Case 1: The Stolen Identity The air was chilly and carried salty moisture in the air, La Havre a port side city, remained small and close to the ocean. As fall settled in, rumors have spread through the lips of concerned citizens like ocean waves lapped at tides to sink back into the nothingness. Words like, tragic murders, and how could anyone do such a thing. Especially to their own family. Spread around. Then faded into the dark alleyways. The port side had seen its fair share of tragedy. Though not quite something like this. 1887 seemed as dark as the dark ages currently. Cobblestone streets slicked with morning dew. And pulled wagons passed common folk in narrow streets. Meanwhile, faint music was being played at a port side bar. As unusual people found themselves in a safe haven. Once a motel, burned down by a terrible tragic fire, then rebuild as a bar. Not much was known about the patreons who partook in the drinks. Even more mysterious were the consultants of the police force, that took refuge in the bar as their home and a side job. The door of the bar opened, few people looked. They were use to the Head Inspector walking in now and then. Head Inspector Baskerville looked around. Either looking for Him or Her. “Gidget,” Baskerville called out over the swooning sounds of slow playing instruments. And while all of that was going on. Upstairs, in a corner room, was a young man, looking over a typewriter. Dark circles under his eyes and a blank expression suggested long nights of little to no rest. Cracking his knuckles he had always promised himself that he would write down their cases. More than willing to title them, the port side tales. Yet, procrastination and tiredness was his common enemy when it came down to actually sitting down and doing so.