14th Precinct

Ominous grey clouds billowed the setting sun. The wind bayed like wolves into the night and a jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half and within seconds the roaring boom of thunder reverberated overhead. The rain begins to fall so thickly that in an instant the asphalt road was flooded with water. The heavy droplets of water pounded on the car roof, blocking out the music playing on the radio. The wipers could not keep up with the torrent rain and visibility was reduced to under a metre.

Detective Maxwell and his girlfriend were on their way back home after attending a welcoming party of his close friend, Holden. Suddenly in the distance, a truck headlight could be seen. A truck was on the wrong side of the road. In an attempt to avoid it, Maxwell swerved abruptly to the left.

The car flipped so many times that Maxwell had became disorientated before hitting the roof of the car forcefully and blacked out. His vision kept flashing from a bitter darkness to a blinding white light. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw himself hanging upside down. He frantically looked around for his girlfriend and found that she was thrown a few feet out of the car. Maxwell could taste a bloody taste in his mouth as his waited helplessly for medical vehicles to come. Soon, his eyelid grew hefty and blacked out once again.

When Maxwell finally came to, he found himself lying on a hospital bed with the distinct smell of disinfectant. He had a flashback of the accident and panicked when he remembered seeing his girlfriend of 3 years lying on the wet asphalt road unconscious. His heartbeat went out of control and the emergency alarm sounded. Immediately, doctors rushed in to calm him down. He finally calmed down when he saw Holden but paused when he realised Holden was frowning

“She’s gone, Sophie’s gone,” Holden lamented.

Upon hearing the death of his girlfriend, Maxwell grimaced. Grief surged him with every breath as tears spilt from his helpless eyes. He had lost the love of his life.

Three weeks had gone by since Sophie’s death. Maxwell had learned to accept it though he still missed her. A day never goes by without him thinking of her. He was going to resume his work tomorrow and he was certain Sophie did not want him to drop everything he had worked for.

Maxwell was shaken back into reality as his alarm blared between about six different annoying noises of varying pitch and volume. He walloped the snooze button before sitting up on his bed. With a spring in his step, Maxwell paced to his bathroom to wash up and trim his long stubble that he grew since Sophie death. After he was fresh and awake, he went into his walk-in wardrobe and put on his grey English cut suit. It was harmonised with a dark brown belt and dark brown split toe derby shoe. Sophie always thought he looked charming in a suit. After finishing his breakfast, he hopped into his newly bought Range Rover and drove to his precinct.

It was his first day back and his partner, Elizabeth welcomed him back. The welcome party was cut short when they received a new case. The case was in the outskirt of New York City and it was an hour or two drive to the crime scene. Elizabeth and Maxwell decided not to waste any more time and immediately started their drive.

The case involved a car that skidded off the road and down a cliff. The local police want to rule this case as an accident but they need the higher ups approval so Maxwell and Elizabeth were sent.

Upon arriving at the crime scene, the local police showed them to the location the car was discovered. One officer passed Maxwell a form to show that it was an accident but Maxwell immediately tore it in half.

“What in the world are you doing!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“This isn’t an accident. There aren’t any tire marks on the ground. If your car were skidding, you would slam on the brakes. But there aren’t any evidence that the victim applied any force to the brakes,” Maxwell reasoned.

“Which means the victim was either dead or unconscious when the accident happened,” Elizabeth continued.

The victim was identified as Freya Reid, a television reporter. Crime scene investigators found another piece of glass among the shattered glass that did not belong to the car’s windshield and after further examination, the glass came from someone’s glasses. Perhaps the murderer.

Their first stop was the victim’s apartment. When they entered, the place was a mess and Maxwell discovered a dried pool of blood that had been absorbed by the carpet. Elizabeth slipped a broken mobile phone into an evidence bag and sent it back to the lab. Freya’s apartment was the first crime scene.

Maxwell and Elizabeth went to the local television station to ask a few questions. When they arrived, the station’s manager, Oscar welcomed them and brought them to Freya’s workplace. There, they noticed Darrell, Freya’s boss shouting at Freya’s replacement.

“Is he always like that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Most of the time,” Oscar answered.

“Where are my spectacles! How do you expect me to read the script without them!” Darrell screamed at the top of his lungs.

Freya’s replacement brought him another pair of spectacles as she could not find them but Darrell was extremely upset. When she told him she could not find the spectacles, his face went pale but quickly changed the subject. Maxwell found it suspicious and decided to compare the degree of Darrell’s spectacles to the glass found in the car. It was a match but there wasn’t any reason Darrell would murder Freya.

The broken mobile phone found in the apartment contained messages Freya sent to Darrell. It was the proof they needed to nail Darrell for Freya’s murder.

Maxwell decided to get a pair of spectacles that resembled Darrell’s previous pair. Once he got it, he and Elizabeth went to the television station for the big reveal.

“What brings both of you here?” The manager asked.

“We were planning to ask Darrell a few questions,” Elizabeth replied.

The manager brought us to Darrell’s dressing room. Maxwell took out the replica pair of glasses and passed it to Darrell.

“Where did you find it?” Darrell asked happily.

“Inside Freya’s car,” Elizabeth replied.

“I don’t remember leaving it in there but thank you,” Darrell said after much thought.

“Freya messaged you after she saw you having an affair with your wife at the television station. You were afraid she might tell your wife because of the way you treated her so you confronted her at her apartment and you pushed her. She fell and knocked her head on the coffee table. You faked the car accident but you did not know that the fall didn’t kill her, the accident did,” Maxwell said.

“No way. I checked, she didn’t have any pulse,” Darrell blurted out.

Elizabeth smacked the handcuffs onto Darrell and they brought him back to the precinct. He immediately confessed to his crimes and signed his confession.

Maxwell packed up, threw his duffel bag over his shoulders and walked to the carpark. Upon arriving home after an incredibly long day, Maxwell slumped in his favourite armchair bought by his late wife Sophie and threw his badge on the coffee table. There was something so great about home after the testosterone filled office. His gun pressed uncomfortably into his leg and he reached to bring it out. He laid it next to the white orchid he had bought. His eyes settled on it for a moment. White orchids were Sophie’s favourite flowers and she bought them every week to decorate the house. He bought them every week from Sophie’s florist to continue her legacy.

His body washed cold as he felt a familiar buzz in his suit pocket. That meant another case to deal with instead of a warm bed and soft duvet.