Shadows of the Past

Chapter 1 - The Missing Picture

It is a usual night in the office, the clock ticking away in the background and I am sitting at my desk. I shuffle papers around trying desperately to avoid filing my paperwork for the evening.

A glass of whiskey sits on my desk, half-drunk and lukewarm by now. As I stare out the window, the moonlight shines through the glass panes, hitting my face. Peeking through the curtains is the bright glare of the neon sign across the street, it reads "Joey's Pizza."

The door to my office swings open and in comes my partner, Alistar. He takes a seat on the arm of my couch and begins to speak,

"Sam, do you have any big plans for tonight? It's the anniversary isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's been three years since the fire. Feels like just yesterday that Melissa and I were painting the nursery, picking out little teddy bears and dreaming about our future. Time's a funny thing, isn't it? Now, all I want to do is go home, watch the ball game, and maybe throw back a few beers. Just something to numb the ache a bit."

The phone on my desk begins to ring so naturally I pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Sam, I have a man here. Says his name is Donald McArthur and that you know him."

"Well send him in, Darla."

Darla is the best secretary in the state, though I doubt it is her dream job. She has always had Hollywood aspirations, a beauty like Marilyn Monroe. Her husband, a no-good waste of a man, doesn't treat her right. She loves him, though, despite what Ali and I tell her.

Don comes rushing in, looking disheveled. His hair is a mess and his shirt is soaked in a mix of dirt and blood. Across the room, he spots my half-drunk whiskey and grabs it, downing the whole thing before I could even open my mouth.

"What's going on, Don? You alright?" Alistar asked, guiding him to the couch.

"You guys know how we've known each other forever? I need help."

"Don, you're like a brother to us. Whatever it is, we'll help," I said, refilling his glass.

We grew up together, inseparable since fifth grade. Without these guys, I don't think I'd have survived losing Melissa and the baby.

"Alright well, you know how I work late shifts at the factory. So I came home 'round ten tonight and I found Maryanne on the floor. At first, I thought she must have fallen and knocked herself unconscious but as I got closer... I saw all the blood. I ran over to her as quickly as I could but she had no pulse. I called the cops but after a few hours of investigating, they said that she killed herself,"

At this point, Don was nearly hysterical.

"I know Maryanne and she would never do that. Not to me and especially not to Patty. Now our marriage wasn't perfect but she would not kill herself!"

"Alright well Don, how about Ali and I take a look into it for you? Free of charge 'course."Don's house was familiar. I could drive there blindfolded. Inside, the crime scene was untouched.

"Alright, I'll take a look around downstairs. Alistar, will you take a look upstairs and see if there is anything of interest?"

"Sure, Sam."

I begin my little investigation. In the middle of the room stands a large coffee table, its corner marred by a deep dent and smeared with dark red blood. The floor around it is dotted with small spatters of blood and sprinkled with a crystalline substance.Opposite the front door, a sliding glass door opens to the backyard. Upon closer inspection, I spot a lone fingerprint on the outside of the glass. With deliberate care, I lift the print and secure it in an evidence bag.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something unusual-a square patch on the wall, noticeably lighter than the surrounding paint. It seems a picture or some object once hung there.

Alistar and Don came back down the stairs.

"Have any luck up there?"

"The safe in the closet was open, nothing taken. Water faucet was on. That's it," Alistar said.

"I found a bloodstain, a fingerprint, and something missing off the wall. I swabbed some of the blood to test to make sure it's Maryanne's and not our killers' and I also lifted a print. What was hanging up over there?" I pointed to the empty spot on the wall.

"Just a family portrait from when Patty was a baby. I hated it, but Maryanne loved it. Why?""The killer took it. Why, I don't know yet."

I opened my notebook and sketched out the scene before we left. Alistar disliked my method, but I'd solved more cases this way. Back at the office, the front door was ajar.

"Hey Ali, hold up a moment there."

"What's up Sam?"

"The front door is open."

"That's strange," Alistar muttered, narrowing his eyes at the slightly ajar door. His hand instinctively goes to the holster at his side, drawing out his Colt M1911 with a smooth, practiced motion. The moonlight glints off its polished barrel, highlighting the seriousness in his gaze.I mirror his actions, pulling out my Walther p38, the weight of the familiar weapon providing a sense of readiness. We exchange a nod, a silent communication born of years of partnership and countless dangerous situations.

Alistar takes point, his silhouette barely discernible in the dim light as he advances towards the front door. Each step is deliberate and quiet, his body tense with focus. I move around to the back of the building, the crunch of gravel under my shoes sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night.

Reaching the fire escape, I pause, listening for any sign of movement. The metal door was slightly ajar, its edges casting long shadows on the ground. I nudge it open with my foot, keeping my gun raised, ready for anything.

I slip inside, my senses on high alert. The air is heavy with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic-blood, perhaps, or the cold tang of fear. The dim corridor stretches out before me, silent and empty. Each step I take is slow and measured, the creak of old floorboards the only sound accompanying me.

"It's clear here, Sammy," Alistar's voice calls softly from the other room.

"Same here," I reply, easing the tension in my shoulders slightly but not lowering my guard.

We regroup at the base of the staircase, our next objective the second-floor office. Alistar leads the way, his larger frame absorbing the darkness as we ascend, my eyes constantly scanning for any sign of an intruder. Each step is calculated, every sound a potential threat as we made our way toward whatever awaited us upstairs.

Darla never left the door unlocked. Inside, chaos. Chairs overturned, files scattered, a hurricane of a mess.

"It seems like whoever was here was looking for something specific." I noted.

"I would have to agree. I mean if they were trying to steal something of value, there's nothing here other than whiskey." Alistar walked toward the cabinet where we kept our drinks and poured us both a glass.

I walked up beside him, "So what exactly was this guy after, and an equally as pressing question is who was he?"