The Crime Scene

by Rory Dwane

 

Reaves entered the cramped apartment and closed the door. He walked past a blood stained cradle, past the body of a teenage girl in the hallway.

“Reaves,” Detective Carter greeted him, a puff of smoke balling up towards the rotating fan above them as he spoke. Reaves eyes took in the specks of blood covering the roof and walls in lines and arcs.

“What the hell happened to that?” asked Carter, nodding towards the smashed equipment in Reaves’ hands.

“Some lunatic nearly knocked me down crossing the road. He missed me, but he got my kit.”

Carter shook his head. “An unhappy ending, you think?” Carter nodded towards the naked body. “Name’s Sandy Vicks, mother of two.”

“You’re the Detective, you tell me.” Reaves let his gaze linger on the body, before picking up the crooked notepad and scribbling in it.

Carter leaned sideways, craning to see the writing. Reaves tilted the notepad away, finished, and re-pocketed it. “You’ll see what it says in the report.” Reaves faced him.

Carter exhaled loudly, crunching the cigarette into an ashtray. “I noticed a disposable camera on the counter, any good?”

“It’ll do for now.” Reaves put the toolkit onto the counter and picked up the disposable camera. The measuring scales were bust, he needed something to use for size comparison.

“This perp gets around fast. You have to give him credit for not wasting time.” Carter said.

“Sounds like some sick type of admiration to me, I suppose Hitler was just good at getting shit done too, huh?”

Carter moved fast. He grabbed Reaves by his collar, and pulled him close before Reaves had even blinked. “You listen here,” he spat. “Don’t for a second think I wanted this to happen. You just keep your mouth shut and take your little photos and we can be on our merry way. OK?”

Carter released him and walked over to the window. Reaves calmed himself as he checked the camera – full film. Now all he needed was something to use instead of the scales.

His eyes scanned the room, then looked down and noticed a box of matches resting against his foot. He picked it up, the matches inside shaking.

“Ah, don’t open that!” Carter began, shuffling forward as he dug through his pockets. “I think their mine.”

“I only need to use it for size reference. Here, you can have the matches.” Reaves slid the box open, startling at the sight of a bloodied earring inside. It had a piece of flesh attached to it. He dropped the box, the contents falling out onto the floor. Reaves noticed the writing on the back of the box.

 

202-555-0131 Sandy, X

 

When Reaves looked up from the box, Carter’s pistol was aimed right at his face.

“I told you not to open it,” he muttered. “Officer, get in here quick!” he shouted through a Walkie-Talkie.

Reaves mouth was hanging wide open when the officer ran in.

“Now Reaves, explain yourself!” demanded Carter, a smirk faintly visible on his lips.

2 thoughts on “The Crime Scene

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