Glisent and Hooke

By Isabella Roh

Intoxicating notes floated through the air as I quietly opened the door. I took a deep breath and entered.

My former detective partner had her back to me and clearly hadn’t heard me enter. I hesitated before clearing my throat to announce my presence.

She stopped and set the violin down. “Isaiah Glisent.”

“How did you know?”

“One of your boots is wearing through,” she replied, still looking out the dirty window. “It creaks.”

She could practically read my thoughts, which was occasionally more terrifying than comforting, but I knew she hadn’t heard me take a step.

“Liar.”

She spun around and crossed her arms. “Fine. I was reading the paper this morning and saw the notice about your new case.”

The fake notice.

“You broke it off with me to partner with Hidgewell, of all people?”

“Adalia, I need your help.”

She scoffed. “With what, Isaiah? If you want me to vouch for you, I already have. Hidgewell’s men came this afternoon to ensure we weren’t still connected.”

“Which is why I waited until now to come.”

There. Understanding sparked in her eye.

She relaxed and smiled for the first time. “I actually believed you had joined him.”

I sighed, grateful she believed me. “You were right in what you said the last time we spoke.”

“Fought!”

I compromised. “Discussed. Anyway, I believe Hidgewell has been tampering with evidence, like you said. Will you help me incriminate him?”

“Hooke and Glisent against the world?” She played with her hair and grinned, waiting to see if I’d notice.

“It’s Glisent and Hooke.” I smirked.

“Of course, I’m in. Hidgewell is going down.”

After explaining to Adalia what she needed to dig up, I walked down the street to the Scotland Yard office. I told her that discrepancies in Hidgewell’s ledgers had given me reason to believe he’d been working both sides of the detective business, and I aimed to catch him at it before I was forced to sign the partnership agreement with him tomorrow. Adalia’s job was to sneak into his office and retrieve his personal journals with notes from his cases. I was going to get the official reports Hidgewell had given Inspector Johnson.

“Isaiah!” Charles, the clerk, greeted me while rushing to hide a leather-bound book under a stack of papers.

I nodded to the book. “What’s that?”

“One of those Doyle stories,” he said. “I know I’m on the clock, but his Holmes and Watson are simply fascinating.”

“I know,” I said ruefully. “They put us real detectives to shame.”

“Have you talked to Adalia?”

The last Charles had heard, she’d been angry with me for ending our partnership.

I steered away from the subject. “How about I don’t tell your supervisor you were reading on the clock and you tell me where Inspector Johnson put Hidgewell’s records?”

He glanced around nervously before digging out the papers. “Deal.”

I took the file from him and nodded my thanks.

“Let me know how it goes,” he called, back to his jovial self. “The Glisent and Hooke stories are at least as exciting as Doyle’s.”

“Indeed,” I said dryly.

With reports in hand, I made my way to Hidgewell’s flat, curious as to how Adalia was getting along. I waited just out of her view, at the corner of the entry, watching as she worked. She wore gloves and was sorting through several files on the desk. She stopped and scribbled something onto one of the papers. At first, I assumed she was merely taking notes, until I noticed her notebook on the umbrella stand by the door.

She was writing on evidence—creating evidence.

She picked up another two papers and turned to the fireplace.

“Stop!”

She froze, dangling the pages above the flames. “Isaiah, why aren’t you at headquarters?”

I swallowed hard, trying to level my voice. “Why are you confirming my suspicions?”

Her expression hardened as she realized I’d caught her.

“You can’t prove I’ve done anything.”

I motioned to the papers in her hand that were starting to burn. “Put that out before I have you charged with destroying evidence rather than simply conspiring.”

She smothered the flame against the hearth.

“It’s still only your claim against mine, and Hidgewell’s records won’t match.”

On cue, Hidgewell emerged from where he’d been hiding in the secret compartment by the fireplace. “Apologies, Miss Hooke,” he said, proper as always, “but now there are two testimonies, and those notes you’re holding are fake.” He held up the originals. “I couldn’t let you destroy my good name in our little experiment.”

Adalia glared at me. “You set me up.”

“Our evidence started getting tossed out in court,” I said. “Your testimonies quit adding up. I knew you were tampering, and I had to break off our partnership before you destroyed my credibility as well as your own.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

I’d asked myself the same question a hundred times. Why couldn’t I tell her?

“Because I knew you’d lie,” I watched her glare soften. “You’d tell me everything was all right, and I’d believe you because I wanted to. I had to know for sure.”

She nodded and took my hand. “Fair enough.”

I stared into her eyes, wishing I’d been wrong, wishing our partnership could go back to the way it had been before, wishing…

Hidgewell cleared his throat. “Was Scotland Yard behind you, Glisent?”

I nodded and released Adalia’s hand. “They were, but you know how they are.”

Hidgewell laughed. “The one thing Doyle gets right in those stories is their incompetence.”

The doorbell rang, and he went to answer. I waited for the police with Adalia.

“You know,” she said, “I always thought you and I would be Holmes and Watson, solving crimes ‘til a ripe old age.”

I shook my head. “Adalia, you can’t be my Watson.”

She smirked. “Of course not. You’re mine.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Isabella Roh is a communicator, who enjoys connecting to people and exploring ideas analytically. She focuses creatively on music, public speaking and, especially, the written word.

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