Little Town Killer

IT WAS HIS TROPHY, his prized possession. A hobby that he was well known for. I mean, even his last name was Hunter for god sakes.

The lifeless, coal-like eyes peer into mine, watching me as I study it. How could someone do this for entertainment? Though, who was I to judge.

Keep your eyes up. Don’t look down.

I could feel the queasiness building up inside of me the longer I stared at it. I’m sure countless women adored seeing a mounted deer head above them during their late-night straddle sessions with him. But at the moment it’s my distraction, keeping me focussed while I try to think clearly.

Who could’ve done this, and why?

Sure, he was a narcissistic, sleazy man in my careless eyes but to the town he was the man-of-the-hour. He was known for his irresistible charm, broad physique and thundering voice that could capture anyones attention whenever he entered a room.

I’ll admit, those steel-blue eyes may have fooled me once or twice, but I never caved.

Everyone worshipped him, especially those bobble-headed blonde bimbos who would seductively scream his name as he passed through the town carelessly, acting like royalty. Women wanted him, and men wanted to be him.

However, I highly doubt they’ll want to be in his current position. Yet here he was, laying stone cold on top of his king-sized bed, all alone, underneath his mounted prized possession, smothered in his own blood.

“Can you believe it?”

Commissioner Cogsworth, the head of Little Town’s police department also known as the LTPD, stands next to me.

My eyes shift, moving down to lifeless man spread out like an eagle on the bed.

“I’m still reeling it in.”

“And today, of all days?” Cogsworth’s voice softens. His dark and weary umber eyes dubiously scan the bedroom, watching as the officers surround the palace-like space with yellow tape.

“Well, it’s definitely ironic.” I fold my arms against my baby blue vest.

“Ironic?” His raspy voice croaks out loud.

A look of horror overtakes the round, chubby face of the stubby, bear-like man standing next to me. The short-cut leather boots I’m bound to break in elevate me as I look down on him.

His wide eyes dart back and forth between the multiple LTPD officers dressed in royal blue from head to toe, making sure their attention is elsewhere. He grabs ahold of my elbow, tugging lightly on the white, long-sleeve material my arms are suffocating inside of.

He pulls me across the opposite side of the room, away from the scene.

We stand in front of the reticulated window, the velvet drapes have been pulled back. I look below, watching as the red and blue lights continuously flash across the teary-eyed faces of the men and women forced behind the yellow ‘do-not-cross-crime-scene’ tape.

The crescent moonlight creeps through the glass panel, casting a shadow across Cogsworth’s face. He leans in closer, as if he’s about to tell me a secret.

“We’ve just found our Mayor dead in his home on the one year anniversary of his election and you see the irony in that? Please, enlighten me Detective Beauty?”

His arms cross his wide chest.

“The irony is that it’s symbolic,” I soften my tone. “If foul play is indeed the main factor, then why didn’t the supposed killer strike him another night? Why choose this evening to kill him, knowing the date?”

“What if it has nothing to do with the date?” He challenges, cocking an eyebrow.

“Then it seems like the perfect coincidence. Don’t you think Commissioner?”

He pauses, almost taken aback by my retaliation.

“Jesus! Who would’ve thought our night could take a dark and twisted turn like this Detective?”

It was only hours ago that the people of Little Town were celebrating the god-like man at the local tavern he transformed into his own pride and joy. A place where residents could drink, party, socialise with one another and celebrate him...Mayor Gaston Hunter.

He was known for being a people pleaser, and it worked.

From making public appearances across the city on daytime talk-shows, to participating in local events held in Little Town.

Gaston made a name for himself and the votes increased everyday, especially when he showed his support for the new enforced laws set out by our city’s leader, President Charming of Tale.

Though I hate to admit it, he was loved.

So, who the hell did he cross to wind up like this?

The slash engraved on his throat is wide and sliced open from ear to ear, leaving him speechless...literally. Perhaps someone else wanted to silence him, but who?

What a bloody, midnight mayhem I’ve walked into.

I cast about the burgundy, asnaghi interior in search for something that will make sense of this unexpected slaughter.

Ahead, my eyes catch two golden photo frames sitting next to one another on top of the walnut dressing table. The first one features Gaston photographed with a short, portly lad drinking a pint of beer. Gaston’s cheshire-cat smile exposes his perfectly whitened teeth as he holds the younger man close to him by his bicep in a headlock grip.

However, the second frame is empty.

I open the back of the photo frame, pulling the image of Gaston and the young man out. Turning the print over, three doodles are drawn on the plain side. All lined in a straight row and drawn in black ink, the sketches appear to be an apple, a bell and a WIN!

Strange?

“Detective!” A voice shouts out.

I jolt, turning on my heel. “What is it?”

Officer Lumiere, or Officer Lanky as I like to call him, is Commissioner Cogsworth’s diminutive and bumbling sidekick with arms the size of toothpicks. He stands underneath the mahogany door-frame with his hands on his hips. His chest is racing rapidly as if he’s been running a marathon non-stop for the past hour.

Catching his breath, he looks at me doe-eyed and pale-faced. “You need to see this, now!”

The terror in his dark eyes scream at me. I nod, following his lead.

He lifts the tape, allowing me to swoop underneath it. We exit the chaotic burgundy crime scene, leaving the Victorian interior. I look out from the top of the stairwell balcony and notice the madness below me.

The crystal chandelier brightly beams, illuminating the entirety of the mansion foyer. It hangs above multiple officers who are scattered throughout the entrance way. From my birds-eye view, they look like panicked ants. Their black shoes shuffle and squeak against the polished floorboards as they inspect every nook and cranny.

I follow Officer Lanky down the red velvet, curved staircase of the two-story building. Reaching the bottom, he directs me to the back of the mansion.

“This way,” he gestures his hand.

We walk underneath the crystal light, passing officers on either side of us. Some look ill, as if all the colour has drained from their washed out faces. I know the familiar feeling.

The foyer brightness slowly fades into darkness as we enter the narrow hallway. There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere, sending a cool shiver down my spine. My stomach tightens with nervous anticipation.

Where is he taking me?

“It’s just through here, Detective.”

A camera flashes ahead as we near the end of the ongoing hallway. Officer Lanky moves aside, allowing me to enter the compact, isolated room that has been flipped upside down.

Frozen, my eyes meet a large, self-portrait of Mayor Gaston that has been painted to perfection... but destroyed with the words ‘ONE DOWN’ written and stained in scarlet red.

“Oh my god!”

The heel of my boots tap loudly, echoing with each step as I nearer the vandalised painting. The sound alone is haunting, outweighing the uncomfortable silence I have just entered.

The painting sits inside of a thick, gold frame that is plastered against the chestnut wooden walls of the study room. Centred in the middle of the wall, it hangs above a pearl-white, marble fireplace which has burned out.

Was it recently lit?

“We found this in the fire,” Officer Lanky breaks my thought.

In his hand, he possesses a photograph that has been severely burned and torn at the edges.

There is only one side left to this landscape print that features...Gaston. He sits at what appears to be a darkened booth in front of a mirror, with a cigar in hand. The reflection from the glass exposes another figure sitting next to him, another man perhaps, but who is it?

Could this be the missing image from his photo frame?

Others appear hidden in the background of the photo. The backs of their heads are exposed in the reflection of the glass mirror, but they have also been destroyed by the flame. Who are the others involved? We must find another copy...before it’s too late.

“What the hell happened here?” Cogsworth’s gravelly voice answers.

The horrid look reappears, covering the entirety of his weak face. He looks to Officer Lanky whose shocked, almond shaped eyes dart towards me. Now I’m in the hot seat with a case that suddenly has an new question. I can feel a thick lump building up within my throat.

Breathe Belle, breathe.

“It seems our Mayor wasn’t home alone this evening...and someone else is next!”

I hold the half incinerated photograph in the air that features Gaston with our unidentified and potential victim. Could they be next or involved in this mania?