Alexandru Mandache
Professor Nikiforov
ENG 1510
October 23, 2013
The Grieving Widow It was around 6:15 AM when my cell rang. It took me a couple of seconds to come around and pick up. “Hello?”
“Alex! It’s Officer Mathew; Ha-ha-ha! Did I wake you? Are you still up for it?”
“Sure, give me a couple of minutes to get ready,” I responded.
“Take your time Alex; take your time; you are in for a surprise; see you in 20 minutes.” Back then I had no idea that the 15 second conversation that I just had would stay with me for the rest of my life. Officer Mathew is the father of one of my high school classmate, Andrew, who after witnessing my exceptional perceptive skills on several occasions after recuperating some stolen objects from school, told his father about me. When Andrew’s dad heard, he wanted to try out my “skill”, so he took me on a few police investigations. Mathew was impressed with how easily I handled the situation; therefore, he offered to take me to a real crime scene when the opportunity would arise. Until now I had just helped him recover stolen artifacts; I was eager to work on a more complicated case, but I had no idea regarding what was in store for me. When he picked me up, he did not want to tell me anything about the case; he just mentioned that his colleagues would be there, and he was sticking his neck out for me, so I should better make sure I didn’t disappoint him. On the way there, I remember feeling a little nervous because I didn’t know what to expect, but at the same time I was excited. My face probably looked like that of a clown from smiling so much. On our way to the crime scene, we passed by a bakery, and all it took was one whiff to remind me that skipping breakfast wasn’t a good idea. We got to an apartment complex, and I noticed the parking lot was packed tight with reporters, random pedestrians, and the police, so I figured that something big must have happened. The place looked like a ruin; the paint on the walls was falling off; there were cracks on the walls. It almost looked like the place would collapse; however, among the “ruins” I saw a small garden filled with beautiful flowers of all sorts. There were colors everywhere like a rainbow. The garden also had all sort of fruits such as apples, peaches, and berries. I laughed for a second because the block was in ruins, but that garden was treated like a shire; it even had a fence believe it or not (in Romania fences around apartment complexes are rare). I walked up the stairs skeptical as to what waited for me. I opened the apartment’s front door; a faint squeak came from its hinges making me feel like the protagonist of a horror movie. I was told to go to the 3rd floor since that’s where the “action” was. When I get there, I was greeted by condescending looks and cold shoulders. I was fine with that since it gave me a chance to shine more. I had barely entered the apartment when my insides started turning around to the smell of dry blood. The smell was so bad that I immediately started vomiting. I braced myself and entered the apartment where, in the middle of a small hallway, collapsed on the floor in a pool of his own blood was the victim. I knew that I had to be objective now if I was to prove myself; I had to detach myself of feelings and rely on what had gotten me there, my senses. Usually a single drop of blood in a temperature of 72 degrees takes about 20 minutes to dry, and in front of me lied about 2 gallons of blood. That evidence indicated the body had been there for more the 24 hours. I noticed there was a kitchen knife jammed in the victim’s back, but by looking at the rest of his body, that was not what delivered the finishing blow. He had several entry wounds, but most importantly, what stuck out in my mind was that his neck had bruises which indicated that he was strangled. I looked around the room and noticed that it was a mess. For instance, there were opened drawers, clothes on