Elijah Rock

Lavender has just arrived in the office when she reunites with an old acquaintance and impresses him with her magnificent skills. Can she solve this murder?

            "Here are the reports that were handed to me this morning on behalf of your brother" Mr. Foffat dropped a packet of papers on the hard wood in front of him before staring at it, still under the assumption that I was interested in them. When he noticed that I wasn't digging my nose through them, his eyebrows crossed and he seemed puzzled. He pointed towards the pile of papers and tried to clarify but I already knew exactly what I needed.

 

            "You can read them if you'd like." He was attempting to read me but it was clear that I wasn't interested.

 

            "I'm not interested in the reports, Mr. Foffat, I'm interested in hearing your side of the scandal. Please tell me everything that you experienced from the beginning and make it specific. I need every detail without being too indiscrete. I like to make my own reports" I stated with quite a nerve. This however, seemed to be a challenge for a boss who just came back from a vacation in Florida and spilled coffee all over his suit again.

 

            He heaved through gritted teeth before exhaling through relaxed lips.

 

            "The body of a woman was discovered this morning in her office with a snapped neck. There was no evidence of a forced entry, no fingerprints or hair, not even as much as a skin flake, and the only two things that the killer left behind was a set of footprints and a note that read 'CTP7h3X10 Unite.' The body was that of your own brother's secretary but the only other person in the building at the time of the killing was your brother, Ms. Greyson, and Mr. Sawazski. Ms. Greyson appeared to have been on the first floor at the moment, tending to the front offices and Mr. Sawatzki had spent another hour helping her out with some paperwork.

 

            "Your brother seems to be the only remaining suspect by far" Mr. Foffat was now flipping through the report and in front of me was his phone that displayed an image of the body and the note. Code. Simple observation really. 'Unite' usually means that the culprit wants to arrange a meeting. Usually a note like this could mean 'meet me before I kill again,' but this note seemed to deem otherwise. The clock was ticking but my focus was sharp as a needle point.

 

            "I assume you've already tried to retrace the culprit's fooprints" I remarked. He nodded sympathetically.

 

            "I know that you're more into that sort of area, considering that you're a graduate forensics scientist but the shoes were bought only a few hours before the scene. They were a pair of Nikes, those of which were not in your brother's possession according to him, but we do have a search warrant ready whenever it's necessary, so I suppose your brother may be lying. The footprints couldn't tell us much but that's why we need you" his tone was dropping along with his gaze. His chin was resting comfortably on his knuckles now.

 

            "I would like to examine the scene if you don't-"

 

            "I've already asked the authorities if you could do so but they made their answer quite clear" he sipped the steaming coffee from his mug vigorously.

 

            "And?" Impatient as I was, my back was no longer resting against the back of the chair anymore. He set the mug down and leaned back, crossing his arms and legs in response. I sighed and pressed my back against the seat again. Such a disappointment it is for a forensics graduate and detective to be incapable of even examining the scene.

 

            "I'm sorry, Ms. Raynott. I know that it would make everything much less troubling for you if you could examine the scene but I'm afraid that's as far as my position stretches. The only artifacts you can examine are pictures and I'm sure that interviewing your brother is your best choice for the moment" and the apology wasn't yet accepted, but I just passed it off and took a long breath.

 

            "I can't work with pictures, Mr. Foffat. You know that. I only need five minutes to analyze if that will convince them. They're turning to me and they won't even allow me to-"

 

            "I am turning to you, Ms. Raynott. The investigators have already stated that they didn't need anyone else on this case but so far this might as well become a cold one" his face turned agitated and his hands were on the desk now, supporting the weight of his broad shoulders whilst keeping his body sharp. I examined his face for a moment, finding the lines of a parent but the eyes of someone who needed rest. A scandal like this, for a business, is damaging to a long and defined extent.

 

            "If you can convince them to lend me five minutes in her office, then I can solve the case within a day." I could tell by the way his eyes seemed enlightened that he was already considering the idea. He leaned back in his chair and stared at me for what seemed to be minutes, but was only the agony of a single moment.

 

            "You'll need to show them your ID and even then, I still don't know if they will let you pass."

 

            "If their forensics team were only able to identify his shoe brand, then I'm sure that I can have both his height, walking pace, and physical endurance along with many other details within twenty minutes" I refuted. He leaned forward again, enclosing the gap between us that felt like a fresh field, but now turned me claustrophobic.

 

            "I can only hope that you're as good as the last case I handed you" he spoke quietly but not in a hush.

 

            "I've improved since the last case you handed me and I won't hesitate to prove it." My voice was quiet like his but I never hushed either. He stood up from his desk after a short stare of desperation before opening the office door and standing behind it like a doorman.

 

            "If you will follow me, I'll try to talk to them into it while you remain quiet. If you can recall the last time you were here, it wasn't the most pleasant experience any of us have been through" he sounded much like our favorite fictional government authority 'Mycroft Holmes' from the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle but his appearance and level of IQ is really the only difference. I can't even imagine how silent his mind must be at times. Dear god.

 

            In the last case he offered me, one of the detectives claimed that the victim had abnormal spots on their thighs that indicated a skin condition, but I quickly embarrassed him in font of his PAs by proving that it was toxins, not a skin condition. He wasn't very pleased with that and ended up threatening to have me off the case in less than an hour if it ever happened again. To be honest, it never did, but it did in my mind numerous times up until the culprit turned out to be Adrian Winsler who was secretly experienced in toxicology. He thought it was his brother, Lucas Winsler who was experienced in entomology. 

 

            He was yet again, embarrassed.

 

            I guided myself out of the room and back into the hallway, but it was even busier than ever now. Apparently a few people had to leave their offices due to the investigation and were now forced to relocate into other offices. The journalists hard at work were obviously not very fond of it. It's not their fault anyways, so their readjustments don't matter too much.

 

            "The left wing had to move offices so I apologize for all of the commotion. The scene is up the elevator and the second door to the right. The next hallway should be far more tranquil" Foffat tried to reassure me, but to my surprise, as the elevator accelerated to the third floor, the doors slid open to the sight of an entire police force. We stepped out of the elevator into a hallway flooded with all kinds of faces in all directions. Foffat should really reconsider speaking before entering.

 

            All eyes were on us now. All wanting answers, but Foffat was unable to offer anything but a stare that passed through them all. I had to trail behind him and attempt to shove off the crowd. We eventually were able to squeeze through the crowd and reach a wooden door with a small metallic plate that read 'Lena Bridgewater.' So that was her name. I'm sure she was as beautiful as her name sounded.

 

            The office door opened and despite the reporters desperate to get a lead, there was yellow tape that told them otherwise. Foffat bent below the tape and offered to hold it as I mimicked. He lead me passed the door and into the office. It was quite cramped with stacks of books and papers piling on every shelf. There were occasional photos of what was obviously her children and husband. A police man was holding the door for us, nodding as Foffat walked in and staring as I followed.

 

            "Josh! It's been a while!" a voice broke out among all of the muttering and flashing of cameras. Foffat was brought to a weak grin as he nodded towards a man walking towards him with his hand already outstretched. Friend? Nope. Obnoxious acquaintance. His grin was too unsure and the way his voice coughed a staged laugh caught on to the category of an acquaintance no one wanted to see (especially at a time like this.)

 

            "Inspector Baker" he began as he shook his strong hand, "You've lost some weight since the last time I saw you" Foffat correctly remarked but it didn't seem to impress the uplifting detective.

 

            "I've been exercising my bones as always." The detective then caught sight of me already examining the scenery around me. Fresh wallpaper, organized piles of paper that are all in alphabetical order, clean desk, pencil and yet another stack of papers to the right along with the telephone that was just barely in reach for a human, small dirt stains on the carpet but barely noticeable by the average eye, blood stains on the left desk drawer handle, and with no surprise, a folder filled with music sheets.

 

            She was a part of the CTP choir after all.

 

            'Elijah Rock'

 

            "Miss! Please don't touch the evidence! It is extremely important!" the detective remarked, but I hadn't laid a finger. It was the detective from the last case that was packed with over confidence despite his ignorant remarks and his indolent observational skills. He really wasn't our best bet for an even more mysterious case like this one. His opinions were distracting to everyone, but he has a degree in Criminal Justice so the police fell right into his lap.

 

            One of the biggest problems I saw in him was that he was derived by his emotions. His fiancée was once the culprit of being a serial killer in Manhattan after killing three men but Baker was too driven by emotion to believe a word of it, so his fellow detectives had to give him several reports and overwhelming evidence before he finally agreed to put her on trial. She was fined guilty and was given the life sentence for murdering sixteen men including her ex husband.

 

            I had already solved the case by then but the detectives wouldn't take my word as gospel until the day when the overwhelming evidence was discovered. They gave me an official apology but it really didn't matter to me at all. They've been listening to every word I say since then no matter how ludicrous.

 

            I could hear Foffat beginning to explain my relation to the crime and Baker grew surprised when he was informed that my brother was the main suspect. He eyed me before sighing and expressing his irritation towards the offer.

 

            "If she wants to work on this case, she can't make any contact with her brother whatsoever unless told to do so until we can figure out who did this. Understood?" the detective seemed to speak sternly but 'grim' was an almost treasured adjective if you ask me.

 

            "Unlike someone, she's not the sort to be driven by emotion. She's not exactly the most compassionate. I'm sure she might even be glad to cut ties but I cannot guarantee it" Foffat's chin intersected with his chest but his eyes were staring narrowly towards Baker. These two might've not been the most friendly crime solving team, but then again Foffat was a lead journalist, not a partner.

 

            Baker sighed deeply before shifting around and facing me, but my focus was on the blood stains. They weren't smudged from the fingers of a human, nor were they created by the strangulation. If the culprit used wire, there would be a cut around the victim's neck, but the neck was only deeply bruised, so this blood belonged to someone else. The culprit was crafty enough to wear disposable gloves, new shoes, and to leave a note that is almost impossible to retrace, so why would he leave his own blood?

 

            Simple, there's a chance that he didn't. That perhaps he was trying to frame someone, but the question is if that could really be the case. Blood stains were smudged, but not in a particular pattern, so it was smeared in an attempt for it to be discovered. After bending down to examine it with integrity, Baker appeared from behind me alongside Foffat. He was going to question me again. Please no. I'm working.

 

            "I need you to wear these, don't tamper with the evidence, and tell me everything you see no matter how small. We need every detail" Baker had just handed me the gloves when I already began talking.

 

            "Blood doesn't belong to the culprit. It was smudged using a single gloved finger. The blood is most likely someone else's which means that this might not be his only victim" I began. Baker looked conspicuous. He slipped his hands into his front pant pockets and blinked rather violently indicating confusion in his thought process.

 

            "Okay but how do you know?" God he couldn't just listen could he?

 

            "There doesn't seem to be a pattern and there's gaps in the blood that indicate a dull object smearing it. There's no trace of any fingerprints so it's likely that this was the works of a gloved finger. Leather gloves would leave fabric shavings while disposable gloves leave no trace. The culprit is too crafty to leave his own DNA behind considering his thorough attempts at keeping it with him, so this was most likely put here to either distract us or test us. Either one isn't good. I would focus more on the body if I were you and I need someone to look through the papers on her desk. She's neat and organized. She would never leave a single paper out of place, so the papers on the right side of her desk need to be examined." I stretched on the gloves before standing up.

 

            Baker motioned towards two investigators who, with their jaws loose, cleared their throats and nodded. They made their way towards the desk with their gloved hands and began carefully examining the papers. I stepped towards the body on the floor, examining each and every detail both about the body and the objects around it. Chair had been tipped over on her right, her back was facing the floor and her rotting eyes were facing the ceiling, there was a string of bruises lining her neck and her face was a pale shade but there were clear veins on her forehead that indicated that there was still blood in her body, only it wasn't running.

 

            The desk marks on her wrist suggested that she spent a lot of time on her computer, the lipstick smeared across her left cheek suggested that the attacker attempted to silence her but to no prevail, but really the only detail that was a shot in the dark was the mark on her upper shoulder. The tissue had been pierced by what seemed to be a needle. Oh, I love it when toxicology is useful in murder cases. It always makes things more exciting.

 

            Let's not forget the blood patterns on her shoulder as well. Unusual colors always indicate some kind of blood condition. Whether it's through a syringe or not was uncertain but she was definitely given an overdose before strangulation. My only mystery was how she was strangled. The bruises on her neck were not in the pattern of human hands and there was no burns that indicated rope. Wire was also out of the question. Something that resembled a stick perhaps? A crowbar? The marks seemed to comply.

 

            "Found anything?" Baker seemed impatient. I had completely forgotten he was even standing behind me. It was much better when he wasn't interrupting though.

 

            "Several. She was strangled using something similar to a stick. The attacker attempted to silence her but failed judging by the lipstick, she was stabbed with a needle, she fell out of her chair in an attempt to escape the attacker as you can see, she was happily married, a child, but her shift doesn't end until late at night and she worked every day so clearly her husband is away often. The attacker was someone she knew, but they weren't currently in the building at the time. They came through the window and snuck up behind her" My remarks weren't the most impressive but somehow sparked an interest in  his eyes.

 

            "There's a letter here" one of the investigators called towards Baker. The other investigator along with the two detectives and Baker's partner gathered around in one space on the other side of the room. I followed and managed to squeeze through to take a good look.

 

            "I found it under a load of rubbish. It printed a few days ago" the investigator continued to speak but I wasn't listening. The paper was cheap but new and the letter had been printed off of a computer. A clear date was printed at the top right hand corner of the paper but judging by the depth of the paper folds and the fading of the ink, it was printed between ten to twelve hours ago.

 

            The date read '2/8/16' so the letter was typed four days ago but only received yesterday.

 

            "What do you think Ms. Raynott?" Baker asked but wasn't interested in my opinion, only his own of course.

 

            "This was printed yesterday but sent four days ago. The letter was signed anonymously but the spacing and capitalization alongside the grammar, spelling, and introduction indicates that was most likely the works of someone with a clear extent in writing skills. Mrs. Bridgewater folded it for it's importance and met the killer in person several days before this letter was typed" I explained. Several mutters buzzed from around the room but my observations were quite clear.

 

            "Wait, if she met the murderer then why didn't she inform the-"

 

            "Threats, violence, and fear are all good excuses for keeping your jaw shut. The letter states that she had a probability of remembering the killer from several days ago before continuing on to arrange a time and date of meeting, but it seems Mrs. Bridgewater had denied the offer since that meeting was arranged yesterday, four hours before she was killed and she was in her work clothes. She wouldn't have just arranged to meet someone without dressing formally. She's a neat freak. She likes to keep things tidy, which was her last mistake" I explained further.

 

            "Hang on. You said a minute ago that she was happily married and yet she's never told anyone that she had a husband and never corrected us when we called her 'Miss' and not 'Misses.'" Baker was staring at me intensely now. He was acting sharp, but his instincts were being ignored.

 

            "Her husband is a veteran. You've seen the photos around the room. Only one consists of her husband and it's placed on a shelf at eye height so she could see it well and judging by his uniform, he's in the Navy. She never told anyone because she hasn't seen her husband in a long time and misses him dearly but doesn't want to burden her coworkers with complaining so she keeps it to herself and doesn't correct people when they say 'Miss' because she doesn't want to have to explain things to them" my voice was cracking due to the dry air but I had made my facts clear.

 

            Baker proposed no more questions. I examined the letter only to find unnecessary findings, so I stopped straining my back and straightened it. Everyone began taking closer looks at the letter but I had practically covered it all.

 

            "Kathy!" I called to the other detective standing opposite of Baker with her head high as she watched the bunch gathering around the desk. She quickly snapped her head towards me almost immediately. I motioned for her to come closer as I straightened my jacket and managed to brush portions of my tangling hair. No wonder why people called me the 'Sherlock Holmes reincarnated into a girl.' My hair was dark curls, I wasn't exactly a graduate chemist but rather a graduate forensics scientist, I wore scarves and jackets, I was deeply intrigued by mystery without any incentive, and even though I didn't exactly have my own Watson, I always needed someone to accompany me in some way.

 

            Kathy had made her way around the desk and only a few feet away from me.

 

            "What is it?" She seemed startled.

 

            "I need you to be my partner for this case. I'm just going out to speak to Ms. Greyson for a moment if you don't mind" I pulled off the disposable glove and threw it in the trash before turning back to face her.

 

            "Oh, no no! You won't need me. Seth Martinal called me a few minutes ago and offered to be your partner. He'll be waiting for you in about an hour outside of the building. He's offered to drive you home-"

 

            "Tell him that there is no need. I'll be going home late tonight but after I've spoken around the office I would like to speak with him" I managed to interrupt. Was I being too rude? I walked out the door with my back towards her but I could feel her trying to reassure herself that she was being useful. She's always enjoyed helping others. No wonder why she dedicated her studies to detective work.

 

            Foffat was trailing behind me now, but his phone was against his ear. The hallway of dozens of reporters was revealed now but they were being cleared out by police officers. They managed to pave a path for us to the elevator and throughout the commotion, Foffat plugged one of his ears in order to speak to whomever was on the phone. Possibly an employee of his.

 

            We managed to survive the crowd and step into the elevator. Luckily it was empty and the bliss of silence finally filled the walls. The elevator descended and the numbers two and one counted down in red before the elevator doors tore open to reveal a barely occupied lobby. We stepped out of the elevator. Foffat finally began speaking again to the man on the phone before following me towards the front desk.

 

            Behind the desk was of course, Ms. Greyson who was deliberately bent over in sorting her papers. Her hair was still in a tight bun but like before, her spine straightened when we approached her.

 

            "Ah! Mr. Foffat! Ms. Raynott! How can I help you?" she struggled yet another plastic smile. Honestly.

 

            "We would just like to speak with you privately if you don't mind. It's something regarding last night" I stepped forward.

 

            "I have told the police several times about where I was that night and if you really are a detective, then you would know that."

 

            "Yes of course, but I just wanted to know what sort of papers you were sorting at the time of the incident" and that's as far as her refuting went. She blinked violently for a moment before mentally questioning me.

 

            "Why?" she said suspiciously.

 

            "Oh, I'm just searching for something useful. If I could just take a look at those papers then I'll consider your alibi honest and I'll be on my way." She gave me a grim glare but soon bent over and dug through the binders and binders of papers from under her desk. I waited a moment before she pulled out a black binder and opened it. Inside was several articles that all evolved around murderers.

 

            "May I just have a look at them?" I asked politely. She switched the binder's direction so I could now read the text right-side-up and I began skimming through the articles. All of them were based on the serial killings happening lately from all around the state. All of them were linked to a single unidentifiable killer who's been terrorizing this state for over a year. They've already killed eighteen different people and uses the same method of attack every time, a syringe.

 

            It fit everything perfectly. The needle mark, the drug, and even the victim's occupation and relationship matched. Each victim was skilled in either literacy or writing and they were all happily married. This was perfect. A serial killer was on the loose and I was just given the perfect opportunity to locate the culprit....an invitation.

 

            "Mr. Foffat. I want you to question as many detectives that are investigating the murders of these articles as you can and phone me when you're done. There's no coincidence that this killing is similar. I need information quickly" I dropped the law, but he just nodded and rushed out the door with his phone still tucked against his ear. I closed the binder and handed it back to Ms. Greyson.

 

            "I'm sorry for the interruption, Ms. Greyson. That's all for now. Thank you" and in only a matter of a few seconds, I found myself walking towards the front door with my hands tucked into my pockets. I pushed open a door and walked carelessly towards the main road before calling for a taxi. I had forty five minutes until Seth was going to appear at the main entrance so I didn't have much time to wait around.

 

            I would never keep my new accompanist waiting would I?

Author's Note

This involves some deep murder investigation so it's not for the faint of heart. Enjoy ^^^^^