Life On The *** Scene
Cleanliness Will Never Wash Away The Sins
Chicago, Illinois
What Bob Bryar was seeing bothered him very much. He couldn't believe how clean the inside of the car was. Someone had vacuumed the interior rugs with special care. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere on the dash, or along the steering column. Whoever it was, possibly the dead women herself, really didn't like dirty places.
Bob looked around again. He noticed that this car wasn't new. He leaned in a bit more and peered a little closer at the odometer. The light wasn't really that good in that small garage, but he could make out the figures: 47,583. Nope, not a new car at all, but one in great shape, he thought as he leaned across the seat and with the tip of his index finger, ticked the switch on the armrest to lower the passenger window just a bit. He checked to see if that earnest young policeman at the door had noticed, but he hadn't. If he had, and objected, Bob would have argued. The young man was a bit short in size, and he had shoulder length hair. He didn't look at Bob so he knew that this young man was in fact what he called "newbies".
The smell in the car was nauseating, and he needed to relieve it by letting a bit of draft through. The smell, it was a smell he had encountered dozens of times, but he never got used to it. It was the smell of a body in the early stages of decomposition, a hint of sweet and a hint of foul. It made Bob feel sick just being there. The smell hung in the air even though the garage door had been open for several hours already. Bob knew it would be a long time before the fabric in the car would be free of it. Inside the car, of course, it was worse. The doors had been open only for sometime so that the photographer could do their job, and for the coroner to remove the body.
And what was Bob doing here? He was here to investigate the scene. He was a detective, and a very famous one too. Robert Nathaniel Cory Bryar was always in the newspapers and on TV, always solving mysteries which the police couldn't even figure out. Over his years, as a famous detective, Bob had become to know the police very well and he was the one they called in situations like this. Therefore it was not the first time he had been called to the scene of what they thought was a suicide. Nevertheless, although all he had to do was to solve these kinds of stuff, the whole business gave him the creeps sometimes.
According to the coroner, the woman - whose name was Lilia Broket - had backed the car into the garage some 40 to 50 hours ago, closed the door and simply sat there with the engine running until the inevitable happened. The body had gone unnoticed for almost 2 days, the coroner estimated. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone say,
"You didn't touch anything, did you Bob?"
It was Officer Armstrong, better known as Billie for Bob. Bob hadn't heard him come in. The young policeman had been left behind by Officer Armstrong with specific instructions that nothing was to be disturbed.
"Frank! Didn't I tell you to watch?"
So that was his name, Bob thought as Frank apologized to Billie.
"I'm sorry sir, I will try my best." Frank said as he went back to his original position.
"God these newbies are giving me a headache." Billie groaned.
Bob laughed.
"I guess being the top guy in the whole Chicago police department gets tiring huh?"
"Yeah seriously..." Billie sighed.
Bob smiled as he went back to the investigation.
He was looking around the car again, when he noticed something weird about the car.
"Hey Billie, how many hours was it that the woman was dead?"
"I think about 40~50 hours? Why?"
“You know, I think that this isn’t a suicide, this women was killed.”
Billie looked at Bob curiously.
“And why do you think that?”
“Since she’s been dead for about 40 to 50 hours, therefore, this women had the car in the garage that long ago and left the motor running, which should result to the fuel running out. But I was able to lower one of the windows by the switch.”
“So you mean…”
“Yeah,” Bob said as he got out of the car, “I also think that she wasn’t killed here in the garage.”
“That’s what I thought too since there was fuel in the tank and her position was-“
“Not in the way a person would normally sit, right?”
“Yes, exactly.” Billie nodded as he looked over at Frank.
“Get the sergeant, Frank.”
Frank had confusion written all over his face, but he obeyed Officer Armstrong as he rushed off to find the sergeant.
“Thanks again for your help, Bob.” Billie said as he patted Bob’s back.
“Anytime Billie, anytime.”
“We’ll tell you the results when we know who the culprit is, Bob. So for now, relax.” Billie said as he walked off into the house.
Bob only sighed as he left the scene to his car.
He turned on the radio as he began to drive home.
“Relax huh? How does he expect me to relax?”
To Be Continued...
What Bob Bryar was seeing bothered him very much. He couldn't believe how clean the inside of the car was. Someone had vacuumed the interior rugs with special care. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere on the dash, or along the steering column. Whoever it was, possibly the dead women herself, really didn't like dirty places.
Bob looked around again. He noticed that this car wasn't new. He leaned in a bit more and peered a little closer at the odometer. The light wasn't really that good in that small garage, but he could make out the figures: 47,583. Nope, not a new car at all, but one in great shape, he thought as he leaned across the seat and with the tip of his index finger, ticked the switch on the armrest to lower the passenger window just a bit. He checked to see if that earnest young policeman at the door had noticed, but he hadn't. If he had, and objected, Bob would have argued. The young man was a bit short in size, and he had shoulder length hair. He didn't look at Bob so he knew that this young man was in fact what he called "newbies".
The smell in the car was nauseating, and he needed to relieve it by letting a bit of draft through. The smell, it was a smell he had encountered dozens of times, but he never got used to it. It was the smell of a body in the early stages of decomposition, a hint of sweet and a hint of foul. It made Bob feel sick just being there. The smell hung in the air even though the garage door had been open for several hours already. Bob knew it would be a long time before the fabric in the car would be free of it. Inside the car, of course, it was worse. The doors had been open only for sometime so that the photographer could do their job, and for the coroner to remove the body.
And what was Bob doing here? He was here to investigate the scene. He was a detective, and a very famous one too. Robert Nathaniel Cory Bryar was always in the newspapers and on TV, always solving mysteries which the police couldn't even figure out. Over his years, as a famous detective, Bob had become to know the police very well and he was the one they called in situations like this. Therefore it was not the first time he had been called to the scene of what they thought was a suicide. Nevertheless, although all he had to do was to solve these kinds of stuff, the whole business gave him the creeps sometimes.
According to the coroner, the woman - whose name was Lilia Broket - had backed the car into the garage some 40 to 50 hours ago, closed the door and simply sat there with the engine running until the inevitable happened. The body had gone unnoticed for almost 2 days, the coroner estimated. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone say,
"You didn't touch anything, did you Bob?"
It was Officer Armstrong, better known as Billie for Bob. Bob hadn't heard him come in. The young policeman had been left behind by Officer Armstrong with specific instructions that nothing was to be disturbed.
"Frank! Didn't I tell you to watch?"
So that was his name, Bob thought as Frank apologized to Billie.
"I'm sorry sir, I will try my best." Frank said as he went back to his original position.
"God these newbies are giving me a headache." Billie groaned.
Bob laughed.
"I guess being the top guy in the whole Chicago police department gets tiring huh?"
"Yeah seriously..." Billie sighed.
Bob smiled as he went back to the investigation.
He was looking around the car again, when he noticed something weird about the car.
"Hey Billie, how many hours was it that the woman was dead?"
"I think about 40~50 hours? Why?"
“You know, I think that this isn’t a suicide, this women was killed.”
Billie looked at Bob curiously.
“And why do you think that?”
“Since she’s been dead for about 40 to 50 hours, therefore, this women had the car in the garage that long ago and left the motor running, which should result to the fuel running out. But I was able to lower one of the windows by the switch.”
“So you mean…”
“Yeah,” Bob said as he got out of the car, “I also think that she wasn’t killed here in the garage.”
“That’s what I thought too since there was fuel in the tank and her position was-“
“Not in the way a person would normally sit, right?”
“Yes, exactly.” Billie nodded as he looked over at Frank.
“Get the sergeant, Frank.”
Frank had confusion written all over his face, but he obeyed Officer Armstrong as he rushed off to find the sergeant.
“Thanks again for your help, Bob.” Billie said as he patted Bob’s back.
“Anytime Billie, anytime.”
“We’ll tell you the results when we know who the culprit is, Bob. So for now, relax.” Billie said as he walked off into the house.
Bob only sighed as he left the scene to his car.
He turned on the radio as he began to drive home.
“Relax huh? How does he expect me to relax?”
To Be Continued...