Bloodstained Hands - A Short Story

The untouched shed door creaked open, the insides of it confused the detective for all that was on its dusty floor was a book entitled "Who do you think?", a startlingly bright multi-coloured feather and an unopened letter. The detective was told this was a scene of murder, but there was no body or traces of blood present. She rushed to take the moth-eaten letter and pried it open with her heavily gloved fingers. However, to her surprise, the letter inside was completely blank. In fact, there was no ink on the envelope either. The detective reached inside her black trench coat and pulled out a small magnifying glass to inspect the minute details. Burn marks lined the edges of the parchment and small splotches of blood were dotted everywhere. How did blood get on the enclosed parchment? The detective wondered.
She slipped the pieces of parchment into a plastic bag which she placed inside her coat.
'Detective Beckett, you know you cannot tamper with a crime scene.'
Beckett turned to face Constable Paisley, his black and white uniform was ironed to perfection and the badge upon his helmet gleamed from hours polishing. At first glance, one would think he had the ability to see all your hidden secrets with those piercing blue eyes, however, Detective Beckett knew him all too well.
'Yes I know, Paisley,' Beckett mocked. 'I am simply taking these papers for inspection purposes.'
'Detective, the rules clearly state—'
Beckett reached inside her coat a pulled out a crisp $50 bill.
'Perhaps you can make an exception,' Beckett taunted 'I heard your pay was deducted.'
Constable Paisley gulped, the look of authority faded and was replaced with guilt and longing. He snatched the bill from between Beckett's fingers and shoved it in his pocket. Beckett weaved around Paisley, through the door and headed towards the taxi awaiting her.

The sound of a hairdryer on full blast echoed the corridors of Beckett's house. Beckett waved the hairdryer over the blank parchment, checking for any invisible ink messages. Pieces of paper flew everywhere around her: reports, electricity bills and a newspaper with the headline: Detective Beckett No Closer to Finding Town Murderer. Beckett turned off the hairdryer and flopped down on her office chair, studying the still blank piece of parchment and running through the case in her head.
Snippets of the case appeared in her mind, connecting together the similarities and attempting to lead her closer to the culprit.
Marcus Henson, age 25, murdered last night at 10:07pm. Same time as the other 5 murders. Traces of blood found on the grass outside the shed containing Marcus' DNA. He is nowhere to be seen. Presumed dead. Cause of death unknown. No witnesses.
'Okay Beckett, who could have done this?' she mumbled, interrupting her thought process with a line of questioning. The answer to which remained unanswered.
Her thought process continued:
Cigarette burns on the edge of the parchment. Smoker. Smells like ......... Perfume, Estee Lauder. Female. What else was at the scene? A feather and a book. Neither seemed of any relevance to the case. The victims are not related in any way. 'Come on Beckett, use that brain of yours. Who did this?'
A knock on her study door interrupted her thoughts.
'Any new evidence Beckett?' Paisley asked, admitting himself into her room.
'We are looking for a female smoker. Estee Lauder perfume. I'm thinking, a psychopath going by the variation of the murders. Did the agency find anything?'
'Not that I know of.'
Beckett slumped back into her chair, closing her eyelids.
'I need a break,' Beckett sighed. 'Take my calls will you, Paisley? I'm going out.'

Paisley watched from the window of Beckett's study watching her walk along the crumbling stone path, sucking smoke from her cigarette. He turned to examine the room, although it was not a crime scene he thought it was worth it. He studied the room carefully, from the feathered bird statue in the corner to books titled 'What If?' on the detective's shelf. He pulled the blank piece of parchment towards him, an infinite trail of questions running through his head: Why was the detective so interested in this piece of evidence? Why has she never worked with the agency? Who murdered those 6 innocent people? Detective Beckett's footsteps echoed the hallway as she came striding back to her study. At that very moment, the answer seemed clear to Paisley. Of course! The book, the feather, the parchment, it all makes sense now! Why didn't I see it before? The door creaked open to reveal Beckett, obviously refreshed from her stroll. She cocked her head at Paisley, noting his peculiar expression.
'Is everything alright, Paisley?'
'Detective Beckett,' Paisley replied 'you are under arrest for suspicion of murder.'