Episode 5 - Two Edged Knive

Old

Apartement Del Luna is exactly the same as five days ago; the last time he

visited. The difference right now is the less amount of people crowding the

parking lot, it’s almost empty actually. Which made his work easier; he don’t

need to navigating around the curious people, or—God help him—reporters.

He

made it to the front steps, entering the closed front door—it is always closed

now; since the news about a murderer take a place in the building broke out.

Inside, he’s greeted by a male receptionist, who immediately recognize him. A

polite smile broke out of his face—Jeffrey pulled out his badge, showing it to

the receptionist; as formallity.

“Good

morning, Inspector.” His voice is calm and pleasant; perhaps that’s the reason

why people still living in this apartement despite the murderer and the state

of the building itself.

“Good

Morning.” Jeffrey placed the badge inside his pocket. “I take it that no

apartement owners is suddenly moving out?”

The

receptionist shook his head—his smile turned smug. “No, everyone is still

living in the apartement. The owner, and the staff too.” He is silent for a few

seconds before adding, “Except Mr. Grey—of course.”

Well,

Mr. Grey is dead. Murdered inside his own apartement, then buried in the grave

yard—after his family refused the visum. It’s something about their belief to

honour the dead; the police is lucky enough to be allowed to check out the body

and take a few pictures before the body is taken by the family for immediate

burial.

Thinking

about it; Jeffrey himself decide that he didn’t want somebody cutting open his

chest and take a look inside when he’s dead. No. Thank you very much.

The

detective sighed; contemplating the information given by the receptionist. No

one is suddenly moving out of the apartement; which means the murderer is

likely an outsider instead of somebody living in the building. Is that a good

news, or a bad one?

“Damn,

I lost my key.” A sudden complain from behind startle Jeffrey out of his

thought.

A

woman is draping herself over the receptionist counter; she’s wearing a red

dress with a very low cut neck, her ****** is almost visible when she bend over

on the waist high counter. She seemed to do it on purpose. Both Jeffrey and the

receptionist averted their eyes.

“Again,

Miss Camilla?” The receptionist sighed. His brown eyes rolled heavenwards.

Miss

Camilla let out a crooked smile. She whispers; her voice almost too sweet.

“Yes!”

Jeffrey

wondering if this woman was drunk or high on some stuff—he had to arrest her if

that’s the case. But the man across him—as if he sensed his train of

though—shook his head; no. That got him wondering, why is this woman acting

like—

“By

the way, can I get your number?”

Oh,

alright. Jeffrey understood.

The

man looks uncomfortable—still he force a smile. “Im afraid personal contact is

not allowed.” He gave Miss Camila a key—the woman visibly deflated at his answer.

Sho tooks the key, moving from the counter towards the hallway like a zombie.

“Be

careful thought; that’s the last key!” The man in the counter warned. He

receives no response from the heartbroken young woman.

“Was

that a daily occurance?” Jeffrey can’t help but ask. Leaning towards the

counter.

The

receptionist pulled a key from under the table. Made from material resembled

silver with a yellow tags. He offer it to Jeffrey—who accept it.

“With

miss Camilla? The answer is yes.”

-----

The

building had no lift, so Jeffrey climbed the stairs towards the third floor,

where The late Mr Grey apartement is located. It’s quite an excercise; he’s a

little winded upon reaching the third floor. The hallways are empty; most of

the people living in the buiding—owners—probably working or staying inside

their apartement at this time. The apartement is soundproofed; Jeffrey can’t

hear anything beside his own footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

Doors

with number craved into it lined up around him. Just to be sure, he re-checked

the key tag number; nineteen. Hiz gaze moving towards the left side end of the

hallway—where a familliar black and yellow police line is taped into the walls

around the door. The line appeard to be unmoved; which could means nobody

trying to break in—but just to be sure, he need to see the video footage from

the security camera; installed immediately in the hallway after the murder act

is discovered.

Carefull

not to disturb the police line, Jeffrey turned the door knob, found that it is

still locked. He retrieve the key given by the receptionist to unlock the door,

and push it open. He place the key back inside his pocket before kneeling under

the lines, and went into the room. With a soft click—he close the door behind

him; to make sure nobody distract his work.

He

leaned his bag against the door, then take off his grey coats—let it drop onto

the dusty floor. Standing inside Mr Grey apartement in black khakis and white

shirt—the sleeves is rolled onto his elbow. The detective starts searching the

room; started by the living room.

According

to a few source; Mr Grey is an unmarried thirty five years old man, he came

from old money; that explain why he didn’t work. He’s the owner of a few

building in town; a fancy restaurant near the police station, and the football

indoor court across the town high school. Thought he doesn’t personally

involved with the business; hess a landlord, accepting money every month from

the rented buidings. That put the rival in business motive out of the imaginery

list. Thought he already ask one of his collague to print out Mr Grey’s bank

record; it must be somewhere in a pile of document inside his bag.

Found

nothing on the living room; he moved towards the bedroom; carefull not to step

on a drawing on the hallway floor; where Mr Grey body was found—in a poodle of

blood. The bedroom door was open wide—just like the last time, and the lamp is

still on. Jeffrey see how the bedroom was in the same state of disorder; pillow

under the blanket halfway down the bed, as if thrown in a hurry. There are

scattered glass from a  broken nightstand

lamp; beside it rest another pillow.

He

could easily picture an thirty five old man jumped from his sleep; awoken by

unwanted presence. Then the man is trying to get away; throwing the blanket,

his movement push the pillow from the bed, and when he’s trying to escape he

accidently knock the bedside lamp off. Or he knock it off on purpose; to

surround his room in darkness and confuse his attacker. He was obviously more

familiar with his own apartement; where the funiture, the window, which door

lead towards which room. To turn the lamp off is a clever movement; it raised

his chance to escape.

But,

there’s only one door; one escape route in this situation. The window is out of

option because the apartement located on the third floor—to escape through the

window is suicide. There must be a confrontation happen in this room; the victim

trying to escape, and the attacker trying to prevent him.

One

of the interesting fact he got through some digging; Mr. Grey was listed as a

legal gun owner. But he is dead because of a single stab wound. There are no

bullets or any damage from a bullet shots on the wall. He didn’t defend himself

with the gun. Where is his gun when he needed it the most?

Jeffrey

check under the bed; nothing but dust. On the bedside table; a driving license,

car keys, and  bars of Kit Kat on the

fist shelf. The second self is empty, then he found packs of male contraception

on the bottom shelf—Jeffrey immediately closed it. The last one was strange; he

thought Mr Grey was unmarried? Well, whatever none of his business—except it is

his business; now that hes investigating this case.

“Should

have retired and move to Bali,” He murmured.

Back

to searching; he moved to the bed. As someone who also legally own guns, and

using it; Jeffrey tends to keep those weapon closed to him. He imagine someone

else doing the same thing. So he throw the black blanket off the bed, revealing

the white covers of the bed, a pillow—the exact twins from the one on the

floor—and two cushion. Checking under the pillow fot the presence of a gun; he

found nothing.

Next

destination is the bathroom. Quite unusual, Mr Grey put his wardobe inside the

bathroom; which size is almost half the size of the bedroom. It’s

black—contrast against the light blue colouring the whole bathroom. Inside, he

found the gun under the stack of shirts—Grey seemed to be his favourite shade;

for some reason. But, no bullets found inside the gun—the barrel was empty. He

searched the whole wardobe in vain for a stack of bullets.

It

is as if Mr Grey found no use of the gun. First he place it inside a wardobe in

his bathroom, and second; the guns is empty of bullets. Ok, this is probably

the reason why he’s currently buried six feet under.

Jeffrey

chased away the thoughts; its impolite to speak ill of the dead. Especially

when he’s inside the apartement where the act happened—the most likely place to

be haunted. The black haired man suddenly feeling a bit cold; its probably the

bathroom being slightly damp, and the fact that he left his coat on the front

door. The sound of water dripping from the faucet above the white westafel sounded

cristal clear and impossibly loud in his ears.

Slowly,

the man moved from the wardobe towards the westafel, to check out the faucet.

Upon closer inspection; the faucet is actually closed, but the water still

dripping. It must be one of the problematic fauced that wont closed properly.

Jeffrey moved his gaze up, facing himself in a condensed mirror. The small

circle bellow his eyes, tanned skin, pink with slightly browned lips, black

hair gelled and combed back under his dark blue hat. Jeffrey crept closer

towards the mirror; almost like he is going to kiss his own reflection. Then

suddenly everything went black.

-----

‘Damn—that

was intense,’ Jeffrey thought as the ligth went back on. The flickering. For a

second he actually believe that he somehow upset some kind of ghost haunting

this apartement. Turns out it’s just an eletricity problem—the bulbs is broken,

there’s a few cracks on it. That’s why the light suddenly went out, and then

on, then flickering like mad.

The

man went out of the room and turn off the bathroom lamp for safety. He’s back

inside the untidy bedroom—there’s a small part of him; the one who got minor OCD,

felt uncomfortable looking at the scene. So without further a due, he take the

blanket, folded it pace it on the corner of the bed, rearrange the pillow and

the cushions. He even side stepping the scattered glass to pick the other

pillow. He always refrain from dusturbing the case location; but since the

police team already documented everything; including taking pictures of

absolutely everything in this apartement. Its just the blanket and the pillow

anyway; he can place it back on the floor if that should be the case.

The

pillow he picked up is exactly the twins from the other pillow on the bed; only

slightly dirty from dust, ant the case is—apparently teared up.

Tear?—wait,

wait!

Jeffrey

touches the small—about a few centimeter long tear on the pillow; the pillow

case is black and almost looked new, the white sponge from inside the pillow is

noticable due to the colour difference and there was a drying brown spot

peeking from the visible sponge. Jeffery brought the pillow closer to his face,

his straight nose twitching; smelling the faint odour on the pillow. But the

dust is overpowering everything; he can’t smell anything past the irritating

presence of the dust.

Stilll,

this was something important. the pillow case tore, and the sponge bellow is

cut; as if the pillow have been stabbed—one clean deep stab.

Something

suddeny clicked in his head. Jeffrey brown eyes widened. ‘Stab; thats it!’ He all but running out of the bedroom towards the hallway and into the living

room where he left his bag. He sat there on the dusty floor and rumaging

through his bag for something. He pulled out a plastic triangle ruler; he

always questioning himself why theress a ruler in his bag, but never actualy

had the time to get it out if his bag. Turns out it is usefull after all.

He

used the ruler to measure the length of the tear on the pillow. Jeffrey

remember the cooking knive with blue handle stuck inside Mr. Grey stomach when

they found him. Could this be a connection? Was it the same knive that stabbed

the pillow? This raise another scenario; another detail towards the case.

But

the measurement is wrong; it is wrong. The cooking knive is about two and half

centimeters wide; while the tear on the pillow case is about four point—was it

seven or eight? The detective straighten the pillow and do a re-measuring. It’s

four point seven five.

Jefrey

drop the ruler and the pillow; one hand reaching his baret hat and throwing it

at the front door in frustation. He combed his black hair backwards with his

fingers, giving a little pressure; small massage to relive the knots of

headache before it’s starts to form. His lips pressed tight, gaze moving from

side to side; he appear to be thinking of something. Throughts racing from one

point to another; this is a mental dicussion happening between Jeffrey and

Jeffrey. Sounds mad; but it does help.

He

picked the pillow; once again checking the tear in the pillowcase. The stab is

neat, even the tear on white sponge underneath is neat; it’s clear thet the

tear appear because a single stab instead of repeating stabbing motion. This

comfirmed that it not the same knive that stabbed Mr. Grey.

The

brownish stain on the pillow is a bit strange thought. Was Mr Grey spilling

some chocholate milk on his pillow? Okay, that ridiculous.

Could

it be blood—dried blood? That’s seem accurate; bit it doesn’t fit the possible

scenario—and Jeffrey wasn’t sure whether it can or cannot be tested—the blood

is dried, contaminated by dust, and God knows what.

Whose

blood is that? Obviously there are two different knive used in this scenario;

one to stab the pillow, one to kill mr grey. But there’s only one knive founded

at the scene and saved as an evidence. Where is the other one?

Man,

this is getting weirder and weirder.

By

the way, speaking of  knives; Jeffrey

haven’t checked the kitchen.

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