"Another killing? Where are all these killers coming out from?" George questioned. The office he shared with his partner, Ken, was big enough to occupy two large desks, their respective chairs and a sofa with a coffee table, leaving room enough for eight people to stand in spaciously. He reclined on the chair and grabbed a doughnut from the box that laid open on his desk, spinning the chair to face the window as he looked down on the city from the fifteenth storey.
They had just bagged a rather difficult case which had kept the city awake and the police force on their toes for years, and now they await a presidential thank you from the white house. But with this new murder splashed on the front page of the Daily times, that big fat thank you would have to be put on hold.
"I tell you," Ken flipped over the pages of the newspaper. "We just had one put behind bars. This world is coming to an end..." He sipped his coffee, "...and it's not gradually."
The door opened and Tim walked in looking pale and unhealthy and no it wasn't due to sickness, it was his failing marriage, caused by his forever nagging wife, Harris.
His shirt, which lacked proper ironing, was faded and hung on his fragile and skinny frame. The big round glasses he wore rested on the bridge of his nose, making his head a little too small for size. He was tall and bent and looked like he lacked sleep for days and truly he did, because for nights on end he would remain in his cubicle downstairs refusing to go home, using 'extra work' as an excuse to avoid his wife. His only devotion in the marriage was their six year old son. Now standing in George and Ken's office, he looked like he could really use a vacation.
"Here's the file containing the autopsy details carried out on the victim's body. Body's in the lab if you need to....." He trailed off
"Thank you Tim." Ken dismissed him with a smile after collecting the file from his trembling hands. He watched Tim close the door behind him before opening the file.
"Jerry Muckins?"
"Who?" George asked, spinning his chair to face Ken.
"Jerry Muckins. Nick Tarvis' doctor. From the hospital? Remember?"
"Let me see that." George stood up, walked over to Ken's desk and collected the file. "Who would want to kill him, and why?" He began to pace, stroking his chin with the other hand resting on his waist.
The door swung open and Tim rushed in.
"For Christ sake Tim! You knock before....." Ken started but was cut off.
"Sir we have a problem."
"Spill it out. Nothing we can't handle, eh, old chap?" George and Ken shared a look and then laughed.
"It's they guy. The murderer. He's escaped while being transported to prison."
For a split second nobody moved. They were frozen. And then immediately they rushed for the door, Ken grabbed his coat but they were stopped when the office phone rang.
"Detective Ken, how may I help you?"
There was calmness on the other line, a sharpy breathing and then he spoke.
"Can you put me on speaker please?"
Ken shot a glance at George and signalled for Tim to leave before putting the call on speaker.
"You're on. What is it?"
"I've got a proposal for you gentlemen. If you can catch the person who killed my first victim, I'll turn myself in." A pause, then a sinister laugh.
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Good article