Perfect Crime

Chapter 1

Itsmeocean@hotmail.com

Day One- 8a.m to 11:00a.m.

The alley is a place I am familiar with- a dead-end lane just opposite Mr. Pizza where I had languished away most of my teenage years. When I was a little boy and dad brought us to Mr. Pizza for our favorite pizza, I always feared looking out of the window pane and into this alley, afraid that a ghastly floating head would suddenly appear and that its eyes would catch my face and come for me later in the night when I was asleep, under the illusion that I was cloaked in safety, warmth and love.

Silly phobias, dreamt up by an overly imaginative mind. But Joe has always been much more inventive when it comes to these horrifying images. He even seem to somewhat relish in them, often suggesting that we explore some house rumored to be haunted during the hours when the metaphysical world is most turbulent- twilight to four in the morning- and most definitely, he will bring along his video camera.

Gosh, I miss my kid brother. Nonetheless, he isn't here. He hasn't been here for the past four years.

But now, officially an adult, I'm back here, facing my demons. The current situation makes me wonder if I had premonition abilities as a kid, branding this alley as a 'bad place'. Instead of a ghastly head, I am now surrounded by the thick, redolent stench of murder. Bayport finest hasn't been able to make progress on this case, citing lack of evidence. It was with great reluctance that Chief Collig called my dad, who, unfortunately, is in England researching another case. Thus, I, the ever eager understudy, note my sarcasm please, agreed half-heartedly as well. I will always jump at any chance for a mystery but a mystery is inherently different from a murder case. If there's a homicide, there is an unjust, terminal fate for someone. My passion and earnings shouldn't have to be built upon anyone's misfortune.

Still, something in me resolves to bring injustice keeling and begging for mercy. I have no idea how altruistic this particular passion is. At times, it just feels egoistically good to have bested the best of criminal minds. After all, it takes an above-average intelligent being with sufficient creativity to pull off the most intricate crimes. And the rush in unraveling the complicated webs they spin is intoxicating- almost akin to mental heroin… you succeed and then you want more, more, more…just to know you're still king of the hill… . I do ramble so. The crime scene before me and my mind wanders. Looks like the king will soon be usurped by his own idiocy.

This case is jointly investigated by the local police and the NYPD since it was a homicide. Co-operation with me is their last resort. No suspects, no evidence, no motives- the woman, from the file I was given, seemed to be someone with a normal life, normal secrets and normal habits. By the usage of the term "normal", I mean no disparage. It has become my habit to classify the lives of people into normal and abnormal. I cannot really explain as the knowledge was tacit- but suffice to say that this lady had a happy family, a healthy social life and no dark hidden secrets- yet. It is always the dark hidden secrets that do us in for if there is one thing I have learned from my profession- it is that the best kept secrets are already known to everyone who cares to pry.

The deceased was known affectionately by the name Jenn, short for Jennifer Mason. Aged forty-five and happily married, she was a translator for some French company which had a branch in Bayport. Its office is along the same street as Mr. Pizza. During her free time, she liked to visit the gym and tend to her garden. On Sundays, she went to Church- not Bayport Baptist's Church, but a small congregation who bought a house down at Akline Street and called themselves Bearers of the Light. I don't know if BL's doctrines lean towards any major denominations' but it will definitely be information I will soon uncover.  She stayed in a townhouse along Aspen Drive, a street perpendicular to my turf, Maple Ave. I pass by it often and thus, have a good idea where exactly is the address. Jenn was dearly missed by her husband, Patrick Mason, and her son, John.

No evidence- that is what the report says. Or rather, no evidence tying anyone to the crime. During the time which the crime had taken place, no one was around the area. Mr Pizza closed at eleven at night but I know Chet, now a co-owner of Mr. Pizza with Mr. Prito, Tony's father, will still allow customers to stay until midnight. My best friend loves company and is getting pretty lonely at home as his parents left Bayport last year. Mr. Morton has been given an assignment by his IT consultation firm to oversee the setting up of a branch in New Zealand. Chet, having no girlfriends, is a lonesome man, pining for the days in high school. He didn't finish college- nope- with acutely keen taste buds and rather shrewd business acumens, he decided to plunge his time and life savings into Mr Pizza when it was facing financial crisis a year after we graduated from Bayport High. Business is now brisk and Chet is happy, re-living his teens via the boisterous youngsters who has appropriated Mr. Pizza as their chill-out place. It used to be our chill-out place.

Ours- Me, Joe, Callie, Chet, Iola, Tony, Biff and Phil. Iola's sojourn in our world ended shortly. Biff and Phil has flown the coop for greener pastures. Callie works late hours at her marketing firm. Tony and I found somewhere else to rot idle time away- a place I jam at with a band I formed with some friends in college. Chet will join us sometimes when he isn't flipping burgers and making pizza sauce. Chet is the son Tony's father wishes he has.

I don't know where my beloved brother is- I wish I do. After he and a very pregnant Vanessa eloped with crucial assistance from yours truly. Besides the occasional phone calls and emails, we hardly keep in touch. I want to but he doesn't- it is difficult to hound after someone who seem like he doesn't even care anymore. Chet is always looking for ways to relive his teenage years- I am always looking back in time for ways things may have turned out differently- doubting my choice to help him then.

I feel like I have helped my brother out of my life.

How does everything morph to become a subject revolving around Joe who isn't even here? I shake my head, clearing it of sneaky regrets and the hurt of betrayal. Focusing my energies once again on this case, I know at once this is no Mickey, and is even more difficult because Joe isn't by my side, complementing my attributes with his.

I set my kit down on the ground beside me. There is only a slim chance that I may glean something the police missed. The fact that this is an outdoor area makes evidence gathering much more difficult. However, I am not here solely for evidence. I have a ritual to fulfill.

By stepping into the crime scene, I am starting the chase.

But running is difficult in winter when the cold numbed your brains and all you want to do is hibernate. It will be Christmas soon and then, spring. I always feel like spring cannot come fast enough- I really hate the wintry air, freezing everything into one startling, blinding white. And it doesn't help that before the body was found, about a night ago, there is some snowing. Footprints were covered over. Usually, footprints in the snow make excellent evidence and it is extremely regretful that we don't have that now.

Trudging through the snow, glad that the company hired to do general shoveling is being lazy, I walk over to where the blood from the victim is frozen, marking where she laid. The color is still pretty red, as expected. Against the whiteness surrounding it, the crimson blotch marks the lost innocence of this place.

Not that I ever considered the alley to be innocent. Red against white- it is the most striking contrast of colors ever.

I kneel down and claw through some layers of snow.  Still, I don't know what am I supposed to be looking for- where am I supposed to look. I'm just trying my luck. Yet, I will not count myself as even half as good as the professional CSIs. I am, after all, still pursuing my Applied Chemistry honors part time and goodness knows if I can finish it within the set duration. Somehow, the dual degree track is taking longer than I expect as I need to work to get my hands on some money.

The alleyway will be pretty sheltered but I did some research with regards to wind direction that night. It was definitely a frigid night - I remembered shivering in my dinky little apartment, wrapped in three woolen blankets because my heater was broken. One day, I will be as rich as my dad and be able to afford decent housing, not that I'm terribly poor now. I am all right, I guess. I just hate to live with my parents- after I move out during my college years,  I feel that it was sacrilegious to move back to my parents' home for whatever reason.

The wind that night would be blowing into the alleyway. Thus, if there is any tiny evidence left behind which may be displaced, it will be much further into the gloominess. Carefully, I comb the area behind where the body was and the beyond, sifting through snow and beginning to doubt my intelligence. Didn't the police hit a brick wall with evidence gathering? What am I hoping to accomplish?

The weather is too cold. I can't feel my toes. My self-confidence dips with the temperature and my fingers will soon turn blue and fall off. If I am lucky, my car will not stall.

And there it is. A fragment of a dark, glossy leaf half-stuck under a thin layer of snow and rather out of place with this plant-less surrounds. From the looks of it, it is thickly veined. Also, I noted that it is nothing like the flora scene in Bayport which is just about composed of green grass, maple and elm trees. Probably something from someone's garden. A foreign being.

Just like the body must have been. Out of place- something that shouldn't have happened.

With my tweezers, I retrieve the fragment as carefully as I can and sniff at it, regretting instantly as the tip of my nose touch it and is stung by its coldness. It has a faint fragrance though, most probably from the flower but I cannot discern its specie.  I take out a small white envelope from my kit and drop it in. A few routine checks later, I decide that there is nothing else to gather.

And then I decide that I need something to chase away the frost gathering on my bones.

***

"So, I gathered you hadn't any luck in the alley?" Con Riley asks rather nonchalantly, sniffing as he speaks. However, I can tell by the prolonged look he has given me from the corner of his eyes that he's anything but cavalier. I sip the Irish coffee- a concoction made from the cuppa available from the vending machine in police station and a capful of Bailey's that Con keeps around and which I know about. Con is cool- in fact, sometimes, he reminds me of an elder brother- always watching my back for me in case I cross Chief Collig. Come to think of it, he has brown eyes and brown hair, just like me. Of course the shades and tones are different- I have always been told by Callie that my eyes can pass off as black during one of my dark, melancholic moods. She finds it sexy and mesmerizing when the color of my eyes deepen with my mood swings, and thus, I try to be broody and grouchy around her as often as possible, interspersing doomsday's predictions into our conversations, which drives her nuts. Girls, you can never please them.

Ah… Bailey's keeps me warm but makes me sleepy. Coffee, my best friend, negates the effects. Perfect.

"Found a leaf- sent it to the lab for identification. I took some pictures of it of it as well. Going back to develop them in my darkroom. You have the photos ready for me?"

"Yup. Not as gruesome as most but still… here they are." Con pushes a trusty manila folder across the table to me. I take out the contents, one grisly image after another, shots of the victim from all possible angles.

"Pretty woman… when she's not all blue and lifeless…why do you think she would be in the alley? It was a dead end and there wasn't exactly a party happening inside."

"We found a dollar note near her body. Maybe it flew inside and she wanted to retrieve it."

I cluck my tongue. Such a waste- A dollar! A dollar for my life! Under no circumstances will I think it wise to venture into a dark alley at night. Scrutinizing the photos, I spot a ring of discoloration around her left wrist and, remembering that she was married, find it odd that she isn't wearing a wedding band. I point out the discoloration to Con Riley.

"This is not written in the report. You guys missed it? I thought it was reported that it wasn't burglary or rape. But something is definitely missing. In fact, two things- she should be wearing a ring."

"Hmm… it must be a grave oversight… lemme see…" Con Riley hunches over the work desk, looking intently at the photo, "Looks like a bracelet of some sort. Interesting wave-like design too…"

"Yes, like it was a tight fitting bubble… what about the ring?"

"We noticed the ring first, or rather, lack of- the husband said according to their church's doctrines, they are not supposed to wear jewelry."

"Like an extreme form of Lutheran?"

"I don't know. Have you visited Bearers of the Light? I haven't but I heard they are quite an interesting bunch." Con Riley shrugged, "But yah, we should have noticed the discoloration. Maybe she was restrained?"

"No, she was clearly taken by surprise. Probably looking for the dollar bill and then the assailant stabbed her from behind and left her to bleed to death," I circled the purse next to her body with my little finger, "Nothing taken from there?"

"Nothing, I guessed. The husband said everything seemed intact. She had a hundred in cash with her- her credit cards were all present… everything."

"But not the bracelet or whatever she was wearing so tightly around her wrist which she was not supposed to wear, if it was a bracelet."

"Right." Con Riley concedes lowly, a sign that he's hoping I will stop rubbing it in. But I am not. I am, well, just being cynical about the effectiveness of our crime scene guys.

"Insurance?" I ask, setting the photos down. Con Riley smiles at me mirthlessly, understanding my one word question perfectly.

"We checked. She took out a policy two years ago. Standard life insurance- should she be maimed or permanently disabled, she would get the payout of thirty thousand. But since she died, the money goes to her beneficiary- her husband."

"But we have nothing to link the case to him, except that he's her husband? Is he in financial trouble?"

"Nope. No previous criminal records either. Sounds like a pretty clean guy- he's after all a pastor."

That's one thing about Con Riley I cannot figure out- despite the fact that he has been dealing with all sorts of criminals since ten years ago when he was twenty-two years old and fresh out of college, he still has very naïve assumptions about people in general. Or maybe I am really becoming too skeptical.

Hmm… . Nay, I am skeptical. He is naïve.

"I think his occupation doesn't necessary have to reflect his morals." I comment, trying to sound casual. However, he hears the sarcasm and ricochets back against his chair, as if I have just thrown him a punch in the solar plexus.

"Sounds like someone got off from the wrong side of bed."

"C'mon Con, there are news about parents, teachers, priests, imams, monks, pastors, etc doing things they shouldn't do… forget it. I don't want to debate about this. What else do we have on this woman and her husband?"

Con raises a brow and mutters, "Sheesh, sorry for trying to incite you into some moral debate. Whatever you want on the woman that we have is in the file- her work place, her employer's name, her address- "

"Just checking to see if the Chief told you to withhold anything from me."

"Nay, we are helping one another anyway." With a dismissive wave of his hand, Con throws my doubts and subtle accusation out of the window. I don't believe him though. Chief Collig always felt like he has something to hide from my dad even when he has sought my dad's assistance in cases. It is as if all he wants us to do is to break the dam and let the police carry on with the rush while we retreat to the sidelines.

However, I know that Con will, in his rather clever way, hint to me explicitly enough such that I will be aware of any information that I am not supposed to be familiar with.

I stand up, tucking the manila folder with the photos under my right arm. Con Riley hasn't said I can borrow them, I figure that I will just assume approval is given and walk out with them.

"All right then, I should be going now. When the lab report comes out for the leaf, give me a call immediately."

"Erm… okay… ah… the photos…"

"Oh, I'll be back with them. They are copies, right?"

"Yes, they are… well, keep them until you have no use for them anymore." Con Riley waves me on and suddenly let loose a huge sneeze. I bless him.

"Don't worry about me." He rubbed his reddening nose violently, "You should talk to the husband and visit his church though. Rather interesting congregation we have there. And one more thing, the sleeves of her blouse had a slight tear to it. It's in the file, pay attention to it."

There is the hint. I have no idea why the Chief will want him to be tight-lip about it. After many years of wrestling with the Chief in some cases, my father has drawn the conclusion that the Chief is just jealous and want us to grovel.

"Thanks, Con."

"No worries, Frank." Con smiles at me, "Just don't tell Chief about the Bailey's- I know I'm a policeman but my profession doesn't always have to reflect my work ethics."

I chuckled gruffly, "No probs. Unless you turn out to be a drunk."

"Unless," He repeated after me smilingly.