The Impossible Murder

[Horus]

I have not finished it, this might be only 1/3 of it... more to come. Please post your thoughts!















The Impossible Murder
By: Horus

Wind howls in agony as a slight breeze blows crisp, crimson-orange leaves across the bare paved street. Rain showers down from the sky creating puddles. I stand there dripping with cold, wet drops of rain, soaked from head to toe. I stand their, waiting for a friend. A quick glance down at my gold crested watch, I see the time. 11 o’clock p.m. I soon become agitated faster and faster. A lazy ten minutes later, nothing much has happened. I give a sharp squeal as I turn to leave. I come face with a badly shaven, middle aged Caucasian man. His pale blue eyes burned harshly into my own. Frightened, I mange to choke out in the kindest voice possible,
”Excuse me, I have been told there is a diner in this city, can you point me in the right direction?” He eyed me peculiarly for a moment then replied in a gravely voice,
“It’s just down the street, take a left on Root Street walk until you reach the end, it should be on the corner. I’d hurry if I were you, it might close soon.” I nod then smile warmly. I start to jog in the direction he had pointed.


I enter the diner and was immediately greeted by the sounding of a ringing bell and a big whoosh of a fresh air. The air was an aroma so sweet smelling, and scented with the essence of coffee and bagels. I walk over to the counter and take a seat. I pick up a menu and call a waitress to my assistance.
“How are you doing tonight sir?” She asks.” What would you like?” I look I look up and answer drearily,
“Nothing much, just a cup of coffee, and by chance do you have the latest edition of the paper?”
She nodded, then pulled a newspaper out from under the counter and handed it to me. She smiled warmly then turned away with a content smile. I pull open the paper and on the front page, I see what I was looking for. Staring back at me in large printed bold letters were the words: Impossible Murder? I work as a detective for the police of Chicago. As I closed the newspaper a familiar sounding bell went off. I turn and glance up at the door. A tall, familiar blonde haired man strides in beaming.
“Detective Grant!” He booms cheerily.” I have been searching everywhere for you!”
“Let me guess, chief wants me to work on the case?” I curiously asked.
“He sure did!” The man replied excitedly. I stood up and walked to the door.
“See you tomorrow, Officer Clemens,” I say as I leave. I step outside; the door closes softly behind me.


The next day I wake up and rub my eyes sleepily. I throw open the curtain and was greeted by an amazingly bright ray of yellow sunlight. For a moment, I am blinded by the light until a minute later my vision refocuses. I hurriedly get dressed and head out the front door. I arrived at the crime scene a good ten minutes later.
“Hey chief, what do you have for me?” I asked curiously as he approached me. He grinned then motioned for me to follow him. Our footsteps echoed throughout the apartment as walked on the bare maple floor.
“Here we are,” he muttered in a loud voice. Laying there in a pool of deep red blood was a man. His left leg was twisted in such a manner; I turned a pale white and looked away. Chief Brown looked frightened and yelled an order to the nearest officer,
“Get Detective Grant a bucket or something useful, and hurry!” As color came back into my face, the chief pulled a tarp over the victim’s legs. I looked back at the scene and concentrated hard. His nose was broken and one of his arms had the palm of the hand facing up and the other lay upon the blood stained floor. There were a set of shoeprints in the blood; by the looks of it, I believe that the killer took only a few steps to rid the blood on the shoes. The chief was about to speak up and saw that I was in deep thought and decided to keep the silence.
“A detective has to look at and take in every little detail at a crime scene,” I started off, emerging from deep thought.” For example, the bloody shoeprints in the blood, near the overturned arm, shows that the killer was checking the victims pulse to make sure he was truly dead. That means the killer must have worked at a hospital, the workers at a hospital are specially trained to check pulses from the arm; anybody else would usually feel the heart.” The chief looked ecstatic as he jotted down my thoughts. As he finished, he looked up and asked,
“Anything else?” I waved away the question, then put my finger to my lips, signaling him to stay quiet well I think. That’s when I noticed it,
“The bloody shoeprints, the blood wore off quickly. The shoes must have been new; the rubber was not worn down yet. They also have the same prints as working boots.” Again, the chief wrote down my thoughts.
“A man who works two jobs? A hospital worker and maybe a construction worker?.” The chief muttered to me, seemingly puzzled.
I stood, adding up the evidence and then said loudly,
“Hospital workers don’t wear boots do they? They have to wear special slippers because of the floor. He either had an accomplice or worked two jobs, but by deducing what clues we have here, there was no accomplice, the shoeprints all match.” The chief crossed out the previous notes and wrote in the recent. He watched me intently, beaming an ecstatic smile as I deduced more.
“I can only think of one last thing, this address, this apartment we stand in now, can only be found in the local phone book. The phone book is only delivered to residents of this city. The killer was a hospital worker, who currently lives in this city.” I said aloud. The chief clapped his hands together then announced,
” Boy’s, wrap it up. Send the body to the morgue for further inspection; take blood samples and take pictures of every thing on this scene!” Soon, the room was filled with motion. Police officers hurriedly rush in files, in and out of the room. Their jaws set in concentration as they worked. As soon as they finished, the chief and I got into his car and left.


The car cruised down the road at an easy 60 mph. The chief looks straight ahead and concentrates as he speeds down the road. I look out the window, watching the blur of life as it goes on. A few minutes later, we arrive at the city hospital. We walked through the hospital doors and in a sudden, a few people’s worried looks fade and fear is etched upon their faces. As we reached the front desk, the secretary looked up in alarm and gasped.
“Is there a problem?” She asked nervously.
“Not exactly, but don’t worry about us. Can we have information and pictures of all the workers here? Doctors, nurses, secretaries, and custodians?” I asked quickly. She gives me a look of great concern then replies weakly,
“Sure, it will just be a minute.” She turns and hurries off. A minute passes by, leaving me and the chief in an awkward silence. Suddenly, the chief looks up and asks,
“Detective, do you think you think you can really solve this case? After all, it’s called the Impossible Murder by all who dare venture near the case.” I look at him for a moment then coolly respond,
“Have you forgotten why you have come to me for help and not any other detective? I am known as the Sherlock Holmes of North America!” He looks at me with a concerned expression and said in an uncertain tone,
“But just say…” Suddenly the secretary was back and was panting.
“Here, everything you needed” I took the heavy envelope from her and said,
“Thanks, we shall contact you if more information is needed.”