Murder Does Have A Way of Showing Itself
The Landlord used the passkey to get into the tenant's apartment. The smell almost blindsided Detective Peter O'Brien and Laura Kimber. The poor landlord almost shit purple when he saw his seventy two year tenant on the floor directly in front of the television. The smell was so rancid that his nose just filled up with fluid. He turned away and hacked as Kimber escorted him out of the apartment.
The man was considered missing for weeks and the few friends he had were concerned. They knocked on the door and telephoned him, but he did not answer. He lived alone and enjoyed paying prostitutes for spending evenings with him. There was no sex involved, he did it just for companion.
A black woman walked into the apartment nude. She stopped and looked at the detectives, but did not say a word. She did not try to cover herself or hide, she was totally okay with being nude. She turned and started to walk away until O'Brien called her back.
“Did you leave something here?” He asked.
“No,” she replied.
“What's your purpose for coming here?” he continued.
She stood there for a few minutes just staring at Kimber with one hand on her hip and then turned back to O'Brien to answer his question. “I came to read to Marty. I told him I'd come up naked and if he got excited we'd do the do.”
“When did you last speak to him?” Kimber asked.
“Four weeks ago,” she said while rolling her eyes. “I live next door, so don't think I was walking the streets butt ass naked. I got some class, I ain't all nasty.”
“You're just half nasty,” Kimber added.
The glare back at Kimber said fuck you, but she just popped her gum and titled her head to one side.
“Give your number and name to the police woman outside,” said O'Brien. “We may have some questions for you involving Marty. Don't leave town.”
“I ain't, I did nothing wrong,” she said as she turned and walked slowly away.
O'Brien didn't stop and stare, but he saw enough to notice a back tattoo and huge ass-cheeks that look like they were fighting each other for supremacy.
“What do you think about Marty here?” O'Brien asked.
“I don't like the way he's laying,” Kimber said while leaning over the body. “He's up on his side like that as if someone was rolling him over.”
O'Brien nodded in agreement.
“I think that this one is going to come back from the medical examiner as murder,” said Kimber as she stood up and kind of got use to the smell.
O'Brien nodded again.
Although foul play may take center stage, Kimber was a bit confused. There was no overt trauma to the body. No stab wounds, no bullet holes, no bruises, no contusions. There was no strangle marks around the neck, and it didn't appear that someone suffocated him with the couch pillow. Of course there was a little dry blood around the mouth, but that just came with decomposing.
“What do you think?” Kimber asked.
O'Brien looked around the small apartment. He noticed there were no signs of ransacking or even a minor struggle. But the old man was on his side in between the sofa and coffee table, his back arched in an awkward angle as if someone pushed him into that strange position to check for signs of life.
“I don't know,” he replied. O'Brien knew that it would be easier if the murderer would have snapped his neck and turned his head completely around. Maybe hang a bloody tie on the door knob as a calling card, but there was nothing. Only an old man dead on the floor with his mouth and eyes opened.
“They will comb the body,” Kimber half whispered as her back stiffened up. “Murder does have a way of showing itself.”
O'Brien agreed with a very slow nod.
© 2016 Frank Atanacio