She Wore A Yellow Raincoat

Officer Martin is a successful police officer, ranking high in the police department. However, a case from his past still haunts him. He struggles to forgive himself and put the pieces together.

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Chapter One

Officer Martin sat solemnly at his desk, dunking his freshly made Krispy Kreme donuts in his piping hot coffee. It was an unusually slow day at the station, which came as a nice surprise for the officer. After finishing his doughnut, he looked around for something to do. He approached the beat up file cabinet filed with all the cases that he encountered over the years, most of which helped him rank higher in the police department. Well except one. That file was pushed all the way in the back, and the only people who could possibly get to it, were the select few who knew that it was there. Officer Martin pulled the dusty file out from the back, which he had not seen since he filled out the reports for it all those years ago.

 

He read the young girl’s name that was printed on the file’s tab over and over. Margret Buckles. Had it really been that long ago since he was assigned this case? Fifteen years, he thinks, before finally opening the file. He nearly faints at the sight of the case pictures; his stomach churning wildly. He wonders how anyone was ever capable to stand the sight of the young girl and then he remembers that he was the one who took the pictures fifteen years ago. He turns the pictures over because he’s afraid that he’s going to throw up if continues to look at the young girl’s mangled body. This file is heavier than any of the other ones in his file cabinet, even though it was never solved. Officer Martin’s hands shook as he reread the details of that heinous crime. It was then that the officer realized that rereading the reports did nothing, for the details were burned in his brain. He could never forget that case. It wasn’t my fault, he thought, desperate to rid himself of the guilt that was permanently bound in his chest. The girl should have known, should have known to stay away from strangers. Surely her parents taught her that. The officer repeats this in his head, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t his fault. He was unsuccessful.

His first encounter with Margret Buckle happened on a rainy, November night. He remembers the young girl in a bright yellow raincoat with matching rain shoes. She made her way straight to the counter that the young officer Martin stood behind, along with his old boss, Carl. Margret’s eyes were big with shock, and maybe--Officer Martin remembers--fear.

“May I help you little lady?” Carl said.

“I’m here to report a crime,” she said, her voice strained.

Carl scoffed at her, looking at her like she was insane. Mistake number one. He handed her a police report that she filled out in her tiny, slanted letters. After finishing it, she thanked the gentlemen and left the station. Carl took the report and carelessly set it down in a mount of paperwork that would probably never be read. It wasn’t until Carl left that the young officer grabbed the paper. She was reporting that someone had been following her. According to her report, the stalker was a Caucasian male with light blonde hair and one blue and one brown eye. Around forty years old, she had guessed. I first noticed him following me after school one day, as I walked home. It wasn’t until a few days later that I saw him again following me to ballet classes, the report had read. The young Officer Martin ran out of the police station, looking for the young girl to offer his help. It was then that mistake number two occurred. The man with the mismatched eyes had lurked behind a pillar by the police station that Officer Martin ran right by. Oh how stupid of him! Why would he ever run after a victim who reported being stalked? When he approached the young lady, her eyes widened. Certainly she must have known that she was being followed to the police station, but took the risk anyway.

“Would you like to go back to the police station? I might be able to help you,” he said eager to help.

“My parents are probably getting worried, I should head back. But maybe you can escort me,” she said.

“How far away is your house? I could drive you,” he offered.

“That’d be nice,” Margret said.

She told him her address and they drove silently to her house. Once they reached her house, she got out of the car, thanked him and left. He waited for her to get in her house and when she did, he drove away. Mistake number three. He should have told her parents, demanded that she remains in constant watch until the police decide to deal with her stalker. But he didn’t, he drove off not hearing from the young girl with the yellow raincoat until her parent’s call two days later.

Ring…ring.

“This is WallaWalla police department, how may I help you?” the young officer Martin asked.

“Hello,” said a woman who seemed to be struggling to stay calm, “my daughter, Margret was at the station a few days ago.”

“That’s right, I drove her home the other night.” He said.

“W-w-ell she’s gone! I went to pick her up from her ballet class, and she wasn’t there. Her teacher said she never showed up!” Margret’s mother wailed on the other line.

After fifteen years of police work, encountering many disgusting and cruel crimes, yet Officer Martin never felt his heart sink so low. His partner, an older woman named Katherine, and him rushed to the studio where Margret took ballet. The teacher was nice enough, but she had no information for the police officers. They walked back to their car, when a young girl with high pigtails in her hair, stopped the two officers.

“Are you guys looking for Margret?” she asked innocently.

“Have you seen her?” He avoided the question.

She nodded.

“Where? Do you remember where she went?” Officer Martin couldn’t hide the anxiety laced in his words.

She nodded again, grabbing the young cop’s hand, leading him far down the street, mumbling as she went. Katherine followed behind, until they reached a small playground that didn’t look like it had been used for ages.

“She was over there, by the swing set. I kept yelling for her, you know, to get her to walk with me to ballet. She didn’t even have her tights on, I knew that Miss Elliot was going to be mad at her. Anyway, I waited by the corner over there,” she points to where it is, “for about five minutes, when I saw a man approach her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. I recognized him from somewhere, you know, so I thought it was cool, you know, to leave,” she babbled on.

“Was he blonde?” Officer Martin asked, praying that the answer be no.

“Yup. Bleach blonde almost,” she said, and with that walked off. Mistake number four and five were made on Margret’s friends behalf, not waiting to see where her friend was going too and not bothering to tell anyone about it till two hours later.

Officer Martin made a pit stop at the Buckle’s house, informing them of what he had learned.

“Do you have any blonde relatives? Close family friends? Margret reported being stalked by a gentlemen with blonde hair and one blue eye and brown eye. Does this description sound familiar?” Officer Martin said.

They shook their heads no, and thanked the officers as they left their house. Over the next week, flyers and Amber Alerts were sent out and hundreds of volunteers began to search the city for sign of the missing girl. Mr. and Mrs. Buckle were both interviewed multiple times on television, trying to get the word out that there daughter was missing. No phone calls came in with tips or leads; there was no evidence of a struggle or fight at the park. In fact, there was no DNA at, except her fingerprints that were on the chain of the swing set. Margret Buckles had vanished and the police were stumped as what to do next.

It wasn’t until the second week of their search, that they received a call. Officer Martin, along with everyone else, knew that odds weren’t in the girl’s favor. But the phone call confirmed it. A local couple were walking around the very playground she was last scene, which should have been closed for investigation, which was mistake number six. She was decapitated and all her limbs severed, but the body was unmistakable. Margret Buckles. The old officer cringes as he remembers the foul stench in the air, the corpse, and of course the yellow raincoat that laid perfectly untouched next to the mangled body.

Why, he thinks, why wasn’t I smart enough to see what could happen? Why didn’t Carl take the girl’s report seriously? Officer Martin pounds his fist out of anger, or maybe out of heartbreak; all he knows is that the case that has haunted for fifteen years still won’t go away. He quickly goes through the papers in the file, when he stumbles on his own familiar handwriting.

November 21^st- Margret Buckles is pronounced dead at approximately 11”57 a.m. Her parents are heartbroken, wanting revenge. I don’t blame them. I can’t drive past the playground without visualizing the murder of the young girl with the yellow raincoat; even my dreams are starting to reflect this case. I should have tried harder, I should have protected her. I was so stupid, letting her walk into her house without telling her parents. I’ve been racking my brains trying to find subtle hints or something that shows who killed her, but I can’t. Every clue I get leads to empty trails. I can’t even look her parents in the eye; I think that they must hate me, and again I don’t blame them. I keep looking for the blonde haired man with the mismatched eyes with no success…

How did this get in here? That was from an old diary he kept during his early years that was absolutely private. He hadn’t put it in the file. He flipped the crumpled paper over and noticed a mark. A backwards seven with three lines slashed through it. He’s seen this somewhere; his mind was racing to find the answer. “UGH!” He shouted, this time out of pure anger.  

The coroner had said Margret Buckles had been dead for at lease 72 hours, and had died from loss of blood. He tortured her. That man with the one brown and one blue eye. Her parents lost a lot of weight during the investigation period, and her mother, who was either in full blown hysterics or extremely depressed, quit her job as a nurse and hardly ever left the house. Her dad must have been grieving privately because he was still seen out and about, working even more at his crazy job of construction. The police department bent over backwards trying to figure this out, but they all knew it was hopeless. With nothing but a description of the killer, they had little to work with. Mistake number seven happened the night after the coroner‘s verdict. Officer Martin loathed his chief of police ever since the day he tossed aside Margret’s report. It was only a matter of time until he exploded.

“Martin,” Carl barked, “Buckles’ parents are gettin’ antsy, they want to know the details of the autopsy, I think you should tell them.” He says this with a cruel laugh and starts walking away.

“NO! I CANNOT DO THAT! Y-Y-YOU HEARTLESS B*****D, YOU TELL HER PARENTS. YOU TELL HER HOW SHE WAS TORTURED AND BRUTUALLY KILLED BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO BIG OF AN IDIOT TO TAKE THE YOUNG GIRL SERIOUSLY,” Officer Martin roared at his boss, who didn’t seem to look surprised at all. Mistake number seven, Officer Martin reflects, was yelling at his boss who was, of course, expecting that.

The boss smirked before saying, “If you didn’t want to tell them, you just had to say so.”

Officer Martin looked down at his hands, that were trembling due to the high amount of adrenaline that ran through his bloodstream. This case, involving the meek little girl with the yellow raincoat, had taken a toll on the police officer. His relationship with his wife suffered, his appearance aged, and his belief that there are wholesome people out there were totally destroyed.

Author's Note

I am not quite sure on how police procedures go, so I gave it my best shot. I hope you enjoy!

Reviews

[blueyedany72]

This is very interesting. It definitely leaves me wondering what happens next - I hope you continue.
The story line that you have created is great. I like how you bounce back and forth between past and present. As a reader, it is nice to see how past events have effected the character while also seeing the taking place.
One thing I wondered was why the narrator always refers to him as "Officer Martin." I feel that the story should know him by name rather than title.
Also, be careful about your tenses. It's a little thing, true, but just watch out.
This is a great start, and I look forward to reading more!

[Frank F. Atanacio]

This first entry displays a virtuoso gift for precision, telling observations, and creative but unforced imagery, so far so good :) Frank

[Kammy Myles]

Wow this is extremly intresting to read are you going to add any more onto this story?