First case. The Ant and the Grasshopper. October 29th, 1:42 AM

There wasn't much to say there. Guess the world is all into not being fair. Guess I'm not there to judge, just to find out who killed that poor bastard. George Ramsay. 42 years old, yet he looked quite much as if he was sixty. A hardworker is what he was, ain't nothing in this life to change that. Maybe except his death.

He wasn't willing to die, that's for sure. But when you look at his body hanged there on a lamp you realise that there isn't much in this world he could actually like and enjoy. He loved his family, he was as loyal to them as one man could be. But whether his family was as loyal... Guess I was soon to find out.

First things first, I never wanted to take on this case. So to say, any case. I'm your average lazy ass dude that sits by his desk somewhere in the corner, has his legs up on it and smokes Marlboro Gold not caring of rules such as "no smoking". Like that ever stopped me. I mean I can always see whether there is smoke detector up there or not - doesn't take a detective... Even if it would, I am a detective.

Funny thing. On my way there I saw a news report in one of those TV shops that you can oftenly see in movies but never find in real life. I was pretty surprised to see it, yet there was something of importance there. Tom Ramsay (probably not a coincidence) got loads of shit of money after a death of his wife. More than million dollars, boy can you believe that? I couldn't. Old rag died of old age and gave everything she had to a young guy who was feeding on her. But you couldn't help liking that guy I assume. Otherways you wouldn't be clouded with your own emotions. You'd see what bane this guy is, and I was quite much about to find out.

Anyhow chief called me and said there's an urgent case to deal with. Packed my things and went on. Saying "things" but actually I mean that rusty notepad alongside with a black gel pen. Love those. Don't know why, really. Can't say I am much of a writer, but there's just some stuff to be written, you know. Such as now I'm writing in this notepad.

Also with that I took car keys and a snub nose revolver. Probably won't need it, but who knows. Being a part of Boston PD kinda gives you a clue as to what is going to happen. No shooting, as long as there's noone with serious military experience there. Who knows what's going to happen, right? Making assumptions is the worst mistake a detective can make. And I ought not to make it for that matter.

A thing to know. When you're Gabriel Moore, you're notoriable and known. Doesn't matter why, doesn't matter how. Just a simple fact there is that they put on my shoulders. Now it takes a lot of work to make up for that little money they give. Being a hero is never easy I guess.

Rain shook me when I stepped out of the vehicle. By the way, that Plymouth Barracuda year 1974 is mine. My dad's actually, but I kinda got it after he passed away. Anyhow God's hard tears slapped my fedora hat upon my arrival to the vaste building that held deadman's flat in it's tough gloves. Though when I found out the story... I wondered whether there was a God.

George Ramsay looked old enough to be my dad, when in reality he could only be my older brother, as I am thirdty four now, and he as fourty two. "This one was a real hardworker. I always feel sad for people like those. I like them, but they just don't find their place in this world, you know." Said Julie Barnes. She's a coroner of some sort, but I can't say she was needed.

Looked pretty much like a suicide at first, but when you look at it from another angle... I spotted bruises on his face, and his neck was almost bleeding. No man would tie himself up that hard.

"Were there any sights of recent fights?" I asked, turning the body around. George Ramsay answered with some sort of a funny dance... Though he didn't have to use his arms and legs anymore, it's his head that moved the body. Just needed a light push, and now he circles all around almost as if he was alive... Creepy feeling.

"Yes. You think someone hanged him up though?" Couldn't say if that's so. At one point, if you look at it you may think it was a suicide, really. He had a poor life, and he might have come to understanding it today.

How do I know? Didn't need much info to find out. His flat wasn't big, yet he had a wife and two daughters. Hard to keep up with such family on your shoulders. Thanks to searching through his body with a fine tooth comb I've found the fact that came into my head right out of the blue.

"He's not wearing his wedding ring. It's weird because he has to. See that scar on his wedding finger? He was carrying it for all these lots of years of marriage. I bet he married when he was young, twenty or so. Pretty loyal man he was, almost never taking it out. "

"Thinking what I'm thinking?"

"The poor bastard George Ramsay, age: 42. Died recently after finding out his wife wasn't as honest in their marriage as he was. Probably got himself into a fight too... But these are just assumptions for now, we need to speak with her. What's her name again?"

"Helen Ramsay. She's waiting in the living room, crying all about as if she doesn't know."

"You think she knows?"

"It's always easier for a female to know if a female knows. She knows. She may be a good actress, but we're not in Hollywood. Doesn't work like that."

"Thank you, Julie. It was a very constructive feedback." I've got my body shaking to the outer area, the living room.

Turned out George's daughters were pretty mature at the moment. I was right after all - he got married at a young age of twenty four. One of the girls was 18 and the other one was 12.

Turned out the case is nowhere near over yet. How can we speak of any Divine Being if we witness things like those? Boy was I about to find out about a cruel justice system in this world.

Part 1 ends here.