Monday morning came and went, Norman was quite productive going out on thirteen calls, he worked hard and was hungry and tired when he called it a day. He said goodnight to Lillian, locking up his shop and heading upstairs to his quiet flat. It was around seven in the evening when he finished his dinner and plopped down on his comfy sofa, switching on the television, as he opened up the evening edition of the London Times. Norman had been anxiously awaiting any news about his crime in the newspaper, and tonight his long wait was over. For there on page three, Norman saw the story of the young man's murder, a picture of Teddy was printed next to a picture of the 'murder house'. Norman became very nervous and worried as the realization set in that he was living on borrowed time. Norman knew the long arm of justice would be reaching out for him soon. When? He could not say, but soon. Norman could feel a terrible pain deep in the pit of his stomach. He read the article, disappointed to see the police had released a list of all the items stolen from the house. Harry read the same article and promptly hid away the Stubbs painting, along with everything else he had received from Norman through nefarious means. Harry, very easily, could have turned Norman in to the authorities but that would implicate himself and draw unwanted attention from Lady Justice, and this would never do! So Harry, along with everyone who owned the stolen goods, kept their mouths shut. No one would get involved, nor would they incriminate themselves, so they all kept quiet. However, fingerprints speak for themselves. Three latent prints were taken from the latex glove and the brilliant, scientific minds in one of the worlds leading forensic laboratories used a few strips of plain, ordinary, scotch tape to obtain the much needed evidence. Unfortunately, for the era in which the detectives lived, there were no computer date bases of criminal fingerprints available, and DNA testing was not yet an advanced science. However, there was a records department that contained, secured away in file cabinet, after file cabinet, after file cabinet, etc.. over one million fingerprints taken from criminals and trouble makers over the past thirty years. So it was up to three detectives, England's finest dactylographers, who were well practiced and trained at the art of studying fingerprints. Chief Inspector Detective Fowlers's team would sift through the files and locate the evidence they needed desperately. The C.I.D team would, indeed, find a match contained there in the endless files, it was only a matter of time and patience. It would be a long hot summer for the detectives.
Now our Norman had been arrested on several occasions in the past for, what else, fighting. If he had only been able to control his temper when he was seventeen, nineteen and in his early twenties the police would have never arrested him or even know who Norman was. But the evidence, his fingerprints, the match to the killer's glove, was just waiting to be uncovered. Norman Pierce set his mind in a different direction, away from panic and fear. Instead he packed up all his clothes and, of course, he filled one of the suitcases with the McDowell's money he had taken from the safe, just before he bashed in Teddy's brains. The money was the only thing he had left from the 'murder house', well that and all the crates of liquor, and the marble bust of William Shakespeare. Norman had only taken the sculpture because he thought it looked like something a smart person would have in their home. But now Norman hid it in the back of his closet covering it with a blanket, because, according to the list of stolen items it was a rare, hand carved, white Carrera marble bust of the Bard from the 18th century. Norman filled another suitcase with a few bottles of whiskey, vodka, champagne, along with a few grams of cocaine and a large amount of cigarettes and marijuana. He called up a car from the service and highed himself over to Hyde Park where he checked into a two room suite at the Dorchester, one of the most luxurious five star hotels in the World. Here Norman would spend the long nights that summer being treated like a king. How much time he would spend there was up to the police and detectives who were looking for the 'vicious killer', as Teddy's murderer was being hailed in the press. So Norman settled down in the posh comfort of his hotel suite, drinking whiskey and smoking weed and, even though he was in the most comfortable feather bed with silken pillows and sheets, our poor Norman could not sleep.
Now our Norman had been arrested on several occasions in the past for, what else, fighting. If he had only been able to control his temper when he was seventeen, nineteen and in his early twenties the police would have never arrested him or even know who Norman was. But the evidence, his fingerprints, the match to the killer's glove, was just waiting to be uncovered. Norman Pierce set his mind in a different direction, away from panic and fear. Instead he packed up all his clothes and, of course, he filled one of the suitcases with the McDowell's money he had taken from the safe, just before he bashed in Teddy's brains. The money was the only thing he had left from the 'murder house', well that and all the crates of liquor, and the marble bust of William Shakespeare. Norman had only taken the sculpture because he thought it looked like something a smart person would have in their home. But now Norman hid it in the back of his closet covering it with a blanket, because, according to the list of stolen items it was a rare, hand carved, white Carrera marble bust of the Bard from the 18th century. Norman filled another suitcase with a few bottles of whiskey, vodka, champagne, along with a few grams of cocaine and a large amount of cigarettes and marijuana. He called up a car from the service and highed himself over to Hyde Park where he checked into a two room suite at the Dorchester, one of the most luxurious five star hotels in the World. Here Norman would spend the long nights that summer being treated like a king. How much time he would spend there was up to the police and detectives who were looking for the 'vicious killer', as Teddy's murderer was being hailed in the press. So Norman settled down in the posh comfort of his hotel suite, drinking whiskey and smoking weed and, even though he was in the most comfortable feather bed with silken pillows and sheets, our poor Norman could not sleep.
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