Blogging · Fiction · stories

Mathilda…

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They had to secure the area, and quick.

Why was it, the captain wondered, that these calls were always placed late in the night? It was already annoying enough to have to work the graveyard shift, but in the darkness, the police cars’ lights attracted neighbours like moths. At least, they didn’t have to worry about the press for a good half hour, since no newspaper or tv station cared the least bit about the secluded little town.

Jimmy was almost done cirling the scene with the flashy plastic ”crime scene” tape, when the captain walked to the house’s front door.

Ok, Jimmy, walk me through this.

The young officer was obviously too excited considering the circumstances, and Warren felt uneasy even before the beginning of Jim’s speach.

Ok, sir… We have a white female, age 25 to 30…

The captain sighed loudly.

Cut the official crap already, Jim! We both know Mathilda, and she’s 28 years old! No need to age bracket her.

The young man looked disappointed.

Yeah I know Mr Preston, but it’s the first murder in ages to happen in town, and I thought…

If looks could kill, Jimmy would have been the second victim in the county’s history.

And what makes you think that Mathilda’s been ”murdered” anyway? Everyone around here knows she was severely depressed. It was not a matter of ”if” but of ”when” she’d take her own life…

The neighbouhood was already gathering around the house, attracted by the flashing lights. Jimmy pushed the front door open, and invited the captain to walk in.

I think you should come and take a look inside, sir.

When Warren entered the room, he couldn’t repress gagging. You’ve probably seen these cops tv shows, where policemen and investigators keep telling that this was ”the most gruesome crime scene” they had ever seen. Well, there was no doubt that what they had here topped them all. There was litterally blood everywhere… From floor to ceiling, and all across the walls. It seemed almost impossible that a single body could contain so much blood.

The captain pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and covered his nose to stop the metallic smell.

Sir…

The last thing he needed right now, was to get nauseous and to have to rush out to throw his dinner up in the flowerbed.

Sir…

Who in hell had Mathilda pissed off to deserve this? She wasn’t the bubbly type, but she wasn’t the kind to make enemies either. And there she lay, or whatever was left of her, anyway.

Sir…

He wondered how they’d be able to identify her.

SIR!!

Warren turned to Jimmy, who was shaking a notebook in the air.

We have a suicide letter, sir. And a damed long one too. I have just had a quick look at it, but it seems like Mathilda hired whoever did ”this”.

Oh great, the captain thought. He had heard about suicide by cops, but suicide by murderer? That was a first. It would be a long night.

A very, very long night.

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