Long lost

The station smells of coffee and lies. He’s certain that he’s caught the right person, for all the evidence points to the suspect. But there’s just a doubtful feeling at the back of his mind. He brushes it off.

“So,” he begins, looking the killer in the eye, “start talking.”

The killer stays silent. The detective is becoming impatient.

“Look, every piece of evidence we have points to you,” he says.

“And what exactly did I do?” the killer spits.

“You killed a girl. And not just any girl. You killed the mayor’s daughter.”

“I didn’t,” the killer hisses.

“Keep lying to yourself,” the detective says, walking out the room.

A lady awaits the detective outside the interrogation room. She holds a cup of tea in hand.

“Tough suspect?” she asks, as they walk to the main hall.

“You bet,” the detective grumbles, sipping his tea. It’s way too hot, but after the unsuspected feeling of doubt he had in the room, he figured a hot drink would help calm his mind down.

The mayor’s daughter had been killed viciously. There were scratch marks all over her body. Her clothes were torn off, and she was found hanging in her room. The detectives had gotten there the second the mayor called for them. But the alarming thing was, that this wasn’t the first victim of the killer. There were many people before that, all with the same manner of being tortured and hung. There was no evidence at all. All the traces had been wiped away. The police could not find anything that they could use. Not even a single strand of hair.

The news that the mayor’s daughter had been killed quickly swept across the village. Everyone was in full blown panic. It was clear that with a serial killer on the loose, the police had to catch him quickly. Now, the detective himself wasn’t a hundred percent sure that the killer was male, but who else would kill young ladies? Occasionally, there was a male or two, but the police hadn’t focused on them much.

The detective hadn’t slept in two nights, as he was determined to solve the case. He’d interviewed everyone in the village, but none gave anything useful. It wasn’t until a lady had answered the questions with startling detail. The detective had brought her in, and she started working the case together with him. She sat there beside him, sipping her own tea.

“Did you hear the news today?” she asks him. He shakes his head no.

“Well,” she says, putting down her cup, “there was another murder yesterday. A double murder.”

The detective spat his tea out. “W-what?” he stammered, “how is that possible?”

“I’ve got no idea,” she replies, looking worried, “but why is it such a big deal? Now that we’ve got the killer locked in the interrogation room?”

The detective looks around wildly. “That’s because he’s been locked in for the past two days.”

She gasps. “The past two days?”

“Yes,” the detective says, grimly, confirming her worst suspicions.

“But that means-”

“The killer is still loose, and I’ve got the wrong person.”

“Well,” she says to the detective, “I’ll go investigate the crime scene.”

The detective nods appreciatively. “Thank you.” She walks off.

Sighing, the detective returns to the interrogation room. he looks at the suspect and asks him, “are you sure that you don’t know anything about the murders?”

The suspect looks back at him. “No, I don’t. I've been telling you that for the past two days.”

“Right,” the detective says, turning red. “You’re free to go.”

The detective unchains the suspect and releases him.

Then suddenly, a thrashing person comes through the door.

“Here,” a policeman says, grunting. “I’ve found another suspect. I’m sure that it’s him.”

“Right, thank you,” the detective says, bringing the raving man into the interrogation room.

“Why did you kill all those people?” the detective asks in a loud voice.

“I DIDN’T KILL THEM!” the man screams. “ASK HER! THE LADY IS INSANE! SHE’S THE ONE WHO KILLED EVERYONE!”

“Don’t blame it on others!” the detective snaps, looking through his files. “It shows here that you have a criminal record.” The detective's doubtful feeling had returned, and he did his best to force it out of his mind.

“So?” the man scowls. “I saw her. The lady. The killer. Don’t expect the killer to be a man. She killed my son. MY SON!”

The detective, exhausted, plays along. “What lady?”

“She’s got a red dress, and she’s always wearing black gloves.”

The detective freezes. “And,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm, “was she holding a cup of tea?”

“Yeah, she was,” the man says, finally calming down. Then he points to the cup near on the detective’s table. “That brand.”

The detective wastes no time and rushes to the most recent crime scene. How could he have been so stupid? He’d worked with her for days, weeks even.

The detective flings the door of the apartment open. But what he finds wasn’t what he expected.

The lady lies on the floor, covered in blood. The detective staggers back.

“Wha-”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before the man he had interrogated and released earlier in the day swings his fist into the detective’s skull.

“Surprised to see me?” the man smirks.

“You little-” but the detective didn’t have any energy left to continue.

“Yes, it’s me. And did you not recognize me?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” the detectives says, spitting out blood.

The man tears the detective’s clothes off and hangs a noose around his neck.

Within minutes, the detective is dead.

“Well,” he says, turning to the lady on the floor, “you can wake up now.”

The lady stirs, and gets up. “Did he not recognize you?” she asks.

“No,” the man answers, “what a pity. Now he won’t even be able to witness his only son’s wedding.”

“Yes,” the lady agrees, kissing him on the cheek. “He didn’t even solve the crime. What a pity indeed.”