be powerful motivational tool to initiate conversation. Slow and careful steps and under no circumstances address him by his first name. 
 
 
 
 

