The Lady of Many Names: {Clara} {Tate}
Tate sat on the corner, collecting his thoughts. He'd just come from the crime scene, and his notes were rapidly taken with a messy hand. He let the notepad lay in his lap as he replaced his gloves and adjusted the brim of his brown derby hat.
He'd just returned from a four-year stint in Japan. His mother's family had requested his presence for important matters; at its conclusion, he returned to Wales to assure his father's well-being before heading home to London. He loved this town; he felt it was easier to fit in. A Japanese-Welshman in a wheelchair could have be the culmination of minorities, but he got by. His job afforded him the freedom that most invalids like himself could not afford.
However, Tate didn't think of himself as such. A man of different abilities,perhaps but not an invalid. His chair in particular, was the sole reason of his independence. His father, an inventor, designed a much more mobile chair and his son was the owner of the third prototype.
Across the way was a pub, wherein a few of the patrons might have witnessed the murder. He rolled in, a few of the people turning around to see him, He decided that he'd like a drink before he went about his job.
"A little liquid courage, please." he asked the barmaid from his lowered seat.
