Morning all. This week is just chugging along. Hope it is doing you right. Timers set and off we go for the morning prompt.
Always up for a mid-week murder mystery.
Wednesday, March 19th: He never saw it coming.
He never saw it coming. Hank circled the body slowly. The victim, one Marcus Jameson was stuck a single blow to the head from behind. When he fell it appeared that he hit the front of his head on the work bench. Hank wasn’t certain which hit did him in, the medical examiner would have to make that call, but he could tell from the hits and the positioning of the body that Marcus hadn’t seen it coming.
‘I suppose that is a blessing,’ Hank thought.
None of the locks were forced and while there was the possibility someone was lying in wait for Marcus, there was also the possibility that Marcus knew his killer, let them in and trusted them enough to turn his back to them without thinking it a risk.
‘No view of betrayal at the end.’
He would have to start looking into Marcus to gain any insight the remnants of his life could provide. The weapon used to give the blow from behind was a length of piping. It was dusted for fingerprints and bagged. Hank could see there was a collection of pipes in the corner. Looking at the work table he could see that they were used more for creating decorative lamps than they were in an actual building capacity. Next to the blood smear left by Marcus’ final connection with the work bench, he could see an almost completed lamp. The pipes were connected to form a seated man made of pipes. The light bulb was placed so it looked as thought the pipe man just had an idea.
‘Maybe a customer,’ Hank thought, getting his own idea.
While there were several lamps in the house, the number of pipes in the collection and the various drawings on the board spoke to more of a hobby that grew into a small scale business than anything else. Looking at the cork board with various drawings pinned to it, Hank saw a list of orders.
He nodded and used his phone to take a picture of the list. They would have to check the customers list as well as looking at friends and family.
‘Maybe someone didn’t like their lamp.’
Hank stepped back and nodded to medical people. They surged forward now that he had taken in the scene and took the shell that once housed Marcus away to be duly and respectfully dealt with. When he was much younger Hank came across the phrase ‘Shuffle off the mortal coil’ in a book. It was a phrase he used to think of the dead he was sent to investigate.
He liked to think of them slipping out of their bodies at the time of death. While he would investigate the shell and what caused the shuffling, the person inside was gone, free from the pain of their end. He liked to think of them passing responsibility for their shell to him now that they were done.
He was careful never to say this to anyone he worked with. He was certain some would consider it too religious while others would consider it too blasphemous. Hank felt he was always balanced between the two. Never righteous enough for the faithful, too spiritual for the atheists. As he moved around the shop he wondered if there was a category simply called respectful that he could claim as his own.
Ten til Midnight 