The Italian Touch

Chapter One: The Grand Italia

To have thought that I should be lucky enough to become what I have become would have been considered by many whom knew me as totally unreal. But to me it seemed to be very much possible. I had to do years of learning and years more of teaching but finally I can say that I am a detective of the Law.

I can safely say that my Mother would be proud. As for my Father well that’s a different kettle of fish. You see my Father never thought of me as his own son; no he thought of only my younger sister and brother as his own offspring.

Well when my younger Brother died three years ago, and then my sister also in the same year my Father and I tried to become closer but it was an impossible task…

“Who could that be at this hour?!” said Quinton as he pulled himself from his desk and his writings to answer the door.

“Hello Sir, are you Mr. H. Quinton by any chance?” said a rather small and fat looking boy who stood like a titanic rhinoceros in the middle of Quinton’s entrance. Quinton looked at the boy for a minute or so and then answered as he felt the cold nibble at his nose

“Why yes I am, why do you ask this?” he spoke in his most inquisitive tone that he could do. The boy took from his jacket pocket a small envelope which had upon its surface a magnificent red stamp.

“There you are sir” said the boy as he gave the “package” to Quinton;

 “Thank you” said Quinton in a grateful tone of voice.

“Is that all young man?” said Quinton whom continued to look at the boy quite strangely to which the boy said simply “yes sir.” “Well then run along young man, or you’ll catch your death.” Said Quinton whom now felt the coldness wrap itself around him like a cold blanket of ice. As the boy ran away Quinton looked out onto the dark street and he quickly shut the door.

He entered his living room and then looked out onto the harbour which could be seen on the horizon from all of the north facing windows in Quinton’s house. Quinton’s house was situated on something of a “T” junction in a street which left for the harbour; it wasn’t busy at all at the moment but by the rising of the eastern sun the harbour would be ripe with the fruit of men, women and child doing his or her’s work or even shopping on the market which often had a delightful range of fresh sea creatures such as Cod, Salmon or even scallops and prawns which Quinton absolutely adored.  Anyway as he stabbed into the fire with his poker Quinton once again took a deep thinking look at the envelope; He sat again at his desk and carefully pulled at the red stamp. The letter was written in the finest ink and in the neatest of writing…

Dear Mr. Henry Quinton,

Mr.Quinton I am having the unfortunate job of writing you this letter in the saddest of circumstances. I am afraid that whilst on her latest visit here to stay with us my sister and your wife Mrs. Elizabeth was taken ill several days ago and unfortunately has not recovered; last night on the fifteenth September 1892 Mrs. Elizabeth sadly died in her room, she died a peaceful death whilst sleeping. We are to wait for your response until we start to arrange the funeral arrangements. Also I wish to know what you wish to happen to Master James, we believe that in his greatest interest he should stay here with us and then come to you at the start of the next month.

Yours with deepest regret and sorrow,

   Lady Annabelle Richards.

Before he had even read a single word of the letter Quinton knew immediately that it was a letter from his “late” wife’s sister.

“Let’s see what she’s got to say for herself then.” Said Quinton as he started to read the letter; it took him about a minute to read it and read it again until the news sank in. Like a tone of bricks hitting him the news battered Quinton; he could only make a few words with his mouth one of which was quiet simply “oh.” He sat in his brown leather chair and starred at the letter suddenly he felt a small tear run down his left cheek, “silly fool.” He said as he burst into tears that saw him fall to a slumber…

At the sound of people running around outside Quinton awoke still sat by the fire in his leather chair; he yawned and began a journey upstairs to change and wash.

 “Oh boy” said Quinton as his dog came to his feet, a quite elderly golden retriever named Alfred.

“What am I going to do, eh, have you got any ideas?” he patted Alfred gently on the head and looked right into his black as coal eyes and walked out of the bedroom to leave Alfred to sleep on his bed. Quinton now refreshed and ready for a good day’s work collected together his papers and quickly stuffed them into leather case and ran for the door. He collected his bowler hat and opened the door to reveal the vibrant city metropolis.

“Good morning sir isn’t it a rosy day.” Said a rather plump man as Quinton past his shop. The shop itself was coloured in a rosy red and a lemon yellow. Quinton stopped for a moment and said “yes it is, and you’ve just reminded me of something that I need for Today.” He walked into the shop and started to look around its stock; he turned and said in very pleaful voice towards the shop keeper

“You wouldn’t have any writing paper would you?”

 The shop keeper put a fat sausage like finger to his mammoth chin “hhmmm” he said in thought

 “I think I have just the thing for you sir.” He turned and fastly walked into the back of the shop.

Quinton was left standing in the middle of the shop, looking around he saw a pile of freshly printed newspapers. He picked it up and turned to the second page where he saw a very interesting story…

Man to be tried for killing two people who tried to kill him “he says”

A man from the Italian capital of Rome is being tried on this Thursday in Calla Del Montana court for murdering two men in the capital last week.  The man admitted to the murders after being in police custody for the last six days,

If found guilty the man who was named yesterday as Calli Pontano will be sentenced to a minimum of seven years of imprisonment in Campenni Prison, also if found guilty of the second man’s murder he will be classed as a mass murderer and will be executed by private hanging in Campenni Detention Hall.

The Man has no lawyer and has pleaded for time to find one. If you want to apply then go to

26 Wemanli Place

Doccotu City Court room 5C

On Tuesday 16^th September

Written by Robert Cyapsi

“Oy! If you wanna read the paper then buy one.” Said the shop keeper as he pulled the paper from Quinton and once again placed it on the pile. Quinton hadn’t taken to this kindly at all and simply said

 “have you my writing paper?!” he looked at the keeper’s left hand which had captured some paper, it looked slightly yellow and was crisp to the touch; perfect for it’s purpose.

 “How much?” said Quinton as he pulled some coins from his pocket

“For five pieces its one forty and for six its one sixty.

“Quinton thought for a second and then said in a more delightful tone “I’d better take six.” He gave the keeper his money in the sum of eight silver coins.

“Thank you sir. Good day.” Said Quinton as he walked from the shop back onto the motorway of the city scene; “and to you sir, and to you.” Said the keeper in a confused voice.

Plenty of the people on the street were perfectly good law abiding citizens but there were a few how should I put it? Toe rags hanging about on the corners. The rags would run around like cats and dogs pretending to have everything from flu to gangrene! “Please sir, please ma’am spare a dime for me.” They’d say in scared whispers. And some poor sucker would fall for it but not Quinton oh no…

  “Please sir spare a dime for me?” said a tiny pimple of a boy sat on the wall of a street corner, coughing and spluttering. Quinton though was always a step ahead and had already seen the same boy a few nights ago with three others that were also street beggars all counting there silver dimes, one even produced from her pocket a solid silver pocket watch which she had stolen from a rich man a few hours previously.  Quinton stopped and looked at the boy in “pity” and put one hand into his right coat pocket to produce a scruffy bag which jangled with the sound of silver. Quinton knew from his senses that just left of him on the side of another street the other beggars were gathering again. Quinton saw the child’s eye light up like golden glimmers of sun light on a summer’s day. “There you are my lad, and don’t go spending it all at once.”  He then walked on until he reached the corner of the street to which he stopped and crept against the wall; he turned to face the way he’d just come to see all the children gather around he saw the “leader” grab the scruffy bag and jangle it. He saw his face break into a glorious smile. The boy opened the bag and his smile dropped, he looked at the other beggars and tipped the bag upside down to reveal several mussels shells. Quinton laughed and walked on steadily giggling to himself every other step…

Chapter two: The first case

Quinton came to a large doorway, its silver knocker in the image of an eagle’s head.

 “I think this is it” said Quinton to himself in a thoughtful tone. Quinton knocked twice quietly on the door and he was answered by a rather tallish man with large bushy beard “Hello good sir, what may I do for you?” he said in light but firm voice. Quinton took a moment to look at the man who stood in front of him like a great African giraffe and finally said

 “I’ve come about the advert in the paper, about the man on trial on Thursday.” He spoke in a voice that he felt made him sound more employer able. The other man looked at Quinton with black eyes and said

“You’d better come in then sir.”

“Thank You.” Said Quinton as he walked up the three stone steps and into the building.

“So then...” spoke the bushy headed man as he & Quinton entered a room to the left of the corridor.

“What’s your sir?” He said as he dipped his quill into the ink well that was sat quiet comfortably on a table at the edge of the room.

Quinton sat down on a small wooden chair and placed his bowler hat and cane next to him.

“Quinton, Mister Henry Alfonzo Quinton.” He said as the other man started to write on what Quinton could only assume to be the application form.

“Date of birth and Mother’s maiden name.” the writer murmed.

Quinton looked out of the window as if reminiscing of his Mother.

The other man looked up and said again “Date of birth & mother’s maiden name please sir”

Quinton turned back to face him again and replied “Twelfth of the second eighteen sixty one.”

The man continued to write and then whispered “And the maiden name?”

Quinton spoke louder “Smith, Mrs. Victoria Mary Smith.”

The man at the desk was about to ask another question but as he opened his mouth Quinton asked him one.

“Sorry, but what may I call you sir?” He said in an inquisitive voice.

The man at the desk looked up and said “Whittam, Mister Alexander Robert Whittam.” “I’ll give you this to fill out, please give me it once you are finished, now good day Mr. Quinton.” 

To this Quinton took the piece of parchment and also his bowler hat and cane and said “Good day sir.” And walked out of the room and back into reality.

How many times have I walked these streets thought Quinton as he walked across the familiar cobbles. Quinton looked around to see the hustle and bustle of the city. He once again found his house; he opened his door to find at his feet three letters upon the carpet. He took off his bowler hat and wiped his spectacles on his jacket sleeve, “Oh, hello boy.” He said as he saw his dog sleeping on the second step of the stairs.

“Let’s see what these are about.” He said as he walked casually into his sitting, the fire from the previous night in ashes and only just letting the black fog fly up the chimney. He continued his journey until he sat on his wooden chair and put the letters onto the writing desk. He found at his hands his letter opener and pulled at the first letter’s red stamp; Quinton at opening the letter found a small rectangular piece of duck egg blue paper.

He read…

Dear Mr H. Quinton

I am delighted to tell you that your application for a position as police detective at the West London Academy of Law enforcement has been accepted. You will start your new position at Nine O’clock on Monday the 19^th of September of this year.

Waiting for your arrival,

Dr. Alfred Cencock,

Chief Superintendent.

“Fantastic!” said Quinton to himself. “Finally I can go to England and with a bit of luck, make it in life.” He turned on his feet and ran to the stairs.

“I must pack. Pack everything” He said with joy in his tone and a feeling of life in his voice.

Many people thought of Henry Quinton as the type of man whom would keep himself to himself but also carried a great and unmarked reputation; at such a young age Quinton had always shown a great deal of interest in the political & continuously decreasing reputation of Law & Justice around the globe. 

Quinton turned on his heels. Stopped and looked onto the top of an old red wood Italian cabinet where he found covered in a sea of dust and spiders webs a small jewellery box. It had belonged to his mother and contained with in it a letter to which Quinton had been ordered by his mother not to open it until the day he became a detective & because Quinton had always said that he was to go to London, she had also said that she would make sure he was kept fed, clothed & warm. He opened the box with a small iron double headed key that came from his mother’s necklace.

He opened it and saw a small note it read…

To my darling son,

I am glad to know that you have created a life for yourself beyond what I could have ever given you. If you do go to London then follow this letter to the letter…

When you get to London go to West Bank Road and go to the Fifth Avenue off that road. Then go to “Little Bears” toy shop and ask for Mr. Wilson Drake. I hope you make your life better than ever and prove your Father wrong.

Eined Quinton.

“Well, well, well”. Said Quinton as he placed the letter onto his bed. At the same time that he did this he heard a knock at the door. Quinton decided to answer after the third knock.

“Ah, Mister Quinton.” Said a man whom Quinton recognised immediately.

 “Mister Whittam, please do come in.” said Quinton in a cautionary tone.

“Thank You. And thank you for the form.” Said Mr. Whittam as the two entered into Quinton’s front room.

“Oh that’s fine.” Replied Quinton as he started to pour two glasses of red wine.

“Your going to be having a very hard time though.” Said Mister Whittam as he took a sip of his red wine.

Quinton then stood square up and said…

“But I’m moving to England in less than a week?!”

“Oh! Bugger it!” said Mister Whittam

“Now, now calm down Mister Whittam” said Quinton with a toot and a shake of his head.

“Well I must go, sorry to hear that though I must say Mister Quinton.” Said Mister Whittam as he pulled himself from his chair and made his way through the darkened hallway.

“Yes, well good day Mister Whittam.” Said Quinton as he followed.

The door slammed shut. Mr. Whittam set off into the coldness of the night and Quinton once again took to his room to study…

“£120,000?!” the man seemed astonished at the price.

“I’m afraid so, but I am open to offers.” Said Quinton as he took the man into in to the kitchen since the removal men were beginning to move the furniture in the living room where Quinton and the potential buyer had been discussing things.

“Also may I add that I have had two offers already and I am in a hurry” Quinton said as the man continued to look at the cupboards and worktops.

The man scratched his beard and tapped his foot and then said in his loud and rather arrogant voice

“I’ll give you £109,000 in cash today.”

Quinton looked around and said “Well I was looking for at least £112,000 but if that’s your final offer then…” the man cut Quinton’s sentence and said with an outstretched hand

“£112,000? Okay then.” Quinton was delighted when he heard this and outstretched his arm and agreed on the foresaid price. 

The autumn was now in full bloom and the air was thick with snow. The cobbles had been frozen and now were too covered in a white glaze of snow. However for many people this time of the year was a very hard and unwanted one. The shipments and catches by fishermen began to decrease in July and now were a fraction of their former selves. Nobody dared brave the harsh weather in fear of catching flu. It wasn’t unusual for the city to receive snow in early September besides it had been a harsh and incredibly cold year which had seen the local river freeze twice before; once in March and the other in August. For Quinton though this sight would become very rare as he approached his leaving date for England. At selling his house Quinton suddenly saw the bizarre realism of it all, how just a few months before he had just scrapped through his studies and also had to bring up a baby with a sick wife.

“Three hours and then we’re off, eh boy.” Said Quinton as he looked through the empty living room window to admire the white blanket that was now the town.

“I simply can’t believe it boy, in less than two days time I Henry Quinton shall be a detective in one of England’s finest cities, London.” He said as he patted his obeying dog on the head.  After about another two hours of waiting and packing Quinton heard a knock at the door. He answered.

“Hello there sir, are you by any chance a Mr. H. Quinton?” said a rather small podgy looking pig of a man.

Quinton looked and said with a delightful tone of voice

“Yes sir I am indeed Mr. Quinton.”

The small man smiled and then said in an equally delightful tone of voice

“Well then sir your carriage awaits.”

Quinton smiled and said with a great amount of joy

“Well that’s fantastic. Come on Alfred.” To which the dog followed. Quinton was finally on his journey to England.

Chapter Three: England & Drake

Getting off the boat and onto the fog filled harbour. Then taking the time to adjust his misted spectacles Quinton looked around his new found surroundings. He could see nothing more than boats and ships and a number of sailors that continued to walk around him. “Dear Lord.” Spoke Quinton as he continued his journey across the harbour.

Quinton looked across the horizon and saw a horse and carriage. He beckoned the driver to come across to him. And so he did.

“Where to sir?” he said and a husky voice.

“West Bank Road.” Quinton received.

Quinton struggled with his cases and Alfred until the driver took to it to do it himself, probably wanting or expecting some extra wage for him doing so.

“Right then sir, West Bank Road it is.”

Quinton got into the carriage and relaxed his head onto the window with Alfred’s on his right knee.

The carriage went past at least a dozen roads and factories. Turning into the city Quinton noticed just how lonely and dark was and just how bleak & hopeless the expressions on the people were.  And as the coach turned yet another corner Quinton saw a distant shop sign which if he was mistaken he could have sawn said on it “Little Bears Toy Shop”. Quinton took to it to knock on the glass of the coach to say to the driver “Here will do fine.”  

“Well then sir, I’ll get your bags and you go on.” Said the driver as he opened the door for Quinton. The street was dark and the tall buildings dwarfed everything around them, hanging over Quinton as if judging him on his every move and word…

The door of the building was a quite delightful green with two golden numbers & a knocker on it which added a greatly needed pinch of colour to the grey backdrop of the street. Quinton stepped forward cautiously and seemingly so did Alfred; the rain pattering down onto the cobbles made Quinton announce his arrival even sooner than he had expected. A simple three knocks of the door did awaken in the house. The door opened with a slight squeak and out stood a young fresh faced, black haired & blue eyed man. Quinton took a second to view the man and then said with a slight stutter

“Oh, are you by any chance a Mister Ismay Drake?”  In his speech Quinton seemed to have already made the answer.

The man stood and too like Quinton took a second to look at the man who stood in front of him. He said in a slightly confused tone of voice.

“No. Sorry, who did you say you were?” he squinted his eyes as he said this.

“Quinton. Henry Quinton.” He said this with an out stretched hand and with proud tone of voice.

The man looked at this so called Quinton character and finally decided to allow him to enter the house, along with the hound and the driver whom looked only seconds away from dropping the luggage.

The first room was quite delightful in its own way. But it also seemed that it was empty. Quinton decided to remain on his feet; after all he was the guest and not the host. What Quinton noticed first of all was that the room had no lighting which for the time was quite new and it was understandable that one might not have enough money to which he or she could have the luxury of installing it their home. So for now the house or at least that room was to be lit only by four large white candles. Quinton continued to look around the room until he was “disturbed” by the man.

“Mr. Quinton I am Mr. Drake’s son, Wilson.” He seemed to have imitated Quinton because as he said this he outstretched his right hand.

Quinton having noticed this decided to join in by saying:

“Sorry what did you say your last name was?” he said this as he greeted the man with his left hand.

“I sir am Mister Wilson Drake. And now let’s show you to your room.

Quinton smiled and followed as the two went passed Quinton’s luggage which had been “Left” by the driver whom had now since gone.

The stairs creaked and squeaked with every footstep that was laid down upon them. The room itself was the second to the left on what can only be described as quite a wide and long corridor which in truth seemed to stretch for miles with no obvious end to it. Drake opened the door with a small silver key which was double ended. He lit a candle as the two walked in. The first thing that Quinton noticed was that it was on slight tilt which meant that if possible his writing desk would naturally have to go next to left corner to go against the wall which hopefully would prevent any of his ink bottles sliding off it and onto the wooden floor. The second thing that Quinton noticed was that the bed had been positioned 

So that the “inhabitants” would be able to see who or what would possibly come into the room on a night or even on a day.

Having noticed this Quinton took to it to ask Drake a few questions.

“So Mister Wilson. Who occupied this room before me?” he said this in a murmur as he continued to become aware of his surroundings.

Drake put a thing blade like finger to his face as he thought.

“I believe it was a Miss. Campton.” He said as if he was not sure of this being the correct answer.

“And she left because?” Said Quinton who turned to face Drake.

Drake’s face turned as if he was slightly disgusted.

“And why should you want to know that?!”

“It is a habit of mine to know who has come before.”

“Well I believe it to be quite rude.”

“Well I believe that you should have to put up with it.”

“I suppose I will.”

Quinton looked at Drake and saw for a split second a younger version of himself. A blunt, feisty & sophisticated young man whom had very little experience of the “real” world.

Quinton then decided to test Drake’s full politeness to its maximum abilities. He turned his head and said in more formal tone of voice.

“And Mr. Drake I should wish to have my breakfast at eight O’clock sharp. If that’s not to much trouble.”

When Drake heard this he headed for the door and then just before leaving he turned again to face Quinton and said

“Don’t bloody push it. Good day Sir.”

Quinton whom still had his back to Drake simply smiled and chuckled when he heard this; Drake then left without another word. In the next three hours or so Quinton managed to both acquaint himself with his room & also managed to stay away from Drake whom still was or seemed to be annoyed with his new “friend’s” apparent lack of politeness.  

“So then Mr. Quinton you have come from Italy I believe.” The two were now on speaking terms and Drake was making it his business to create some conversation. Quinton whom had now along with Alfred settled into their new surroundings simply sat and ate a reasonably nice supper of what Quinton could only assume to be some kind of Beef broth or stew with some fresh bread. Sitting in the dining room, which was very nice in both taste and fashion Quinton continued to flashback to his own dining area. He went back to when he and Elizabeth had dined their that night. All those years ago Quinton remembered how he seemed to have only one thing on his mind; trying to win over that buety that was Elizabeth Richards. He flashed back to when they kissed under the stars one fine evening. And then flashed back to the day when James had entered this hellish but marvellous world.

“Quinton. Quinton!” Drake was getting impatient.

“Oh. I’m terribly sorry.” Quinton apologised.

“So, have you found yourself a job yet?” Drake said as he took as sip of a fine French wine which had a taste of berries and a slight twist of orange.

“Yes. As a matter of fact yes I have. But I thought you’d have already know that?!” Quinton seemed cautious or confused as he said this.

“No I’m afraid.” Drake returned in a blunt tone.

“But surely your Father should have told you?” Said Quinton whom now seemed even more confused.

Drake sat an ate his supper. This small brake in the conversation allowed Quinton time to think…

“When your Mother sent the letter to my Father he said never to look at it. He just said welcome him with open arms and a warm smile.” Drake said this in what Quinton could only assume to be a vague impression of his late Father. Doing what he could to remember anything of his late Mother Quinton continued to try to piece something together. But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t.

“So then what is your new found profession?” Drake asked with a slight undertone of noisiness.

Quinton looked at Drake with a blank look and dark eyes.

“I’m a...well do you need to know!” He said.

Drake’s eyebrows lifted for a second.

“Well. There we go.” He said whilst nodding his head.

Quinton smiled and said.

“You needn’t lie to me Drake.”

Drake laughed.

“I wasn’t. I assure you.”

Quinton laughed as well.

“Yes you were.”

Drake continued to chuckle.

“I think we should have a refill. Don’t you Drake.” Said Quinton as he looked at his empty wine glass. And the two drank the night away.

After the previous nights shenanigans had become mere memory Quinton took to it to take a walk to his work place.

But first he had to take a look around the city first though; or at least a quick look in some of the markets which like Italy inhabited a large variety of fruits and vegetables all of which were in perfect season. Drake had awoken fifteen minutes before and was currently working on breakfast in the kitchen. Quinton eventually pulled himself from the cosiness of the bed at 8:30AM.The morning light that came in from the city to the room was to say the least dim.   

“So last night you didn’t answer me.” Said Drake through a mouthful of breakfast as Quinton entered the front room.

“Sorry?!” said Quinton as he placed his spectacles onto his face.

“Don’t you remember?” Drake said.

“No.” said Quinton looking depressed.

Drake took to his feet and walked across the room to get his coat.

“I asked you if you’d managed to find a job yet.”

Quinton looked confused and then said in slightly weary tone

“Well I have.”

Drake smiled.

“Good. What is it?”

Quinton sighed and said with a snap.

“Am I under interrogation or something?!”

Drake laughed.

“I just want to know. That’s all. Bloomin’ heck.”

The two had there coats on and went for the door. Quinton stopped and placed on his head his bowler hat. He said as the two took a first step on the street…

“If you must know, I’m a detective.”

Drake’s eyebrows lifted when he heard this. He closed the door behind them, leaving the sleeping Alfred in peace for the day.