Murder Story Part 2

Sorry this is kinda late. Here is the second part of my murder story. If you haven't read the first part yet, it is the post directly beneath this one. Please comment here or on Facebook if you read this. Thanks. :)

“Why am I even here?”

“Because we have questions for you regarding the death of your sister,” I said, as calmly as I could. Tyler Wilson had been in this interview room with me for the last hour while I bombarded him with questions about his relationship with Carrie. He was beginning to get irritated and I was starting to feel frazzled.

“And you think I killed her. I killed my baby sister?”

“She did owe you some money and we found some rather angry sounding texts from you on her phone.”

“Yes, I was upset. I wouldn’t kill my only sister for six hundred dollars. Are you crazy?”

“People have killed for a lot less.”

  Tyler folded his arms and glared at me.

“I am done talking. Get me a lawyer.”

“Of course,” I said, standing up and pushing my chair under the table. “Do you want some water or coffee?”

 Tyler just stared at me and said nothing. I nodded and left the room.

“Is he talking?” asked my favorite officer.

“No. He asked for a lawyer,” I answered, leaning down to get a drink from the water fountain.

“Alright, I’ll make the call,” the officer said. “Good effort.” He patted me on the shoulder pushing my face into the stream of water. I sputtered a little bit and stood up, wiping my face with my long sleeve.

“I was thinking of talking to Karen Smith again to see if she might have seen or heard anything that maybe she forgot to tell me about the first time.”

“Good idea,” the officer agreed with a nod. For once he did not sound patronizing.

“Hello, Detective Reynolds,” Karen Smith greeted me as she opened the door. She was half smiling and seemed a lot more agreeable than the last time we spoke.

“Hello, Miss Smith. I am sorry for dropping by unexpectedly.”

“No I understand. I should not have been so rude to you last week. I was a little emotional but I do want to help in whatever way I can.”

“I understand,” I said, walking into her apartment.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Karen offered.

“That would be very nice, thank you.” Karen went into the kitchen and I wandered around the living room.

“This is a beautiful picture. Where is this?” I asked, pointing to one of Karen on a hike with some friends.

“Oh, that was taken in Spain,” she answered, craning her neck to see which picture I was looking at. “I spent a semester there in college. It was a wonderful time.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It was,” Karen said, walking into the living room and taking a seat in her brown armchair. I could hear the coffee maker gurgling.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to ask if you remembered anything about the day of Ms. Wilson’s passing. Did you hear any fighting or see anyone coming or going from her apartment?”

 Karen stared down at the floor and bit her lip thinking about my question.

“Not that I recall. But her apartment is down the hall from me so it is possible something went on without me hearing it.”

“Of course,” I agreed, writing down some notes. Karen got up to pour the coffee.

“Was it not a suicide though? That was my first thought when I found her body.”

“We have reason to suspect a homicide. We are questioning Ms. Wilson’s brother. It seems they may have had an ongoing argument so there could have been some resentment between them.”

 Karen nodded thoughtfully as she poured steaming coffee into two pale blue mugs.

“Come to think of it, she did mention something the other day about them having a disagreement. I certainly didn’t realize it was so serious.”

“Well we are not saying he is guilty yet. Just looking into possibilities.”

“Of course,” Karen said, handing me a mug and sitting back down. I took a sip and immediately felt my tongue burn. I quickly swallowed the hot drink and gave Karen a smile.

“So good,” I said. “Could I use your bathroom real quick?” I asked, setting my mug down on a coaster on the coffee table.

“Of course. It’s right back there,” Karen said, pointing down a short hallway. I got up off the couch and walked to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind me, I took off my jacket and hung it on a hook on the door. I turned on the faucet and stuck my sore tongue under the stream of cold water. Much better.

  Once my tongue had cooled off, I turned off the water and dried my face on one of Karen’s fluffy brown hand towels. I looked in the mirror and smoothed down my hair. This interview was definitely going better than the first.

  I reached for my coat and just as I had grasped it, it caught on the hook and fell out of my hand and the hook followed it making a loud clang on the tile floor. I stood there in shock staring down at the mess I had just made. Just when I thought the day was going well, this had to happen.

“Is everything ok in there?” Karen asked, knocking gently on the door. “I heard a crash.”

  I blushed deeply and opened the door.

“Yeah, I hung my jacket on the door hook and when I reached for it, the hook fell off. I’m so sorry.”

  Karen dismissed my flub with a wave of her hand.

“No big deal. I just need to screw it in tighter.”

  She leaned over and grabbed my jacket off the floor and handed it to me.

“Come finish your coffee. I’ll fix this later.”

“Thanks, but I really should go talk to some of the other neighbors.”

“Of course,” Karen said, understandingly. “Let me know if there is any other way I can help.”

“I will. Goodbye,” I said, slipping my jacket on and rushing out the door. I rolled my tongue around in my mouth. It felt better but I could still feel where it had burned.

 

  When I got back to the station I grabbed a bottled water from the break room fridge and swished some around in my mouth. I couldn’t decide which was worse, my burned tongue or breaking Karen’s bathroom door.

“Oh there you are,” my officer friend said, sticking his head in the doorway. “Karen Smith called the station.”

“No doubt to complain about me,” I thought, taking another long drink of water.

“She said you left your cell phone at her apartment.”

I felt my jacket pockets and sighed. It must have fallen out of my jacket when it dropped to the floor.

“Tell her I will pick it up tomorrow. I think she has had enough of me for one day.”

“Ok then,” the officer said, tilting his head and looking somewhat confused.

“Are you ready to talk to Mr. Wilson again? His requested lawyer just showed up.”

I sighed again.

“Sure I’m ready,” I said, wanting nothing more than to go home and put this day out of its misery.

Murder Story Pt. 1

I haven't finished the story yet but I couldn't wait to post the first part. I started writing and it took a slightly different direction than I expected. But that's part of the fun of writing.
Please be honest in all of your comments and reactions and keep in mind everything I know about police investigations I learned from Law and Order so no it's not going to be totally accurate there. But I hope you enjoy it for what it is. :)

  I stood in apartment four twelve looking at the scene before me. A young woman lay dead on the rug that covered her wooden living room floor. A puddle of blood surrounded her head and soaked into her hair. Her arms were out to her sides and one of her hands loosely grasped a gun.

  This was the first crime scene I had been called to as a detective. On my drive over I had felt like a professional from a TV crime show and now I felt like a scared child wearing a pretend police badge from the dollar store.

 “Detective Reynolds,” said a voice behind me. I jumped slightly.

“Yes, hi,” I stuttered, and immediately regretted it.

“Hi,” the officer responded, looking a little confused. “One of the victim’s neighbors is outside in the hall. The one who found her body. I thought you might want to speak to her.”

“Yes of course,” I answered, nodding and reaching for the pen and notebook I had put in my jacket pocket. The officer led me to the hallway where a woman who looked to be about the same age as the victim, stood crying into a tissue. She looked up as I approached.

“Hi, I am Officer…er…Detective Reynolds,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Karen Smith,” she whimpered, reaching out her hand and shaking mine. I cleared my throat.

“I was told you are the one who found the victim’s body.”

“The victim?” Karen repeated incredulously. “She had a name. Carrie Wilson.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I’m sorry,” I apologized, writing the name down at the top of my notebook page. I scribbled “Karen Smith” under it. Yes, I was definitely a professional.

 “Well I was hoping you could give me a statement about how you found Ms. Wilson and any details you might know about what happened.”

  Karen nodded.

“Can we do it in my apartment? I hate standing out here in the hall with all these cops staring at me.”

“Of course,” I agreed. We walked down the hall to apartment four twenty. Karen opened the door and I followed her inside. She motioned for me to sit on the couch and she sat across from me in a brown armchair. She pulled a new clean tissue from a box on the table next to her and curled her feet up under herself.

“So um…can you tell me what happened? How did you find Ms. Wilson?”

“Carrie and I were best friends,” Karen said, holding back sobs. “She was going to be in my wedding at the end of the year. My maid of honor. I was taking some bridal magazines over to her to get ideas for centerpieces. I knocked on the door but no one answered so I tried the knob and it was unlocked. When I walked in I saw her lying on the rug. The gun was in her hand and blood was everywhere. I freaked out and called the police.”

  Karen paused to blow her nose.

“I don’t understand how this could have happened. Everybody in the building loved Carrie. She was always sweet and happy. There was no reason for her to kill herself or for anyone else to kill her.”

  I nodded.

“I am very sorry, Miss Smith,” I said sincerely, writing things down in my notebook.

“You said you were good friends with the vic-with Ms. Wilson?”

“Yes. Like I said, she was my maid of honor.”

“Of course. And where were you yesterday morning when her death occurred?”

  Karen looked at me like I was stupid.

“I told you. I was in my apartment getting ready to take some magazines to her.”

“Yes of course,” I said, nodding quickly and writing more things down.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked.

“No,” I muttered, wishing I could disappear.

“How about instead of interrogating me, her best friend, you go out there and find the person who did this?”

“I want that just as much as you.”

“I doubt it,” Karen said, giving me an angry look. I tried to counter with a friendly smile but it quickly faded.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Smith. I will see myself out.”

 Karen didn’t say anything and I stood up from the couch and walked to the door.

“Have a good day,” I said before stepping out into the hall.

“Wait, what? Did I say “have a good day” to someone who just lost their best friend?” I thought to myself. I sighed.  At least this was not going to be a difficult case to crack. All the evidence so far pointed to a suicide.

 “Did you get a statement?” the officer I had spoken to before asked as I walked back down the hall.

“Yes I did. She was a good friend of the victim. Doesn’t really strike me as a suspect at this time,” I said, hooking my thumb into my pants pocket and leaning on one leg. I started to feel like a cool detective again.

“That’s good to hear,” the officer said, patronizingly. My cool feeling vanished and I stood back upright.

“Yes well, let’s get back to work,” I said decisively, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape. The officer followed behind me and I was pretty sure I heard him chuckling.

  It had been a little over a week since I walked into the scene in Carrie Wilson’s apartment and had my terribly awkward interview with Karen Smith. I was at my desk typing up all the paperwork that came with being a detective when my favorite officer came up behind me.

 “How is everything going? Have the fingerprints been identified yet?”

  The officer nodded and dropped a tan colored folder on my desk.

“The gun was registered to the victim and all the fingerprints on it belong to her.”

“Well that is pretty open and shut then I guess,” I said, opening the folder and glancing over the pages.

“Not so much,” the officer answered.

“What do you mean?”

“We found a shell under the victim’s couch. The fingerprints on it did not match the ones on the gun. They are not hers.”

  I looked up at him with wide eyes.

“So she didn’t kill herself.” I blurted. The officer shook his head.

“Not likely. Unless she had someone come over and load the gun for her. This is most like a homicide.” 

New challenge!

So I got a story suggestion via text to write a murder mystery. It's something I had never done before but I decided to give it a try. I already have the plot in my head. It will obviously be a story that is longer than a couple pages but since I got no other suggestions, I'm breaking my own rule and going for it.

I'm going to take a few days to write it and I will post it here in pieces. I hope you guys are as excited to read it as I am to write it! Check back in a few days for the first part.

I'm back!

So it's been quite a while since I posted on this blog. Honestly, Google has made it very confusing to keep track of all my Gmail, YouTube, and Blog accounts. And I'm apparently on Google+. Who knew?

Anyway, for anyone who hasn't read this blog, you can probably figure out by the title that I enjoy writing. I am actually trying to write a full length book but I've been having some serious writer's block lately. However, I still have the itch to write. So I am hoping writing some short stories on here could get me back in the groove.

That's where you all, my readers, come in to play. I am giving you the task of coming up with story ideas for me. Keep in mind these are meant to be short stories, not Lord of the Rings trilogies, so please keep the ideas simple with a plot I can finish in one or two Microsoft Word pages.

As far as what kind of ideas, I am open to anything. Silly, scary, serious, sad, happy, angry...I was given a suggestion in the past to write a story about a yard of grass that had to avoid being cut by a mower. (If you're interested you can scroll through my previous posts and read it.)

My only request again is that you keep the story ideas short and simple.

Obviously I may get several suggestions at once so I'll pick the one I like most and write on that. If I don't pick your topic, please feel free to suggest it again the next time I ask.

The other thing I ask of my readers is to actually read the stories and comment on them. And please be honest with what you say. If you think the story is terrible, say that. If you think it's the best story you ever read (which would be awesome but I'm not anticipating it) say that.

And my third request, and this is really simple, is please don't plagiarize my work. If you feel the need or desire to share any of these stories, please do me the courtesy of attaching my name to it.

Thanks! And I hope to get some comments soon.