A Crooked Crime

On a night like this

The year was 1931. The Great Depression was just beginning to overwhelm England. Many were out of work, many didn't have jobs to go back to, many panicked and took drastic measures. Truly it was a terrible time for the world over. It was because of this horrible crisis that when Chief Inspector Charles Ringwald was called into a scene of an apparant murder suicide, he wasn't at all surprised to hear such tragedy.

Chief Inspector Ringwald had seen what this collapse had done to the good people of the nation. Suicide rates were up as the economy was down. Lower than it had been before, since the UK had yet to fully recover from that costly world conflict. The scene took place in White Chapel, where only 43 years hence the streets were plagued by Jack the Ripper. The end of a cigarette went to the Inspector's mustached lips to take a drag as he stepped out of his vehicle in front of the flat where the grisly event had taken place. He was greeted by first responders. Young coppers who hadn't seen anything this horrid just yet. "Run me through it." Ringwald told one of his comrades.

' "Ah y~yes sir." A blonde haired and baby faced Constable stepped forward. "Family of four all dead inside. Apparent murder suicide sir." The young cop cleared his throat before continuing. "Derek Baxter aged 43 with his wife Edna 38, and two kids Brexton 16 and Louise 6." He handed Ringwald a family photo that had been taken from inside. The older man studied it and frowned. A handsome looking family befalling such a tragedy. Even as experienced as he was, it still turned his stomach to think about that.

"We found Derek up in the attic area." The Constable pointed up to the top window of the flat. "Seems he hung himself in the rafters." Ringwald nods along as the two men approach the house. "Down on the main floor Edna was found in the kitchen. Stab wound to the stomach and her skill bashed into the counter." Ringwald tsk'd at that. "Brexton was found in his bedroom, a bit of a mess. Another stab wound matching the wound found in the mother's abdomen, but it had to be long enough to pierce the boy, the mattress, and even leave a mark on the floor beneath it sir."

"And the girl?"

"Well sir, she's missing. Can't find her. There's blood in her bedroom but so far we can find no signs of Louise Baxter." How utterly odd. What did the sick bastard do with his daughter?

"Have you identified the murder weapon yet?"

"No sir, not yet. We thought maybe the fire poker but there haven't been any traces of blood on it and it doesn't seem to match the puncture wounds observed so far."

"I see." Ringwald said and then gently placed his hand onto the young man's shoulder. "It doesn't get easier to stomach these things lad. If they do, then you'll be a bit touched yourself. Go on home, get some rest. I'm going to go do a walkthrough." He patted the Constable's shoulder before shooing him away. Taking one final long drag of his cigarette, he dropped the butt on the ground and stomped it out with the toe of his shoe. A sigh escaped the man's lips before finally crossing the threshold into the house.

There was an odd feeling that crept the spine of the Inspector. He'd been through hundreds of crime scenes in his time, but there was something that he couldn't shake off about this one. A strange energy that seemed to be pressing down upon the entire flat. It made it hard to breathe and his footfalls heavier than he'd think they should be. Perhaps it was because a family had been brutally snuffed out, perhaps it was because the little girl was missing, or something he wasn't seeing yet. Whatever the reason, he had to contend with the shiver that was pressing itself on his spine. The first stop on his tour would be the kitchen, the scene of the wife's slaying.

The bodies had already been removed before Ringwald had arrived, but the house was still very much in the state it had been in the aftermath. So, entering the kitchen the Inspector took note of the circular shape that had been broken off from the countertop. Running his finger upon the cool surface, he realized that it was a granite piece and a thick one at that. The force necessary to make the woman's head come crashing through that in such a fashion would be incredible; Though not impossible. Throughout his career, Ringwald had bore witness to the unpredictable nature of endorphins and a manic state.