The Impossible Victim: Filthy Henry, #2

By Derek Power

New Clients. Impossible case. Same fairy detective. Once again the Fairy World requires the services of Filthy Henry, Ireland's one and only fairy detective. Filthy Henry, as usual, wants nothing to do with the inhabitants of the magical world. But Shelly, his new partner despite never actually being hired for the job, has other plans. After all when a Celtic God hires you to solve one of their problems you cannot let a little thing like the bad manners of a fairy detective get in the way. Even if Filthy Henry does not exactly agree with such an assessment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Derek Power
• Release date: Jan 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781386064039

Derek Power

I began writing in early 2001, mainly focusing on short stories. After winning the odd contest here and then I figured I would try and write something a little longer. A few false starts later I managed to complete my first novel, titled Filthy Henry: The Fairy Detective, in early 2013. I currently live in Skerries, Co. Dublin, Ireland with my wife and young children. A synopsis of my most recent work can be found below. 

Book preview

Books by Derek Power

Filthy Henry Novels

Filthy Henry: The Fairy Detective

The Impossible Victim

Accidental Legend

Stolen Stories

Copyright © 2015 Derek Power

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1514383360

ISBN-10: 1514383365

Copyright 2015 © Derek Power

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

The information in this book is distributed on an as is basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

GARDA BOB DOWNY, A long serving member of the Irish Police Force, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the squad car with all the patience of a two-year old waiting in line at the cinema. He checked the time on the dashboard clock for what felt like the hundredth time. The little glowing digits showed that it was two minutes to six in the morning. Hardly the most enjoyable of hours to be awake, least of all when you were waiting outside somebody else's abode. Not for the purpose of an early morning dawn raid, which would have been an enjoyable reason to get out of bed at such an ungodly hour. Instead Downy was awake so early in order to give the occupant of the aforementioned abode a lift into work. Glancing out the driver side window he glared at the front door of the house, mentally trying to force it open and extract the person from within.

A person who should have gotten his arse out the door thirty minutes earlier.

Downy's impatience was two-fold on this early morning. First and foremost, on the list of irksome things was the fact he currently occupied a squad car. Downy had a dislike of using cars as a method of transport, much preferring his more natural way of getting about Dublin: flying.

Being a Leerling, a race of fairy creatures with the ability to alternate between human and swan form, Downy rarely had to sit in mundane things such as traffic jams or pay attention to the colour of a light at a junction. If he wanted to get from point A to point B, he simply transformed into his bird form and took the shortest route as the swan flies. All the while laughing at the mortals below in their mobile metal coffins.

How Downy had wound up in a car that morning was the second thing on his list of grievances. A new recruit, fresh out of the training college in Templemore, was starting at the station Downy had been based in for years. A recruit whose father just happened to have more stripes on his shoulders than Downy. Said recruit needed a lift into work for the next few weeks. This loathsome task had fallen to Downy. Mainly because the Leerling had been late to a morning briefing where voting to see who was awarded the crap job had taken place. Strangely enough this resulted with those in attendance nominating he who had been absent.

Since being a Leerling was something of a secret, as was the existence of the entire Fairy World to most mortals, it meant the collection of the recruit required a car. Otherwise it would have been difficult to explain why a magical swan was carrying a person to work.

Thus, The Fates had conspired to curse Downy. The end result being that he now sat outside a house in Lucan, getting grouchier with every passing second. Being so confined was giving him an overpowering desire to spread his wings for a few minutes and smell the clouds.

The front door of the house finally opened and a man in his mid-twenties stepped out, wiping sleep from his eyes and yawning. He carried a duffel bag in his left hand. Pulling the door shut behind him, the recruit made his way down the garden path towards the parked vehicle. As he passed in front of the car headlights Downy could see that the recruit had the body of a man still in possession of a working metabolism, all skinny jeans and fitted tops that highlighted muscle definition beneath. He smiled at Downy, oblivious to the glare the Leerling gave him, and opened the passenger door. Tossing his bag into the back seat the recruit climbed inside and sat down.

Mornin', he said while yawning. I'm Trent O'Shea.

You're late, Downy said, starting the car engine. By half an hour!

Trent pulled on his seat belt and closed the door.

So? Were you serious about picking me up at half five? Sure, who starts work at half five? Don't think that just because I'm the new lad you old timers can haze me. Although you don't look old enough to be classed as an actual old timer, but you get the point. I know nobody starts work before eight.

Law enforcement does..., Downy said through gritted teeth. He had more to add but a brilliant flash of blue light in the dark morning sky caught his attention.

Trent would not have seen it, but Downy had the second sight that all fairy creatures were born with. The ability to see and perceive things from the Fairy World. The world that lived and existed right beside the mortal one, just hidden completely from sight. Whatever had caused the light was magical in nature and powerful too. Deep down Downy knew that it needed some investigating, even if it was just to make sure that nobody had been hurt. More importantly it was to make sure no fairy was running the risk of exposing The People to humanity.

What's out that way? he asked Trent, pointing to where the light had been.

Trent shifted in his seat and looked out the window.

Nothing, just a load of fields. Why?

Downy sighed and put the car into gear.

Just a hunch I want to check out, he said, driving away from the house.

TRENT DIRECTED DOWNY to a field that sat on the edge of a housing estate in Lucan. There was a small gravel area, presumably meant to be a car-park, where he parked the squad car and got out. Without any real resistance to the suggestion Trent stayed in the car, crossing his arms and apparently attempting to go back to sleep. Downy rolled his eyes at the recruit in disgust and headed out into the field.

He had brought the flashlight from the glove box with him and turned it on to illuminate things. Not that it was needed. Leerlings, like all fairy creatures, had excellent night vision. But it would raise less questions from Trent. Not that Trent seemed to be the most inquisitive of individuals.

There was a desk job in that young man's future, of that Downy was sure. Even if it was himself that had to recommend Trent for the particular desk in question.

The field seemed to be empty, devoid of anything interesting, magical or otherwise. There were no ne'er-do-wells loitering about the place up to no good. No stray dogs wandering around for that perfect spot to leave their morning droppings. All in all, it seemed that the flash may have just been that, a flash. But it had definitely been a flash in the magical spectrum of the world and that was what had Downy concerned. Magic was not like the weather; you did not get a flash of light followed by a loud noise for no other reason than a shift in the weather patterns and a change in atmospheric pressure. You got a magical flash because something had just been done with powerful magic.

Downy walked along a bit more, shining the light from the torch left and right, when the beam shone on something of interest to any Garda, human or fairy, worth his salt.

A man lying face down in the middle of the field.

Hello? Are you alright? Downy asked, running over.

As he neared the face down figure Downy's torchlight illuminated a pool of fluid on the ground, gathering underneath the man. Downy knew a dead man when he saw one and this guy was as dead as could be. He slowly looked around for any sign of a third party in the area. Nobody was to be seen.

Turning his attention once more on the body Downy shone the torch directly at it. While his night vision was good, picking up details was always easier with proper light.

The victim, as Garda Downy now thought of him, was dressed in a white robe. A little strange given that robes had been out of fashion for a few centuries at this stage. Their face was firmly planted in the mud and dirt, almost like he had fallen forward with great force. Downy knew that it was against protocol to go moving the body before the Crime Scene Unit had been out to have a look, so moving the victim's head was out of the question.

Downy hunkered down to get a better look at the fluid, presumably the victim's blood. But as the light from the torch was brought closer Downy noticed that the fluid was discoloured.

Being a Garda for a few years had allowed Downy to see a few dead bodies in his time. Generally dead bodies had blood and that blood was red in colour. So, the fact that this body was covered in an orange fluid suggested there was something wrong. Either the body was not actually dead, or they had died from an overdose of orange juice which had caused their blood to change colour in the process. Neither of which would look good in a report to the Higher Ups. They tended to like their murders to be simple. It helped to make the statistics easier to graph at the end of the month.

Downy searched his pockets for something to collect some of the fluid in.

Um...is that a dead body?

Downy stood up and turned on the spot. Trent stood behind him, staring down at the corpse, not looking at Downy at all.

This was going to be hard to explain. In general, the human population knew nothing about the Fairy World and that was very much how The People wanted things to stay. Luckily it was still fairly dark, meaning Trent would not have noticed that the victim had orange blood and would not be asking any questions that should not be asked.

Yea, Downy said, slowly. Guess your first day just got much more interesting, kid.

Trent seemed to wobble slightly on the spot, as if he was losing control of his legs. Downy knew that the young recruit was about to faint, which was understandable. He himself had thrown up so much when he saw his first body it had to have been a record of some sort.

So...so he is... Trent started to say.

There was a bright flash of light that for an instant caused everything to be coated in a blinding whiteness. As his cornea adjusted Downy saw two figures standing beside Trent. The young recruit slowly looked at them, then once more at the body, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the ground.

Downy shone his torch on the new arrivals.

Well that might need some explaining, he said, to the pair who had appeared out of thin air.

Both of them were dressed in suits, suits that in no way matched.

The gentleman on the left, nearest to the forlorn Trent, wore a stylish dark blue suit, white shirt and red tie. To say he was portly would have been like saying a Hippo was a size zero cat-walk model. The man clearly enjoyed his food, not to mention the food of others who happened to be within fork-spearing distance. He was bald but made up for the lack of head hair with a very full ginger beard, no doubt hiding a number of chins beneath it. All of that, however, was just for show. Downy knew this because with his magical second sight he could see energy swirling around the individual. Vast and powerful, unlike anything the Leerling had ever encountered before.

The other new arrival was also surrounded by a lot of magical energy, not as much as his associate but similar levels. However Downy got the feeling, as he read the energy, that it was a different sort of power, a darker sort. This man was slender, dressed head to toe in the blackest of blacks. A black so black that it made actual black seem white. He was clean shaven with his dark hair slicked back on his head. Downy was not entirely sure if it was a trick of the torch light or just that the dawn had not fully brightened the area yet, but it seemed as if the man in the black suit had no pupils. His eyes were just two dark ovals.

Why would we explain ourselves to a lesser creature? the man in black said.

Watch it Bres, the portly gentleman replied. Don't forget whose Realm you are in.

Bres snorted and took a step towards the victim with the orange blood, ignoring Downy completely.

Here! This is a crime scene, Downy said, taken aback at the abrupt manner of the man in black. You be careful where you stand and don't go...

The portly gentleman came over placed a hand gently on Downy's shoulder.

It's alright, lad, he said. I know the victim. Family, so to speak. But more importantly I know who we need to get so we can sort this mess out.

Downy looked directly at the portly gentleman, raising an eyebrow.

Don't tell me we need... Downy began to say.

Bres turned around and smiled at the Leerling.

Oh yes, he said. We need the half-breed. We need Filthy Henry.

FILTHY HENRY, IRELAND'S foremost and only fairy detective, was not having a good day.

To the casual observer observing causally this would have been readily apparent. Mainly because Filthy Henry was currently sitting behind the desk in his office with his head pressed down on the wooden surface and both his arms wrapped over it in a protective manner. A comparison to a human attempting to do an ostrich impression without all the messy sand would not have been inaccurate.

The reasons the fairy detective was having a bad day were varied and many folds. Rarely changing in quantity but merely swapping priority. Yet today the number one spot on his list of problems was in the building with him.

Cleaning it!

Why are you doing that? Filthy Henry said from within his safety cocoon.

Would you shut up already, it's happening, came the reply.

Filthy Henry sighed, unwrapped his arms from around his head and straightened up in the chair. He looked around at the organised chaos that was not only his place of work but had also been his place of peace and Zen. At the moment there were pieces of Zen everywhere.

Filing cabinets had been moved, their drawers pulled open so that the contents could be taken out and strewn around the floor. Boxes were stacked anywhere a box could be stacked, which mostly meant stacks of boxes on top of other stacks. There was what Filthy Henry could only assume was a sweeping brush propping open the door to the office, revealing that similar madness had started to occur out on the landing.

It did not sit well with him.

Couldn't you at least do this when I am not working, he said in the direction of the open door. That way I wouldn't have to put up with the mess-in-cleaning-progress. Or you, for that matter!

A woman's head appeared from the other side of the door; her hair tied up in a long ponytail that dangled over her right shoulder.

I heard that you jackass, she said.

You were meant to, Shelly, Filthy Henry replied.

Go out and get some coffees or something will you! Better yet try and find a case for us to work on. You know, drum up some custom? Maybe dazzle people with that award-winning charm you've got.

Shelly shot him a dirty look then disappeared from sight once more.

You're not my bloody assistant! he said.

Yes, I am! Just get used to it.

In the past four months Filthy Henry had found himself wondering how he had gotten into this current working situation.

Originally Shelly had just been a client of his, a human with a slight ability to see the Fairy World despite not having any magic in her blood. This in itself was not uncommon, most humans at a very early age were easily able to see the Fairy World. Some particularly creative sorts just kept it on in a limited capacity when they grew into adulthood. After helping Filthy Henry solve a case which had a tenuous connection to her own one there had been a little unpleasantness and Shelly had been killed. Which Filthy Henry thought was a little unfair and probably would have reflected badly on himself in the long run.

Clients being killed while helping solve cases was definitely not the best way to bring in repeat business.

So, the fairy detective had used a wish granted by Lé Precon, King of The Leprechauns, to return her to life. Lé Precon brought Shelly back from the great beyond, with a minor addition. She could now see the Fairy World completely on her own without any magical help from Filthy Henry. Her blood now had a little fairy magic in it. Not enough to cast spells, but enough to make her a little more than human.

Both of these were facts that Shelly knew nothing about. As far as Shelly was concerned, she had simply been knocked out and her second sight was still something the fairy detective provided via the spell he had cast on her when they first met.

The wish, payment for solving the case for Lé Precon, had meant to be used so that Filthy Henry could become a full blood fairy. Instead Shelly thought that the King of The Leprechauns had simply double-crossed Filthy Henry. This little lie had allowed Shelly to teach the fairy detective a thing or two about cursing as a result.

But since that last case Shelly had decided that her new focus in life would be to constantly annoy Filthy Henry, under the guise that she was his partner in solving fairy crime.

Which had never been something Filthy Henry had ever needed, and he was pretty damn sure he still had no use for. Since Shelly was an artist, which went some way to explain how she had had the slight fairy viewing ability to begin with, she had no real work commitments. Nothing to pull her away on a regular basis and prevent her from claiming to be the fairy detective's assistant.

I really do need coffee, Filthy Henry said to himself.

He pushed back his chair, picked up his brown trench-coat from a pile of old case folders, and made his way towards the door of the office.

The desk phone started ringing. Alas it was not located conveniently on the desk, as desk phones usually were found, which made answering it a problem.

Another victim of chaotic cleaning.

We've a phone? Shelly asked, coming down the hall and walking into the office with another box to be stacked.

I've a phone and an unwanted lodger, Filthy Henry said. Now where did you put it?

He dropped his coat on the ground and started to search amongst the mounds of papers and boxes, choosing the old 'push everything over without a care until you find what you want' approach used by males everywhere. A search technique that served to both find the item sought in the shortest time possible while also not-so-subtly pointing out that the cleaning could be undone in a matter of seconds.

I didn't move anything, Shelly said. Why would you just assume that I moved it?

Because you're cleaning an office that hasn't been cleaned in thirty years, that's why! Ah here it...well now that's odd.

Filthy Henry lifted a battered cardboard box out of the way, dropping into on the floor behind him without a care for how it landed, and bent down. Carefully he picked up the phone and gingerly carried it over to his desk, placing it down on the spot that had formerly been home to his head.

The phone was a typical rotary phone, black in colour and retro in shape. Its ring sounded like a dozen little cat bells all going half a second after each other. It showed no sign that the person doing the ringing was going to hang up any time soon. There was nothing too fantastic to note about the phone in any way at all, aside from the fact that it most likely belonged in a museum.

How's it ringing? Shelly asked, looking at it with great interest. Is it one of those novelty mobile phones or something? You know, the ones that are just made to look really old?

No, it's an old phone, Filthy Henry said. Nothing modern about it. In fact, it would probably be counted as an antique at this stage. So how it's ringing is a good question because it isn't bloody connected up to a wall socket at all. Which I guess would explain why I don't get many phone-calls. Now I come to think of it I am not entirely sure I ever paid a phone bill since I got it. Good thing most of my custom comes via word of mouth and not misprinted business cards.

You think? Shelly said. Answer it already will you, it might be a case.

I really don't want to answer a phone that has no right to be ringing.

Why not?

It might be a case!

Shelly rolled her eyes and reached over, picking up the receiver before Filthy Henry had a chance to stop her.

Celtic Investigations, Shelly speaking. How can we help you today?

Celtic Investigations? Filthy Henry mouthed at her before being pushed away from the desk.

Shelly nodded along to whatever was being said on the other end of the phone for a few seconds.

Ok, that’s no bother at all. Sure thing, I'll tell him. As soon as we can. Absolutely. You know where the office is? Perfect, we will see you shortly then. Okay you'll see us shortly. Thank you.

She hung up the phone and smiled at the fairy detective.

It was somebody with a case.

Brilliant, Filthy Henry said sarcastically. Some banshee lose her voice or something? Who was it and how were they calling on a disconnected...

Filthy Henry felt something magical tug at his body; a spell. Not a malicious one, generally spells that meant you harm tended to explode in loud noises and bloody body parts without giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder as a warning. No this was a spell that was being cast on himself and Shelly with great care, so that it would not come as a surprise when it took effect.

He walked over and picked up his discarded coat.

Where are you off to? Shelly said. The client said he would be collecting us here.

I'd grab your coat if I was you, Filthy Henry said as he pulled on his trench-coat.

The full power of the spell kicked in at that very moment and Filthy Henry realised that his day had been pretty good up until then. It was only when Shelly had answered the phone that everything had started to go bad.

Chapter Two

TELEPORTATION WAS SOMETHING Shelly had only ever experienced once before in her entire life. It was a strange method of transportation, apparently employed by various races of the fairy folk in place of walking. On the face of it the idea seemed logical enough. You were in one location, magic happened, then you were in a completely new location. All without the