Chief Detective Inspector Charles London rubbed the scar that ran across his temple, the remnant of a drug bust gone wrong.

“Hey, chief, got another headache?” Edward Tolliver, London’s sergeant asked, a bit worried.

“Yes, but it’s not bad yet. I’ll just finish the report on the Metro Jewel heist, then I’m heading home.”

Detective Constable William Deacon looked up from the stack of mail he had been going through. “This is weird.” He had removed one old piece of parchment from another old piece that was folded in the shape of an envelope with the tips of his fingers.

Tolliver said, “What’s weird? I hope it’s not another squirrelly case. The idea of retiring and raising turnips is sounding better and better.”

Deacon walked over and placed the old half sheet of parchment on Tolliver’s desk. There were two words written in old fashioned Middle English printing:

Tolliver frowned. “Is this a joke?”

Pulling a pair of tweezers from his pocket, London reached across and deftly picked up the parchment. After examining it carefully, he said, “Where’s the envelope?”

Using tweezers, Deacon picked up the piece of parchment that had been folded into envelope and handed it to London. “It came in this.”

London carefully examined the envelope. “There won’t be any identifiable finger prints on the envelope—just postal workers’ and the CID mail personnel.”

Frowning, Tolliver said, “Do you think it’s something more than a practical joke?”

“I don’t know,” London said, “But I have a funny feeling about it.” He pulled a plastic evidence bag from his desk, put both papers in it and sealed it, writing the date and time they had been received.

Looking at London, Detective Constable Farmer said, “I received a similar letter. It came while you and the team were finishing up the Jewel Heist. We were so busy at the time that I didn’t think anything about it, with all the tips and weird contacts.” 

He stood and began rifling through a pile of papers and notes. “These were left from that case.” Finally, he found what he was looking for.

“I handled it without gloves because it was just another piece of paper. Before he could touch it, London handed him a pair. “Use these.”

“Right.” Farmer said, pulling on the gloves. He picked up the paper and the envelope and slid them into the evidence bag that Tolliver was holding open for him. 

Taking the evidence bag, Tolliver compared the letter, then he handed the paper to London. “Same words—different script.” 

The door swung open and London’s commanding officer, Superintendent Hinckley said, “London, I need to have a word with you.”

London handed him the two evidence bags. “What do you think, sir?”

Hinckley studied them for a moment, then he reached across London’s desk and turned on his desk lamp. After studying them for a few more minutes, he said, “I’d bet the farm they were written by the same person even though the script is different. He’s not a professional calligrapher, but he’s better than average.”

He watched London rub his temples. “It doesn’t look like your headaches are getting any better.” He didn’t wait for London to reply, but took a letter from his inside suit pocket. “Your orders. The Assistant Commissioner wants to send you to the Riviera for a month or until your headaches get better.”

London said, “I don’t want to go to the Riviera.”

“You don’t have any choice. You are to take a month off and vegetate until your headaches are a thing of the past. I can’t say you’re no good to the department with these headaches because it would be a lie. You’ve solved more cases with the headaches than all our other Chief Detectives without them, but Doctor Stevens says the headaches will begin damaging your brain cells.”

When London opened his mouth, Hinckley stated. “There will be no discussion. Get out of here. Don’t come back until your headaches are better.” He paused adding, “And don’t tell anyone where you’re going. If we can’t contact you then we can’t pull you back in for a bad case.”

“Yes, sir.” London sighed. “But what about these notes?”

Hinckley shrugged. “They’re probably the work of a crackpot. I’m serious, get out of here.”

“Yes, sir. I have three more sentences to finish on the Jewel Heist and I’m done.”

“Good.” Hinckley said. He looked around. “You’ve all done superior work over the last three months especially for a team that’s just come together.”

He nodded to them as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Constable Deacon said, “It’s nice to be appreciated, but it would be even nicer if it showed up on our paycheck.”

“Dream on, my boy,” Tolliver snorted. “Dream on.”

Farmer looked at the notes. Shaking his head, he said, “My gut is telling me that these notes aren’t from a crackpot and if all hell breaks loose, we won’t have any way to contact you.”

Georgette Harrison, the group’s profiler, handed London her report. “Like Farmer, I have a bad feeling about this case, if that’s what it is. I’m thinking that we don’t want to lose complete contact.”

Tolliver said, “We don’t have much choice. We have our orders and Charles does need some down time to get his health back.”

“What if we split things?” Georgette said.

They looked at her like she was crazy. “What if we handle everything else that comes up, but if we get anymore weird clues we contact London, just to keep him in the loop.”

London had been rubbing his temples. “That’s a good idea.” He shook his head and groaned. “Like the rest of you, I don’t think these notes are the work of a crackpot. At this point, we don’t know what we have, but we don’t want to dismiss whatever it is, either. I’m going to Ghost Haven. Even though they aren’t open yet, Courtney Spencer offered me a secluded room with a view over the Moors. The inn is still being renovated but she says it’s warm enough to hike and there are a group of Orienteers who are giving lessons on using map and compass. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try. You can contact me there if you need me.” He stood and shook hands with each of his men.

“You aren’t going to drive, are you?” Deacon asked him.

“No. Courtney arranged for Tabitha Black to drive me down.” His tone was dry. 

Tolliver said, “I know you aren’t fond of Tabitha, but she salvaged the case that Parker muffed, and she wouldn’t take any credit. She also saved the lives of those constables.”

London shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess.”

“Damned with faint praise,” Tolliver retorted with a grin.

Deacon said, “I think she’s pretty. I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.”

London rolled his eyes, then said, “Enough already.”

Georgette laughed. “Guys, you aren’t going to change his mind.” She looked at Charles, “But even you have to admit she’s a phenomenal painter.”

 Ignoring them, London said, “Try not to get into anymore trouble than you need to, until I get back.” 

Suddenly he felt a familiar shiver run up his spine. Something bad was going to happen.