Broken Statements

“I’ve said too much. It’s time for you to go.”

Detective Foster sneaked a weary glance at her partner, Detective Daniels, before casting a stern expression to the woman they questioned.

“You haven’t said much at all,” the detective countered.

The living room grew warmer by the minute as the blazing sun rose higher into the sky. It had to be noon by now, and their small town was in the middle of a heat wave. Crime was in short supply (thankfully) and these days most of the calls they received were from the elderly asking for help to set up their air conditioners. This woman did not have any cool air circulating her home. Her windows were open, letting the stiff, warm air sit like an unwelcome guest.

The woman crossed her arms, twisting her head abruptly away from the officers. “I can’t say much more than I already told you. You’re asking too many questions.”

Foster snapped her notepad shut, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She turned her back on them to roam the living space. As she walked further away, she heard Daniels scoff.

“We’re asking questions to help you.”

“And I’ve already told you my answers to those questions.”

“Barely.”

The woman gasped. “I don’t like your attitude.”

Foster made her way into the kitchen as the bickering voices died down in the distance. Not that it was a large house, but she was more focused on looking around while the homeowner was distracted. Normally, she didn’t condone her partner arguing with the victim, but sometimes it came in handy as a nice diversion.

Earlier that day, the department had received a call from the neighbor claiming she heard breaking glass and then shouting. While on the phone, she noted the shouting had died down and all was quiet. Still, the woman’s nerves were shaken and begged for someone to come over and check it out.

First, the detectives visited the neighbor, but they didn’t get any new information out of her. She was too afraid to even open the door for the officers. She had spoken to them through a crack in a window, motioning to the house next door. Foster made her way to the house first, while Daniels stayed behind to calm the poor lady down some.

Foster had to knock on the door twice before the homeowner finally answered.

Her name was Mariann Jules and Foster guessed her to be in her mid-to-late 40s. She wore silk blouses, black dress pants, and was almost always in three-inch heels when out around town. A string of pearls dressed her skinny neck that she always fiddled with. There was no wedding band on her finger and, as far as Foster was concerned, the woman didn’t have any close family, nor did she know anyone in town before arriving. She lived alone and had recently moved here within the past six months.

Mariann didn’t make much of an effort to get to know the townspeople, and not everyone was eager to welcome her, Foster included. She remained polite, of course, but she was skeptical of visitors; especially visitors who stayed.

Foster grew up in Willow’s Landing and, overtime, she realized one thing everyone here had in common: every individual who made up the population here was born and raised in this small town. Sure, the occasional tourist came through, but no one ever moved to Willow’s Landing, nor did anyone born here ever move out.

When Mariann had finally answered the door, she was less than pleasant to see an officer standing on her front porch. She remained stand-offish, but gave the detectives enough information for them to figure out the glass shattering the neighbor had heard was a window breaking. Mariann admitted someone broke into her house, which was enough for them to enter the premises.

But they couldn’t get anymore information out of her. Mariann acted scared, but beat around the bush when asked why she didn’t call the authorities herself. First, she thought it was her imagination. Then, she changed her tune and claimed she wanted to check it out herself. Apparently, she has a cat hiding around the house somewhere and suggested that maybe the feline had knocked over a vase. According to Mariann, it took her a while to discover the window because a two-story condo is ‘a lot of square footage to cover.’

(It was tough for both detectives to remain impartial as they questioned her.)

But that was all they needed—for her to admit a window broke.

“How did the window break?” Daniels had asked.

“Which window was it? Mind if we check it out?” Foster had questioned.

That was when Mariann stopped playing with the pearls on her neck and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead as though she were ready to faint, claiming she had said too much.

Foster sauntered through the kitchen, taking in the surroundings. It was pristine, almost as if Mariann had never used it before. Yet, a knife was missing from the butcher block on the counter by the sink. The dishwasher was open a crack, so maybe Mariann did cook and was simply a neat freak. Regardless, the detective made a mental note of the missing knife. Too obvious? Maybe, but Foster didn’t have a good feeling about this woman.

The window above the sink was still in one piece, which was the main reason Foster looked around the place, determined to find this broken window. She rounded the island in the middle of the room and exited through the back. It lead to a hallway. To her left was a bedroom, and in front of her was a bathroom. The detective peered into both rooms, but the windows were still intact.

She made her way down the hall, the voices of her partner and Mariann growing louder. They still argued as Daniels tried to get more information out of the supposed victim, but Mariann had none of it. She kept scoffing in response without using her words. Mariann acted like a child and, as Foster reentered the living room, she could see the impatience and swelling frustration written all over her partner’s face.

She was on the other side of the living room now, behind Mariann, who didn’t seem to notice the detective’s return; or maybe she didn’t notice the absence beforehand. In no attempt to relieve her partner, Foster locked eyes with her him. She gave a curt nod while pointing up. Daniels didn’t answer, but turned his attention back to Mariann instead. Foster walked up the stairs to see what she could find on the second floor. 

At the top of the landing, Foster faced the second bathroom. It was clean; the window unbroken. To the right was another room that looked to be an office or study area. Like the rest of the house, it looked untouched. The window was open, but not broken. A tuxedo cat sunbathed on the windowsill. So the cat was real, after all. 

Foster turned around, the stairs to her left now. She could hear her partner spouting off something to Mariann, but she couldn’t make out the words. It was only a matter of time before Mariann kicked them out, so Foster had to act fast.

There was one room left in the house. Straight down the hall. If there was no broken window in there, she didn’t know what they were doing here.

Quickening her pace, the detective poked her head into the room at the end of the hall, which looked like the primary bedroom, judging by the queen-sized bed. Bingo. The window above the vanity was shattered to bits.

Foster stepped into the room, noticing a messy trail of glass from the window to the other side of the room. Halfway through the trail, the glass on the floor mixed with red spots on the beige carpet.

The detective stepped to the left, following the trail, before huffing out an exasperated sigh. On the other side of the bed, invisible from the doorway, lay the body of a man.

Instinctively, Foster crouched beside the body, pressing her fingers against his neck. No pulse. She figured as much. She studied the body briefly.

The deceased lay on his stomach, arms laying above his head as though he had tried to break his fall. His legs stretched out behind him as though he fell to his knees first. Foster grunted as she recognized the kitchen’s missing knife from the butcher block sticking out of his back. From the cuts in his shirt, it looked like he had been stabbed at least twice and clearly didn’t see his attacker coming. A pool of blood, still damp, surrounded the body. He likely bled out rather than the stab killing him. 

Foster stood, staring down at the body. Mariann didn’t live with anyone and, with the window shattered, this man must have been the culprit. It was easy to assume Mariann defended herself and stopped the intruder before stealing anything, though she couldn’t yet speak those accusations aloud, as it was all speculation. Foster looked forward, noticing a pair of doors. Whatever he was after must have been inside the bedroom closet, unless he heard Mariann coming up the stairs and tried to hide.

Without being able to make out the words, Foster heard Mariann’s voice raise. It seemed time was up. Before heading back downstairs, the detective made a quick call for backup and forensics. The house was now a crime scene and the detectives would gladly leave the home for now, but little did Mariann know she was going with them.

Foster sauntered down the stairs as she wrote notes in her notepad. About halfway down, she heard Mariann’s sharp tone.

“What were you doing upstairs? Who gave you permission to go upstairs?”

“You did,” Foster replied. “We came over to check out a possible break-in and you let us inside. I checked things out and yep. You’ve got a broken window.”

Mariann swallowed a lump in her throat. She stomped over to the front door, opening it wide. “Out.”

“After you,” Foster responded. She walked over to the door, motioning for Mariann to lead the way with a smile. “The house is a crime scene now, so we’ll need to vacate the premises until forensics gets here.”

A squeak escaped Mariann’s lips, but she didn’t move.

Foster held out a hand. “Shall we walk out together?”

Mariann glared at the officer, clutching her pearls. “I can walk myself; thank you very much!” she snubbed the detective by throwing her nose in the air as she strutted onto the porch and down the front steps as though it was her idea to exit.

Daniels leaned closer to his partner as the two stepped outside, closing the front door. “I’m confused.”

“The broken window was in the master bedroom, along with the body of a man with a knife sticking out of his back. When walking through the kitchen, I noticed the butcher block missed a knife,” Foster explained in hushed tones.

Daniels exhaled, putting his hands on his hips. “A homicide? We haven’t seen one of those in, what? A decade?”

“Something like that.”

“And to think one of our residents is—was a trespasser. Who died?”

Foster watched Mariann, who paced her front yard, one hand fiddling with her pearls and the other by her mouth as she bit her fingernails. Subtle.

“That’s the concerning bit,” she answered.

“More concerning than our newest resident possibly being a murderer?”

“I didn’t recognize the body.”

Daniels let his arms fall against his sides. “That’s not possible. We keep track of who enters town, even tourists. No one’s entered Willow’s Landing since Mariann arrived six months ago.”

Foster shrugged her shoulders. “I said it was concerning.”

Daniels threw his head back, groaning. “So… we have a new resident who keeps to herself and a stranger new to town who breaks into her house and she murders him in return?”

“Technically, we can’t say she was the one who murdered him. It’s definitely likely, of course, but we need to do some investigating first.”

“It’s still enough to hold her for questioning,” Daniels smirked.

Foster chuckled. “This is true. She can’t run away or avoid our questions anymore now, can she?”

They heard sirens in the distance, getting louder as backup arrived. The detectives noticed Mariann freeze in her tracks, looking off into the distance. Before she could make a break for it, the partners sandwiched her.

“Are you aware there’s a dead body in your bedroom?” Foster questioned.

Mariann gasped. “Excuse me?”

“So, you didn’t see anyone in your room?” Daniels added.

Mariann twisted her head to face him. She glared at him. “Of course not.”

“Are you aware the broken window was in the main bedroom?” Foster continued.

Mariann turned her head back around to face her. “Well, yeah… I went to check it out, remember? I thought the cat broke something.”

“You saw the window but didn’t see the body?” Daniels pressed.

Mariann breathed heavily, looking back and forth between the two. Finally, she threw her hands up, narrowing her eyes at the ground. “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to do, but it won’t work on me!”

A couple police cruisers pulled up to the house. Neighbors started peering out from behind their curtains, some sitting on their front porches. One man, not even trying to be subtle, started dusting his swing porch while making heavy eye contact with the police arriving.

“Are you aware there’s a knife missing from your kitchen?” Foster proceeded, anyway.

Mariann stomped her foot, covered ears, and squeezed her eyes shut. The detectives rolled their eyes at one another. Daniels took this as an opportunity to step away to get the rest of the team up to speed.

“I refuse to be interrogated like this! You came by without my calling you for help. You searched my house without a warrant. Now you’re treating me like some sort of criminal!”

Foster folded her arms, shrugging nonchalantly. “Fine, forget the body. The fact remains that someone broke into your house and now they’re dead. Were you expecting anyone today?”

Mariann relaxed her shoulders, staring quizzically at the detective. “No.”

“Was someone staying with you at your house?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to anyone recently about something special you keep in your house? Do you know why anyone would want to break in?”

Mariann shrugged, shaking her head. She played with her necklace again, deep in thought. “No. I’ve never even seen him before.”

Foster sighed, pulling out her handcuffs.

“What are you doing?” Mariann took a step back in horror.

“Seen who?” Foster pressed, holding onto the cuffs.

Mariann hesitated, but pointed to her house. With a condescending attitude, she said, “The supposed body you claim to be in my house?”

Matching her tone, Foster replied. “We never said the body was a man.”

Mariann froze, pressing her lips together.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Foster said. Mariann did as she was told, too shocked to disobey. She listened as Foster read her her rights, too stunned to speak.

As soon as Foster completed the speech, Mariann opened her mouth to protest, but the detective stopped her as she led her to a squad car.

“Don’t speak,” she ordered. “You’ve said too much already.”