Cold Autumn Leaves

I

It was early, Fredrick Durst hated the mornings, always had. Don't get his name wrong he had no relation nor liking for the music artist from Limp Bizkit. He had heard about every single joke that could be made growing up, didn't help that the real FRED Durst was rather popular when Fredrick was in school. Mother nature hadn't been the most kind to him nor had his own mother. Those demons, however, didn't need to rear their ugly heads through his morning coffee. He hardly had time to make it and could distinctly inform anyone just how shitty it was, his face unshaven and shadowy. He preferred it clean but with the call he received he could have sworn it was April first and someone had a shit sense of humor. 

"Murdered?" he remembers wiping the crust from his eyes that the sandman left behind. Fred didn't get out many more questions before killing the line and getting ready in record time. His car pulled onto the now lively street. Not many people were onlooking, odd but understandable since no one was truly awake yet. Fred looked at his watch, 6:07 and a Tuesday no less. The cold was intruding into his car as he flipped into park, he killed the engine and removed his keys. He hated this car and its problems, it had no name except for when he cursed it. He leaned back in his seat letting a long drawn out exhale escape his nostrils, staring out of the windshield he wondered why now? Why murder someone now, he was so ready to relax, this day was gonna be a long one. 

Knock knock knock the sound against his window brought him to reality as the door opened. Bobby Mitchell stood with a half smile holding the driver side door of ol' Sally Shitbox the car. "Rise and shine Durst" his voice was absolute, like a father's voice though Bobby had no kids or at least none that Durst knew of. Bobby was Durst's Partner they had worked together to make this town safe for the past 6 years, six long painful years of dealing with Bobby and his always happy go getem' attitude. Don't get it wrong though, Durst loved the son of a bitch like a brother. Bobby stood about 6'1, black skin and starting to age. For 46 years old though Bobby said 'black don't crack boy, you know my mama used to say that' and boy was she right. Bobby by no means looked young, his hair turned in its card a long time ago to turn grayish. His hair added character, though Durst always did say that his goatee made him look too much like a grandpa, or uncle. Durst got out the vehicle turning to look back at the front seats to ensure he had gotten all his valuables. As if on cue his phone started going off, he muted it with a lightning speed. 

"Been inside yet" Durst asked as he turned to face Bobby.

"Negative, not many have been inside besides the first few on the scene. 17 Stab wounds were counted, unknown motive and ample Easter Eggs inside they say"

"Easter Eggs?" Durst stopped dead in his track right before leaving pavement and entering the grass yard. Bobby had gotten onto the grass before turning to him.

"Y'know, fun little clues. Maybe a serial killer making his return." Bobby's arms came up slightly as if to say 'I don't know though.' Durst stood for a second his mind jumping around at the choice of words. He lifted his foot and onto the grass he went. They entered the door and saw the body, dead all right. Maybe 3 or more hours, the blood drying and such walking over wear it lay. 

"Definitely a struggle" Durst stated obviously staring over at the fallen painting, it was of trees and quite peaceful. He turned his head over to the left where a flat screen TV sat, "not a botched robbery though."

"Who found the body? How?" Bobby asked towards the younger cop who was pale in the face, he looked like a newbie. Durst's head turned towards the kid too. 

"Thomas Stephens," this kids voice didn't match his face, he had a tough and stern voice, his badge read Andrews. "He came across it at about 5:10 give or take, morning jog and saw the door open. Went to investigate, found body. Dispatch got the call about 5:12." He closed his trusty little notebook with a thud as if to tell us we could ask him anything else but he wouldn't know the answers.