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Rated: E · Short Story · Detective · #2099081
A man finds his girlfriend dead
"Now, let me tell you what really happened."

He looked at the police officer in the eye and sighed.

Was he telling the truth? the officer thought while looking inquisitively at the man in front of him. What felt off about this one? Was it his sloppy appearance, his twitching eyelids, or his attempt to manipulate his audience by looking him straight in the eyes as if telling him, look, I am trustworthy? Careful, careful.

“I came home and found Pat, with the dog hovering over her body.”

“Pat is the dead woman in your house? Was she your wife, your girlfriend?” The officer interrupted.

“Yes, she was my girlfriend. We’ve been living together on and off for about five years. I loved her dearly.” He looked down at his hands, and tears start rolling down his cheek. “Anyway, she must have broken her neck while hitting the fireplace or something. Like I told you before, I don’t know, it was a freak accident, I am telling you.”

“Why didn’t you call the police at once? It took you half an hour at least before you called us.”

“Was it that long? I must have been in shock…yes, that was what it was, I just sat there looking at her, and I couldn’t believe she was gone.”

“Have you tried to resuscitate her? How did you know she was dead?”

“She didn’t move, did she? I knew she was gone, her head was just … I don’t know, she must have hit her head at the fireplace, “ the man repeated.

There is something he doesn’t tell me, the officer looked at his notes. What was it?

“Since you have an alibi being at work for the time of her death, you can leave now, “the officer said, a matter of fact like, “but keep yourself available for further questioning. And my condolences for your loss.”

The man nodded.

Outside the house, people gathered around, talking, in disbelief of what just happened.

The house was a crime scene now, with white tents blocking the entrance and the windows, so nobody could see what was happening inside.

“She was always nice, walking the dog, talking to people, taking an interest in the neighborhood. He was strange, though, didn’t want to talk to anybody except the odd hello. He must have done it, I am sure; they quarreled a lot,” the neighbor of number 18 stated.

“You can’t say an awful thing like that,” a young redhead tried to interrupt. “Maybe she was ill, messed up the medication or something. You don’t know. “

“She was a perfect picture of good health,” number 20 said. “I’ve never heard her say anything about being sick.”

The young woman tried to say something but declined at the last minute. “Maybe it was an accident,” she muttered and walked away.

By the river, she opened her purse and took out a little metal poker. With a sigh, she tossed it into the stream.

We will be together soon! She smiled and chuckled.

The duty officer looked out of the window, watching the man walk away in a hurry. He was not satisfied, but there was nothing to go on. Except for his gut feeling, saying something was not right here.

He took his file and went through the details once more.

Three months later, they closed down the investigation. A woman had slipped in front of the fireplace and hit her head and died. A freak accident, nothing more. The coroner couldn’t make anything else of the head wound.

About that time in a Swiss hotel, a Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan checked in and celebrated with champagne and caviar. The redhead and her man with twitching eyelids were very much in love.

“We did it, dear, “she whispered into his ear at the dance floor.

He smiled at her, took her into his arms, and twirled her around. “Yes, dearie, we did it.”

From a distance, a detective in plain clothes was watching them.

It will only be a matter of time, he thought. They won’t get away with it.

Word count: 685
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