The Memoirs of a Forgotten Man

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Part Five

I stood aside watching whilst the forensic team looked over the crime scene. Even an empty room could contain untold secrets. Although it appears this child had been methodically placed here, and that would suggest planning and purpose behind the crime, the scene still needed to be thoroughly checked. I had the two officers checking the lower floors for any signs of life. I wasn't expecting them to find anything of use, but you just never know. I have been surprised in these situations before.

With myself, the photographer, the two forensic investigators, and the two officers downstairs, I don't think this building had seen so much activity in some time. There was an eerie silence outside, stretching out into the neighbourhood. To me it was too silent. The view from the third floor window showed a stillness that suggested a peace and serenity that this place wasn't known for. A mist had developed at street level, highlighted under the few streetlights that still worked. I have worked in many run down parts of town. They were never this lifeless. Never this devoid of activity. Even in the middle of the night there would always be someone around, a car passing by. Or someone watching you. Someone with an interest in what you were up to. Someone who probably knew more than they would ever let on. But not here. Not today. And it bothered me.

I watched over the child from outside the room, transfixed as I was by the way the killer had laid the body. It seemed to suggest a sacrifice of some description. I had seen something similar several times throughout my career. But they were messy affairs. Amateurish even. This was different. Everything about this was different. And not just in an outwardly visible manner. My gut was screaming at me - my detective's intuition seemed to be working overtime. Why was this bothering me so much?

“Sir, we've checked all downstairs apartments. No signs of life. It all appears to have been vacant for sometime now.” The officer reported back to me with the news that I thought would be the case. I would need to follow up on this tomorrow. Locate the owner of this place. Even these run down empty and forgotten buildings had an owner. Sometimes they themselves preferred to forget they were the owner. But it doesn't work like that. Most likely they bought it because it was cheap but could never get tenants and just abandoned it. But legally it's still theirs. If he's around then he may be able to help out with some information. Or it could be just another dead end.

“Okay, thanks for that. I'll need someone to stay guard outside the front of the building. Until we've completely secured this scene. Maybe longer.”

“My partner's down there now. I can stay around too if you like.”

“Yes, I think you should. I may need your help.” I may need his help, or I may just need the company. Sometimes these scenes get depressing. Middle of the night, middle of nowhere. Trying to make sense of the human mind and what level the human animal will stoop to. For a creature that is capable of so much, that has the capacity for such heightened states of enlightenment I sometimes wonder at where it all went so wrong. And why it all went so wrong? Having someone else around for the occasional verbal exchange can sometimes assist me from getting too mired in the human cesspool I sometimes find myself in.

And yet like I said earlier, this seemed more than the usual cesspool. It had the outward appearance of one. Of being just like all the other acts of depravity this city has thrust upon her. But I think it was only intended to look that way. Yes it is a child, and yes it certainly appears to be a murder. So it qualifies for depravity on one level. On the most obvious level. But whoever did this wants me to think it's just another murder. Just another nameless victim. But they have been too methodical about things. It would appear to be that way. And why would they go to such lengths to do that? This child wasn't just murdered here. They were brought here after death. Forensics will need to confirm that, but it certainly appears to be the case. And they were not dumped. There was no sense of urgency. Like I said – methodical. There was planning behind this act. And why? And by whom? Why didn't they place the child elsewhere, why here? What is it about this place in particular? It's not just out of the way. It's not just silent and unnoticed. This place seems to represent something to the killer.

I made my way into the room. The forensic team had finally finished their thorough analysis. Their report would help me fill in many blanks, I'm sure. But so too will my own observations. From within the lair, so to speak. I traded places with them and allowed them to continue their work in the rest of the apartment. This is where I needed to be. With the victim. To start my own conversation with this child. He had something to say. There was no doubt in my mind. The only question was did I have the capacity to hear? Do I have the eyes to perceive this version of truth that lay before me?

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” the officer asked, standing in the doorway observing the scene. I looked up hesitantly, not wanting to break my concentration. The room around me was the backdrop to a scene I now found myself a part of. It knew so much - so many secrets. But for a room that had seen so much it was holding so much back. There was a slight crack that ran from the top of the door to the ceiling, but apart from that, and some sections of peeling paint, the room appeared to be in reasonable order. It appeared to be presenting itself in as good a light as it could. This place couldn't have been abandoned for that long. There was a solitary window behind me, overlooking the street below. It looked just like so many other rooms, in so many other apartments of its era. I had in fact seen worse. If the city ever had the political fortitude to clean this neighbourhood up then these places would be reasonably liveable. But there are no votes when there are no voters.

“Not completely like this, no.” I had seen bodies dumped. Even children. Crimes of passion, emotional outbursts, drunken tirades. And then the cover up. The remorse. Tell tale signs left everywhere in the crime scene. But when the scene has been crafted and moulded into place, to fit a narrative of the perpetrator’s choosing, then we can easily be lead astray. Be made to look in the wrong direction, to run towards dead ends, to chase after ghosts. Or possibly they messed up somewhere. They left a calling card they did not intend to. Something they overlooked. The thing is, when you are telling a very specific story – and the murderer here is – the more you attempt to lead the investigation down one path, and the more clues you leave for that conclusion to be reached, then the more you open yourself up to leaving one too many clues. Or the wrong one. It has happened.

“We're being told something very specific here,” I told him. “We're being asked to look in a certain direction. To follow a predetermined path.” I looked at him as I explained my thoughts on the scene that lay before me. “And I'll wager that it's in the opposite direction that we truly need to look.”

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This fiction is my own work, written for Steemit
Image Credit: Unsplash.com

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Bad Trip	My Sister's Keeper	The Memoirs of a Forgotten Man
Chapter One	Chapter One & Two	Chapter One
Chapter Two	Chapter Three & Four	Chapter Two
Chapter Three	Chapter Five & Six	Chapter Three
Chapter Four	Chapter Seven	Chapter Four
Chapter Five	Chapter Eight
Chapter Six	Chapter Nine
Chapter Seven	Chapter Ten
Chapter Eight	Chapter Eleven
Chapter Nine	Chapter Twelve
Chapter Ten	Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Eleven	Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Twelve	Chapter Fifteen
Short Fiction	Chapter Sixteen & Seventeen
The Fountain of Youth	Chapter Eighteen
Bang Bang You're Dead	Chapter Nineteen
Where Did the Time Go?	Chapter Twenty
Run From the Screams	Chapter Twenty One & Twenty Two
Saved By the Rain	Chapter Twenty Three & Twenty Four
I Think I've Remembered This Before	Chapter Twenty Five
A Mother's Love	Chapter Twenty Six
	Chapter Twenty Seven & Twenty Eight
	Chapter Twenty Nine & Thirty
	Chapter Thirty One
	Chapter Thirty Two