It all began when someone left the window open.
Detective Johnson walked into the police station after facing the bitter cold of January and the dreadful news. He looked around at the familiar surroundings, this was his fifth year working at this police station. Detective Johnson worked his way to his desk in the back of the room where he sat down; relieved to feel the comfort of his chair. After all he had just come back from the crime scene of Emily Moore, who had been strangled to death. He began to type up the file and what little evidence that had been found. There wasn’t much found besides an origami swan with drops of blood. He soon began to investigate the origami swan, unfolded and flipped it over to find nothing: it was blank, he places it back into the evidence bag, which he placed into a box. The box was almost empty, which is not a good sign.
He began to look around the police station while he pondered about the crime scene photos that were taken. Questions began to run through his mind. ‘Why was the window open; is that how the killer came in and left?’ He looked down at the photos again. The picture of the whole room, nothing was out of place, it wasn’t normal for a crime scene: normally something would be knocked over. There wasn’t even signs that someone had come in. It wasn’t normal. He looked up and looked around again. He saw some of his co workers at their desk interviewing people who came to report something, or just to talk. Then he got up and went to the kitchen to go grab some coffee and a snack.
The kitchen had a simple layout with a chipped brown laminate counter top and a few feet to the right was a small table with four chairs. He walked over to the coffee machine and smiled. “At last something warm on this chilly morning” to no one impoticular. The dark brew of coffee came out of the machine like a waterfall. He thought this was the most beautiful thing on this dreadful morning.
Detective Johnson grabbed his favorite mug, it was black with a white outline of a person. It says “First homicide” his mother had bought it for him when he solved his first case; those were the good old days.
His phone began to ring bringing him out of this wonderful memory. He answered the phone. “Detective Johnson how may I help you?” there was no response only breathing ” Hello” again no reply. ” What do you need?”
A deep voice replied with “I killed her.″ The line went dead..
He quickly ran back to his desk forgetting his snack, as he ran some of his coffee spilled but he didn’t care, he wrote down he number that call had called him, hoping it could help to solving this case, he added the number to his report for the murder. Detective Johnson had to find out who the number belongs to. He grabbed his jacket before leaving the station leaving the coffee on his desk to lose the warmth he desired before the call.
He went to a local cafe thinking it would help him calm down and think better. He arrived at the cafe and ordered a batch of timbits as he began to think about the case: just as his timbits got to his table, he looked over and saw the small pieces of fried dough covered in the sweet glaze he loves. He nodded to the waitress and said “Thank you ma’am” The waitress just smiled and nodded. He looked back over at the timbits and it looked as if they were calling his name; he grabbed one greedily and popped it into his mouth, the crisp outside and the airy dough with the sweetness of the glaze; it was perfect.
He reached for another timbit but he reached into an empty basket and realized he had eaten them all. He put his hand up to signal that he needed a waitresses assistance, a different girl walked over asking “How can I help you sir?”
He acted a little embarrassed ” Can I have another batch of timbits please with powdered sugar this time?”
She just smiled ” Why of course would you still like them glazed or plain?”
He was filled with joy, he gets more of the delicious delicacies “Glazed please”
She nodded and wrote it down in her notepad ” It will be right out” Detective Johnson smiled like a maniac when he heard her say that. After ordering more timbits he got back to work he was almost done looking through the phone book.
The waitress walked over with his timbits and saw the number written on the sticky note he had put the mysterious caller’s number on. She smiled and asked ” Why do you have Emily’s number written down?” as she put the timbits down.
He looked at her “Are you talking about Emily Moore?”
The waitress looked confused “Yes, why?”
¨How do you know Mrs. Moore ̈ he said ̈, were you guys friends?¨
She seemed confused by the question ¨Yes we were friends we went to the same school¨she said ̈,we hung out all the time, you can ask my her parents.¨
¨I don’t ́t think there ́ll be a need for that¨ he said
̈ ̈Okay ̈ she said.
He gave her an apologetic look “She was murdered this morning.” She was shocked Emily Moore was one of her good friends from school. Detective Johnson could tell she knew who she was especially since she recognizes the number. “Sorry for your loss.”
She looked as if she was about to cry, “Excuse me.” she ran away while wiping away the tears, she was crying for her friend. Her friend was only 16 and had so much ahead of her; she wondered why would anyone want to harm her friend that had done nothing wrong in her life.
He could hear her sobbing in the back of the cafe, he felt sadness overcome him, he’s never been this sad over a homicide in the five years he’s been doing this job. It might be the fact that it was a teenage girl and he had just met one of her friends by pure fate. He realized that he would have to question her later. He felt bad that he would have to question her the same day that she found out about her death.
He finished eating his timbits in silence trying to enjoy them until he can leave back to the police station to add Emily’s phone number.
Detective Johnson walked into the station, his cheeks had a rosy color his nose seemed to be a brighter red. He took a fast pace to his desk to write down the information that he had just learned and now he had to face the bitter truth and question the friends of Emily Moore and later her parents.