[Kaimee]: 5.Short stories.Crime Chapter

Chapter 1:
© Kate-Aimee Conrick. All rights reserved!

Congealed blood lay stickily on the ground where it had seeped out from underneath the man’s body. Flies crawled over his blackening skin, and a fine film of dust covered his open, staring eyes. A gloved hand stooped to touch the tiny cold burn hole in the back of the elegant dinner jacket, before hoisting the dead man’s briefcase and slowly turning to start down the path away into the early morning streets of suburban Sydney.

“So what have we got here?” Detective Inspector Andrews asked, throwing the crime scene photos back onto the table and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She’d seen many images of death and mutilation, but this time she had a particular interest in their subject. The face she could see going black in the dirt was that of Christopher Barton, long-standing friend of her Father’s, a long-term golfing buddy of the Town Council committee, and the man who used to pat her on the head and call her ‘Little Nicola’.
“Time of death, estimated 2300 hours Tuesday, 13th of September, hmm… that would be four days ago. A while before someone reported him, was it?” She looked up in enquiry at the forensic investigator filling out the chain of evidence cards and waited for his nod. Sifting through the images again she lifted out three triumphantly, and held them up, studying the patches of scuffed dirt and footprints.
Frowning, she glanced back at him, “Someone else arrived at the scene?”
“Looks like it. His wife can’t tell us if anything’s missing though, says she doesn’t know what he took with him. Look at that though, there.” He moved one photo out from underneath the others. A briefcase recovered from a rubbish bin at the end of the street, scuffed and rifled through, with papers spilling out onto the pavement.
“Looks like someone went through it pretty thoroughly before us lot arrived on the scene. Look here again,” he said, tapping the photo where a dark stain covered the corner of the briefcase. “Blood. From the saturation it wasn’t removed until the victim was long dead. Could have been the kids who reported him, or just some bum thinking briefcase means money?”
“Hmm,” she said, straining to make out some of the words on the photographed documents, “Maybe, but can you get me copies of the pages that are left?”

The man meticulously vacuumed all trace from the car, careful to keep his driver’s cap pulled low over his face. It wouldn’t do for someone to recognise him. The trace, hairs and skin from his last passenger could give away a lot of information to the right people, and he wasn’t about to leave it in a hired car simply to make his getaway half an hour faster. No, best to be prepared for everything. He smiled slightly, and hummed as he vacuumed.



Humming nervously, and leaning towards the dingy mirror in the green tiled police bathroom, Loraine Barton reapplied her mascara and patted her bottle blonde hair more firmly into shape. She glanced towards her sulking daughter in the mirror and seeing the girl’s bitten lips pursed up again, she sighed exasperatedly. “Oh relax Sammie, it’s not like they can arrest us for anything.” After a final pat she ushered her daughter out into the corridor, smugly registering the satisfying click of her designer shoes on the cheap linoleum floor, and continued strolling towards the interviewing room as Christopher’s neat little lawyer – now hers – fell into step beside her.
“Just remember James, you’re my alibi. They can’t do a thing to me with your word protecting us.” She was aiming for breezy, but her voice cracked slightly, and she was aware that Sammie, settled to wait in a chair in the corridor, was still staring after her anxiously. Of course, they would be fine; James Martins would look after them of course, like he’d looked after her husband before her. The lawyer tucked her arm through his and patted her hand. “Don’t worry Loraine,” he murmured, “I’ll take care of you.” She cast a glance sideways, studying the trim wiry frame of her lawyer in a slightly different light, and then patting her hair one final time, she stepped into the police interview room.

Nicola watched from the viewing room as Lorain Barton glanced repeatedly at her reflection in the one sided mirror, and ignored the constable’s question.
“Mrs Barton, I’ll have to ask you again please, can anyone confirm your whereabouts on the night of Tuesday, 13th of September, after 8pm?”
“No no, look. I told you, I was with James. Tell them, James.”
Mr Martin shrugged helplessly and said only “I’m sorry Loraine, you and Sammie left at eight. There's nothing else I can say” and Nicola watched as the woman turned and looked at him as if she’d discovered a viper where she expected a lapdog.

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Piece © Kate-Aimee Conrick. All rights reserved!