Such was the situation with a case so cut-and-dry. As Hakuba had only been there as an assisting detective and not fully in command, he had been reigned in and manhandled by the officer he was assigned to. That meant no asking personal questions of the culprit, of reassuring them, finding some way – any way – to assist them. No, once the case had been solved and the handcuffs put on, said murderer was dragged to the police car and that was that. At least for now. There was time, yet, before the trial, and he was certain that his services would be called for again for interrogation. But that was for the next morning. 

The problem for the evening was finding something to distract himself until it was time for scotch and, eventually, an attempt to sleep. Case files, perhaps? He had plenty to work with. 

Hakuba stepped into his bedroom and locked the door behind him as was customary when he was working (thusly, the bedroom was locked nearly all of the time), and flicked on the light switch. Then, it was to the corner fireplace where he checked on the large, wooden clock on the mantle, comparing the time with that of his pocket watch. The glass cover was pulled, swinging open to give access to those ever so delicate metal hands which he adjusted with care. Cover replaced, the detective offered it a familiar smile and nod before heading toward his desk…

…to find the roses.

Three, to be more specific.

“Been and gone already…" Hakuba touched the stem of each one, then the petals, pads of his fingers brushing over silky velvet tenderly. He set his briefcase aside, took up the flowers,  and enjoyed their fragrance as he stepped to the nightstand next to the bed, where a vase containing the other roses was stationed.  After taking a seat on the edge, he used his free hand to open the drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors which he used to cut each stem at an angle, collecting the pieces of discarded stem in his palm. Newly clipped roses joined the others and Hakuba returned to his desk. Stem pieces went in the rubbish bin underneath, scissors were wiped clean with one of the handkerchiefs from the detective’s pocket. They were then returned to the drawer. 

It was back to his briefcase and work desk then, bringing the case with him. He set it up on the side, where it would catch the most light from the lamp ,and smiled as he set to work, removing file folders and pages of stapled documents, preparing himself to begin another long evening of extensive reading.

Then he sighed, and cast a glance to the window. It had always struck him how much it looked like Wendy Darling’s. Actually, he had been certain that it was designed with that , specifically, in mind, mirroring his bedroom back in London. The same panes of glass set in wooden frame over a large window seat, catching the moonlight just right to spill over the area rug. And occasionally, he even had a visitor that was not entirely unlike that fictional Peter Pan. 

He stood and moved to the window, unlocking it with practiced hands, and peered out into the darkened, evening garden. Another sigh.

"One of these nights,” Hakuba said absently, hands running along the sill of the screenless window. “I’ll actually finish your riddle. It’s not so easy for me to write, you know; I’m not so much a writer as I am a reader… butI am working on it.” Then he chuckled. “Of course, with every rose and gift I have to up the ante and… well, this is going to end up a novel at this point. Or at the very least, a sonnet." 

He sat down with a huff on the window seat, pulling a knee up to his chest, arms wrapping around that leg to get comfortable as he watched the moon rising. 

…the mysterious figure didn’t actually hope to escape, did it?