Llewellyn Watts (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gadaboutdetective) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thesphererp2020-04-25 04:42 pm
gadaboutdetective) wrote in thesphererp2020-04-25 04:42 pm
Memory Share - Everything can be lost in the blink of an eye
It was the second day in a row that Llewellyn had been brought into the station house for questioning concerning the events that had lead to the death of Nigel Baker, concerning his inconsistencies in the story he had given them about what had taken place. He thought that he had turned things in the right direction with his testimony, that he had explained them away well enough as he stuck by his accounts of what happened. Of course Murdoch would have to dig deeper and find someone who was present during the investigation of Daniel’s case. “I should have told you.”
“You replaced the thumb mark.” Murdoch’s voice has a harder edge to it today, tinged with confusion. The man wants to understand what would have possessed him to take such a huge risk on a case for someone he supposedly didn’t even know.
“It wasn’t difficult... The victim’s corpse was still in the morgue.”
“Clearly a bit more difficult than you thought. You replaced it with the wrong thumb.”
Hunching a bit in the seat (it was so uncomfortable, his back was already protesting after having spent most of yesterday in the awful chair), he smiled a little, it’s a wry and almost sad thing. “I get left-right mixed up. Same with East-West. Up-down, North-South I’m mm... quite good at.”
“Why would you take such a risk? To the case? To yourself??”
Swallowing thickly, Llewellyn’s face turned dark and heavy with guilt. “Because it was my fault. I was the one who told Constable Baxter to leave his desk.”
“To aid with the mêlée outside?”
“... Baker’s boys had started it, obviously. It was an idiot trap, and I was the idiot I had to make it right.” Picking up the cup off the table, Llewellyn leaned forward uncomfortable. “It wasn’t right— of course. It destroyed the case. And it’s now destroyed my career.”
———
Murdoch left him there, to the silence and his own thoughts only to return hours later with the most damning evidence yet. A photograph that he dropped on the table and slid over to Llewellyn. The man giving a light start at the sight of it, rising in his seat and straightening his posture as much as he ever did. It’s the photograph. The only one that had been taken when they were young. Three boys stared up at him. Hubert, Daniel, and himself. “I... remember this. It was taken shortly after I moved in.”
“You lived with the Marks twins?” Murdoch’s tone is harder still, perhaps upset that Llewellyn had kept this secret. That he’d lied.
“The landlady’s family took me in after my parents died.” Not necessarily a woman who had been mother material in the traditional sense, but she had a good enough heart to not let three boys end up in an orphanage or in one of the boy’s homes. Mrs. Young had taken in the Marks twins before him, and then when his sister had disappeared she had taken him in as well.
“Odd that you didn’t mention it.”
“Well— I knew what you would think.” There’s tears in his eyes now, nerves starting to get the better of of him. Feelings rising as everything started to fall apart.
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“That I had reason to kill Nigel Baker.” And he had so many reasons to.
“Did you?” Murdoch’s tone is clipped, all business. None of his usual soft approach or delicacy left.
“Did I have reason?” His voice breaks, emotions finally getting the better of him as he struggled to not leap from the seat. “Nigel Baker tortured and killed a man I...” Swallowing a sob down, Llewellyn frowned and lowered his voice. It still trembled as he continued, “A man who was in every way my brother. Someone who deserved my protection! I had ample reason to kill Nigel Baker! But as I have already made clear, I didn’t recognize him! So did I kill him with intention? No! Am I sorry he’s dead? No— I’m not.” Llewellyn pulled back away from the edge of the table, trying to calm himself and regain a little composure. “To be honest, even if given the chance to exact my revenge, I’m not sure I’m capable of it.” A distressed shake of his head, “Obviously, my philosophy rejects the very idea. ...No one asks to be the way they are, not even boys like Nigel Baker.”
It’s a slip up, and Llewellyn realized it immediately. Another strike against him. Murdoch jumps on his words immediately. “Boy? You knew him as a child?”
“He was the same age as Hubert and Danny. Lived a few doors down on William Street.” Llewellyn gets a far away look on his face, memories coming to the surface unbidden. Things he tried to not think about, things his subconscious had tried to repress. “Even then, you could tell there was something wrong with him. Most bullies have a purpose in their torment. They seek status— protection... Nigel Baker was only happy when he could cause pain. He delighted in it. And boys like Hubert and Danny,” Boys like himself, “They were fodder for his cruelty.”
“You were their protector...” Murdoch’s tone had shifted again, not exactly forgiving of his blunders and the secrets kept. He was gentler about the question though, not as forceful as he had been.
Llewellyn ducks his head, looking away. “When I could be.” He had never been much for fighting, too much of a pacifist. Often as easy a mark as his brothers were. But when he could redirect Nigel’s attention? When he could jump in and give them a chance to escape? He did. It was worth the pain and the fear. He never regretted coming home injured if it meant they were safe. “I reported his deeds to his father, but Mr. Baker could never accept the truth about Nigel.” And how that had stung. For his words, his pleas for help, to fall on deaf ears. All because Nigel’s father loved his son too much, was so blind to how cruel and destructive the boy was.
Picking up the photograph, Llewellyn looked at it tenderly. “Poor sweet boy...”
———
Llewellyn was rolling the cup back and forth with a pencil, resting his head in his arms on the table when Murdoch returns next. All quick and to the point, a renewed sense of urgency in his words. He came with a question about how many gunshots had been heard, only for Llewellyn to absentmindedly ask if this were some sort of riddle. Frustrated, Murdoch’s hand snaps forward to grab the cup and slam it down firmly on the table and asking if he could explain it. Explain why there were reports of three gunshots that night. Murdoch continued to counter all his explanations with growing irritation. Like a dog with a bone, he wasn’t going to let it go. The detective accused him of tampering with the gun, of removing the original empty bullet casing and firing off sequential shots to hide the original.
Murdoch suggested a hypothesis on what really happened after that. One of Llewellyn getting a call at his desk from Hubert, his brother informing him of his intention to kill Nigel for what he’d done to Daniel. The story playing out to the effect that Llewellyn hadn’t arrived in time to stop his brother, but had covered the crime up after forming a plan to give Hubert enough time to get away.
It wasn’t entirely wrong, of course. Llewellyn had gotten the call and hadn’t arrived in time to stop Hubert, but his brother had already fled the scene. Llewellyn didn’t know where Hubert was, and as worried as he was, he knew it was better that way. You couldn’t divulge a secret you didn’t know. He had still panicked and covered it up, of course. Shot himself, shot again to mimic a struggle for the weapon even though Nigel was already dead. Hubert wouldn’t be blamed for this, he wouldn’t allow it. Not after he’d failed both his brothers so much already... Even if sticking to the story meant going to prison... Even if it meant hanging for the crime. It would be the one thing he did right by his brothers.
Moments later, Llewellyn loses his temper when Murdoch hits a particular nerve. He’s so tired of the world as it is, and that even Murdoch would stoop to suggesting his brother were incapable of feeling guilt in the situation, that they could take a chance on the court finding Hubert mentally incapable and send him to an institution instead. It hurt to hear such a small minded opinion from someone so like himself.
He snapped out a challenge then; if Murdoch really believed that Hubert had committed the murder and not him? Then he would have to prove it. Llewellyn picked up a book off the table, opened it to a random page and refused to look Murdoch in the eye, unwilling to say another word.
———
It’s a while before Murdoch returns again. When he does, it’s with a mixed expression. One Llewellyn can’t quite read... So he focuses instead on his book. “So? Am I to assume you have your proof?” A small gesture, a waggle of his finger. “You had a theory.”
“Oh... I’ve since changed my theory. I no longer believe Hubert Marks killed Nigel Baker. No, that was you.” His tone is softer this time, resigned in a way.
“Well... Good. That’s what I’ve been saying all along.” Finally, what ever development had occurred, it meant that the case seemed to be heading back the way he wanted it. Suspicion would move away from Hubert, and back to him where it belonged.
“But I don’t believe it was self defence. It was murder.”
Looking up from his book, Llewellyn can’t help the confusion bleeding into his tone. “What?”
“We found this in a shed near where you confronted Nigel Baker.” Murdoch responds, sliding a picture of a bloody footprint into his line of sight. Llewellyn picks it up as the other detective continued, “I believe you were there that night. You’ve since changed your shoes, but that’s your bloody footprint.”
His bloody footprint? Now that made no sense, Llewellyn had never been in a shed that night. Had never stepped in blood, aside from perhaps his own after wounding himself. The question popped out, quiet and confused. “Whose blood?”
Murdoch is silent, instead sliding another collection of pictures across the table to rest in front of him. Llewellyn’s stomach dropped, everything falling into place. The reason he hadn’t seen Hubert that night, the reason that he hadn’t been seen since that night...
Anyone looking at the photographs would think that these were from Daniel’s case. The sheer volume of blood, the gashes were so close to those that had marred the man’s form when his murder had been discovered. Llewellyn knew better though, he had always been able to tell the difference between the Marks twins.
No, this was Hubert and he was dead. Everything had been for nothing.
Llewellyn’s jaw quivered, sifting through the photos before shoving them away in a rush. “No... No. No! NO!” Sobs wracked his body, drawing his arms close and thrusting his hands in front of his eyes, as though not seeing the images would somehow make them untrue.
He doesn’t even hear Murdoch leave the room, too wrapped up in his sorrow.
no subject
It was a comfort though, one that might have made him feel a little more emotional than he liked to admit. As though it were okay to feel the sadness, to dwell on his own feelings for a just moment while someone was there to keep him a little more grounded. A lifeline in the form of a friend.
He hugs her back a moment later, just a quick squeeze in return. Clumsy but decidedly warm and grateful.]
Mm... Thank you, Alex. For visiting, and...
[Words are so much harder than he likes some days, and this is one of those days.]
I appreciate it.
no subject
Of course. That's what friends are for, Llewellyn. I'm very sorry that all got shared on the network. And even sorrier that it happened.
no subject
The detective shook his head a little at the apology, there was no helping it. This place... It clearly wasn’t particularly discerning or thoughtful of the person in question when it came to what it chose to show the world. He knew others had plenty of personal moments shared with the public, it was just his luck he supposed.
I— I appreciate that, but it’s um... It is what it is. I know I’m not the only one to have things broadcast in such a manner, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time... I’m just not used to people knowing things. Certainly not like that...
no subject
[Alex just shakes her head for a moment because she’s been here for a year and she knows how bad these have been for her. Even with her confession last month, there are still things that Alex really doesn’t want to be shown on the network. There’s still things that she wishes she could take back, and things that she really hopes aren’t ever going to show up.
Well, that was stupid, Alex thinks, because now they’re going to happen. It was just the way
of this place.
Focusing on something else entirely, Alex just gives him a small smile and pulls out the bottle from her bag. ]
Do you have glasses? If not it’s okay we can do this old school and just pass the bottle.
no subject
[He gestures to a chair, it’s a comfortable arm chair in front of his desk. His office is still sparsely furnished, but it has the basics. Chairs for clients to sit in, bookshelves lining the walls for file folders and whatever books he had begun to collect since arriving.]
Makes you wonder if it’s worth trying to hold onto secrets at all if they’re going to be pulled out for the world to view anyway...
[He sighs, tonight was by far the worst... But there was so much he didn’t want the world to see. He doesn’t like to be known, he’s worked so hard to paint a picture of... normalcy that the prospects of people seeing where he’s been in life without him having any control over it is terrifying.]
Oh— Yes, I do have glasses. That’s about all I’ve got, though. I’m still uh... working on getting everything sorted.
[Right now it’s set up for work, and not necessarily for entertaining company. He’d like to make the space a little more comfortable, if only for the fact that he intends to spend a lot of time here. Llewellyn moves over to a bookshelf, sliding a few things around before returning with a couple of glasses. He eye’d the bottle with interest. Alcohol was definitely called for tonight.]
no subject
[Alex just takes a seat, and she gives him a little smile, offering the bottle too him. She'd gone with scotch, because it seemed like the safest bet, and it was a good one: one of the ones that Max had given to Richard.]
Not that it's to say that you should of course. Feel better for it. It's terrible what it did. I was just speaking from my personal experience, honestly. The whole thing just sucks. Maybe I'm just rationalizing it after having been here for so long.
no subject
Sometimes rationalizing is the only way to deal with something serious, I can’t fault you for doing so?
[Llewellyn paused long enough to take a sip, it’s good scotch. Definitely higher tier. Similar to what his inspector would have kept in his office.]
I don’t know that could I feel better for it being out there, it would mm... be nice if I could. Perhaps in time, once there’s some from this; but for now...
[For now it only left him feeling ill inside, honestly. His greatest failing and loss in one go.]
I’m not used to people knowing. About this, about my brothers— or any of my family really.
no subject
Tell me about them? The good things? Like times when you were children?
no subject
They were very sweet, I um... I think you would have liked them.
After my sister disappeared and the landlady took me in, they just— they accepted me immediately? Decided I was family. [A small, fond expression crossed his face as he took another sip of scotch.] Identical look-a-likes, but so different from each other at the same time.
Daniel was always the funny one of the two of them, even if I didn’t always get the jokes. While Hubert was the one with all the plans, all the interesting ideas and schemes.
no subject
[ Alex just listens to him without interrupting, giving him an encouraging smile while she’s doing it. Memories about people can sometimes be difficult or it’s own balm and Alex doesn’t want to push one way or another on it. So, instead Alex gives him some space and a bit more scotch too.]
They sound like I would have liked them a lot actually.
no subject
[Sometimes Llewellyn could get a bit lost in his own head, and doubly so when he was thinking about certain subjects. His brothers were definitely firmly planted in the ‘certain subject’ category. So he fell silent for a minute or two to drink a little more scotch, he was grateful that Alex is patient enough to give him the time and space he needs to keep working through things.
He settled on one story eventually, another sip or two of his drink passed. It was hard to work out how to tell it, it was such a small thing in theory, but it had meant a lot to him at the time.]
My first birthday with them, they uh— They showed up with a bundle of newspapers, all tied together with string. They had managed to come up with a way to get their hands on a book. Hubert planned it all out, and he assured me they weren’t noticed... But they both knew I liked to read and... Well, they liked it when I told them stories.
no subject
What was the book they got you?
[Because Alex is going to try and find it for him.]
no subject
Oh... It was ‘A Study in Scarlet,’ actually.
[His expression (a small wry smile) suggested that yes, he knows exactly how that sounds.]
And uh— no, that’s not why I became a detective. Although that would be more amusing, I suppose.
[And it is a nice memory, it managed to lighten his mood somewhat. They had always made him feel like be belonged, after a time it had been like they had always been family regardless of how he’d been dropped into their lives. It was nice to be able to talk about a good moment now, rather than dwell on the bad despite how easy that would have been at the moment.]
no subject
[Alex just laughs softly, and she gives a little nod because even if it wasn't why he became a detective, it was still a cute thing about the adopted family that he had. She just takes a little sip of her scotch and then adds:]
You know Charis knew them, right? Holmes and Watson?
no subject
[Llewellyn might be latching onto the subject, but... avoidance is his usual coping mechanism. This is an easier topic, even if it’s a strange one.]
It’s mm... odd to think that they actually existed in another world? That the novels I read were reflections of someone else’s life is a bit hard to wrap one’s brain around.
no subject
It seems to be a thing that happens. Both Ben and Rey are from a movie series in my world, and Jason, when he was here he was from Batman's world, which is a really famous comic and movie series. And basically every other kind of series you can think of at this moment too. But it makes me wonder if there's some world where my show and Richard and I are fictional. It makes sense in a way, but gives me a headache to think about.
no subject
I’ve spoken with Rey, she mm... she’s very interesting? I got the sense that she was from a world that was familiar to others based on how she approached the subject, and she confirmed that. It uh— it’s a lot to consider. That our lives might be nothing more than a form of entertainment for people in other worlds?
no subject
[Alex just laughs at that, and it’s only the smallest bit bitter. ]
My life is already entertainment in my world. Which is my own fault when I got so involved with the subject of my show. I’d hate to think that there are other worlds that listen to it and don’t realize that we’re you know. Actual people who actually have had our lives kind of destroyed.
Which is still my fault but...
no subject
[He’s definitely taking another sip of scotch, and then another. It was hard enough having to talk about his life, without the possibility of a complete stranger just... knowing it all. Simply because they had read or watched something for pleasure.]
Strangers just knowing everything, perhaps someone even arriving here that knows everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve done? All my mistakes... Nope— I don’t really like that thought. Not one bit...
Wouldn’t even be right to be upset with whoever it was, it’s not like they could know. I certainly never considered that Sherlock Holmes could be a real person.
no subject
[Alex says it and she really does mean it, because this wasn't what she intended at all. She wanted to make him feel better and now here it was the two of them ending up in an existential crisis. This was just... not how she'd expected it to go, and she just adds more scotch to their glasses.
Sometimes you just need more scotch. Like right now.]
It's depressing and it's all started because of Sherlock Holmes. Makes you feel a little how Arthur Conan Doyle felt, huh?
no subject
[He responded with a sad smile, though thanked her for the refill. Even if he absently remembered Murdoch once saying alcohol was a depressant, it still felt like it helped right now. It relaxed some of that lingering tension.]
You’re quite right... [He hums a little, before adding to try to salvage the conversation.] You know, he’s actually visited the station house I work at a few times? Before I uh— started working there. He became quite well acquainted with the other detective I work with and the inspector.
no subject
[Okay that's something that Alex didn't expect, considering where Llewellyn was from, but Alex is enthralled anyway--she can't help to be. She'd always liked mysteries which was part of the reason she was where she was now.]
What was he like? Did the other detective say?
[Alex is giving him her full attention, there is little doubt of it.]
no subject
[That was the funny thing about Llewellyn’s version of earth, there were occasionally figures from history who visited Toronto whether or not it was noted that they would have travelled there at the time.]
As for what the other detective said...
[That’s an unfortunately complicated thing. Murdoch could spend hours discussing the finer points of finger marks or whatever contraption he was building. As for talking about other people? He could be a bit... scattered and brief. Llewellyn was similar though, and couldn’t really fault the detective for it.]
I’m afraid he was mm... short on details. He seemed to think well of the man though, or... I got the feeling he did.
no subject
[That just makes Alex laugh again because it reminds her entirely too much of what someone else would do. Someone else of course being one Richard Strand.]
I probably wouldn't have been able to shut up about it honestly. Arthur Conan Doyle helping me solve mysteries. It'd just be like too good to be true, you know? It's like learning to write a speech from Shakespeare, or chemistry from Madame Curry or something.
no subject
Detective Murdoch tends to attract interesting people, it’s almost strange?
[It wasn’t a bad comparison, Murdoch was also quite adamant that there were logical explanations for things of a supernatural nature after all.
Llewellyn raises a curious brow at the other names she mentioned, if only because one of them in particular stood out.]
Actually— uh... funny you should mention that. There’s a symposium being hosted in the next few months by one of the detective’s inventor friends. There are supposed to be quite a lot of different guests... But Madame Curie is actually on the guest speaker list, if I’m not mistaken?
I only know because most of us are expected to attend as extra security. [Whenever he was sent back to his time, that is.] Mr. Pendrick’s endeavours are... known to be plagued by disaster.
(no subject)
(no subject)