Detectives

The apartment sat, stacked in the middle of London. The apartment is not quite as important as the people who choose to reside within it but it plays an important role in housing said people and keeping them from being dead.
The people who live in the apartment are Dan Fort and Donald Ulen and they are about to be called upon to solve a particularly nasty series of murder cases in which the murderer leaves a small rubber duck as his calling card at the scene of the crime. The reasoning behind them doing this is that they are, in fact, detectives. So far they had absolutely no solved cases involving any crimes or any cases at all for that matter. The reason the police have chosen these fine, young detectives to solve this case is a simple matter. Every other detective in London had been killed. That’s right, the other detective; nicknamed half-man for his lack of a left eye and left leg was also the police’s first choice had been murdered by the killer in question. This left the illustrious Fort Ulen detective agency the only place qualified to solve this murder. Inside the apartment hangs a sign.
“Stay out, detectives at work” says the sign, with all the feral ferociousness of a moth. The men themselves are already hard at work on a case, the case of “I left my laptop at the coffee shop, can you find it for me?” It was a tough case and the importance of it hung heavily over the heads of our heroes. The phone rang under a pile of paper. It was an old fashioned phone, the dial thick and heavy and the wire curling up towards the, quite frankly, huge receiver.
“Huh, you’re in. Good, I suppose. It’s me, John, head of the police department.” Said the phone.
“What is it you want sir?” Said Dan, shocked. The police never use us, why do they want us? And what was the last law I broke? These were some of the questions buzzing through his mind.
“Yes. Well, there was a series of murders; we need you to find the killer. The only information that we have on him is his calling card; a rubber duck. Think you can handle that?”
“Err, urm, well, that is to say, yes. Yes I think we can.” Said Dan cautiously looking over at Donald as he gave a slow nod.
“Well that is just…” John struggled to say the words, in conjunction with the current situation they just seemed wrong, “…fine. Come over to 14 Hants road, the latest victim is there.”
“We’ll be right over, sir.” Said Dan and buzzing with anticipation, he hung up. Donald looked up from his magazine,
“We’ll be roight ova suh.” He parroted.
“Hey, stop reading. Did you not hear the phone? We have work!” Dan said, persevering through Donald’s aggressive personality. “Look, this is the first work we’ve had in a few months, ever since we found Mrs. Gardener’s lost cat on the tire of our car. We have to take this seriously, you ready?”
“Suh, lemme just get a coat, suh!”
“Oh, er, ok then, nice change of tone.” Said Dan, he always got nervous when sarcasm was around. “Let’s go.” Dan’s car lay near to the pavement, it had been customised by vandals, someone had spray painted a cat on one of the wheels and “Killers!” on the bonnet,
“You know it was that old lady who did this, right? As revenge for killing her cat.”
“Who? Mrs. Gardener? She wouldn’t do this sort of thing, she’s more of a ‘puncture all the tires and remove the seats’ sort of girl.”
“Yeah, whatever, let’s just go.”
“Right, so off we go. Into the great unknown wasteland of the criminal underground, yet again. Exciting isn’t it?” Donald stayed silent, slowly making a tiny nodding gesture towards Dan.