The SOET Express

It was very sudden of all the answers to this crime. Scam Likely, a name which scams for money which connected to the plan. The unknown wealth of the Davis'. And the picture of the German. And the long line that awaited to get into a train. It was only a dime past five and the detectives came forty five past four. After ten minutes, the line shortened to them. Through that time, Detective Doxin noticed something. A man had a trilby hat, although it was black—not brown. A young woman had a brown jacket as in the picture. A man had the same pair of sunglasses, and another man had a different color of the mask, but the same design.

When Doxin and Jacques entered the train, the Wagon Lit conductor immediately went up to them. "Welcome to the SOET Express," he said with a cheerful grin. Doxin gave him an uneasy greet saying the same words that Arthur happened to use. "Isn't someone else supposed to do that?" "Well, the person was sick. He had a cold and a fever at the same time," the Wagon Lit Conductor explained. "Tant pis," Det. Jacques said.

They took a seat by the window. Doxin immediately explained his questions. "Did any of the staff plan on going to London?"

"Only four that I know of," Det. Jacques asked. "Last names of Harvey, Peters, Sheard, and Mane."

"Why not their first names?" Det. Doxin wondered. "They thought it was too personal," the french detective answered. Det. Doxin darted a vexed stare. "Didn't you tell them that you were a detective?" "Whoever said I interviewed them." Doxin sighed. Then, he got up to ask certain questions from the locomotive engineer. "Hello, may I ask something of a certain matter?" he asked. The engineer cleared his throat. "Yes, you have about two minutes."

"Do you have passengers that have the last names of Harvey, Peters, Sheard and Mane?"

"Yeah, perhaps. They're two carts behind the last."

"No one is two carts behind the last, there is no last if there is something behind it."

The engineer gulped. "You're a detective aren't you." Doxin nodded. "Now if you please, tell me the real answer," he said calmly.

"They're behind us," the engineer confessed. Doxin walked to the cart the engineer had told. As he entered the cart, the same suspicious people he had pointed at the long line. Using the evidence, these people must've been the staff. He went to the person with the trilby hat. "Good greetings," Det. Doxin greeted. The man was pretty confused—which he darted. "I'm a detective—Detective Doxin," the detective introduced.

He sat down.

The man looked uneasy.

"So, can you tell me your whole name?"

"Edward Marcy Mane." "Where were you born?" "Swedien." The detective wrote down the notes gleefully. "Are you particular with the raid on the 16th of June?" Mane nodded his head. "I was notified back home. I took some time off and went back home because I was very homesick. When I was notified I was just having a talk with my son of how pumped we were for jollification of Father's day. I got a call from the manager. The hotel was going to be closed for the time being."

"Who was your manager?" Det. Doxin asked. "Riley Jini Denbinarth. Was a girl, because you know those names that can be—"

Doxin softly laughed.

"Did she know anything about the raid?" "Well, of course. She was the one that called."

"When did she get the information?" the detective asked.

"She got it when you guys came," Mane answered strongly. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, much of the information I needed." Detective Doxin confirmed.

Det. Jacques sipped a low sip of dark wine from 1988. "Mane was somewhere a part of the crime," Det. Doxin said suddenly.

"So you interviewed him, didn't you," Jacques asked. "Très intelligent."

"He said that he was homesick. So, his shift was cut short. He told me as they were talking about the joy and excitement for Father's Day, they got the call about the raid.

"I respected his certain words. One of the staff was interviewed earlier today and said they hadn't seen him since three o' clock. And the crime happened a nickel after seven. I asked who his manager was, it was Riley Jini Denbinarth. I asked him when did his manager know, he said when we left the room."

Jacques nodded, but then folded confusedly. "Wait how did he—"

"He wasn't a clever liar, that's for sure. It is pretty impossible to know when your manager knew when you were at home. But, there are many ways to find out. Next we need to find Harvey."

Owen:

It was sure enough that it was night to Owen. Either way, it was dark being stuck inside a small trunk. Owen could hear his own breathing for sure, but it was heavy. He tried to touch the lock but it was too dark to even set his eyes on. Owen pantedly reached his hand to push.

He was all out.

Luckily, the car came to an unexpected stop. Owen coughed and raised his body up. The trunk clicked and a few seconds later came a man who opened the trunk. All of them were wearing black masks around their face. Owen was not a fan of karate, so he used some of his thought lessons. He only managed to do a chop on one person which they teetered a bit.

They shot something unknown which numbed his arms and legs. Pretty much everything was numb inside of him. He couldn't feel his own eyes blink which happened to be more fascinating than scary. He tried to speak but he had no mouth of his own, which is how it felt. They checked his pockets real quick for a quick examination,which is what that particular group did when they weren't in their HQ. "Nothing in him so far."

"We'll have a real examination when we get into the HQ." They grabbed softly and put him back into the squished trunk.

It was later that day—that night when they reached their headquarters. It was pretty empty and small for a headquarters. But then, the ground opened up slowly from the ground.

It was actually perhaps underground. They knew it was dumb to do it like in the movies—big and strong—but it wasn't really smart. Perhaps—underground worked best for them. The place was white and grey, except for the ground which was black. Owen mumbled with the numbness on his mouth. What stood among him was someone he had seen before and was very particular with. The man with the mask.

It was more of a handkerchief wrapped around his mouth more than a mask—but was used for the same meaning though. "Here's the little chip," he said with the same sinister voice. A mumble was only given by Owen Davis. "Someone just give him a shot," the man said. The troop gave him a shot and the numbness disappeared in Owen's body.

"Who are you?" he asked, with a shake in his voice.

"You wanna know who I am?" the man said, walking towards the boy. "Call me by—Mr. Scam."

"Why are you doing this to me? I did nothing wrong—I suppose."

Mr. Scam looked Owen in the eye behind his sunglasses. "You suppose? I don't think you have a reason to suppose. It's only your father that has a reason to...suppose." In his words was a malicious pause, possibly awkward too.

"Well, what did my father do?" Owen asked dumbfoundedly. Mr. Scam darted a suspicious look at Owen and slowly took his seat. "Your aunt on your father's side—him included—had some business to do with us. In a little misunderstanding of a certain of your mother, they took the money and ran!

"But to be more specific, your mother was a rich woman. Told to kill her and bring the money, your father ended up in love with the woman. Of course, we thought it was the greenbacks to take. But it was true, he was deep—very deep. Unluckily, a wildfire took place in your home—it was the idyllic time to take the money but he ran with it and you.

"It was only the time we needed to fulfill the mission that we had to take your father and delete his bank account from many places. But you only knew the password."

"Well, I won't tell you," Owen said, trying to sound brave. "Well, you're hilarious," Mr. Scam chuckled.

Doxin:

"Bonjour, mon ami," Det. Jacques greeted. Det. Doxin rolled his eyes vexedly. "Bonjour, et tu dois être Detective Jacques?" the man with the sunglasses spoke gracefully. Det. Doxin widened his eyes. Maybe, some people do know French. "Would you please be kind enough to say your full name?"

"Victor Bourneti Denbinarth."

Doxin eyes widened more. It was not expected but was somewhat related to the crime.

"Have you heard about the raid in Las Vegas?" the french detective asked. "Oui monsieur—although nothing related to it. Mademoiselle told me about the whole thing. Is the boy still alive?"

"Yes, the boy is still alive but was recently kidnapped if you look at the picture."

Mr. Denbinarth seemed deeply horrified. "Mr. Scam! Pretty obvious!" he shouted. "Vous connaissez cette personne?" Det. Jacques asked.

"We used to do some business together. It was just unfortunate that we had to kill a rich woman to steal her money. My friend was in love with her and managed to marry her. Although a bad wildfire happened and the mother was killed unfortunately, I tried to help deliver the money to him but he never called. Well, until that night."

"Do you know who is behind Mr. Scam?" Jacques asked. Mr. Denbinarth shrugged. "All through my life, he's been wearing that same handkerchief around his mouth. No one dared to try to touch it. He actually broke one's bones for that.

"I technically don't know his identity as much as you guys." Det. Jacques got up. "We don't any more of you for now. But Merci, au revoir et bonne journée."