The Midnight Post (MxM)

Discombobulation

••••••••••Case No. 1

The officers stood in the small room looking at the carnage that spilled over the floor. To anyone passing by, this looked like a normal investigation. Lone reporters and worried tenants tried to look over the caution tape, before getting ushered back and leaving shortly after. It was hidden well. Even glancing in the room would leave you wondering what was so special. Walking in and seeing everything displayed on the worn furniture was another story.

This case, one that had more bodies and more mysteries than answers, was cold. The police did nothing to solve these murders, especially once the killer had dumped his last victim in the same motel room ten years ago.

It was a message. But this killer, he wasn't just trying to say 'I'm back.' He made it clear he wasn't going anywhere for a long time.

As my fingers ran over the edge of the papers, I studied reports, trying to catch any useful information. While there were many files on the older scenes, this one had caught my interest. The paper, worn down and turning yellow on the corners, still showed the victim in bright colors. Green eyes, short blonde hair, and a small clip holding back a small amount of her bangs.

His first suspected murder.

Six-year-old, Sally Jones. Found with her head buried in the backyard of the Jones' getaway cabin. Multiple stab wounds littered her eyes and hands, with her feet almost separated from her body. All damage was dealt postmortem.

"So tell me? What were you doing between the hours of 10 P.M. and 9 A.M. yesterday?" The man stared at me and scoffed. Tattoos and piercings covered his body, and he looked half a joint away from high.

"What ya talkin' 'bout man? With ma girl. At ma place. No way it'd been me doing what you are saying." My head started to ache as I listened to this man ramble and slur about how he was innocent. Why do my suspects never tell me anything juicy? "I swear ma man! Ya gotta trust me. I can't do jail now. I told ma gurl I'd shape up."

"I understand Mr. Sewall. But, to clarify, you weren't-"

The door slammed against the wall and a gun being cocked was all I could hear. Sighing, I looked at him unimpressed. "You're interrupting my interrogation, Sir."

A loud scoff came from behind me and I turned to face him. "What the hell, Frost? What are you doin' in here? I told you, ya can't come waltzing into the holding rooms." I looked at the detective and crossed my arms.

"Are they yours?"

"No, but-"

"And you say I can't be here?"

"Yes, I di-"

"But then you shouldn't be in here either."

"I can be, it's you who-"

"It's me who should be here because you can't even do your job. You can't even keep one man out of your station. What makes you think you can make one stay?"

I saw the detective's eyes darken as he lost whatever patience he had. "Leave. You have five seconds before I give you a bullet hole as a parting gift."

Deciding to leave the discussion, I got up out of the metal chair, moving it back with a loud sound. "I was leaving anyway."

"I don't want to see you here again Frost. If I do, I hope it's with you in cuffs, heading to a nice warm bed in the cells." I snickered and walked out leaving my suspect dumbfounded and an angry detective with a finger still placed on the trigger.

Outside the streets greeted me with honking horns and cold winds that blew my coat open and left me shivering. Food vendors tried to interest tourists into eating their food and many of the homeless tried to get a couple bucks off them. What a waste of time. Ignoring the occasional glances and hushed whispers I walked back to my flat.