Murder in the City of Marylane

01. Case

Just a few hours after dawn, we were already on a street called Blake Street because of a case. Yeah, so early we get a case. Know it? I sometimes feel that a world without evil will be hard to do. That's why law enforcement is needed and I will do my best to achieve justice.

I rested on this asphalt road and walked towards a place that was already bounded by the yellow line of the police. Other police were calming journalists approaching the scene. You know how complicated this situation is.

We were in a room from one of the houses on this street.

“Huek!”

I saw Harry running out with his mouth shut. I know, he's gonna get his stomach out. As usual, he had not been able to put up with the corpse that was right in front of us.

His name is Harry Reagan. He was my teammate. He is the youngest on our team. As you can see, he's not used to dead bodies. In fact, we've been working together for two years.

She has white skin, with jet black hair like me and no bangs. His eyes were a blackish brown, matching his appearance. He always wears a bomber jacket and his favorite black classic canvas. Well, he's kind of narcissistic. If you don't know yet, we always wear free clothes on duty.

Honestly, he looks cool, but not when he sees a dead body. I guess, he needs a lot of practice not to throw up when he sees a dead body again.

“Basic, habit.”

The scolding came from the mouth of my other teammate, Dean Grissham.

Dean Grissham was my teammate from the start. I joined the police last year and he was my first friend on the team. If I describe him as having caramel colored hair with a slightly disheveled and slightly shaggy hairstyle, I don't know how to call it. His skin was a little tan, and his eyes were hazel. There's a scar on his right temple. Ah, that's when he caught a criminal, that criminal hurt his temple. He often wears a leather jacket with his top black sneakers.

“Let him.”

Lastly, it comes from our team captain, Mort Parker. You could say he is a veteran. It may be overkill, but he's been a member of the police for a long time. He was an Intermediate Officer with the rank of Major. He's the only one married here. It's been half a century, more or less.

His skin is white, a little reddish. Her hair brunetteswith a little gondrong like Dean. He ties her up sometimes. You can see the gray hair if you look at it carefully. He also often wears a leather jacket, with black retro runners sneakers. At the age of half a century, his physique is still strong. She has received many awards and become a role model. I admit, he deserved it.

Back to the situation. We spent about 30 minutes to get here. A residential complex located on Blake Street. This road is quite long. The houses with compact design are on both sides of this road. The houses here are dominated by brown color. Several fallen leaves from its twigs fell scattered along the road.

We received a report that there was a murder in one of the houses on Blake Street. One of the houses, belonging to the Keanett family, was a woman lying in a bedroom. His face was pale, I'm sure because of the blood loss. The slightly dried blood splattered everywhere, staining his mattress and pillow. I saw navy— pajamasthe victim— outfit that was hit by that red stain was hollow. He's stabbed.

The hole is not just one. His clothes were almost torn all over the front. That is, he was stabbed many times. How terrible it is to live on earth with a man who has no conscience like this.

The three of us looked at each other. Yes, we concluded that this was like revenge. Seeing his body stabbed many times, the perpetrator has a grudge or resentment for the victim.

We received this report from Gary Keanett. The victim, Abey Westie, was his wife. He said he just got home from work and found his wife like this. His eyes were still red from crying. Surprised? Certainly is. He had just come home from work this morning and saw his lifeless wife at his house.

I saw it on the nightstand. There are simple white table lamps and some magazines. I touched it with my glove-wrapped hand. The magazine is about classic cars.

“When exactly did you find your wife?” ask our team captain, Mort, to her husband, Gary Keanett.

He wiped his tears and was still a little bit as unwilling. “Uh—I was overtime at the office and came home this morning. I saw the clock in the office and the time showed at four o'clock. Travel from here to my office about 25 minutes ... or more?” He looks doubtful. “I think I found it around half-time five in the morning.”

“There's someone you suspect? For example, someone who might have a grudge against you or you have unfinished problems?” added Dean.

“‘You’?” Gary raised one eyebrow. He's offended, I guess?

“I mean, your wife.” Dean's rectifying.

He seemed to think, a second later shook his head. “No. My wife is friendly to everyone. He never had any problems with anyone.”

“Good. We need more information from you. Uhm, you know your wife's friend or something? Maybe we will get some information from his friends,” Mort said later.

The tall man nodded. “Ah, yes. I'll give you some addresses. Mari.”

Mort then went with Gary. At that moment, Harry returned.

“You were a long time.” I commented. “It's been a year and a half that you work. You're not used to it?”

“Hey, everyone is different, know.” He retaliated. “But, I found something.”

Dean's approaching. “What is it?”

“This housing complex has CCTV.”

“You checked it?” my many. “Find something?”

“No. CCTV is broken.”

After Harry said those three words, a loud voice sounded. Dean hit the back of Harry's head spontaneously with the palm of his hand.

“Your information is useless.”