𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

It's A Small World.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧

Blood. All I could see was blood. It stained the carpet, splattered on the walls and tainted the room with its metallic scent.

The unfortunate victim to whom it belonged was lying on the floor, bound with rope and tied to a chair which had toppled over, causing the man sitting in it to fall facedown on the carpet. His bottom lip had a long gash running across it, his right eye was swollen shut and he had cuts and bruises all over his body.

It was truly a gruesome sight.

"What do you suppose happened?" my partner Brent asked as he stooped down to inspect the body. "The housekeeper came in around six this morning and found him. Nothing seems to be missing, so this wasn't a robbery. The rest of the house seems to be in relatively good condition, so it wasn't a B&E.

"He's tied to a chair, beaten and bloody with cuts all over his body from what looks to be a knife. He's been dead since last night, slit throat. This wasn't any random killing. This was a hit," I said grimly. "Someone from the Mafia did this."

"Well that's just great," Brent groaned. "there are at least six different crime families in this city. The Italians, the Russians, a couple members of the Triad, not to mention the gangs and thugs that run around lower Manhattan and the Upper East Side."
"Do we know his name?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the corpse.
"Dylan Matthews, forty two, tall Hispanic male. We got officers canvassing the area for witnesses and Gregor is talking to the housekeeper."

I nodded and went downstairs to the living room where detective Gregor was questioning the housekeeper, a plump middle aged woman with dark hair graying at the sides and large brown eyes, glassy with tears. "Dylan was such a kind man. He used to donate large sums of money to charities and orphanages and always did what he could to help those in need. Who would do this to him?"

"Mrs Holmes, we know it's hard for you, but we need you to tell us everything you know about Dylan," Gregor said gently. "Anything will do. Information about his family or friends, his habits, anybody he talked to or fought with recently, his favourite places to go—anything at all."

Mrs Holmes wiped her eyes and straightened up in her chair. "Dylan used to go for a stroll in Central Park every night at nine o'clock. I worked until seven thirty, then he gave me the rest of the night off. When I came to work at six, I found him like that."
"Was anything out of place when you arrived?" I inquired.
"No, the rest of the house remained untouched. But he kept some files in the bottom drawer and I noticed they were gone when I went into the home office to call the police."

I nodded and turned to Gregor. "Go down to Central Park and question anybody who may have been there around the time Dylan was. And ask whether or not he was with anyone. A lady friend perhaps."

While Gregor was wrapping things up with Mrs Holmes, I went back to the bedroom where CSU were taking pictures. When the medical examiner untied the ropes and turned him over on his back, I saw that one of his kneecaps had broken. The person who did this must've used a hammer or a mallet to repeatedly strike him on the knee until it broke.

I took a look at his neck and saw that it wasn't an ordinary slit, but a jagged one that zigzagged across his throat. I tightly clenched my fists at my side. They didn't just kill him, they tortured him. They were probably extracting information from him, hence the missing files in the drawer.

I could only imagine how agonizing it was for him to sit in that chair, helpless to the torment these bastards inflicted on him.

"Don't worry, I'll find the monsters who did this and when I do,  justice will be served," I said lowly.