Murder Of Two

CHAPTER {05}

      Mr and Mrs Miller had their dog for more than ten years. They had trained him to do all sorts of games and respond to calls. In the last years before they died, they had taught him to hide objects. They taught him to come after being called by the whistle and take away what's in their hands to bury it or throw it in the drainage far away. The mystery would be almost uncovered if it wasn't for the locked doors.

For that year, I was almost convinced that it was Mrs Hudson and that the dog had mistakenly taken the weappon away. But the forensics report changed the facts. The wounds on the victims' heads suggested that the shooter was at the same height, whereas Mrs Hudson was 20 centimetres smaller than Jack and Emma.

As crazy and unbelievable as it may sound, the Millers had taken each other's lives and pulled the trigger at the same time, same split of second and at exactly midnight to hand us a new year's gift. They had planned for it and practiced it for months; calling out the dog to take different things from them while lying on the ground. That's how the dog hid the murder weapons and manipulated the crime scene. Mr and Mrs Miller were at the same height and that's how they managed to directly point the guns at each other's heads.

None of the suspects I had put in my list was involved in the crime. It was difficult to hear anything when everyone closed their doors and windows in a stormy snowy night and as a matter of fact, the New Year's fireworks were a paid associate. Maybe Mrs Hudson really gave her husband his medicines and his dementia explained why he had forgotten or she might have fallen asleep and felt guilty afterwards, so that's why she insisted. Maybe Mr Miller had taken the trash out to watch Jared's movements and when see he would go back to his instruments.

I petted the poor dog and noticed something wrong in his collar. I took it out and there was a piece of paper. An address was written along with the signature of Emma and Jack. I took the dog home, washed him from the blood and gave him a place to stay, a new home.

I haven't figured out the truth right away and how could I! I was a ten years old kid trying to solve a crime. It took me years of confusion and thinking it over and over. But I finally knew the truth from gathering all the pieces together. I waited until I graduated from law school and decided to look for the address.

The address was in a public garden of another city. I looked for some signs and I found a box buried in the ground. It was a pack of papers, about 300 divided in chapters. It contained the last novel that they had written which was about their murder. They wanted someone to find the dog and lead them to the book, it was all planned and very well executed. There were coordinates written on the package; and so I followed them. They led to a place in the middle of nowhere; there was another box buried. Inside, was a second smaller box and a letter. The letter said:

Dear Unknown,

Reaching this far means you won. You found the dog and you solved the crime. The book is to be published under your real name. Its official ending should remain a mystery. Only the writers and the publisher know it. In this box, you'll find the ring, the real one. Keep it away from the unsafe hands and the greedy hearts.

Yours,

Emma & Jack Miller

As the letter said, I found the original ring in April,27th of 1971, that belonged to a queen from the fourteenth century. Therefore, I published the book a year later and it was the success of my life. Millions of copies were sold around the world of my first book that wasn't written by me: "The Millers".

The case had stayed a mystery for the public and nobody ever found the guns. The millers were so smart to predict the police's movements, they knew that their relatives would come after the treasure (the ring) which would distract the police to look for a thief. They never noticed the dog which was the key to solving it.

There have been rumours for years, that a ghost had killed them and that the house was haunted. That mansion was put to sale but nobody dared to buy it. I never talked to my father or any human being about what I found out. Nobody ever knew who really murdered the Millers and what happened to the real ring. It was their desire so I had to keep the secret and honour them. They trusted each other to shoot the guns at the same time, and they had faith in me even if I was just an unknown to them.

Two lovers of mystery had a tragic but beautiful ending dedicated to what they loved most: writing.