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The Detective

The crime scene was still full of pedestrians when the detective arrived. Each of them going about their day to day. None of them phased by the body hunched over on the bus stop bench. “Damned city”, he muttered under his breath. “Killers and thieves, the lot of em”. He lit a cigarette and began to pace the scene. The victim was a twenty something male. Young professional, judging by his attire. Office wear, neat and ironed, polished shoes. At first glance there was nothing incredibly outstanding about him. Just another successful yuppie who had been out on the town. No signs of struggle. A bus pulled up and offloaded a dozen passengers. Where are those beat cops, he thought, the place evidence is getting more and more contaminated by the minute.

The detective walked closer to the victim and scanned the surroundings. “Why here? The place is a hive of activity. Well lit. CCTV across the street. Even the street li…”. He trailed off. His mutterings were beginning to draw attention. Damned city, he thought. Would rather see me talking to a snapchat than solving a murder. He reached into his pocket for another cigarette and his hipflask. He’d been up all night on another case. A double homicide. The place was a bloodbath. He took a swig from the flask and looked again at the victim. There’s a pattern forming here, he thought. The two from last night were both young professionals, no doubt successful, going by the designer labels. Both had been out on the town, both fairly inebriated. No signs of struggle.

The detective sat next to the victim and lit another cigarette. So, he thought, here we have three murders in less than 24 hours. All three victims young, successful professionals. All three inebriated at the time of the attack. What’s the motive? Could be the murderer is unhinged? I mean they’d have to be to carry out such a thing in a place as public as this. Maybe the murderer is jealous of their success? Envies what they have? The detective took another swig of his cheap, nasty whiskey. “But what about the weapon”. Again, he was muttering.

The last two had been killed with what looked like a hunting knife. Ten inches, serrated blade. He put his hand into his pocket. “Hmmm, yes, something like this”. He pulled out a ten-inch, red stained blade and plunged it into the victims throat. The victim woke out of his drunken stupor and tried to scream, producing only a muffled gargle. The pedestrians at the scene started screaming and ran into the night. The detective pulled the blade out and stuffed it into his pocket. He walked off, leaving the victim clawing the air, desperately seeking aid that would never come. “Damned city”, the detective muttered as he lit another cigarette. “Full of killers and thieves”.

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