The Village Murders.

It was in the early hours of a cold January morning, that Detective Inspector Stewart attempted to retrace the final steps of Jimmy McDuff, a thirty year old man who had been murdered at his home in Milbride, on the west coast of Scotland.

He walked up the path, the cold wind ground against his skin and smeared from his weatherproof jacket.
He didn't mind, Stewart had seen much worse in his time, during his military service when he'd served as part of an elite force. He was a big man, young looking with strong features, and a well respected figure in the community.

He knelt to the ground and combed it with his fingers, through the grit, stones and bits of blood still fresh from the murder scene. With plastic gloves and a sealed bag he gauged for footprints, a murder weapon or anything which may lead him closer to McDuffs death.

"Good mornin' Mrs Dee" he called out behind the fence.

She turned to face him and pulled a scarf around her neck, the same one she'd wore every day since Inspector Stewart had bought it as a gift. She was sixtynine, a widow, and born and bread in Milbride. Stewart knew her well, as he did with most of the villagers... though not Mr McDuff, he had moved to the village all but two weeks ago.

"Good mornin' Charlie. What ye daein' out at this time in the mornin?- yeil catch ye death!" she shuddered.

"Well, that's kinda why ah'm here," answered Stewart. "It seems that after a spate o murders in the distict, our poor Mr McDuff here, was the next te catch his death so te speak."

"Oh no... noo again" she cupped her mouth with a hand, " He seemed such a guid boy anall."

"Aye, ah'm afraid so Mrs Dee. So I take it ye didnea here whit went on roon here last night did ye?"

"Ah'm afraid no Detective". Hey! a hope ah'm no a suspect again!"

"Mrs Dee, you wernea' a suspect the last time, it was just routine, and ah'm afraid it's just routine again."

"Weel, I suppose yied better come and get some tea inside yer' before ye freeze out there."

Stewart followed her inside. He listnened to her as she went on about her brother, who never seemed to visit, and how she'd seen Inspector Stewart more times this week than anybody else.

"Ah could be lyin' deid out here and nobody ah'd blink an eye." She moaned.

"Now, ye noo that's nae true", he put the china cup onto the saucer, then turned it towards him by the handle.

"Ah maybe no, "but still, yeid think somebiddy ad call wie all this goin' on."

Her lips pursed.

"Would ye like another cup o' tea Inspector Stewart?"

"Eh, no... no," he replied. "Ah'd better get on ma way!"

"Oh, so soon? surely no, av no told ye about what happened tae poor Mrs McBride yet."

Stewart stayed and listened to her story.  He could sit for hours as she'd reminice tales of what she'd seen out of the window, or what happened last week at the shops.

"Wha' about you, Toby, did you see anything last night while ye were out huntin' mice?"

The black tabby gazed upward and gave a knowing glance, then she patted his head and lowered him to the floor.

"Ah'd better gie an doo ma rounds" said Inspector Stewart suddenly, he lingered for a second whilst she got up to see him to the door.

"Aye, weel, if I hear anythin', I let ye know."

"Thanks mrs Dee" he then replied, and turned onto the path which lead on to next door.

 

***

"They came from Egypt" he said suddenly, his fingers impatient on the table as he waited for the next question. Stewart sat slumped into McDuffs chair,- eyes fixed on the television, as he waited for word to get back from forensics about the cause of death.

A knock came at the door.

Stewart got up to answer, it was his partner, Lucy Meed.

"Whit ye been daein' Inspector. Aye been stood knockin' awae at that door fur ages" she moaned and wiped her feet against the mat.

"Aye got some news fre forensics about what happened here this mornin' " She went on.

"Go on." Said Stewart.

"Weel, "It seems our Mr McDuff was hit over the head wie a blunt instrument, and that was the cause e death. All fingerprints that were taken are Mcduffs and there isnae any sign of a break- in."

"So... whoever it was that killed McDuff," said Stewart. "Brought his own murder weapon, spent a little bit a time wie em, an' then smashed him over the back of the heid. Which gies me cause tae believe; that Mr McDuff may have known his killer."

Reviews

[Dylan I. Cree]

This is needs work. Don't try so hard it would be better if you wrote in plain english. I lked the story but it took a moment to read because of the lanuage. The writinf style itself is really good. Keep at it.