I’ll have a proper post tomorrow. Work is a bit busy right now. But there’s no reason you shouldn’t get another taste of my nearly completed, totally unedited short story “Is it Not Midnight?”
If you haven’t been reading along so far. You can catch up here:
Enjoy, Legions of Fans.
The corpse was fresh, less than ten hours old. The morning chill was delaying decomposition and holding back the inevitable stench of death. Detective Elmore Winslow quietly thanked the Lord for small favors.
A voice echoed in the alley. “Well, Newbie? Whaddaya make of this shit?”
Winslow turned to face his partner and frowned. “It doesn’t make sense, Jim.”
Detective James Frankel snorted. “Care to elaborate?”
Winslow squared his shoulders as he replied.
“Well, the deceased appears to have been homeless. He doesn’t have any wallet or I.D. on his person (which you would expect if this was a robbery). But, if robbery was the motive, you would expect the killer or killers to have relieved him of the near full pint of vodka, the twenty-five dollars in cash, and the bottle of cranberry juice we found in the pockets of his coat.” Winslow continued, “Also, his throat is cut, but there is very little blood anywhere in the alley. Which means he was most likely killed elsewhere, then moved here.”
“That’s one hell of an ‘also’, kid,” said the elder detective with a smile. “Let’s get breakfast while Forensics mops up. I hear the new Cuban place on Court Street makes some sort of Caribbean scramble. Then we’ll see if we can’t figure out who this month’s unluckiest hobo used to be.” With a nod to the uniformed officer at the end of the alley, Frankel exited the narrow space and walked with purpose toward a hot meal.
Winslow’s eyebrows met in the center of his dark features as he stared at the pale, lifeless form in the alley. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to kill the man. But why?
Please, be kind. Or don’t.