Jun 072012
 

Start Reading from Chapter 1

I looked around for some place to wait out the arrival Finger’s mystery expert, but they didn’t seem to be any good places they weren’t already covered in streams of blood, and/or clear plastic covering them.

So I moved over to the apartment’s kitchen nook, found a clean part of the melamine counter, leaned against it, and watch the proceedings.

The one thing that caught my attention again  was the volume of blood that must be spread all over the apartment.

So, suddenly curious, and maybe actually a bit bored, if you can believe.  I decided to take a bit of a look around.

If there was as much in the bathroom in the bedroom and in the closets and wherever, whatever spray can attached to his arteries could throw enough blood, it looked like a lot more than anyone had in their body.

So I thought, what the hell, it’s probably already been searched. Let’s take a look in the fridge. So I went around the column, moved over to the refrigerator.

The fridge was also caked in it’s fair share of blood. And I tried to spot a portion on the handle that wasn’t spattered in some way.

And it’s at least, to try not to disturb things, I took a pen out of my pocket wedged  between the handle and the surface, and popped it open.

I was relieved to see it was empty and clean, and there was no sign of any blood inside.  Had the police already removed the evidence? Then I looked up the freezer.

There was a layer of frost over the contents, signs there had been things stacked in there. But I didn’t see any blood either.

I decided to ask Fingers about my idea, and looked around.  One of the crime scene guys told me he’d gone to the second bedroom, where there were still some pictures being taken.

“You guys checked the fridge didn’t you?” I asked.

He turned back to me, nodded.

“Yet he said the crime scene guys took everything first thing in the morning before I got here.

“It looks like the freezer was full of something.” I told him. “They find anything in there?”

He shrugged, “I’ll check with them.  Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “This all seems an awful lot of blood for just one person.”

“Your professional opinion?”

I had seen what the coverage of several peoples blood looked like, once, a long time ago.

“Doesn’t it look like more people could have been involved,” I decided to be helpful. “In fact, you probably might want to get the blood from different parts of the place tested.”

Yeah, I know, I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth.

But it had to have been more than one, from what I saw.  It always was supposed to take more than one.  Three maybe, seven, even thirteen once in a while..

I was wondering how careful Billingsly had actually been. Garbage pickup was today.  In a few hours, in fact.

I wondered if those I theorized might be involved, had like the murderer two years ago, and tossed in the waste, trash.

I mentioned that to Fingers, suggested his guys had better check it out, if they hadn’t already.

He smiled.

“I knew bringing you down would be helpful.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Just don’t tell anyone else, please. Ever again.”

“Whatever you say.”

He nodded then went back to talking with the police photographer.

I went back to the kitchen, leaned against the counter again, berated myself.

I should have told him this was none of my business and spent the day handling calls like I was paid to.  Or, I should have said nothing.  Instead I practically shouted I knew what this was about.

And did I? Did I know what this really was all in aid of?  Did I even want to know?  No, I didn’t.

And while I stared at the activity around the rooms I wondered, was this it?  Was it time to get the hell out?  Not out of the apartment, out of the city, maybe even the province.  I’d thought about it two years ago, even after it turned out the killing had been over a stupid coffee table.

I’d thought about it when Finger’s had brought his crazy grandfather over and the old man went totally gaga over my house of cards.

I’d even thought about it when my boss Peter had that multiple coronary and Emily offered me the old man’s job.

“You’ve been here five years,” she’d told me. “You were Peter’s assistant.  You know the job, know the building, as well as anyone can.  You don’t need to go anywhere.”

Damn if I wasn’t stupid enough to set down roots, have responsibilities, obligations, have a steady girlfriend.  Think I had put everything behind me.

I looked at the counter, and the blood that had been spread over it.  It had spilled over between the cracks and soaked into the cabinetry, into the wood.

Shit, I thought. It all was going to need to be ripped out, totally replaced.  Damned Billingsly’s bloody redecorating was just costing more and more.

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