The detective kicked his shoe against the desk. He was tired of being one step behind the killer. Enough was enough. He sat back down in his chair and began to read through the files once more. "There must be something I had missed," he thought to himself as he reached for the cold cup of coffee. Taking a big swig of the stale drink, he looked at the crime scene photos once more. It wasn’t enough. Something was missing. He sat back up and grabbed his jacket. The crime scene was only a few blocks away. He burst out of the office and saluted his receptionist as he left the building.
As he made his way through the hustle of the city, a man barged into him almost knocking him into the road. As he swung around to react, the man who hit him had disappeared into the thickness of the crowded street. At this point, he was so aggravated by this case, he wanted to find this careless man. He didn’t care that it was just a bump. He ran down the closest alleyway to see if any strange men were lurking. Nothing. No one. Just some old, wet papers scattered across the ground. He carried on and crossed over towards the victims’ house rubbing his shoulder from the collision. Finally, the detective reached the block of flats and went inside flashing his badge at the front desk. He stepped into the elevator and pressed for the top floor. As the lift rose, he pulled his pen from his jacket pocket. A folded-up piece of paper fell out hitting the floor beside him. He picked it up and unfolded it. “STAY OFF THE CASE OR YOU’RE NEXT!” What the hell was this? Was it the man that hit him in the street? The elevator dinged for his floor and he stepped off. He pulled a pair of large sized, rubber gloves out of his satchel that he was always carrying. He slipped them on, careful not to rip them. He ripped off the worn-out crime scene tape outside and stepped into the gloomy apartment. The body had been long gone, but the place still smelled of death. An emptiness hung in the air, choking him with silence. Every step an echo as he made his way down the hall and into the bedroom.
Blood splattered walls and in the center of the room, a dried patch of blackish colored blood where the woman had died. Stabbed seventeen times. Overkill. He walked further down the hallway. More blood grazed the walls as it settled in the corner where the man was murdered. Neighbors never reported any sounds, so it looked like the man had been shot with a silenced weapon. Once in the chest where his body hit the wall, and once again on the floor where he lay. He must have still been alive after the first shot.
The detective looked around. The bullets had been dug out of the wall and again from the floorboards. The suspect must have taken them, so there was no trace of what kind of gun was used to kill the man. He went back into the bedroom and examined it. The killer wasn’t seen entering or exiting the building, so he must have gained access from the window in the back of the apartment, from the fire escape. But why creep past the man to murder the woman so brutally? Was it a mistake? Did he even know the man was there? It would explain why he was shot in the hallway.
The detective walked back towards the fire escape. The window was well fitted and made no noise as he opened it. He peered out the back street below. A man sitting in the alleyway. Homeless, it looked like. Maybe he saw something the other night. Maybe he was the one who killed the couple. Anything was possible. But where would he have gotten the gun if he was homeless? The detective closed the window and began to make his way back down the hall to go question the man in the alley when he stopped. Frozen. He heard the soft creak of the floorboards from the bedroom. He drew his weapon and held his breath. Not knowing what to do, he carefully stepped forward. He could see the shadow of a figure moving in the bedroom. No one knew he was here. He took a deep breath and stepped into the doorway of the bedroom. Gun drawn, ready to fire…