Riverside's Perfect Murder

The Detective

The first squad car arrived on scene two minutes after the man walked into the Carson Hotel, driven by officer Joe Powell. Joe had been on the force for nearly twenty years. He quickly secured the scene and held all the witnesses for questioning. He eyed the bloodied body of the security guard, lying in an unnatural position that could only mean death. Even after all these years, the sight of a dead body never sat well with him. 

Joe and his wife, Abby, lived with their two nearly adult children, and whenever he viewed a dead body, he would think of his family. He would be devastated if anything like this ever happened to any of them. That's why he became a police officer in the first place. He wanted to keep his family safe from the "bad guys" as he would call them.

Soon after other squad cars began arriving. Detective Rita Rawlins pulled up to the curb at precisely ten-twenty five. She had risen quickly through the ranks and received her detective's shield at the young age of twenty-seven. There were the usual snickers behind her back that she must have slept her way to the top but no one who wished to live ever said anything like that to her face. One look at her would be enough to make you wise. Not that she wasn't pretty. She was. But there was no mistaking the toughness under her pretty face. Maybe the toughness was because of her pretty face.

Rita's sharp green eyes took in the scene as she entered the bank. On her right near the large front window facing the street was a body in a security uniform. He was quite obviously dead and in no need of her attention. Directly ahead lay three teller windows behind black wrought iron cages probably dating back to the bank's opening.

The date stone outside near the entrance read Nineteen-o-five. On the left wall was a counter with deposits slips and pens on chains. Looking back at the front window, Rita could almost see the painted window as it would have been at the beginning of the century. It probably read something like "Riverside's National Bank" or something similar.

"All right who is in charge?" Detective Rita commanded.

"I am ma'am. Joe Powell." Joe noticed Rita's red hair pulled tight in a French Braid. My Abby would appreciate that, Joe thought. He knew about Rita, of course. Everyone on the force did, but Joe had never made her acquaintance before this. He liked what he saw. All professional without the bull.

Rita hated the term ma'am but had long ago accepted it as a necessary evil.

"Are these all the witnesses' Powell?" Rita asked.

"Yes, ma'am. This group is bank customers, and those are the two tellers, and that is the bank manager Thomas Kinkade sitting at the desk."

Rita was impressed. "Nice job officer. I want to talk to Mr. Kinkade first. Does he have a more private office?"

"Yes. Right through there." He was pointing down a hallway next to the vault.

"All right good. Who is the victim?" Rita asked, looking at the body.

"He is, sorry, was the security guard." Joe looked at his note pad. "David Wilkes."

"Thank you, officer. Thank you, Joe, you have been very thorough. I will be sure to mention it in my report." It never hurts to show some appreciation to the troops, Rita thought. "Please let me know when the Medical Examiner gets here."

"Yes, ma'am." Joe turned and headed outside, glad to be away from the dead body.

"Oh, and one more thing," Rita said before Joe got very far. "If you see my partner, please tell him to come, find me. He will be the young, blond, detective, looking lost, and wearing a navy-blue sport coat a size too large."