Note: I just looked at this and apparently blogger is doing funny things with the spacing... so sorry about that, maybe I'll get that changed over the weekend.
A Funny Thing About Murder
I find that murder is a strange thing. Did you know there are over 16,000 people murdered every year? That's over 40 murders a day. And that is just in the
Frank was a homicide detective. He didn't particularly like what he did, but it paid the bills and he was satisfied with that. He would approach a crime scene like he would his lunch. He'd find the obvious parts first and save the good parts for last. Everything had an order for Frank. He liked to take each part of him meal separately so he could really taste it. Frank also made sure to eat healthy, follow the rules, keep good manners. He liked to take care of his body the best that he could, though his hairline still decided it needed to recede on him.
It was Tuesday when Frank got the case. It was nothing out of the ordinary for Frank. He received new murder files every few weeks. It didn't really matter to him if he solved this particular case, he'd still receive the same pay. Just the same Frank went to investigate.
Frank got into his car, an old Ford he had bought when he first started the force. The car needed to be serviced but Frank figured he could still get a few hundred more miles out of it before it started causing any major problems. Frank pulled out the address for the case and rolled his eyes when he saw that it was on
The usual dispatch team was already at the house when he arrived. Yellow tape and flashing lights were everywhere. Frank parked on the side of the street and got out of his car, adjusting his jacket so that it would sit correctly against him again. He ducked under the police line tape and pulled out his badge for anyone that would question him being there. It wasn't a huge town; most of the people working at the site already knew that Frank was an investigator.
Frank pulled aside the first officer he recognized.
“What's the situation?” He asked and pulled out a notepad.
“Well we actually got something pretty grisly going here, detective.”
Frank interrupted the younger officer, “call me Frank, please.”
“Yeah, okay, Frank. So yeah, we got two victims that have been sliced up bad. We currently suspect that cause of death is loss of blood on both victims,” the officer took a breath, “but we won't know till we get the coroner's report.”
“Do we have any idea who these people are?”
“Not yet sir, uh, Frank. But from what we have gathered they aren't the people that live here.”
“And how do we know that?” Frank looked down at what he had written so far.
“The McCormick's, the people who live here, filed the report.”
The scene was indeed grisly, as the officer had described. Blood was sprayed on the wall in awkward arcs. It looked as if the victims had been hacked to death somehow, cut apart with the body parts strewn about the room. Frank shivered for a second as he looked at the carnage in the room. He had seen a few crime scenes like this before though, and his agitation soon went away and he went back to writing down the details in his notebook. The room had an awkward smell to it, not the same smell of blood that was to be expected. Frank only gave the room with the victims a cursory look-through and then went back out to talk to the officer he had spoken to before.
“And this is the only place where there is any sign of the homicide?” Frank asked.
“Yes, si-Frank,” the officer fidgeted and looked as if he felt he shouldn't be addressing Frank by anything other then detective or sir.
“And do we know how they got in?”
“It seems he had a key to get in, and then used it to lock the door when he left. It is all very strange.”
“He?”
“Oh, the killer.”
“Don't jump to conclusions so quickly officer, you just never know about these cases now-a-days.”
Frank didn't seem to like this case; he continually rubbed his temples and took deep breaths to calm himself. The entire case didn't work for him. The forensic team had so far not come up with anything and there was no identity for the bodies. Frank looked at the papers on his desk, searching for a piece to make sense. He had interrogated the McCormick's and they had no more information than he did. The department chief was satisfied that they didn't have any more information and let them go with a warning not to leave the state just in case. Frank wanted them to make sense of the case, but everything they told him just left him baffled as to what really went on. He couldn't figure out why the house was locked when they got home. It just didn't make sense to Frank that a criminal would break in and then lock the doors after hacking two people apart. As well he couldn't see the connection as to why it had been someone else's house that these people were found in. It was just too logical a crime for him. He needed another piece of the puzzle.
Frank's desk phone rang and he answered it after a few rings.
“Detective Frank Molens speaking.”
“Frank, you're not going to believe this,” said the voice on the other side of the line.
“Who is this?”
“The bodies at the scene were already dead when they got to the house, hacked apart and everything. What's more we think we've figured out who they are.”
“They were dead before they got in the house?”
“Yeah, they had been dead for about a week. We think we have a match on a couple that went missing about two weeks ago. Sally and Tim Randle. Apparently the killer only recently decided to put them in the house.”
“Great work, is this forensics?” Frank asked, but he got no answer and the phone went dead. Frank looked at the phone and shrugged. At least he had something now, but things still weren't clear. A body dumped at a house and then locked in. Frank bit his lower lip while he thought. Something triggered in his head and he mumbled, “the blood.”
Frank got up and headed over to the elevator at the end of the hallway. He got in and hit the button for the second floor, which would take him to forensics.
“I have an idea,” Frank said as he walked into the forensics office. They all looked puzzled. “We need to check if the blood matches that of the victims,” he continued.
“What are you talking about, which blood?” Asked one of the forensic technicians.
“The blood on the walls, you know in the McCormick's case. See if it matches the bodies.”
“Fine, whatever you say, but I think we could use our time a little bit better than that.”
“Just do it, call me when you have the results,” Frank walked back to the elevator and took it to his floor.
Back at his desk, Frank went to his computer to check out the Randle's file. The file said that the Randle's went missing from their homes a week ago. Their 25-year-old son had called it in. Frank took out his pad and started making notes about similarities between his case and this one. He noted that the Randle's home also had no signs of a break and the door was locked when their son arrived home. Frank figured that he would have to talk to their son, Richard Randle.
It wasn't until late in the next day that Frank heard from the forensic team. The phone rang and Frank picked it up.
“Detective Frank Molens speaking.”
“Detective this is the forensics department. Good call on comparing the blood. The results came back and the blood on the walls wasn't even human.”
“Then what was it then?” Frank sat back down at his desk.
“Pig's blood.”
“Pigs?”
“Yeah, amazing call on checking the blood. I would have thought for sure that the blood on the wall was that of the victims.” The forensics officer sounded impressed.
“Well it came to me after you guys gave me the call about the victims being dead on arrival.”
“What?”
“When you guys called me earlier to give me the coroner's report.”
“We don't have the coroner's report yet, there was some sort of complication with identifying the bodies.”
“That can't be. You guys told me you had them identified hours ago.”
“Wasn't us Detective.”
“Well thanks for telling me about the pig's blood.” Frank hung up the phone. He ran his hands through his thinning hair. The information that he had about the identities of the victims made sense. Frank picked up his phone and dialed the number for the coroner. The phone rang four times before anyone picked up.
“Hello, this is detective Frank Molens, I was wondering if the report for the McCormick's was done?”
“Um... let me check,” Frank could hear files being moved in the background, “yeah, here we go. It just came in a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks, keep that out, I'll be right down to check it out.” Frank hung up the phone. He didn't like when things didn't add up, and nothing about this case added up for him.
Down in the coroner's office Frank looked over the file. It had everything in it that he had heard over the phone earlier, but it was time stamped for hours after he had received the call. Also the bodies didn't match up to the names he had heard on the phone earlier.
“And you are the coroner who filed this report?” Frank asked.
“Yes, I am. Is there anything wrong with the report?”
“No, I just wanted to be sure. Has anyone else looked at these bodies?”
“No, I was the only coroner assigned to this file. It took me longer to determine exactly what had happened due to the state the bodies were in and then the fact that they were hacked up after they had been killed. They were poisoned, and they cut apart later.”
“There is no identity for the bodies yet?”
“Not yet, there is a large database we have to go through so it could be another week before we will be certain about the identities. Maybe longer.”
“And there is no way anyone could have known about the condition of these bodies before you examined them?”
“I suppose it is possible, they weren't well preserved but I doubt that anyone on the scene would have guessed that they weren't hacked to death.”
“What type of poison was used?”
“Cyanide.”
“And you are sure that the victims died of poisoning.”
“I wouldn't have put it in the report if I wasn't sure. All the signs in their body show that they died of poisoning.” The coroner looked irate at the fact that his report was being questioned so thoroughly. “What is this about anyways?”
“Nothing, I just want to double check all the facts, this case isn't making any sense and I want to find out what the hell is going on. Every time I think I've figured something out, something new comes in and makes me doubt my original assumptions.”
“Well, if you have anymore questions please call me, but I am off for the day, so good night detective.”
The next day Frank looked up the address of Richard Randle, my address. He had tried calling but I didn't answer, I wanted him to come. I had plans. My address took him to the far side of town, near where my parents were found. My house was in a suburban neighborhood with a nice trimmed lawn, it looked very pleasant. The house was in far better condition then those standing around it and Frank took note of which neighbors he would talk to if I didn't answer my door.
I listened for Frank to knock on the door. I had been waiting for him, it had just taken him longer to get here than I had hoped. The knock came; I stood in the darkness of my house waiting for him to come in. He knocked again. I thought about calling to him to enter but decided against it. That would be too awkward, I wanted him to come in on his own. I saw him peek in the window on the side of the door but then he knocked again. Then I heard him pull out a piece of paper and start writing something against the door. He then slipped the paper under the door and began to walk away. I quickly picked up the paper and read it. It said that I should give Detective Frank Molens a call when I had a chance. This was not what I wanted.
I grabbed my knife from off the hall table and burst out of the door. Frank spun around to see me standing in my doorway in nothing but my tight white underwear, holding a knife.
“Oh, Mr. Randle, you're home,” Frank said rather calmly.
“You're not supposed to leave! You are supposed to break in and check out the house. Where are you going?” I yelled.
“Mr. Randle?”
“Don't call me that! My name is Ricky!”
“Alright Ricky, maybe we should go inside. You really shouldn't be outside like this.”
“What are you doing? I have a knife!”
“Ricky, what's going on, is everything alright?” Frank looked confused, he wasn't threatened like I wanted him to be.
“You think I killed my parents! You're here to arrest me!”
“No, Ricky, I am here because I wanted to talk to you about your parent's disappearance. Now I am going to need you to calm down Ricky.”
“I am not going to calm down! You found the evidence! You know I did it.”
“Ricky, I never said you killed your parents. Now calm down.” The frustration in Frank's voice was apparent now.
“That's right Frank I did it!” I took pleasure in my confession.
“Ricky, if that’s true you're going to have to come with me down to the station for a formal confession.”
“Oh, I'm not going anywhere with you!” I tilted my head to one side, cracking my neck, and looked straight at Frank and grinned. I took off towards Frank raising my knife. Frank reached for his gun and I was pleased. Things were going my way now. He was going to kill me. As I neared Frank I was worried I would actually stab him, he wasn't reacting fast enough. This was supposed to be my moment of glory. The moment where I was gunned down in the street. I slowed down a little to make sure Frank could have a clear shot, but I was still getting to close. As I reach Frank he raised his gun, but instead of shooting me he elbowed me in the arm, knocking my knife away, and then he brought his knee up, hitting me in the stomach. I toppled over onto the ground, dropping the knife, and Frank put his knee down on my back to hold me in place.
“You kicked me!” I screamed.
“Ricky, I had to stop you,” Frank said.
“You're not supposed to kick me!”
“I had to stop you,” Frank repeated.
“But you're supposed to shoot me in the head, you're supposed to end it all right here. In the quietness of this neighborhood I am supposed to die.”
“I'm not going to kill you Ricky.”
“No! Everything was in place! But you! You are ruining everything. All the reasons, everything that I did. You needed my help, you would have never gotten anywhere without me!” I said as Frank pushed me down tightening my handcuffs. “I told you who to look for! You wouldn't have figured out anything without me. I led you to all the answers. You needed me!” Frank didn't say anything as he loaded me into his car.
“So you were the one who called me?” Frank finally said as we drove to the police station.
“Yes, I was the one who called you!”
“Why? If you would have gotten away with it, why would you help me?”
“Why? Why? Because you are an idiot. You don't understand. I had a message.”
“You killed your parents and splashed some pig's blood on the walls of someone else's house.”
“Is that what you think I did,” I tried to hold back a laugh, “Oh, I did more than that. I sent out a message. To everyone that knows about this case. And when the media gets a hold of it, the nation will hear my message!”
“That you're completely crazy?”
“You didn't understand anything that I did. You went to the house and did you even question why the bodies were laid out as they were? Why the pig’s blood was on the wall? Why the doors were locked? Why it was the McCormick's house? Did you question anything at all?” I couldn't contain my rage at Frank. He looked rather taken aback by my outburst.
“The bodies were positioned,” Frank paused, “you mean you had reasons for everything you did?”
“Why else would I have done it?”
“Well I figured it was an elaborate ruse to make it harder to catch you.”
“Elaborate ruse? Are you insane? Everything that I did pointed directly at me. The bodies were arranged to say Darnel, an anagram of Randle,” Frank looked confused.
“As in Darnel McCormick and my last name,” I sighed, Frank still wasn’t seeing everything.
“And then the pig’s blood was there to represent the hypocrisy of the killing since it was my own parents, since we are Jewish and not allowed to eat pork. Clearly with the blood splashed on the walls to represent the swells, or waves, of anger that are in me. The closed doors obviously showed that I was not immediately showing myself and locked door is an anagram for old red cook. I am a professional chef, and I cook at the Old Red Tavern, could it be any more obvious then that. We already know I used Mr. McCormick's first name, but I used them as well since in the first grade I went to school with the McCormick's son Randal I have always hated Randal because he insisted that his name was the correct spelling of Randle, the fucker. So maybe that part was just a little bit of revenge for myself. And when this gets out people will understand that you and your government police are incompetent. That you can't even follow simple clues to solve a murder.” Frank took in my speech in silence as he drove.
“You really are quite crazy, you know,” he finally said.
“And you're an idiot.”
“So I take it the poisoning was just another way to kill your parents then.”
“Oh no,” I said, I particularly liked my reasoning here; “you see we were originally from
“Alright, we are going to need to process Mr. Randle here, put him in a solitary cell and I will finish up his paperwork upstairs,” Frank said to the booking officer. Another officer came around and took me and Frank started walking off.
“Frank, wait,” Frank turned to look at me, “are you just going to leave? I'm your case, you can't leave. You have to call the reporters. You need them to interview me. To hear my story.”
“No, as far as I am concerned your case is closed and you are now just a lot of paperwork,” Frank said and then walked into the elevator, leaving me with the booking officer. The only person to truly know what I had done, and why I had done it walked off, not caring.
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