It Ain't Nothing

They found the body on a Monday. It was cold and rainy, not surprising for April in Minnesota.

Detective John Abram, sighed. Murders were rare in the small town of Winona and this one was especially bizarre. He knew he wasn't going to be getting any sleep for a long time.

The body had been lying there behind the dumpster for a couple of days and the smell was atrocious. Detective Abram sighed and began directing his underlings to collect evidence while they waited for the coroner to arrive.

"I've never seen anything like this," Officer Jim Lange commented. "What could have done this?"
"I don't know, Jim. I've never seen anything like this either."

The corpse had been a middle-aged man, about six feet tall and at least two hundred fifty pounds. Brown hair specked with grey topped what was left of his head. The face was almost completely gone. It looked as if someone had scraped it off with a razor blade. The mouth was hanging open, revealing that the tongue had been crudely cut out as well.

"This had to be personal," Jim remarked.
"Just collect evidence," Detective Abram cut him off, wearily. "We'll have plenty of time to figure it out after."

Later that night, Abram sat at his desk looking over the crime scene photos and autopsy report. He knew how the man had died, but still had no idea why. At least they had been able to identify the corpse. His fingerprints had been registered with the military. The man had been honorably discharged two years prior after serving for nearly fifteen years. No wants or warrants, no criminal record.

It made no sense. The man was a good military man with an exemplary record and no criminal history. How did he end up carved up and discarded behind a dumpster?

The next morning, Detective Abram drove over to the victim's home and knocked on the front door.

A short, pudgy woman with long, dirty blonde hair and pale green eyes answered after the second knock.
"Yes?" her voice was harsh, brassy. She looked pissed off.
"Mrs. Archer?"
"What do you want? I'm in mourning here. My fucking husband went and got hisself killed. The no good bastard ain't never done nothin' right. Now he's dead and what do I gots to show for it? Nothin'. Bastard!" Her voice rose as she spoke so that the last word ended in practically a scream.

"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am. Did your husband have any enemies?"
"Shit, no. He ain't never got no enemies. He was fucking perfect. Everyone loved Raymond," she snorted, contemptuously. "He was a pain in the ass he was. Always bitchin' about somethin'. Rita, you sound like an uneducated fool. Rita, your casserole tastes like rubber. Blah blah blah. Never happy that one."

"Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?"
"Besides me? No."
"Did you kill him?"
"Hell yeah. You woulda too. He was always harpin' on me 'bout my bad grammar. My bad spelling. How dumb I was. How I should educate myself. Finally, yesterday morning...I shut him up for good."
"You're going to have to come with me."
"Sure, why not? It ain't nothin'."


542 words