Murder and Theft

By Corinth Panther

A killer is on the lose and no one knows the who, why or even how. Duncan's a thief, the best there's ever been, but now he's behind bars, awaiting his execution. James has been hired by the city to find and stop the mysterious killer. A killer who leaves messages on the walls and his victims drained of blood. James knows he can't do it alone, the city with all their resources can't find this killer so how can he? No he needs help and he needs the best, he needs Duncan. When he hears the Governor of Thieves is in prison he has to see him. The only question is will a thief help stop a murderer? Or will he slip away leaving James holding a very empty bag?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corinth Panther
• Release date: Jun 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223354086

Book preview

To my wonderful cover artist Brittany for her amazingly wonderful original art work.

My husband for all his support, and for listening to my endless rants, and often time interesting ideas.

For my friends for understanding my long absences and often times odd rambles.

Thanks to Tobias Gray for his wonderful work. This wouldn’t be as polished as it is without you.

And anyone reading this, know I am truly grateful.

Opening the Lock

The room was dark. A small window resided high in the wall, close to the ceiling. A single naked gas lamp burned, casting strange shadows which danced and flickered along the gray block walls in the room. The man who sat at the metal table was motionless. He’d been in the room alone for nearly two hours. There was little he could do, not when he was trussed up like as stuffed pig.

Once more his eyes took in the space, one flickering gas light, without so much as a glass shield over it. Metal table which he was currently bolted to with his hands cuffed to the single ring before him. A single chair opposite for the guards to question him from. The walls were block, gray in color and old, though the mortar held well. The window showed him it was night. No wonder he was awake. He couldn’t see the moon but then this time of year he never could, the smoke from the factories too thick over the city to see much of anything. In a few months the wind would change and the skies would clear, until then there would be many moonless nights. Four bars over the window. If he could reach the window he might be able to get out. Windows that high up were rarely as secure as they should be, as few people could reach them. The smell of musk filled his nose, along with smoke and ash. He didn’t smell water so he wasn’t close to the river though he already knew such.

He’d been under lock and key for nearly a month. A foolish mistake getting caught like he had. Amateur really, and he was no amateur. He’d been doing this for more years than he could count. He sighed, a sound which even the most sensitive ear wouldn’t have picked up. His mind roamed over how he’d ended up in chains. He’d entered a house, cut the power to the traps, flipped all the lights off then slipped into the main bedroom. He’d checked everything over before he opened the safe. The damn safe, that had been his mistake. The stupid thing squeaked. The woman who’d been sound asleep awoke, screamed her damn head off and before he could either knock her out or get out the window the police were on him. He should have known the house was being cased. With the newest shipment of medicine, the doctor really would have his guard up.

Thing was the medicine wasn’t what he was after but a small stone which had been shipped with it. The medicine was a cover for the smuggling operation the good doctor ran. He’d been after the goods which were smuggled in, nothing more. Now those goods would reach their target and drive the price up as the quality dropped. Not good for his own work. Of course by now the damage was done unless someone else had nicked them.

Before he could start on another mental excursive, the heavy metal door which had been locked flew open. Duncan stared. He hadn’t heard anything and he knew he hadn’t seen even the vibration as he sat at the table with his hands bound before him. The cops had been careful this time. They hadn’t wanted him to escape like he had nearly a dozen other times. Six locks held him fast. Six locks and they’d done a right proper job of searching him. All his lock picks removed. Normally when he’d been caught they missed at least one, leading him to believe they wanted him to escape. If that was the case, this time they wanted him to stay locked up, for good.

Duncan watched as the man took a seat, folding his hands neatly before him. He wore typical clothes of the day, a suit, with a tie and vest, a shine of a chain marking he had a pocket watch tucked in the small space allotted for it in those fancy vests along with a top hat. All of it looked to have been slept in. A detective of some sort. Hardly worth opening his mouth for. He was only there looking for a quick deal and an easy execution. After a moment Duncan spoke, his voice gruff, and dry. Not interested.

I think you will find this to be quite different. The other man retorted his eyes dancing with excitement.

Silence stretched. Duncan remained motionless as though he hadn’t heard. He gazed straight forward never blinking. One eye as lifeless as the grave and the other a bright green, as if a gas lamp hung behind it. In the shadows no one could see the other odd things about him but those eyes. Normally those who looked at him for too long swore they saw their death in his eyes. Dark long hair covered his head where it could be seen. He had a deep scar starting on the right side of his forehead running to the left side of his chin. It sliced through his nose barely missing his eyes and mouth.

Hello! Is there anyone home? The newcomer asked as he stood waving his hand before the prisoner’s face.

Duncan moved so fast even a cat would have been impressed. He slammed the waving hand to the table, his strength incredible even though he was chained. Only once he’d stopped moving did the chains rattle, catching up to his movement seconds before. He was as fast as a snake, as strong as a bear, and as bullheaded as, well, a bull. With the grace of a cat, and the looks of a shark, he was a terrifying man by most standards. Do not test me, cop.

See that’s what I like about you! Even with the odds against you, you always manage to find a way. He rubbed his hand absentmindedly. It stung where the table top had connected. He leaned back trying not to allow his sudden fear of this man to show. He’d been warned about this prisoner, maybe the guards had good reason to fear him.

Then why am I not out of this cell? The deep voice rumbled through the room.

Maybe you like the food. He looked up at his captured audience Do you still think I’m a cop?

Duncan blinked, a slow action causing his visitor to shiver once more. A foolish one if you are. I said I was not interested. As his lids opened the other man realized he wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were locked on the wall over his shoulder. Was he blind in that shark-like eye?

Oh well, yes, because all cops are smart. This was getting him nowhere fast. I’m not a cop.

Finally the prisoner looked at him. What are you then, not-a-cop? There was something in his voice which spoke of his disbelief.

The not cop frowned slightly. The prisoner was grating on the nerves. Maybe that was why no one had really thought much of his plan. A friend, perhaps a purveyor of freedom.

Duncan sat forward, those mismatched eyes sending chills through those who saw it. I’m scheduled to die tomorrow at noon. I doubt anyone will let me walk free. If you’re not a cop, there’s no way you’ll be able get me out.

Two can play the ass game. Unlike you I’m not behind six locks. His eyes drifted down, there had been six, he was sure, but now one lay not where it had been.

The prisoner glanced at his hands, the mop of hair hiding his smirk. I could make it none if I had the tools. He lifted his head enough to allow the light to catch the scar. It made the man look far more dangerous than he’d been led to believe. I could also be out of this cell and well on my way before you could move to stop me if I had those same tools.

Then let me give you them. A simple yes or no and I take my leave. Yes, you leave with me. A no and I’ll send my condolence card to your folks. His interrogator said.

What parents? Duncan didn’t even blink at the reference. He’d been given the same chance so many times he’d lost count. Every person who walked through that door offering him something. They all claimed they could get him free, they all claimed if he would only help them they would do so. Each one offered to send a card to his parents. He didn’t have parents, at least none he could recall.

The visitor didn’t seem to hear his words as he went on. I have use of a man such as yourself to whom whole offices have been dedicated to finding and capturing. Even now as you sit here waiting for your day with the hangman, nobody is sure if you are really the man they seek. See, no one knows quite what the Governor of Thieves looks like. Right now I don’t care. I’m in a bit of a bind.

More than this? He asked lifting his hands.

The other man nodded, positive there were now two locks missing. His eyes traveled down to the table but they weren’t there. He could swear Duncan’s hands hadn’t moved from the table and yet. Yes, well in my case, not all locks can be picked and not all chains are physical. He watched as those same hands lowered once more. He was torn between watching the hands and watching his face. Duncan was dangerous, no doubt about it.

The prisoner’s eyes slid away once more. No one said the binds which keep me here are only those you see. The pressure on his wrists was growing less, a much more comfortable situation, thank the heavens this man had a small pin holding his cuffs together. He’d caught sight of it when the cop waved his hand.

Knowledge is a skeleton key and I need to open some very dark doors, and who better than the Governor Thief, who is suppose to run the most elusive Thieves Guild. Do they call you Governor or Lord? The other man went on. He glanced down, yes he was down to three locks. Where the hell were they vanishing to? 

Neither. There was no guild, no group he was in charge of. Each thief in the city worked for themselves. Some had a fence they always went to, others worked with anyone. Duncan had his own fence, sometimes the man had a certain item he wanted. Most of the time though Duncan would hit the streets, steal what was worth something and drop it off. His take was good most nights. Enough to keep his belly full. When another lock popped he allowed himself to consider. What sort of dark places did a man like this need opened. Let us pretend I’m interested,

Before I tell you and before you find your way out of more locks, answer my question, yes or no.

He never stopped his work as he spoke. I’d have to know what I’m getting into before I could tell you ‘yes or no’. Bad business to agree to a job without knowing the full extent.

The visitor looked at Duncan’s wrists, only two more locks. Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t. I need to be vague but only out of necessity. We have a killer using unknown means for unknown reasons, in unknown ways with no contacts in the lower areas, least none who have been able to tell us anything. We need to go deeper, much deeper, and you my, I hope, friend, can get us there.

The last lock fell away and he rubbed his red wrist. His skin darker, nearly gray in color. Even as the man watched the red faded leaving only healthy skin it its wake. How the hell had he gotten hurt enough to leave that scar then? Much better. Duncan placed the pin on the table. Thank you for your aid. He shifted, leaning back allowing the shadows to hide him completely. Only his eyes could be seen in the ever shifting light of the gas lamp. I know the killings you speak of. I doubt my own reach is deeper than yours. I’m just a thief, a lowly thief waiting to be put to the noose.

I’ve tested others, he picked up the pin eyeing it. It was still perfectly usable. None were able to get out of one lock, let alone leave the tool they used undamaged. You’re the Thief Governor. I think you would be quite useful.

As cannon fodder? His voice drifted through the room. He wasn’t in the chair any longer, yet the visitor knew he hadn’t seen a shadow move. There hadn’t been so much as a flicker from the flame. How the hell had he moved that fast? My skills are in the shadows, the ability to move without being seen, a talent with locks, doors of all kinds, and of course removing items which aren’t mine. I don’t see how that could be useful to bringing down a killer. His gruff voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. I might be able to steal this killer or at least his victims but as for stopping him? That’s more the line of a killer not a thief.

That would be interesting. Have you ever stolen a person? Your record says you have.

No. Human trafficking isn’t my thing. I prefer my loot not to speak. His hand appeared next to the visitor’s, pressed to the table. If you want one who will, check three cells down. Then the hand was gone as was the presence beside him.

The non-cop sighed, this wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. I hold the key to the final lock. The one which determines if you die tomorrow or a good twenty years from now.

The pin which had been in his hand was suddenly gone. The visitor caught a glimpse of it in the gas light. He’d been holding it and then he wasn’t. He hadn’t even felt it leave his grasp I could be out that door before you had time to raise the alarm. There are eight locks, two guards and you. You’re no fighter, so you’re out of the way quick. There was a flicker in the shadows. And I could have already taken you down if I wanted to. Give me one good reason I should walk out with you and not on my own.

Tell me, was the injection as painful as they say? He was desperate. The voice moved, shifting closer to the window. Could he reach it? The police swore Duncan couldn’t get out on his own but, had he played it too loose?

Duncan froze. No one, absolutely no one, knew about those pain filled years. He’d been eight, maybe younger, living on the streets digging in the garbage which littered the gutters for his meal. He’d been weak, too weak