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By Jills All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Mystery

Chapter 1

 A Peculiar looking coloured woman skimmed along the road as if on a mission. The clear sunny morning, so warm enough to reveal the natural beauty, seemed of no business to the woman. An elegant respectable woman she seemed but her civil attire seemed otherwise. She was in an all-black blouse and pants complete with a black flat court shoes not forgetting her handbag as well as her long hair. She seemed pale though a little darker or rather suntanned.

She strolled for a while unaware of the house she was seeking even though she was searching the same area.  One house might have caught her attention.

The house looked dead besides the chirping of the birds. The lawn was quite neat while the house's model was the same as the other houses. Richmond town house project had the standard three floors, 7 rooms excluding the bathroom as well as a small yard that was enough for a bed or two of vegetables as well as a lawn in the front yard.

The woman stood in front of the house. After a moment of hesitation, she wheeled her to the front door before releasing a polite then rude series of record doorbell ring after no response at all.

“Who the hell can't let me have my sleep?” answered a rather rough sleep voice which was half growling and grunting.

Without waiting, for an answer, a rather medium height, and medium built camel coloured Negroid lad opened the door Sleep and weariness were written on his rather long cum short face. He resembled a kid although his beard and moustache sold him out. His black robe was quite big and he had to pull it up revealing his hairy legs and arms.

He was in desperate need of a clean shower and a shave.

“Can l help you?” This time he was less tense and actually relieved.

“Good morning Mr Piet Ian Triad. I'm Georgia Howards from the Express Mail. She remained calm handling him her business card that was snatched rather than being taken lightly.

“Can l help you?” he repeated without even examining her business card or waiting for any response.

“I don’t get you guys. Haven’t you done enough damage already? I'm trying to rebuild my life which you helped mess up. The nicest thing you can do for me is to never show up at this place ever again. Thank you and have a great morning.”

The door was slammed in her face leaving her stunned but not shaken.

She recomposed herself before the same way she came.

Unknown to her, Piet was spying her through the window while flipping Georgia’s card. When she was gone, he retired back to bed even though it was only 0830.


The Express Mail was a young firm which had been started by Carlos and Tina Express although the former did not live long to see its success. It was founded just within the Richmond town.  It had also a radio station, the Express FM. Both were on the same building even though on different levels.

Most of the journalist, reporters and other staff shared one large room while a few personal had their own offices.

Through luck and good timing rather than hard work, both the Express Mail and Express FM became hot property mainly due to Piet Ian Triad.

In one of the office, Georgia paced up and down much to the discomfort of Tina Express who was writing some documents on her table. Georgia kept on mumbling,

“He practically threw me out!”

“He never let you in the first place,” Tina retorted in a rather calm but irritated voice before continuing, “Listen, I’m busy okay. These stuffs happen a lot. I can give you another case if


She already knew Georgia’s reaction and continued writing.

“No! No! This is going to be my big break. Give me time and you won’t be disappointed.” She seemed sincere.

Tina stopped writing and looked at her,

“Fine but this time, don’t screw it up like that Patel assignment. Now get out!”

 With that, she quickly matched out towards her desk.


Piet sat on his couch munching and watching soccer. It had become more of a routine besides getting drunk, sleeping, gardening and an occasional cleaning and washing.

The house seemed quite furnished even though a little dusty and old. On the fireplace were a set of pictures that seemed to fade due to lack of care. Why should he care when the world did not care at all?  He rose towards the fridge from which he extracted a pint and a smoke on the top of it.

As he huffed out smoke, he tried to recall the real purpose of Georgia’s visit.

It was five years since the supposedly manslaughter of his family. Many fingers pointed at him and even his past behaviour, actions as well as the evidence did so.

He never confessed but was convicted after nearly a year of trial before the case was closed as he was said to be insane. Some referred it as dissociative state that drove him to commit such a horrible crime. Insane was the simple word used but in reality, it was supposed to be the effects of being a junkie.

This stopped him from going to prison although not everyone was quite convinced with this development.

A chance to go to rehab was handed to him although he chose home although there remained a chance of him being put in prison. That was part of the reason why he disappeared shortly.

No one knew where he was as he only pitched a year later this time a drunk and a chain smoker.

 It was his family allowance that kept him going.

He never had friends, guests or family enquiring about his health except desperate journalist, justice seeking cops, angry residents as well as tramps.

At first, it killed him inside but later it hardened him

The society was quite cruel. Mothers hid their babies, girls screamed, man growled and boys teased.

At his early twenties, he never dreamt of this kind of life which fate had given him.

He still had Georgia’s number. To him, she seemed just like an ordinary bloodthirsty journalist. The only difference was that this time he wanted to the records straight finally to any journalist.

He had to let his anger out before it kills him. He picked the phone and called her

“Piet speaking. Tomorrow at nine am. Don’t be late if you still interested.” He was quite calm as he hung up immediately.

Georgia was never late for interviews and she had arrived quite earlier than expected.

He had no idea what the time was although he still knew that he had to be ready.

For first time in a week, he rushed to have a real shower but the annoying doorbell disturbed this process.

Without waiting for anything, he quickly dashed out with only a robe with water dripping from his rather kinky hair.

The doorbell rang for the second time but Piet was already opening it.

“Good morning Mr Triad” smiled the woman on the doorstep. Clad in all black, she continued never losing her smile,

“I’m sorry for being too early but its better early than later, right?”

She was not expecting a reply nor did she get one. Instead, Piet remained stolid as he invited her instead the house

Georgia’s notion was to inspect the house especially the lounge as if in search of anything in particular.

With water still dripping through his hair and body, he acted quite ignorant of this. He did not seem to care about the trail left by the dripping water.

“Nice house you got here. I’m ....” a serious Piet rudely cut her efforts to start a small talk.

“Ms Georgia, are you here for the interview or to admire my house” These were his first real words of the day.

He quickly pointed to the couch before signalling her to start.

 She quickly took out her notebook as well as her cell phone before tempering with it while mumbling a couple of journalistic procedures she had to take. Although he nodded ,he never showed to understand a thing, she said.

Although she did not want to start with a provocative question, his arrogance tempted her.

“How does it feel like living in this house in which your parents were killed?”

The question came out by mistake but Piet just shrugged.

To avoid this irritating shrug, she began with questions unrelated to the case. He somehow opened up although it was hard to tell whether he was lying or not.

All was going “well” before she asked him why he did it.

“Listen here Georgia, the real question which you are supposed to ask is “’ did you do it?”’. “

“Alright, did you?”

“Does it matter? You already sure that l did it even without asking me. You know what; I didn't kill them. Happy?”

“But you were found guilty and you even said you were insane or what they term it as dissociative disorder something like that, at that time,” she was not sure of a response.

“I never recall saying that. Did I ever say that?”

Georgia had not expected this and this made her quite numb. Piet rescued her.

“Listen here, I was insane, high, drunk whatever you prefer but I didn’t kill them.”

“What about the evidence which pointed at you? How do you explain it?” Georgia was now starting to enjoy her work.

Piet paused for a moment before uttering “haven’t you seen innocent people going to prison just because of some lousy evidence”  he was now getting a little bit frustrated.“Evidence never lies ...”

“Listen up Ms Georgia; the evidence was really bullshit. Anyone could have planted them.”

“You’re saying that you were framed …” this had caught her attention.

“You’re the one saying it not me,” he had left his mark, as Georgia was eager for more.

“I don’t know whether it was a setup or not but I never killed them period! I’m kinda sick of everyone especially you guys stuffing me up like a convict. Why on earth would I do that? ““For the money?”

He rose from the couch and emerged with two ciders on one hand and a cigarette on the other. Georgia declined his offer.

He settled down, huffed a few times releasing a thick mass of smoke at each interval.

At first, Georgia did not seem to mind but later started whisking it out of her face well as releasing endured coughs.

Piet noticed it and stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Georgia you surprise me. You are quick to accuse me of killing them for the money but you can’t tell me you aren’t cool with me smoking. You then call yourself a journalist.”

She forced a smile before continuing with the interview.

The rest went quite well with Piet avoiding and not answering most of the questions related to the case except proclaiming his innocence.

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