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Sun shines, warming anyone caught in the rays. In spite of this, the day was cold and crisp; winter was coming early this year. The day is clear, and the golden light streams through the windows, striking Mary as she lies by her bed. Her blonde hair, a bright contrast to her pale face, is spread like a fan on the floor. Shadows move along her face as the auburn leaves fall outside with a soft susurrus. The only other sound to be heard is the almost noiseless drip of blood to the floor and of footsteps.
Samantha stared at Cassandra, latest mystery novel in hand. Her hazel eyes were filled with shock, and her mouth was wide open. Her chocolaty hair and plaid shirt were rather
crumpled from lying on the couch, reading, which only added to her look of surprise. In contrast, Cassandra’s gaze was calm, and her tan jacket was pristine, due to her impeccable posture.
“How did you figure it out? You’re only halfway through the book!” Samanthaexclaimed, pacing around the room and smoothing her hair with her hands. “And why did you have to tell me? I haven’t finished yet!”
“I thought the point of these stories was to identify the murderer. If I figured it out, you should know who it is too, right?” Cass’s asked, voice earnest.
“No! The point is to take a stab at it, then find out who and why and how. Then, you think to yourself ‘Oh that makes sense. Why didn’t I see it earlier?’” Samantha said, exasperated. She glanced at Cassandra, and then sighed when she saw the lack of comprehension in her friend’s azure eyes.
“I could tell you that too, if you’d like,” Cass said, but before she could get to explaining why the dean had killed the sweet seeming Lily, Samantha’s phone rang. Looking at caller I.D. with an expression that looked suspiciously like relief, Samantha answered.
“Hello? Yes, this is Samantha Singer.” Cass noted that she looked worried, which implied that the speaker wasn’t Mary, and the fact that she used her last name indicated that she was being asked using her last name. That hinted at police or some other authoritative force. Then, of course, the obvious worry was why someone was calling from Mary’s phone in the first place. This did not bode well.
Tuning back in to the conversation between Samantha and the mystery caller, Cass heard Samantha say, “Yes, of course. We’ll come immediately.” She paused, and then said in response to the voice at the other end, “My friend Cass is with me. She can come too, right? They were friends too.” While Samantha waited for a reply, Cassandra noted the use of past tense with a chill. “Yes, of course. Thank you, officer.” Well, that proved her theory.
“Police?” Cassandra asked worriedly, tucking her raven hair behind her ear habitually. “And why do they have Mary’s phone?”
Samantha, already grabbing her jacket and heading to the door, glanced back over at her and said in a broken voice, “She’s been murdered.”
When they arrived at the idyllic looking house, a pair of cops were there talking to a man with dirty blonde hair. He glanced at them as they walked up, his amber eyes yellow in the afternoon light. He ran his left hand through his hair and sighed.
“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Alex.” he said to Cassandra, shaking her hand.
“I’m Cassandra,” she replied, noticing a slight wince as she grasped his hand.
“And you must be Samantha.” He smiled at her startled look. “I’ve seen you come by when you visited Mary.” His smile saddened as he said Mary’s name. “Also, I heard them talking to you on the phone.” He added, gesturing to the cops.
“I’m Detective Milton,” said the taller, darker skinned man, and then gestured to his partner. “This is Detective Claymore.” Claymore smiled, exuding an air of confidence. “We were just asking Mr. Hazel about how he found Miss Harvelle.”
“As I said, I was reading. Books are my passion; I’m a librarian.” He paused as he realized he was drifting off point and resumed the narrative. “I heard some noises, and two people arguing. I didn’t think much of it until I heard a scream. I ran outside and saw a man sneaking out the back door. I shouted and ran after him, but he was too fast. Then I went back, to see if Mary was alright. She was like I found her. I called 9-1-1, and then you showed up about five minutes later. That’s it.” Alex reported, sounding very tired and regretful.
“That’s horrible.” Cassandra murmured. There was a brief silence, and then she said, “What time was this, again?”
“About half an hour ago. The detective force works fast!” Alex said voice full of admiration.
“Could… could we see her?” Samantha asked tentatively, unsure of the regular protocol.
Claymore glanced at his partner, then shook his head. “Sorry, that’s not allowed. I would, but it’s against the rules. The evidence has to stay intact.” His voice was gruff, with a little sympathy mixed in.
“Even if we didn’t touch anything and you accompanied us?” Cassandra asked. She wasn’t sure why she was pushing the issue, except perhaps a sense of morbid curiosity. She hadn’t been friends with Mary like Samantha was, though they did get along. The whole thing was a bit surreal. Maybe if she saw, she would believe it, maybe it would sink in.
“Perhaps you could come in to the house. Not the actual room, of course. Would that help?” Detective Milton offered kindly, ignoring the sharp glance that was sent his way from his comrade.
“That’s very nice of you, sir. I would like that. Well, maybe ‘like’ isn’t the right word, but I think it would be… good.” Samantha said, trying to put her emotions into words. She knew she didn’t express it very well, but they seemed to understand.
Cassandra was rather surprised, actually, that they were allowed in. She didn’t think it was standard protocol, but Samantha’s puppy dog eyes can have a stunning effect.
They enter the house, and as perfect as the outside had been, the inside was the opposite. Books were strewn everywhere, small spots of blood on some of the covers. The blood spots were scattered around the room, then strewn in a line towards the room that Cassandra knew to be Mary’s. Curiosity released, she took a step forward, then another, until she could see through the door to what lay beyond. What she saw shocked her.
Mary lay slumped on the floor, blonde hair in a wild spray beneath her head. Her face was placid, though almost as white as her dress. Some of it, anyway. Around her abdomen and along the side she was lying on, her dress was a scarlet that would have been cheery, had Cassandra not known the context. Around the wound, the color was darker, a couple shades away from black. Blood pooled around her body, staining the floor and the tips of the longer locks of the bright tresses. For all that, the only thing out of place was a small metal bird lay on its side, blood on the beak and the side that lay on the ground. The beginnings of a bruise showed on her shoulder.
A hand grips Cassandra’s shoulder, bringing her back from the gruesome sight. She turns and sees Detective Claymore, who says, “You shouldn’t look over there.” His voice is less gruff than before, seeming to speak more out of trying to shield her from the horror of the scene. His hand gently guides her back to the living room, with its bloodstained books. Mary loved those books, Cassandra knew. An avid lover of obscure and rare codexes and compendiums, paperbacks and portfolios, and works and writings of any types, as long as they wouldn’t be recognized if they were brought up in conversation. Some of them were rather expensive.
“Who are we thinking right now, Joseph?” Detective Claymore asked.
“John Colt, Mary`s ex. They had a bad breakup a few days ago. It ended with her shouting at him to get out. It would explain the arguing. He also matches Alex`s description. We`ve already got him at the station.” Detective Milton said.
Samantha saw Cassandra slowly shaking her head, and she was staring into space with what Samantha called her “pondering look”. With a sincere “thanks” and goodbye to the detectives, she ushered Cassandra out of the house towards the car.
“What`s with you spacing out?” Samantha asked concernedly. Sometimes her friend took a while to come out her thoughts, but this time she snapped back at the sound of her friend`s voice, hand resting on the top of Samantha`s sleek black car.
“How mad was she at John?” Cassandra asked suddenly.
“She was pretty mad; she said she never wanted to see him again. It sounds cliché, but she doesn’t say things like that lightly. When she gets mad, she gets mad. Why?” Samantha said.
“Because,” Cassandra replied, taking a deep breath, “I don’t think he did it.”
“What?” Samantha squawked, her voice slightly shrill. “Why not?”
“Well, based on your description, she obviously wouldn`t allow him into her house. The doors and windows were all in perfect condition, though, so it couldn`t have been a break in. Since the only way he could get in was through force, and there were no signs of that, it wasn`t him. However, it was someone she knew, because she let them in or they had a key.” Cassandra explained, watching as the surprise on her friend`s face grew throughout her explanation, until it left her expression from earlier in the dust. It was rather comical, actually.
After a somewhat long and slightly awkward silence, Samantha visibly pulled herself together and said a bit hoarsely, “So… what do you want to do? Tell the police?”
“No, I can`t go to them unless I have better proof. I want to go talk to the neighbor. Alex, right?” Cassandra said, turning back to the lawn where Alex was standing awkwardly, looking unsure. She strode towards him, Samantha trailing behind her. Alex glanced up as they approached.
“Hi again, girls. I thought you were leaving,” he said, not unkindly.
“I just want to know about what happened,” Cassandra replied, injecting her voice with sorrow. It wasn`t hard; Mary had been her friend too.
“I already told you. I heard arguing, a scream, then I saw a man bursting through the back door, and I chased him, then came back to Mary’s and called 9-1-1. That`s all there is,” he said rapidly.
“Thank you.” Cassandra said, grabbing Samantha`s arm and pulling her towards the house.
Once they were out of Alex`s earshot, Cassandra hissed, “Listen. I need to check something. Can you distract the cops? Just for a minute. I need to look at Mary.”
“Are you serious? That’s insane! I can’t-” Samantha`s reply was cut off at the appearance of Detective Claymore in the doorway.
At the prompting of a sharp glance from Cassandra, Samantha began to tell the cops that she left her phone in the house, while trying to look innocent. It seemed to work, as he moved to let them in.
While Samantha continued to talk to the cops, Cassandra snuck over to Mary`s bedroom, trying her utmost not to attract attention. When she got to the gruesome scene, she knelt and examined Mary`s hands and shoulder, trying not to touch the blood on the floor. After the gentle examination, she glanced at the bird.
Standing abruptly, she walked back into the room where Samantha was still ‘searching’. Cassandra gestured to Samantha that it was time for them to go. Samantha hastily pretended to find what she was looking for, and said goodbye for a second time. They strode out the door and up to Alex for a third time.
“Hello, ag-. “ Alex began to say before being cut off by Cassandra.
“Don’t ‘hello’ me! John didn’t kill Mary; you did. You’re a librarian. You know how valuable some of the books are. You came over to her house, probably under some benign pretense. You chatted with her, buttering her up until you got to talking about buying the books. She said they weren’t for sale. You, probably in anger, went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.” She paused in her narrative, fighting a well of emotion. Shaking her head and clearing her throat, she resumed her tale, her voice a bit shakier. “Mary, understandably frightened, bumping into the bookshelf on the way and knocking off the books, ran into her room. She grabbed the nearest weapon to fend for her life, which was the little bird statue. She swiped with it, and you blocked with your right hand, the one not holding the knife. It cut deep enough to make it bleed, but not a very painful wound. You didn’t even notice it with all the adrenaline in your system. You stabbed her in the gut, and she collapsed. You looked through her books, and then noticed the blood. You went and cleaned up your hand. You called the police after taking the books you wanted home, just next door. Then they met you in the yard and you created an alibi close enough to the truth so that other possible witnesses would have a similar story.”
“Wha- what? How did you get to that?” Alex stuttered nervously, backing away slowly.
“Doesn’t matter. The cops are coming now.” Cassandra said, pointing at the cops exiting the building.
Alex started, then began running down the street.
Cassandra walked up to the cops and said, “Go after that man. He killed Mary. No, don’t look all doubtful at me, just do it. I think he’ll probably confess if you go now. Call it a tip off, if you need to. Go!” She smiled slightly as she watched the hesitant cops run after the fleeing man.
She turned to see Samantha with the same shocked expression it seemed like she’d been wearing all day.
“You should really stop making that face. It could get stuck like that.” Cassandra teased.
Samantha threw the local paper down in front of Cassandra, her expression slightly accusing. The headline screamed “Local Killer Apprehended Thanks to Anonymous Hint”. The date was November 4th, two days after Mary’s murder. Cassandra glanced up at it, then back at her newest detective novel.
“Are you going to tell me how you did it yet? I’ve waited two days for you to tell me, just because you wanted to ‘keep the air of mystery and suspense’. You just wanted to see how long I’d last. The paper doesn’t help at all.” Samantha asked, looking at Cassandra beseechingly.
Cassandra sighed and looked up from her book. “I was giving you time to figure it out yourself. You said the point of mysteries was to take a stab at it, find out whom, then reflect on the cleverness of the detective.” When Samantha glared at her, she relented and said, “Alright, I’ll tell you. You already knew why I eliminated John. I saw that all the bloodstains were only on the books covers and opposite the spine. That’s unlikely if one of them were injured during the chase, and I saw no cuts on Mary’s hands, indicating that it was the thief’s. I knew it was a thief because I noticed that some of Mary’s books were missing. Most people wouldn’t know they were valuable; they’re pretty nondescript. Only someone who worked with books would know that. She only told you how expensive they were since you are… were her best friend. Anyways, that made me think of Alex. He was a librarian, and a dedicated one by the sound of it. Once I thought of him, a lot of things made sense. All of the habitual gestures that Alex displayed were left handed, and he grimaced when I shook his hand. That in itself wasn’t suspicious, of course. There was blood on the little statue where she swiped at him. I knew it wasn’t Mary’s; she didn’t have any cuts. Besides the obvious one, anyways. The blood must have cut the thief’s hand. All of Alex’s habitual gestures were with his left hand. His injured one was the right, though. However, assuming that he was left handed, it’s more likely he’d injure the dominant one, unless his dominant hand was full, with a knife perhaps. All of this evidence is circumstantial, so I couldn’t just tell the cops. I had to confront him directly. After all, I didn’t have anything to lose, and something to gain, so I thought ‘why not’? ”
There was a pause as Samantha processed the new information. Eventually, she declared, “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You are a genius!”