The night in London was heavier than usual.
Winter had settled completely in Hampstead, wrapping the bare trees in a thin white garment like the fabric of grief itself. The air was still, the lake still, as if the entire city had stopped breathing for a moment.
At the western end of Kenwood Lake, a body floated, motionless, near a rocky, snow-covered bank. From a distance, it looked like the silhouette of a person who hadn't finished walking... until the night watchman approached and saw the truth:
A man in his mid-sixties, with a calm expression, his face turned upward, his eyes open toward the gray sky.
He was wearing a long wool coat, half submerged in the water. A small scratch was on his cheek. A thin line of frozen blood ran down his temple toward a severed ear.
The police arrived quickly. The scene wasn't bloody, but it was eerie with a silent brutality.
The young detective took notes, then said:
"The victim is named Leonard Graves... a well-known publisher... and a former critic for The Observer."
The coroner pulled a small piece of paper from his inside pocket. It was carefully folded and slightly damp, but the writing was still clear:
"This was not a suicide... it was a taste test."
In another pocket, she found five dried figs wrapped in black velvet paper.
"Was he a foodie? Or perhaps a poet?" someone asked.
But no one answered. This wasn't a conventional suicide, nor was it a conventional murder.
It was something else... something that spoke volumes.
The next day, Ella Morgan was sitting alone in her apartment, reading the news in the newspaper:
"Well-known publisher Leonard Graves found dead in Kenwood Lake... Police think unconventional suicide."
She put the newspaper aside and whispered, "Leonard? There's no way he could have ended his life that way... He hated water."
She stood up slowly. The dust covered her desk shelves, and Leonard's books were lined up there... She knew him well, or at least, she thought she did.
But the letter, the ear, the figs... those were symbols she couldn't ignore.
And she knew, deep down, that she was the only one who could read them.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtVKVeLLN6U
