Red Alarm [A Detective/Thriller Story] DISCONTINUED

Chapter 24

The delivery guy was first to arrive in the scene. He was supposed to deliver milk for Mr. Skittles. He rang the bell yet hearing soft whines of the pup inside, crept open the door. That was when he saw Mrs. Anderson - a dead doll, rocking back and forth her swing. He sat on a wooden stool fresh from the North Pole, frozen by Jack Frost, wrapping a towel around his nipping torso.

While Detective Hopkins settled in for the interrogation, Officer Millard got up close with the body. The late Mrs. Anderson sat peacefully, the grating light of the sun inhumanely made her a displayed statue. Her skin resembled that of being treated in a posh salon and pampered herself with a full bottle of baby powder. Her eyes lit open, ready to pop any minute now.

What made it weirder than regular cases, her mouth was wrenched shut. Somebody had made her lips into embroidery. The upper and lower portions, sealed by black thread, stitched into a catch. It looked like all her evil schemes and babbles have made their way back and hexed her mouth.

Officer Gonzales took notice of it and draw near him. She also wore a pair of latex gloves and examined the body. Without their leader around, she thought fine of coming in and help with the investigation. When sitting in front of the keyboard and monitor, she'd missed out on all the fun. She signed up as a police so why put up being a call center agent? For once she wanted to do the field work. For once she wanted to be a real officer.

"Just this once," she begged back at the station.

"Poor lady," she laid palm on her eyes, making the corpse fall into a deep slumber - one she'll never woke up to.

She delved her eyes into the landlady's apartment. She loved to cook was what she's sure of. A larger space only for the kitchen: four hanging cabinets displaying chinaware and teapot collection, fresh basket of multicolored fruits plated on a mahogany table, unfinished knitted yarn balls, and a recently poured dog food in Mr. Skittles' bowl. That dog. With all seven billion people in the world, the witness had to be a dog. If it could speak right now then the killer was done for.

What was oddly suspicious was they couldn't find any messed up possessions. She sat, she died, the dog snarled and howled every now and then - that was it. She wasn't blind to not saw the intruder. She could've been seen beaten up in a state of an animal on the ground. Instead, she was left adoring the city view.

"She should've known the killer for her to have acted normal," the circumstantial evidence told her so. "Otherwise, signs of resistance would be visible."

"Security cameras are only available on the first floor," Khen brushed his messy hair. "But they've checked the cameras and listed every single person present in their apartments during the period. Forensics will keep us updated with the autopsy later on."

"What about team captain and detective?" Sam brought out. "Are they helping?"

"Apparently, they'll be continuing the Reaper case while we stick with this one," Detective Hopkins explained. "We didn't want this to happen, alright? But we're on our own now."

"Can we really do this?" Khen bit his lip. "Without their help? I mean, they were the brains of our operations."

"Where's the spirit in that kiddo?" The detective clung both arms on his juniors' heads like a mighty Valkyrie.
"Ya sure we can! We have brains of our own too," he glanced at Samantha. "A smooth talker," he skimmed at Khen and finally, flexed his buff guy muscles which both officers urged to hold up their laughter. "The man power we need."

"We'll be knockin on their doors this noon - a one by one interrogation. Up and at it people move your butts!" He leaded a march of three, headed for the exit, "A one and a two... a one and a two, and a one and a two..."