Chapter 1:520Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTasb42mYg9
Murder on 32nd Street (pt. 2)
When I stepped inside the house, my previous assumption was ravaged. The room was trashed. Chairs and tables were scattered, and many were broken. Glass shards covered the carpet. I had to watch where I walked. Luckily I was wearing boots. The walls were stained with blood. The pictures on the walls were both crooked and shattered. It looked like this is where the murders happened, though I didn't know why the victims were outside. I had never seen such a mess before in all my days. Since I planned on following through in this investigation, I expected that to change.
I heard a male voice, coming not too far from where I entered. Following the voice, it led me to the only girl. I didn't have to know the situation to understand how scared she must have been. If I was in her place I wouldn't answer any questions. I wouldn't even know where to begin.
I looked her over. It was remarkable. She didn't appear to have signs of physical harm anywhere on her body, just little splashes of blood on her clothes and skin. Judging by her looks, she appeared to be around sixteen or seventeen. Her hair, black and shoulder length was messy and disorganized. It was sticking to her face from the obsessive heat in the room, but she kept pushing it back. Her face had a slight pink tint to it, caused no doubt by her tears. She had bags under her brown eyes. Her lips were chapped, likely biting them out of the constant stress. Everything else about her was normal. This made me think. This killer whoever it was, was different, unlike all the others I've investigated in past cases. Nothing made any sense. Why would the killer leave a survivor, especially a female among the males? She had a connection. And I was going to find out what it was.
One of the investigators noticed me. He was an old friend of mine, also a bit of a dick, but not nearly as bad as Roy. He sported buzzed blond hair and glasses. His build was slightly muscular and he stood about 5'' 8', a few inches smaller than me."Colton Macintyre, funny seeing your face around here. I heard you were back. I thought after the Murderdock case you were done for good."
I reached toward him and shook his hand. "Nice to see you too Gibson." His first name was Charlie, but everyone called him by his last name due to his fondness for playing the guitar.
"You here to reclaim your former glory?" he asked as he retracted his hand.
"No. Unlike some people I know I'm actually serious about what I do."
He knew that statement was directed at him. "Ouch." He looked back at the girl.
"How much did you get from her?"
"Nothing much really. She's talking a little bit now. She's very quiet." We both noticed the girl's nervous twitching. It made my heart drop to my stomach. I can't speak for Gibson, but I'm sure he felt the same.
The investigators were soon finished with the girl. They approached Gibson and I, and stopped abruptly to talk to us. "This is a dead end. She's given us nothing."
"Given the circumstances, I'm surprised she's talked at all."
"She's a strong one all right. With all she's been through this is that last thing she's gotta want to do."
Brushing past Gibson and the others, I walked over to the girl. She noticed me but didn't look me in the eye. I knelt beside her and began softly. "My name is Colton Macintyre. I'm an investigator and I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding the events surrounding last night."
"I know who you are. Why else would you be here?" Her voice was harsher than I expected, but I didn't question it.
"What's your name?"
"Laura. Laura Wells." No eye contact was made.
"Can you tell me what happened Laura?" She didn't respond so I asked her again. "Can you tell me anything about earlier last night? Anything at all?"
I waited for her to respond as patiently as I could. If I couldn't find some sort of connection to this girl she would give me nothing but a blank stare, if I was lucky. It was no surprise why she hadn't said anything before. Men in my profession were only interested in the facts and interrogating. I knew from experience that the only way to get what you wanted is either by begging, or relating personally. And begging wouldn't get me very far.
I tried to find my ace in the whole. It took me longer than I care to admit but I realized the obvious. Her parents were probably worried sick about here. It wasn't much of a connection but I was going to play it through until she shot it down. "Listen Laura, I'm a father. I have two kids, both around your age, Derik and Gwen." I pulled a picture of them from my wallet and held it in front of her. It was my favorite photo. The three of us were at the beach, arms around each other, smiles stretching across our sunburnt faces, happy, and enjoying life. As soon as she saw it her face turned captivated and I knew that this might work. "If anything were to happen to them I'd want to know, and I'd track down whoever was responsible, no matter how reckless or dangerous. Because that's how much I care about them, just like your mother and father care about you." I put the photo back in my wallet. "If you help me answer some questions, we can make this whole process go a lot faster."
She began to move her lips but stopped a split second afterward to fend off her tears. I reaffirmed her response. "It's okay. Don't be afraid to say anything."
Her breathing was heavier now. She whipped the tears from her face, now a darker pink and began to speak. I listened carefully and wrote down everything she had to say. "It was around 10 at night. I came here with some friends. The boy that invited us was throwing a casual party for Spring Break. He was home from college and his parents were away. He wanted to celebrate."
"What was the boy's name?"
"Matt Roberts."
"Who exactly was with you at the time of the party?"
"A couple of friends from school. Mine and Matt's. We've known Matt since we were kids."
"And what happened during the party?"
"Well," she brushed her face, removing the remnants of her tears, though she was choking hard. "It started pretty normal. There was loud music, and food, and …" She paused for a second. Before I could say anything she continued. "And drugs and alcohol." She sighed, clearly not wanting to continue, but she did anyway. "After the party around three in the morning, my friends left but I stayed behind to help Matt and his friends clean up. Matt took me up to his room. He told me he wanted to show me something so I followed him."
"Then what happened?"
Her next words were muffled and inaudible. I placed my hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her. It didn't help but she didn't push it away. After a few moments she calmed down. Whipping tears from her face she turned and looked in my eyes for the first time. I saw the hurt, the trauma. Her eyes filled with water and she lost herself. "He started touching me and said he wanted to fuck me. I told him no and then he…he…" She tried to fight it off but it came in full force. I finished the sentence for her.
"He raped you."
Looking at me with her swelling eyes she gave me the answer I never wanted to hear. "Yes."
I didn't make her finish the story. I felt bad for the girl, but I had to get more, I had to continue. If there was any hope of finding this guy before more people were killed, this was that time. In the middle of my thought, she interrupted me. "And that's when it happened."
"What happened?"
"I heard screams from downstairs. They grew louder and more intense. A few seconds later a man appeared, covered in blood, came into the room. Before we could move he…he killed Matt."
I rested my hand on her shoulder but didn't say a word. I just waited and allowed her to release. After several more seconds she calmed down.
"There's something else." She reached into a purse that sat beside her and pulled out a ragdoll. One like a little girl would play with. Judging by the design, it looked like it was manufactured in the 70s, maybe 80s. It's cotton head, red yarn hair, big eyes, shy smile, it all made me think of my sister's Raggedy Ann. "I don't know what it means."
She handed it to me and I examined it before placing it into a small, plastic bag. "Did the killer give this to you?"
She nodded.
"Any idea why?"
She shook her head.
"Why didn't you show this to the others?"
"I didn't think it was important." I shot her a questioning look. She looked away as if she had done something wrong. I knew the real reason she gave it to me, whether or not she would admit it, but I knew. I had gotten to her. "Any reason why the killer let you live?"
"No."
"Do you know what he looked like?"
"He wore a mask. I didn't see his face."
"What kind of mask?"
"I don't know. I didn't get a good look at it."
I didn't know what to make of any of this. The only key to this case was Laura. She was the only known witness. Such a tool could prove vital for this case. Her cooperation was the only aspect that couldn't be guaranteed. Whether or not she wanted to be active in this was her choice to make. No one could force her. And I didn't press it. "Thank you for your time Laura." I kept the ragdoll and handed her a card from my pocket. "If you remember anything else, don't hesitate to call. I will try to help you with what I can, when I can. Okay?"
"Thank you."
I simply smiled and left. I hated to leave Laura in a terrible position, but I did the best I could. I simply couldn't do any more. I hoped she took my advice and called me with more information. I wanted to help her but in my current situation I wasn't at liberty to make those calls. Gibson followed me as I left the house. To my surprise Roy was still in the yard, talking with officials that had just arrived. I only hoped they had more information.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
