The Grote family mansion was built on the outskirts of Crime Alley. Huge and foreboding, the mansion was built by men in power exploiting the weak and profiting off their sins. Most of security was cleared out after the murder in place of lazy police officers slacking around and drinking beer.

Matt tried to gain access to the crime scene through legal means but the cops in charge weren’t having it. Sitting in front of the scene of the murder was a fat cop that smelt like grease. Matt could hear the cholesterol taking rounds around his heart.

“Ease of the fried food Carl,” Matt said before he left.

“Eh shut up shyster,” Carl said, waving his hand dismissively. “You ain’t my wife.”

Matt made a mental note of the layout of the mansion before he left, making his way to the back of the mansion. Noting the guards patrol routes and also which guards patrolled each hallway. The murder scene was in the 3^rd floor bedroom. He wouldn’t be able to climb up there without alerting the guards. He also didn’t want to be spotted. He’d have to be smart. He waited five minutes, making sure the coast was clear before he got ready.

He took out his blazer and tie, throwing them in a dumpster. He untucked his shirt and tied his mask over his face. He wore a pair of leather gloves to make sure his fingerprints wouldn’t be found in case he was spotted. He jumped over the fence, hiding in the bushes.

One guard was in charge of the back. Matt checked around the bushes looking for anything that’d be able to distract him. He found a rock and threw it, the guard’s heartbeat spiked and he heard his footsteps receding. Matt crept through the bushes, keeping track of the officer’s footsteps as he climbed up the walls of the manor to the second floor.

Matt would have to walk around the 2^nd floor seeing as that was the fastest way to the murder scene with the least number of guards. Matt was about to enter through the window but then he heard a police officer walking by the window. At the bottom, the footsteps of the officer he distracted started getting louder.

The police officer by the window wasn’t moving and the one who was distracted was starting to get closer. The officer started by the window started to move, Matt climbed into the window. He’d normally never attack a police officer but desperate times.

The police officer turned; his heartbeat spiked.

“Who the hell are…”

He was about to call somebody with his walkie-talkie but Matt kicked him in the stomach. Before he could even react, Matt punched him across the face, ripped away his walkie-talkie and got him in a choke-hold. The officer struggled under his choke-hold, desperately trying to elbow Matt but soon his body slacked and the officer was knocked out.

The radio was static. Matt sprinted towards the other side of the second floor, making sure not to alert anyone. He went to the window, making sure the coast of clear before climbing up the wall to the murder room.

The window clicked open. The smell of blood and rum was strong. Matt stepped on a fur carpet, pungent with the scent blood. A mahogany table was by the window, the scent of wood polish almost blocked out everything else. Matt locked the door to the room, to make sure nobody entered.

The radio was still buzzing out static.

Almost everything had already been submitted into evidence but Matt could still smell the stench of a fur carpet soaked with blood and beer, it was easy for him to know the locations of the blood stain and the beer. And in the feint, lingering smell of the rum that spilled across the floor, he smelt it. A sleeping drug. There was nothing in this room that was admissible into evidence. He sniffed the air one more time and…

The static was starting to clear. “Walt, you copy?”

Underneath the carpet was a piece of glass. A piece of glass that stank of the bitter smell of a sleeping drug. There was more, pieces of glass were scattered all over the carpet, small but caught in the furs of the carpet.

“Walt, you better not be joking around.”

Matt gathered the pieces of glass, placing them in an evidence bag he ‘borrowed’ from the precinct. He placed them inside and was ready to leave but…

“Can somebody go check on Officer Walter, he isn’t answering. Anybody close by?” Pause. “Okay, Officer Brendan.”

He smelt her. For some reason she always smelt like roses. Touching her felt like touching silk, kissing her felt like paradise. Smelling her again brought back memories that made his heart ache.

“Officer down!” Brendan shouted. “Officer down! He’s still breathing but…”

What was she doing here? What was her smell doing at a murder scene? Unless…

“Look around he must be…”

The doors of the mansion burst open like thunderclaps. The officers’ footsteps shuffled across the marble floors like a hailstorm.

“What the hell?” Carl grumbled, the door to the crime scene rumbled. “Lars what the hell are you doing? You’re not fucking…”

“There’s a thief or a freak running around,” Lars growled. “Move your fat ass out of the way.”

What was Elektra doing her? Why was her smell so prominent in this room?

The door burst open.

Lars spoked into his walkie-talkie. “The crime scene is clear, sir.”

Matt untied his mask. He took out his blazer and tie from behind the trash can. As police officers scoured through Grote’s manor for the man in the mask, Matt walked away from the manor, walking stick clattering across the pavement.

…

The door to the interrogation room burst open. The blind one walked in, walking stick clattering across the concrete floor.

“Your hair looks like a mess, blind boy,” Grotto said.

“Walked in front of an air vent,” Murdock said, waving his hand not holding the walking stick dismissively. “But my hair is none of your business, Mr. Grote.”

Murdock shuffled through his blazer pockets pulling out an evidence bag. He placed it on the table. “This is, however.”

“What’s this?” Grotto asked, running his hands through the evidence bag. “Also, where the hell’s the fat one? The jittery one.”

“My partner couldn’t make it,” Murdock said. “As for what’s in the bag, well a friend of mine over at the crime scene found some glass shards scattered around. He found nothing of interest except maybe traces of a powder on the edges.”

Grotto’s eyes widened. “Evidence.”

Murdock smirked. “You have a brain after all.”

“Why the hell aren’t you submitting it or whatever the hell you lawyers do?” Grotto said. “This gets me out, right? This is my get out of jail free card?”

“You’re right about that,” Murdock said. “This is enough to get you acquitted…”

“But what?”

“I want information,” Murdock said. “Drug routes, weapon supply routes but most of all, human trafficking routes.”

Murdock leaned back. “You see, children have been missing and…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Grotto said. “You can do whatever the hell you want but there ain’t no way in hell I’m snitching.”

Murdock let out a light chuckle. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You see I know about the Albanians.”

Grotto’s heartbeat spiked. Matt smirked. Bingo.

“Now you’re already going to be unpopular with the jury,” Matt said. “Prosecution are already going to jump on the fact that you raped…”

“Look I…”

“… A fifteen-year-old,” Matt said. “But after that she was found dead. Her and her family. Without this piece of evidence, you’re gone. And not only are you going to be unpopular with the jury but you have a bunch of Albanian boys your brother got arrested. What do you think’s going to happen to you when you get locked up? Huh, Grotto?”

Grotto clenched his fist. Matt could hear his heart drumming with rage. He looked like he was ready to punch Matt across the face.

“So, Mr. Grote,” Matt said. “What will it be?”

Grotto looked into Murdock’s red shades, from the shades it looked like the world was on fire and he was in the middle of it all.

Grotto clenched his fist. He wasn’t bright. Dad used to say that, mum used to say that, hell even Liam. He’d always used to pick fights and let his anger get the best of him. Sitting across from Murdock all he wanted to do was punch him straight across his pretty little face. He always sorted out his problems with his fist, that was what always got him into trouble but he didn’t care. His dad taught him from a young age to punch away your problems and young Grotto and his mother were always the punching bag.

Now, because he was stupid, he was standing across some crippled bastard who owned him, who made him his bitch without even trying. A crippled bastard he would have otherwise beat the crap out of if it wasn’t for the situation he was in. Once he was free, Mr. Murdock would get the message. But for now, he’d have to play along with his demands.

“Fine,” Grotto said. “Fine, asshole.”

Matt smirked. He took the evidence bag. “I’ll be taking this.”

“Y’know,” Grotto said. “My mum used to say the Devil isn’t like what you hear about in the bible. He wasn’t a horned monster or whatever they told you about in church. No, my mum used to say the Devil always wears a suit.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Grote?”

“I’m saying, Mr. Murdock,” Grotto said, emphasising his surname with venom. “You’re the devil.”

“Oh, Mr. Grote,” Murdock said with a smirk. “I’m well aware.”