6:45 am, Clifton Suspension Bridge. They’re looking for a body.
The bridge is a regular spot that we get called to for suicides and here we are again, staring out at the muddy water. It was a dog walker who had spotted a left shoe hanging from the bottom of the bridge by its laces, and us who found the dropped Samsung further along the walkway.
“Murphy Night.” Officer Stan said handing me the Samsung with an irritable hesitation, “Do your job and detect”.
I hold the cold Samsung in the palm of my hand pressing all the buttons thrice. Despite the cracked screen, assumedly caused from the droppage before jumping, it is in particularly good condition – expensive, I think. I nurse it in my palms all the way to the jeep. Once inside I turn the engine on and plug it in to charge. As it comes back to life, I squint through the cracks on the screen to see him and her; Nicholas with his obnoxiously large nose that somehow still attracted women, and Vanessa with her gorgeous curly red hair. I’ve never felt so numb without alcohol before. There’s a knock on my window. How lovely… it’s Officer Stan.
“We’ve found the body” he said
I look to Stan and follow him to the crowd of people, I’m desperate to see the body. I watch as the blue and muddy corpse is carried into the ambulance.
Not looking so good now are you Nicholas, I think, as relief with a hint of pride, washes over me. Nicholas must’ve killed himself from the guilt of killing Betty Brice. I’d solved the murder despite everyone’s lack of faith in me. I’ve proven Nicholas is a murderer this time.
Two weeks. For the last two weeks all of us at the station had been perplexed over Betty Brice’s murder. My first idea was that Nicholas (our now suicide jumper) was our murderer came to me on the Wednesday evening while I was only three cans of beer down. I remember because I’d finished a pack of four and one from a new pack on Tuesday night so I was only left with three - I was not prepared to venture out into the downpour to fetch some more. I’d been looking so hard into Betty’s history that I realised the only plausible killer in her life was Nicholas, he’s the only one who would have a motive.
They divorced four years ago in July 2014 and the financial documents showed Betty managed to claim a large amount of his earnings from it. I also looked into Nicholas’ criminal record and saw that he’d once been held in custody for two nights after harming a pedestrian whilst under the influence in February 2013. So then I knew he had abusive qualities that perhaps lead to the divorce and her murder. Maybe they’d had an affair before the divorce was properly settled and Betty had threatened to reveal this to his new partner. These were just ideas I’d come up with but to me they weren’t outrageous or fictional: they were plausible ideas.
It was Thursday morning that I spoke to his new partner. I remember staring at her beautiful curly red hair and forcing myself to focus on the case, rather than her.
“V… is it possible that Nicholas could’ve had an affair?”
“What? No. And he’s not seen Betty in years if that’s what this is about” she said whilst pushing a stand of hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear.
“Did they have any unresolved issues on the financial side of their divorce? Has Nicholas ever mentioned that Betty claimed some of his earnings?”
“Wow, I don’t believe this. Not only are you trying to pin him for adultery but for murder! Leave us alone Murphy”
“V -”
“-No. Just because you’re jealous of Nicholas, because of history between you and me, it does not excuse you to twist poor Betty’s death on him”
“I’ve never been jealous: he’s a cock”
“Professional” she remarked
“Has he ever been violent with you, ever hit you or-”
“I bet that’s just what you want to hear, you’d love that. Vanessa the victim of domestic abusive rescued by the great and mighty officer Murphy Night”
That would be a nice outcome, I’ll admit, but it’s not my initial intention, I thought.
“-Murphy”, Officer Stan said when he intervened with a glare directed at me that I’m still sure he gives to his son when he’s made any unnecessary noise - like breathing. “We’ve asked Nicholas to come to the station for further questioning but perhaps you ought to let me finish off here”. He turned his back on me and looked to Vanessa, “Could we sit down and discuss a few questions I have for you?”
I remember the feeling of my nails digging deep into my palms as I tried to calm myself down… and to prevent me from shouting out to Stan that he’s a cock too. I climbed into my jeep and rested my exhausted head upon my forearms against the steering wheel. When 10:05am turned into 10:38am, I drove away with wet sleeves and hot reddened eyes.
A few hours later I was shown, by Stan himself, CCTV footage from Sainsbury’s on Dorrington Street that showed Nicholas buying some Andrex loo roll and some Lindor chocolates at the estimated time of Betty’s death. Nicholas was no longer officially considered a suspect. That evening I skipped beer and went straight to my whiskey; I needed its strong smell, its dry but moist warm flavour to comfort me, to numb the looming feelings of failure. It was certainly a whiskey kind of day. The glass kept touching my lips until I forgot what I was worrying - thankfully, Friday was my day off.
Saturday, I was back at the station and had decided to take a look in the evidence lockers. The murder weapon was something I hadn’t yet seen. I was told it was a swiss army pocket knife which was left at the scene of Betty Brice’s murder, it had left a stab wound in her neck, and then hours later been inspected for fingerprints but they hadn’t matched those on the database, and so did not match with any of our current suspects – Nicholas included. But my gut screamed that it was him.
My hand was pulled like a magnet to the weapon and I held it flat in my hand. I stared at it blankly for as long as it would take me to finish a beer, hoping for Nicholas’ name to be written all over it. I remember thinking If only it was that simple. I grabbed a magnifying glass just to make sure. Nothing. I ran my thumb over every part of the blade and handle and the only point of interest was the gap whereby the toothpick was missing. It was just a hole. The hole in my evidence.
It wasn’t until late afternoon on the same Saturday after having just half a can of beer I had the idea that the toothpick could literally be the hole. I drove and upon arrival at the crime scene, I walked straight into Betty Brice’s house. I searched high and low but it wasn’t until an hour later the need of a whiskey and frustration drew me back. As I walked past the bushes on her drive I veered towards a little pale white spec by the roots. The toothpick. I remember excitedly examining it, and cheering as I read ‘L.M.P.’ written in a blue ink fine liner.
Who is L.M.P, I thought. Not Nicholas?
Beer turned into whiskey when I got home in record timing. Thoughts of another failed case hummed through me. First the murder of Phillip and now Betty I thought. My growing list of failures terrified me.
Without even realising it the glass of whiskey was at my lips once more. A few drinks later she flooded my mind. Why is she with Nicholas I thought he has a large unattractive nose. I mean the rest of him is perfect; his perfect smart clothes, his perfect blonde hair, his prefect money, his perfect house… but he’s a murder, I know it. And idiot for that matter. She’s too good for him. Her curly red hair doesn’t need his stupid perfect hair, they don’t match like we did - do. I thought about her hair and her flawless face and body that I once knew so well. I’d only once met her family once in the five months that we were together, she wasn’t keen on our meeting but I insisted. Her Mum Julie was a great cook, her father Lewis was slightly intimidating but at least he had respect for me, thanks to my job. Her family, the Pattrick family, were faultless just like my V.
That was when I realised. Thinking about my perfect Vanessa made me realise. It was her knife (well it was actually her father’s knife). Lewis Patrick. L.V.P. Lewis must’ve given the knife to Vanessa and Nicholas must’ve stolen in to murder Betty with to cover his tracks
I then just had the challenge of disproving the CCTV footage to show the others I was right. I grabbed some paper and sat at my desk leaving my whiskey behind and jotted down some ideas:
• Edited or faulty footage?
• A mistake with time estimations of Betty’s death?
• The mistake could have given him enough time leeway to get to Sainsburys and be able to use the CCTV footage as an alibi
I remember feeling triumphant. I hadn’t been that happy in a while. I just needed a way to prove it.
That was when I got the text: 6:45 am, Clifton Suspension Bridge. They’re looking for a body.
So here I am thinking about Nicholas’ dead body not making it home to beautiful Vanessa. V won’t know where he is, she’ll be upset when she hears the news.
I get in my car and work on persuading myself; I’m only going to comfort her and make sure she’s not alone.
When I get to her house I look at myself in the reflection of my car window and for the first time in a long time and realise what a mess I’ve really become since I failed the Phillip case a few years back and lost Vanessa. With a sense of hope that both of those things can be solved. I fix up my hair, find a Sainsbury’s own aerosol can of deodorant and spray my entire self with it. I get out before I choke to death on the fumes.
I raise my hand to knock but notice the door is open.
“Vanessa?” I call through the house
With no response I walk in, rationalising with myself that it’s only 9am and that she’s probably in bed and the door is just open from Nicholas’ suicidal departure last night. I check her kitchen, and her dining room, and her lounge, and her conservatory first just to be sure.
“Vanessa?” I call again appreciating that I’m intruding in her house.
My feet carry me upstairs and I check all the rooms. At the bedroom I suspect to be hers and Nicholas’ I find a bed unmade, pillows on the floor, clothes on the floor –Where is she? - and files on the floor.
I’m drawn to the files only to see that they are mine. They are my files from the failed Phillip case – from years ago.
They should be in my evidence boxes in my loft I think.
I carry the files to the desk in the room and stare at them.
She connects the deaths; Betty, Nicholas, and Phillip. She is the connecting factor. But V wouldn’t. Besides she wouldn’t have killed Phillip she was in love with him. I could tell that even when I was with her.
Was she just using me to get to my files on Phillip?
I look through all the evidence and see Vanessa’s handwriting filling in the gaps from the files. On the last page Nicholas’ name is circled.
She worked the Phillip case out. It was Nicholas: I was right. But it doesn’t make sense that she would date the man who killed the one she loved. “Oh. Revenge.” I said. It wasn’t suicide I think.
48.
It took 48 cans of beer (and some supporting glasses of whiskey) to solve Betty’s murder, 0 to solve Nicholas’ and Vanessa to solve Phillip’s.
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Ta Dah! This was a short story I had to write for an assignment a while back, thought I'd share it on here. Hope you liked it :)
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