I haven’t talked about her during the novella, but she slowly gained more and more attention and became a fundamental support for James and Roger. Who am I referring to?
I’m referring to Rita, our exhibit officer! I initially thought of her as a secondary character. I then changed my mind, and thought: why shouldn’t James and Roger have another partner? Why shouldn’t this partner be a woman? Rita was perfect; I like to think of her as a gentle, shy girl with a serene and quiet attitude who prolifically passes her days of work collecting, examining, cataloguing, and archiving exhibits found on the crime scenes. A pretty boring job, isn’t it? But not for her; Rita is an observer. She feels totally comfortable with operations which involve analysing and pondering details that might seem insignificant, but – as she has demonstrated for the entire story – they, instead, are full of meaning and importance. Have you ever wondered how a day at work looks like for her? This was a special day. A day in which Rita discovered something very important for the intricate investigation James and Roger were dealing with. The alarm went off for the third time. An arm slowly emerged from the red and white stripes duvet and stretched towards the mobile on the bedside table. “Five minutes more, please.” Rita whispered, and turned her back to the source of the annoying noise. The alarm rang again, and Rita lifted her head. Her eyes were half-closed, and her hair unkempt. She grabbed the mobile. “I hate you!” She said, turning off the noise. “Why do you have to do this to me? I need to sleep! After all, it’s only…” Rita swore and jumped off the bed as though a savage animal had bitten her. “It’s eight o’clock! I’m gonna be late!” The thud of her paces stopped in the bathroom; the top part of the pyjama flew on the bed, shortly followed by the trousers. She frantically got out the restroom in underwear brushing hysterically her dishevelled hair. The brush rolled next to the sleeping clothes. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt which were folded on a chair. Rita jumped along the corridor trying to don the trousers as fast as possible. When she reached the small kitchen, she filled the kettle with water, and turned it on, struggling to wear the shirt. “Come on, bloody sleeve!” She mumbled and glanced at the hanging clock. “It’s too late! I’ll have a coffee at work!” The kettle clicked off when Rita returned from the bedroom. She had donned a purple sweater on the shirt and opted for a dark grey wool coat jacket. Her inseparable brown leather bag slung over her right shoulder. “Why am I always in a rush?” Rita sighed, and closed the door leaving the room in a peaceful silent; a white cloud of steam puffed up from the kettle. The reader beeped, and the wee light on top of it flashed green. Rita put her ID badge in the bag and entered the long corridor to her office. “Exactly nine!” She smirked. “It’s been such a run, but I made. I hate Mondays.” The office was a medium-size open-space room with two four-persons desks arranged in the central area of the chamber. The screens of the computers cast their flickering blue light on the brown surfaces. A huge window running along the wall on the opposite side let the shining rays of the sun get in. “This case is giving enormous headaches.” Rita sat at her table and started scrolling down the list of exhibits on the screen. “James and Roger want to know when I find something that might be of interest for them, but, so far, I’ve found nothing.” The list contained the most interesting, and, hopefully, enlightening exhibits they had found at Ivonne and Justin’s house. Rita perused those catalogues for the umpteenth time, but nothing caught her attention. “I don’t know what to look for exactly.” She disappointingly sighed. “They have normal lives. Nothing eccentric or unusual. I... wait a sec!” Rita scrolled up, and read again. “Ivonne collected tube tickets. This is quite strange.” She opened the drawer and took out a plastic bag with the tickets inside. “According to James and Roger’s profile, Ivonne had regular habits.” She took a sheet of paper and checked it. “So was Justin. Two ordinary persons.” Her eyes grew wide-open as she glanced at the list of Justin’s objects. “Uh-uh.” Rita bit her lip. “It seems that an Oyster card was found in Justin’s room.” Her mind was a train of thoughts. “What if, I mean, I might be wrong, but what if this might be the common connection we’ve been looking for?” Without brooding on that too much, Rita grabbed the phone and rang up Transport of London “It will take a few minutes, madam.” The clerk said. “Hold the line, please.” A melodic tune started, and Rita observed the last sample James and Roger had found: a battered business card. Rita had hardly composed the name on it, Doctor Heisemberg, but the address remained a mystery. “The card is too damaged.” She sighed. “There are only two identifiable figures of the postcode.” The two figures were a number, 1, and a letter, H. Rita was still pondering those contact details when the music stopped, and the voice of the clerk sounded in her ear. “Hello? Madam?” “Yeah, yeah, hello.” “I checked the routes of those tickets you asked for. The owner of Oyster card regularly travelled from East London, Canning Town to be specific, to Central London, Marble Arch.” “Excellent! What about the other tickets?” Rita narrowed her eyes. “Well, they instead started from West London, Holland Park, to Marble Arch, too.” The clerk said, and, before Rita could ask questions, he added. “Quite curiously, the travellers use to get off in Marble Arch on the same days; every Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” Rita frowned. “Coincidence? Or something more?” She thought. “Could you do a last favour to me?” She kindly asked. “Could you verify what time they used to travel to or get off in Marble Arch?” “That’s what I wanted to say.” The man said. “They used to travel in the late afternoon, and the difference of time is approximately half an hour. Same difference any other day they caught the tube.” “Same time, same day, same route.” Rita thought. “These are the only routes they travelled. The Oyster card record doesn’t show any other journey.” “Same time, same day, same route.” Rita thought again. “Is there anything else I can do for you, madam?” The clerk’s voice brought Rita back to the reality. “No, thank you. You’re being very helpful.” She hung up. “Marble Arch.” Rita pondered. “What’s Marble Arch area postcode?” Rita googled ‘Marble Arch postcode’; a huge smile grew on her face. “Gotcha!” Then she typed ‘Doctor Heisemberg W1H’. Rita burst into a satisfied laugh, and happily clapped her hands; she then wrote down her discoveries. “I presume James and Roger will find this information very helpful.” Rita mumbled to herself. “Well, done Rita.” This is the second short story dedicated to ‘The fear eater’ novella. If you liked it, and you want to read the novella, you can find it on Wattpad for free. CLICK HERE. Take care and see you the next week with the story of Claire’s death. Cheers!
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