O'Connor

Chapter Two; An Ongoing Investigation

​​​​​DeGray

                                                                               

I suppose the investigation really began in the summer of 1921, while the air was still humid, heavy, and generally unbearable. I woke, as I nearly always did, too early on that fateful August morning. After a glass of coffee, as well as some other intake which I would rather not mention, I made my way to the department building. As I had expected, I was the very first officer to punch in, and walked into the office to discover two sleeping night-duty policemen. Thompson was a fairly small town, bearing all of the necessities of life, but little else in excess. As such, there was very little crime to investigate in the town, making my job perhaps a little too dull at times, which was a stark contrast to my former business in the war.

Back then, we had a dog called Jake stationed with us. He was a sort of gift from the state, trained to sniff out alcohol and track down bootleggers. In 1921, half of Thompson was drunk, part way because of boredom, and partway because of the Livey brothers, who lived in the woods and had a moonshine operation that kept us all supplied. Needless to say, Jake became accustomed to the smell of alcohol really rather quickly, and served more as a station pet. Jake made a pleasant habit of sitting beside my desk when I was around, keeping an eye on the piles of paperwork that I refused to do. He made a decent companion, and even occasionally a decent partner whenever legal action was necessary. He was beside me on that August morn, and had he not been with me, perhaps everything would have ended differently.

I was sitting patiently, another cup of coffee warming my hands, when Jake suddenly sat up, his ears pointed and alert. He sat this way for maybe a second before taking off, running at full speed toward the door, which opened when he jumped on it. I swore quietly before deciding that I needed to follow the mut. At the time, I figured the only likely explanation was that the Livey brothers had begun brewing another vat of moonshine, and Jake had dropped his newest training. My original theory was reinforced by the fact that Jake was sprinting at phenomenal speed towards the woods.

The weather was still terribly hot, despite the fact that the sun had yet to show his smug face, so by the time I caught up with Jake, I was more or less drenched in sweat. I believe the beast stopped just so that I would catch up before he changed direction and ran off again. At this point, I was uncertain of where exactly in the woods we were, however, I was content with blindly following Jake into the expanse of wooded field.

Jake finally stopped at a large tree, which had a strange coloration about it. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that a great deal of blood had been expended upon the rough, brown surface of the tree. I injected two fingers into the gooey red liquid, which was still surprisingly wet.

"It isn't deer season, is it Jake?" I looked to Jake, who was very intently watching my every move. My curiosity began to steadily grow as Jake and I followed a clearly laid out path of blood, some on trees and some on the ground. I remember thinking that whatever or whomever we were tracking had lost more than enough blood to collapse. As these thoughts crossed my mind, we found him.

He was called William Fischer, a particularly German fellow. His wallet and pocket watch were both on his corpse, and intact, and considering the location of his body, the murder was most defiantly not a mugging gone wrong. His left clavicle had been broken, and punctured the skin of his upper chest. He had several cuts across his torso, which made ribbon of his suit. He had sustained a substantial head injury, which explained the amount of blood. One of his shoes was missing, exposing his left sock, which was covered in dirt and leaves. He was laying, face up in the dirt, with his eyes wide open, and his mouth ajar, as if he had been screaming when he finally passed.