At two-thirty in the morning a passerby discovered the body of the young perfumery heiress, Sophia LaRué, floating in the Thames by Tower Bridge. As of yet, no one has come forth with information and the family deny any knowledge of a grudge being held against their daughter or their company. The investigation has been undertaken by Detective James Bingley of the Metropolitan Police force. If anyone has any information they are urged to contact the police on WHI 12 12.

Some forty years after the night on which this story is set, a dying detective lay in the oncology ward of St. Thomas’ Hospital. Braving the reaper’s venal scythe, he watched the Thames dissolve into the orange and purple hum of the city. Mesmerised by the Millennium’s hypnotic eye, the detective’s chest rose in a heroic sigh. He turned to his son.

“You see…this is Kormachov’s suicide note, which I found at the scene…addressed to me.” The air in the room stagnated, deadening the cells of the skin. The father, without explanation, placed his glasses down over his eyes and began to read.

His father continued; “For it is now, with my soul bequeathed to the prospect of eternal damnation that I seek solace and reprieve. It is now, I, who must sacrifice my crown to the greater player; that benevolent dispenser of karmic retribution.

‘It was in the game of chess that my fancy for the future became a reality. To escape from the present and evaluate the speculative time thereafter, seemed, to me, to be the greatest indulgence of consciousness. The awareness of reaction and thus the pre-emptive action to suppress the aforementioned gave me greater delight than the visceral qualities of humanity, which in turn began to disgust and appal me. In the dimensions on the chess board I discovered the true meaning of integrity, aside from the farces of marriage, friendship and democracy which constitute normality for us as a species. Each piece is removed from the appetites of luxury and pleasure, or curiosity towards spiritualism or science, and instead functions as an entity in their own prescribed existences. Pawns do not envy the nobility; they instead strive for the sustainment of their society, albeit betrothed to their limited movement whilst, at the same time the nobility do not scorn the proletariat. – Is there a more beautiful metaphor for society than that of the King and the Pawn, bound to the same step? – Devoid of emotion, they simply exist for their own existence.

Detective James Bingley’s eyes stinging, his heart, heavy from the burden of a lifetime’s guilt, turned to his son for the last time and clasped his hand. His eyes then rested in the River, where forty years previous his life had ended.