THE PAINTED MISDEMEANOUR

CHAPTER II

I gagged as it was the first time I saw a dead body. The woman wore a golden corset and black layered skirt. Blood was still seeping from the tips of her split ends in her wavy golden hair. The basement was in shambles, with shattered nail polishes and damaged lipsticks on a single table with two chairs.

"The victim's name is Mary Lemont, she is 32 years old, and she was murdered, but we weren't able to locate any further information," the officer explained while holding his breath and quickly escorted himself out from the basement.

I glanced over to Mr. Holmes, who was clearly studying the crime scene, ignoring the fact that the officer left us down here with a day-old corpse.

"Mr. Holmes?" I gathered up the courage to break the silence.

"What?" He glared at me as if he had a grudge. "We don't have as much time as we intended to, so make your statement quickly."

It was unsurprising, but his unfriendly attitude still shocked me either way.

"Do you need my help?"

He sighed in response and took out a pair of surgeon gloves from his coat, "Later."

He immediately walked over to the lady's corpse and began examining her closely. He held her left hand covered in blood.

"She's wearing a ring," he then murmured, "but something attached to it is gone."

The woman's face was revolting to look at: her skull was cracked open, with blood still running down her lifeless complexion. Bloodshot eyes and bright pink lipstick smeared across her pale lips. Her body was slumped against a wall, behind a severely cracked mirror. Streaky trails of blood were imprinted from the fine cracks of the mirror to the wall, followed by bloody handprints. He exchanged looks of the lady's hand and the handprint on the wall; it's the same size. His eyes string along the blood trail, and noticed something far more incriminating; a message.

"Ale-" "0291-"

It was the only two things visibly intelligible.

"Alex?..." "Alexander?..." "Alexandra?..."

"She's left-handed, must've written it in her own blood," he said.

But just as he was walking back towards me, he tripped on some sort of rope. But he's Mr. Holmes, his fast reaction made sure that he regained his balance immediately. Not even a mere rope can stop him.

"A rope," he wondered, picking it up.

"Mr. Holmes, are you alright?" I asked, knowing that he was pretty much more than alright.

He nodded, "she's not alone."

He scanned the entire basement once more, something caught his eye from a distance.

The lights in the basement were flickering, making things less visible. He kept discovering new things in every corner of the room: first, a missing pendant on a ring; second, a message from the victim; third, a broken rope; and now... Footprints from the table that led straight out the door.

It couldn't be the dead woman's, that wouldn't make sense.

"Maybe the woman tried to write the details of the culprit who fled before she succumbed to her injuries," I voiced out, as I wanted to make myself helpful.

He then tossed the rope out from his grasp and took off his surgeon gloves and strangely enough, he smiled.

"Clever observation, girl. Now, let's find Alex, Alexander or Alexandra."

He made his way to the entrance of the basement, brushing past my shoulder.

"You can call me Julie—"

He already went upstairs.

I rolled my eyes and followed him behind. Needless to say, I was quite flattered to receive a compliment from a cold-hearted detective. At least he acknowledged my presence as a substitute sidekick.