> “They've caught him. Now what name trembles
> On his silent lips? What quick regret?
> No one will know: the Emperor's eye is dead.”
( Arthur Rimbaud - Paroxysms Of Caesars )
> “Bang bang, he shot me down
> Bang bang, I hit the ground
> Bang bang, that awful sound
> Bang bang, my baby shot me down.”
(Nancy Sinatra: Bang Bang)
Prologue
| Nolan |
“Death struck at approximately five hours and twenty minutes.” – Diana says as she looks over the corpse. "Maybe I'm off by an hour or two, but it definitely happened in the early hours of the morning, and rigor mortis is just setting in... If those drivers hadn't noticed the boy, I can't even imagine the state he'd be in.”
The dead body's eyes are bulging, the lips are cracked, with bluish-purple coloration, and his skin is beginning to turn gray. The grass tenderly embraces his slender body as he lies on the ground, almost crucified. His hands are raised, as if reaching out, and his legs are pressed together. Red streaks line his forearms, deep, thick, thin, short, straight, and scratched lines.
Nolan shivers as the cold, biting autumn wind begins to blow.
“What do we know so far?”
“The boy was only nineteen years old, went by the name Andrew, grew up in Louisiana, and had recently moved to Idaho.” – Diana takes out a cigarette box and offers it to Nolan, who declines, even though he could use a smoke right now, but the temptation isn't strong enough yet.
“Go on.”
“They say he committed suicide. The police found razor blades at the scene, all of them covered in blood.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette. “True, they haven't fully examined the body yet, but the blades offer a pretty clear answer, don't they?”
“I don't know.”
“No?”
“It's a bit odd to me that it's such a perfect angle. Okay, he killed himself and had time to arrange himself, but it's still too perfect.”
“Anything else?” Diana asks, rolling her eyes. “This doesn't mean anything yet. The fact that he committed suicide is a much more straightforward explanation than your theories. If you'll take some advice from me, rookie detective, don't overthink things.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Nolan lets out a deep sigh. Rookie detective. Everyone calls him that. Just because he's been in the field for two months doesn't mean he should be treated so condescendingly.
“I'll call Ian to take the kid to the morgue” – she walks away, but turns back for a moment. “Meanwhile, search or do whatever you want, I don't care. Keep your gloves on, so you don't end up getting arrested.”
“This woman is a terrible” Nolan thinks as he cracks his knuckles. She leans down to him, the smell of dead bodies likely to be one she'll never get used to. Not the first time he's seen a dead body... The deaths of his grandmother, his brother, and his father were enough to put that particular smell in his nostrils. Diana needs to stop this unnecessary overthinking.
His jeans and brand-name shoes, however, are entirely new and not dirty at all.
He takes a black notebook from his back pocket.
Pants and shoes intact, but the leather jacket is dirty. - He writes it down in ugly handwriting.
He starts with the pockets on the leather jacket.
A mobile phone, with a 56% charge. Bingo!
A pack of gum, and a house key.
In the other pocket, he finds a used tissue.
He places the phone, gum, and house key in separate plastic bags.
Then, he reaches into the trouser pocket. In the right pocket, he finds an expired bus pass, and in the left, nothing. He begins to gently, cautiously turn Andy's body to the side.
His heart skips a beat, and he loses his balance, falling into the wet grass to steady himself.
There's an X carved into the boy's back, and the grass, his bare skin, is covered in blood. They've left only the front of the jacket, the back is missing.
Could this really be a suicide?
As Nolan's gaze moves lower, his heart begins to race in his throat. He sees a folded piece of paper in the boy's back pocket.
With trembling hands, he reaches for the letter, but can't take his eyes off the X, which is now swarming with bugs and ants.
The letter is yellowish and dirty.
He doesn't want to invade someone else's privacy... Is he sure about this? Is it a good idea to read this letter and find out why the boy committed suicide?
He bites his lip. I'm sorry, Andy, but I need to know the truth. I need to know what happened to you.
Nolan unfolds the letter, expecting to read a heartbreaking story of why this boy took his own life. Instead, he finds a text that sends shivers down his spine. The wind picks up, awakening the dried wheat, and Nolan's jacket is gently caressed by the cold breeze. The man's face turns pale as he reads the printed words, his trembling fingers holding the letter, and his swallow resonates through the deserted wilderness.
THIS LETTER IS FOR NOLAN DAMIAN TURNER'S EYES ONLY!
Nolan, let's play a game, okay?
I'm the judge, and your task is to win this competition and make sure no one dies! Especially make sure you're not the next victim!
Your first task:
Wait until the autopsy.
Regards, X