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Murder Scene

Dedicated to Anthony Chansa, challenge accepted!

“Please don’t rattle any feathers with this one Maria,” I begged.

Maria Sposcic was generally thought of as the best detective in the department. Unfortunately for the large majority of bureaucrats on the force, she had a very provocative personality. She was a moderately attractive woman in her late thirties. She'd probably look more attractive if she took care of her hair and wore pantsuits that didn't fit her quite as loosely.

“Who’s the shameless hottie?” Maria asked.

“Taylor Spencer,” I whispered. “Police Chief’s daughter, so we should expect a few big dogs to bark at us. So please Maria, let’s tread lightly.”

I turned to the forensic team, “What do we have?”

“Tiny shards of glass spread across a pool of blood, three maybe four liters. The victim has lacerations on her neck. Early signs indicate the cause of death was strangulation. Time of death is 3 am this morning.”

“Where did the blood come from?” I asked.

“That isn't confirmed.” The forensic agent continued, “The victim had no openings. However, we did confirm that the blood is, in fact, hers.”

“Was the victim sexually assaulted?” Maria asked.

“That isn't clear, but there are signs of penetration within the last 24 hours. She had a few love bites above the lacerations on her neck and no skin residue under her fingernails.”

“Could you excuse us miss," Maria said to the forensic agent. “My handsome platonic lover and I need a private talk.”

I followed Maria to a bedside drawer filled with numerous documents.

“These are insurance files, signed by the Police Chief’s daughter, leaving everything to her husband. If the glass shards came from a jar, means the blood was being stored by the victim. I'm not sure if you heard, but the Chief comes from money.”

“Daddy hates hubby, and hubby knows daddy doesn't want let him get any of the inheritance.”

“Hubby convinces daddy's little girl to commit insurance fraud, so he and her can spend the inheritance abroad.”

“What about the strangulation," I asked, "why would he kill her if she was submissive?”

“Who says she was submissive,” said Maria as she leaned awkwardly close. “What if the money was a reward for hubby because he finally agreed to something?”

“Hickies on her neck means there was some intense kissing, no skin under her nails means she didn't fight back . . . shit . . . Erotic affixation?”

“Bingo,” said Maria as she leaned even closer. “They got excited about the project they were working on together and decided to have an early celebration.”

“Hubby decided to try something new, turns out he’s an amateur, accidentally kills daddy’s little girl.”

“Hubby gets confused and doesn't know what do with the jar, accidentally spills blood, literally.”

I tried to think about how tragically ironic it was. She died days before she planned on faking her own death. But Maria’s proximity kept distracting me. With every thought we exchanged, she stood closer.

Finally, she looked at my zipper and then looked deep into my eyes and said, “But hey, this is just you and me exchanging sexy theories.”

After she winked and tapped the zip of my trousers, “but don’t worry handsome, if you’re an amateur when you try this with me, I’ll hold your hand the whole way.”

I'm just saying.

It takes a special kind of woman to make a young man feel like the victim. Maria Sposcic could make young men feel like they were the victims.

Even at a murder scene!

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