Roses for the Dead
I walked into the crime scene. I heard the light drip of water falling into the sink. The thud of FBI boots hitting the blood-stained tiled floor resonated around the room. Camera lights flashed as Forensic Scientists took samples from the enclosed area. My sister trailed behind me, inspecting every ounce of detail in the brightly lit half-bath. Her wavy, sandy brown hair danced on her slim shoulders as she walked around the free space, taking in every detail she could.
I ambled towards the cracked window, inspecting the damage. A breeze wafted through the window space when a floral scent hit me. I walked around the chalk outline of the body, towards the area where the smell was emanating from. I stepped towards the smell, careful not to knock over any numbered stands, pointing out the obvious evidence. My nose scrunched up as my eyes rested on the hammer, caked with the victim’s blood.
A plump investigator entered the room, only to stop in the doorway. His caramel colored hair was thinning, and graying. Bags rested under his eyes, his face full of wrinkles. He scanned the room, his starch blue eyes stopping when they reached my sister and I. Stacey, my sister, sensed the investigator staring at her, and stood up from her kneeling position in front of the sink. We towered over the man, our height roughly 5’7”, while his was distinctly 5’2”.
“You must be Maxine and Stacey Owens,” he said in a husky voice that seemed unfit for his stature. “I understand that you ladies are some of Coco Beach’s finest detectives. We have invested in your help for the murder of 27 year-old Mr. Jonathan Cope.” He recited, looking down at a neatly stacked pile of paper in his hands. My eyebrows rose, knowing that the victim was just 4 years older than my sister and I.
“Please, call me Max,” I said. “So,” I continued, “Let’s get down to business.”
“Okay,” the investigator replied, a little shocked that I was so ready for the work. “The victim was obviously killed due to a head wound. But, there were slight bruises on his wrists, and rope burn along his neck. The time of death was approximately 7:38 pm last night. His roommate, Jacob Brandon, was out last night, and came home to find...well, this.” He explained, a little slower than I would have liked.
“Anything else you would like us to know?” Stacey asked in her sing song voice.
“That’s about all you need to know, but if you need anything just ask someone around here. Oh, and I almost forgot, here are the autopsy reports and his information,” he said handing us the stack of papers, before exiting the room. I looked at Stacey, her chocolate eyes shining at the task at hand.
I nodded, and she went back to kneeling in front of the marble sink, as I traced the floral scent to behind the toilet. My eyebrows furrowed as I contemplated over the reasons for why a single and wilting red rose would be behind the toilet. I sighed in frustration as I couldn’t think of any ideas. I looked towards the Forensics’ photographer and signaled to the red head to give me the camera.
I crouched to get a better view and snapped a couple of pictures, almost blinding myself because of the flash in the process. The red head walked over, and pulled some gloves over her small hands. As I heard the faint but distinct ‘snap’ of the plastic bag the rose was put in, my sister called to me.
“Hey Max,” she said as she rose her right hand to the underside of the old-fashioned countertop. “Look at this.” She had an unusual knack of knowing where out of place things were and little details like this. I walked over to her and saw my emerald green eyes in the mirror, my brunette hair in a sloppy bun. Bangs covered my eyes and I brushed them away to reveal the piercing I had on my left eyebrow and the 3 ear piercings. I kneeled down and looked up to see that splotches of blood were along the rim and side of the sink.
Looking back and forth between the sink and the area where the hammer was, my eyes clouded over. A black and white picture came over my eyes as I envisioned the perpetrator hitting the Jonathan with the hammer in front of the window. His face was covered in a ski mask that left only a little bit of his face out in the open to see.
I returned back to the present, and my sister was waiting expectantly for me to get out of my trance. I looked towards her, got up and pointed out the exact spot where the murderer battered the victim. I reenacted the scene for the scientists.
We were walking through the yard when I came across an imprint in the ground. I looked closer and it was a shoe, about a size 11. I asked for a mold to be given to me when I went to the precinct and continued on with the search.
________________________________________
“I think we should go,” Stacey whispered as we watched the Forensics team pack up the equipment.
We casually strolled through the apartment, looking around once more to make sure we hadn’t missed anything and walked to our silver Altima waiting along the sidewalk. I got in the driver’s seat adjusting the mirror and turned on the radio. Paramore blasted through the speakers as I tapped my fingers along with the beat. I turned to sneak a glance at my twin when I saw her covering her ears with her hands. I turned down the volume and mouthed sorry to her.
“Yah, yah.” She muttered. I swore I heard something along the lines of ‘stupid punk rocker sister’ when she turned away, but I chose to dismiss it. As I continued to drive through the town, I saw that there was a man dressed in a police outfit watching us from the curtain of a window. There was something covered in tarp that resembled a dirt bike resting against the side of the quaint little house. When I looked to my sister, I saw she had that look that implied that she thought that the man seemed suspicious. I nodded in agreement with her.
When we arrived at our condo, only a few minutes away from Coco Beach, Florida, we walked straight into the office when the shrill ring of the phone echoed through the small space.
“Hello?” Stace answered politely. “We’ll be right there.” She hung up and turned to face me. “We have to go down to the station. They seem to think that the roommate has something to do with the murder,” she said, her voice unsure.
We drove in silence to the precinct. We arrived to find a boy seated in a chair, his hair disheveled, and his face in his hands. Stacey walked right into the room and began to question him.
“When was the last time you saw Jonathan?” Stacey started.
“Last evening, around 5 pm. Other than that, I haven’t really seen him around much.”
“And why is that?” Stacey tried to coax out of him.
“Well, he was a witness for a shooting on our street, so he had to go to trials and things like that.” He answered completely unaware of the fact that many other people were recording his every word and move.
“What was the trial about?”
“This dude shot one little girl living with her parents in the apartment and he was a witness to the drive-by. In the end, the shooter didn’t get sent to jail because they didn’t have enough proof from the witness. Some crazy man said it was all Jonathan’s fault that the little girl’s death was in vain.” Wow. I thought. What a mess.
“Where were you at the time of Jonathan’s death?” Stacey asked sweetly as I waited outside. Ah. The good old’ good cop bad cop routine.
“I-I was – I was at a party with a—uhm friend,” he stuttered pathetically. Stacey chose this as a good moment to switch with me. I walked into the room trying to look as bad as I could. I had redone my black eyeliner, changed into darker clothing, and slipped on a pair of black Vans. I put my hands on my hips and popped the gum in my mouth.
“Hey dude,” I said rearranging the paper on the table in front of him. “So where did you say you were when Johnny boy was killed?” I asked as I took a seat across from him. His eyes were puffy and he looked deathly green.
“I told miss goody two shoes over there that I was out with a friend,” he said a bit more confidently, but his voice cracked at the end. I narrowed my eyes and began to stare daggers at him. I saw his resolve beginning to crumble.
“Now,” I started, “We both know that’s not where you were. I suggest you tell the truth this time,” I said with malice in my voice. His eyes widened in horror and he nodded his head, almost too afraid to speak. I felt sorry for him, his roommates dead, and I’m being rude to him.
“I was. Well, I was with his uhm...girlfriend,” he explained with nervous laughter making its way out of his mouth at the end.
“And, why were you there?” I questioned.
“She invited me over...” he stated bluntly.
“How did you get there?” I interrogated once more.
“I don’t use the car much. I have a bike that I use to get around, but this time she picked me up. I was letting Jonathan use the car so he could get to the trials,” he trailed off. The gears in my head were turning, and finally something clicked.
“Where is your bike?”
“It was actually stolen from me a couple of days ago. Look, are we done?” he sighed.
“Almost.” I said as I exited the room. I stopped short when I got to Stacey. “How many police officers do you know that ride a dirt bike?” I asked.
Her eyebrows creased up in confusion. “Where are you going with this?” she hesitated.
“Come with me. Get some Officer’s to come with too. You remember the street where that guy was looking through the window? Well, tell them to wait around the corner from that street,” I said as I sped out the precinct and to the car. The sky was getting darker. We would have to hurry to get there.
________________________________________
We pulled up in front of the tattered house and knocked on the door. A middle-aged man opened the door. He had hazel colored eyes.
“May I help you?” he asked a bit confused as to why a punk rocker and her goodie-goodie twin were waiting outside his door.
“Can we ask you a few questions?” I said as politely as I could.
“Uh, sure. Come on in.” he said moving out of the way. Stacey and I walked into the house and stood in the living room.
“First off,” I began. “What’s your name and can you tell us a little bit about you?”
“I am Robert Banner. I have been on the police force for about 15 years now.”
“Well, I am Max, and this is my sister Stacey. We are detectives investigating the death of Jonathan Cope. May we take a look around?”
“Sure...”
I walked out of the house and into the yard to where the bike was. I lifted the tarp and found the grass green and the bike not rusted, obviously from being under the tarp. A box with wrenches and the like were next to the bike. I found what I needed, and returned inside, checking for anymore clues. I picked up a pair of black shoes and inspected the bottom.
“So Robert, how long has that bike been there?” I asked standing up and brushing my hands on my pants.
“It has been there for a couple of months at least.” I looked at my sister and nodded. She left the house to call the officers to come to the house.
________________________________________
Robert was being handcuffed when he whispered, “How did you know?”
“Well, first off, you had a reason to kill Jonathan. You knew that little girl that was shot, and there was nothing Jonathan could do to make the shooter guilty. 2, the foot prints in the back yard matched those shoes. 3, if you really did leave that bike over there for a couple of months, the grass would be brown from not getting any sunlight because of the tarp. You stole Jonathan’s roommate’s bike so that it would be easier to get to his house and it would make less noise. You, being a police officer, would obviously know how to get access to his information. The coffee cup and phone were things you put there as a diversion. 4, though I didn’t hear one, you have a dog, because there was a faint smell of dog food in your living room. 5, the abrasions on his hands were from handcuffs. 6, based on the front of your house, you have done a lot of repairs, using a hammer. And quite a bit of gardening...A hammer was the one tool missing from the tool box next to that bike. By the way, those were some beautiful rose bushes.”
He stared at me in disbelief. “Red Roses were her favorite flower,” he said as he was shoved in the car, an ashamed man.
“I can’t believe someone who was on the force would do something like that,” Stacey said as the car drove off.
El Fin...



Robert's POV—Scene of the Crime
I kicked open the small tinted window and crawled inside. I deftly stepped on the tiles, being sure to make no noise until I was ready. Jonathan walked into the bathroom, in a light blue button down shirt and khakis as I hid behind the open door. He stepped in my line of vision, and I grabbed hold of him from behind and turned his right hand behind him, the same with his left.
I clutched the silver polished cuffs in my pocket and linked them to his hands behind his back. I grabbed the rope and began to tie it around his neck. Veins began to protrude out of his forehead, when I decided to slacken the rope.
He shifted his weight, trying to escape my grip. I seized the hammer from the loophole in my pants and raised it behind my head. His eyes widened, and his eyebrows arched as he opened his mouth to let loose a blood curdling scream. I promptly struck him on the head as he fell limply in my arms. I laid him on the floor, positioning him in a way that would seem realistic. As he fell into a coma-like state, I placed items from his home around the room, and brought in my black Labrador. I laid his footprints behind the bathroom door.
He began to stir, and I stood in the door way. He lifted his head up slowly, his eyes reaching the hammer, when he turned his head towards me, almost as if he knew I were waiting there. I clutched the rose in my hand. I saw that his eyes were distant, thinking of something of the past.  He laid his head back down, eyelids falling, slipping into a blissful slumber...



Jonathan's POV—Time of Death
The puddle of crimson, oozy liquid beside me was increasing in size and becoming darker, as if a shadow was cast over it. It smelled of year-old rust and salt and made me practically woozy from the start. I gripped my almost broken nose and winced at the touch. My mind was hoping this would drain the smell with my good hand, when I realized a searing pain now running, immeasurably slow, up my back.
I saw the blunt end of the hammer on the fake linoleum tile beside me; each droplet of blood looking like tiny blood-red ruby crystals in the dim light. That’s when I understood what was going on and turned my head to see him smiling in the doorway, a single, solemn rose drooping in his chaffed hands.
As I fell into darkness, I heard a small girl singing, followed by a gunshot. 'Can you turn my black roses red?' She sang in my head as my lids drooped, and as I was submerged for the last time into an abyss of blackness, a sleep where I would never be disturbed...