Post by Detective Friday on Aug 6, 2022 23:23:35 GMT -8
[OOC - Location, Fridays flat down town Gotham]
Friday didn’t usually take a day off in the middle of the week, but she had been working sixteen hour days for over a month and had finally reached her breaking point. So, when her alarm went off, she slammed down on the old fashion, brass-bell clock and giggled gleefully. Rolling back over on her other side, she tugged her summer duvet up to her neck and soon fell back into deep slumber where she remained until noon. In fact, if her two, slightly overweight tabbies, Jeeves and Wooster, hadn’t demanded she rise and feed them, she probably would have slept till dusk.
As she stood to fetch her trusty Swiffer mop, her landline phone rung. She glanced over at Jeeves and Wooster, who were also startled by the sudden, sharp noise rarely heard in the flat. “Who’s calling me on my private number?” The only thing that came to her mind was maybe it was her work, but they usually rang on her mobile first.
She picked up the old, Bakelite handset, “Hello?”
The was a pause. A pause so long she nearly hung-up but a scant second before she placed it back onto the base, she heard a deep voice, “Is this Detective Friday?”
There was no way in hell she was going to confirm who she was to someone she didn’t know. “Who’s asking?”
More silence… The hair on Friday’s neck stood up. “Don’t play coy with me Detective Friday. It'll save us so much time.”
She nervously licked her lips and replied, “What if it is?”
A dry, haunting chuckle filled her ear. “Well, if it is her she might want to know I have a lead for her concerning the Emerald Scarab case. If she was smart, she’d meet me at 223 Crestview Road tonight at midnight and she'd come alone.”
“How do I…”
“Click.”
Before she replaced it on the base, Friday kept the handset to her ear for a few, long seconds, even though there was nothing but a lonely dial tone emanating from it. It was a rotary phone so she couldn’t try to use her usual method of tracing the call back. She briefly considered calling into work to see if they could trace it but it would take at twenty-four hours due to it not being an emergency but even then, if the caller was clever enough to discover her very private number, they would have covered their basis.
She glanced over at the maple wood, clock on her fireplace mantle. It was only one in the afternoon now. She had plenty of time to try to figure out what the hell was going on.
The Emerald Scarab case had been closed for years. In fact, it had been closed before she even joined the GCPD. It was also quite infamous for being one of last cases connected to Batman before he vanished, no one had ever made any headway on it since. That said, it was an odd case from the start.
Apparently, there was this old widow named Prudence Meadows who had died supposedly of natural causes. Her husband had passed sometime in the mid 1970s and she had become rather reclusive in the time afterwards. She was considerably wealthy, one of the wealthiest in Gotham for that matter, but she might as well had been invisible. Few people knew her and those who did found her quiet and unremarkable and often commented she lived like a nun. In her will, she left something called the Emerald Scarab to Bruce Wayne. No one was sure why but people speculated her husband had know Wayne’s father and perhaps they had been friends. Surprisingly, that’s not even most intriguing part.
Whatever this Emerald Scarab was, it was never found within her estate and apparently Wayne was very put out by it. It was said to be worth tens of millions, if not more. The insurance papers only listed it as ‘an extraordinary rare Egyptian jewel originating in antiquity’. There were several rumours of where it went. Selina Kyle’s name was thrown around a lot but it turned out to be a dead-end confined by Gotham’s dark vigilante himself. After that, the case went dead cold.
Friday had looked over the case notes a few times herself and there just wasn’t any clues or leads so, she had left it alone. Plus, she had always felt there was something off putting about the case and had a feeling it was better left alone. It didn't seem anyone with power in Gotham wanted it solved. But now? She couldn’t very well let a possible lead go by without even looking into it.
First thing on the agenda was looking up the mystery address of where she was supposed to meet the mystery caller later that night. 223 Crestview Road. The more she thought about it the more the address tingled in the back of her memory. Did she know that address? Should she know it?
After twenty or so minutes researching the address on the internet, via her well outdated laptop, she found out why the location had rang a bell. It was a tragic tale not unlike all too many others in Gotham over the decades.
Up until 1955, 223 Crestview Road was the location of St. Frances Xavier’s home for Orphan Girls. In December of that year, a week before Christmas, the orphanage had burned down. Over thirty, orphan girls lost their lives, as well as the five nuns living there with them. Even for Gotham, it had been a horrific tragedy. The cause of the fire was never known and even at present, the broken shell of the building has been abandoned by the church and city.
Friday didn’t usually take a day off in the middle of the week, but she had been working sixteen hour days for over a month and had finally reached her breaking point. So, when her alarm went off, she slammed down on the old fashion, brass-bell clock and giggled gleefully. Rolling back over on her other side, she tugged her summer duvet up to her neck and soon fell back into deep slumber where she remained until noon. In fact, if her two, slightly overweight tabbies, Jeeves and Wooster, hadn’t demanded she rise and feed them, she probably would have slept till dusk.
After the lads were taken care of, a long, hot shower and a steaming cup of tea was poured for herself, Friday flipped on the telly as she sunk into her sofa but, as usual, nothing but bad news filled the airways. She quickly turned the telly off and opted to play some music instead. The calming sounds of Norah Jones's first album soon filled her flat.
Better.
Friday sat back down, on the sofa, this time cross-legged, pondering what to do with the rest of her day off. She glanced at her flat’s dark hardwood floor and groaned. It really needed to be swept up. Between all the cat hair and the myriad of normal everyday dust that had fallen on it for the past week, it was a right mess. Maybe she should have went to work?
Uggg…
As she stood to fetch her trusty Swiffer mop, her landline phone rung. She glanced over at Jeeves and Wooster, who were also startled by the sudden, sharp noise rarely heard in the flat. “Who’s calling me on my private number?” The only thing that came to her mind was maybe it was her work, but they usually rang on her mobile first.
She picked up the old, Bakelite handset, “Hello?”
The was a pause. A pause so long she nearly hung-up but a scant second before she placed it back onto the base, she heard a deep voice, “Is this Detective Friday?”
There was no way in hell she was going to confirm who she was to someone she didn’t know. “Who’s asking?”
More silence… The hair on Friday’s neck stood up. “Don’t play coy with me Detective Friday. It'll save us so much time.”
She nervously licked her lips and replied, “What if it is?”
A dry, haunting chuckle filled her ear. “Well, if it is her she might want to know I have a lead for her concerning the Emerald Scarab case. If she was smart, she’d meet me at 223 Crestview Road tonight at midnight and she'd come alone.”
“How do I…”
“Click.”
Before she replaced it on the base, Friday kept the handset to her ear for a few, long seconds, even though there was nothing but a lonely dial tone emanating from it. It was a rotary phone so she couldn’t try to use her usual method of tracing the call back. She briefly considered calling into work to see if they could trace it but it would take at twenty-four hours due to it not being an emergency but even then, if the caller was clever enough to discover her very private number, they would have covered their basis.
She glanced over at the maple wood, clock on her fireplace mantle. It was only one in the afternoon now. She had plenty of time to try to figure out what the hell was going on.
The Emerald Scarab case had been closed for years. In fact, it had been closed before she even joined the GCPD. It was also quite infamous for being one of last cases connected to Batman before he vanished, no one had ever made any headway on it since. That said, it was an odd case from the start.
Apparently, there was this old widow named Prudence Meadows who had died supposedly of natural causes. Her husband had passed sometime in the mid 1970s and she had become rather reclusive in the time afterwards. She was considerably wealthy, one of the wealthiest in Gotham for that matter, but she might as well had been invisible. Few people knew her and those who did found her quiet and unremarkable and often commented she lived like a nun. In her will, she left something called the Emerald Scarab to Bruce Wayne. No one was sure why but people speculated her husband had know Wayne’s father and perhaps they had been friends. Surprisingly, that’s not even most intriguing part.
Whatever this Emerald Scarab was, it was never found within her estate and apparently Wayne was very put out by it. It was said to be worth tens of millions, if not more. The insurance papers only listed it as ‘an extraordinary rare Egyptian jewel originating in antiquity’. There were several rumours of where it went. Selina Kyle’s name was thrown around a lot but it turned out to be a dead-end confined by Gotham’s dark vigilante himself. After that, the case went dead cold.
Friday had looked over the case notes a few times herself and there just wasn’t any clues or leads so, she had left it alone. Plus, she had always felt there was something off putting about the case and had a feeling it was better left alone. It didn't seem anyone with power in Gotham wanted it solved. But now? She couldn’t very well let a possible lead go by without even looking into it.
First thing on the agenda was looking up the mystery address of where she was supposed to meet the mystery caller later that night. 223 Crestview Road. The more she thought about it the more the address tingled in the back of her memory. Did she know that address? Should she know it?
After twenty or so minutes researching the address on the internet, via her well outdated laptop, she found out why the location had rang a bell. It was a tragic tale not unlike all too many others in Gotham over the decades.
Up until 1955, 223 Crestview Road was the location of St. Frances Xavier’s home for Orphan Girls. In December of that year, a week before Christmas, the orphanage had burned down. Over thirty, orphan girls lost their lives, as well as the five nuns living there with them. Even for Gotham, it had been a horrific tragedy. The cause of the fire was never known and even at present, the broken shell of the building has been abandoned by the church and city.
Friday swallowed down a lump in her throat. It was a sad story. One that apparently been mostly ignored since. Which made it even more odd that her possible lead would want to meet here there? Was there a connection?
Well, she didn't have a choice, she had to risk the meeting. The pit of her stomach wasn't happy about it though. She had a feeling a dark path awaited her.
[OOC - If you want to join this thread please PM Batwoman first. Thank you! FYI - This story is going to be long and quite dark with reference to lots of trauma. If this is not your thing I don't recommend joining.]