‘The Surrealist: Chapter Three’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly

The Surrealist

Chapter Three: The Crime Scene

Part I

After sharing some past tales and a few cigarettes, the Chief took a left turn at the exact moment the clock tower that stood high in the middle of downtown struck one in the early morning. And there it was, a spectacle of reporters gathered around an apartment building, trying to push their way inside, yelling and throwing questions at the police officers who prevented them from getting any closer.

“Damn reporters,” The Chief grunted “They’re the ones who gave’em his worth, the Surrealist my balls.”

John flicked his cigarette out the window and focused on the crowd, some young enthusiastic faces trying to get a shot of a crime scene left by the legendary killer. Others, long and cunning, the old reporters, the vultures who didn’t need to bother asking questions, but will get all the information they needed for a fair price. The sight disgusted McKinesy.

The Chief drove the car around the building, telling him that there’s a back door. He parked the car and they both got out; Chief Frank opened the trunk and took out a wooden box, then put it on the hood of the car. John looked down at the box then to the Chief who nodded to him with a smile. At that moment a light from somewhere shone at the Chief, and his weary face appeared with all its details, all the wrinkles and scares from past battles. John smiled at his father figure and opened the box. McKinesy’s old golden badge along with his  .44 S&W Special Revolver laid there next to each other. John took them out, rubbed the badge with his thumb for a moment then pinned it on the inside of his overcoat. He popped the wheel on his gun and blew some air in there. The Chief handed him a box of bullets, he loaded the gun and put the rest in his pocket.

“Just like the old days.” The Chief said.

“Just like the old days, Chief.” John replied.

The Chief knocked on a small door a few times, a young police officer opened the door and saluted the Chief, then stared at Detective McKinesy. Both men walked past the lad and up the stairs. Nothing unusual there, just typical downtown apartment building stairs. They reached the third floor, where about five police officers stood in front of an apartment’s
open door. A senior officer by the name of Carter walked to the chief and saluted him.

“The boys from forensics are finishing up right now, Chief.” Officer Carter said then turned to John with a sad smile “Detective McKinesy, glad to have you back on the team.”

“Thank you officer.” John said returning the smile.

McKinesy looked at the faces of the officers in front of the door, all young faces, none of the old dogs could be seen except Officer Carter. John noticed how pale their faces were, and realized that the reason they stood like that was not to protect or secure the premisses, or even to give the forensics team some space, but because they couldn’t handle the sight inside the apartment. John and the Chief, along with Carter walked into the apartment.

“Officer Carter, run the info to the detective.” The Chief said.

“Victim’s name is Angela Smith,” Carter said “a twenty-four year old girl who lived in this apartment all alone. She worked as a dance at the Sparrow, that joint a few blocks from here. She was supposed to preform tonight at ten in the evening but when she didn’t show up, the manager sent out a waiter to see what’s goin’ on. Waiter came in, nearly shit his pants from the sight, ran outside the apartment and threw up, then called us.”

John took a few notes. “No family?” he asked.

“Not that we know of.”

“Okay, let’s see the body.”

The three men walked in to the living room where three guys from the forensics team were dusting up for prints.

“Anything?” The chief asked.

“Nothing so far, Chief.” one of them answered as he kept dusting “Only the girl’s prints, the waiters and a bunch of unclear ones, but nothing at all in the bedroom.”

The three men continued to a closed door, Carter opened the door then stood by it on the outside of the room. Detective McKinesy and the Chief walked into the room.

“Dear God!” John couldn’t help it. There, on the wall to his left hung the gruesome corpse of Ms. Angela Smith. John gaged a bit, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. The past crime scenes were horrifying, but nothing compared to this one.

The naked woman’s dead body, bisected at two points, the neck and the abdomen. Her head separated from her shoulders by about three or four inches, her torso separated from her bottom half by about ten inches with her guts still intact in that space. Her arms were nailed to the wall in a ‘U’ shape, with nails stuck in her palms, elbows and shoulders. Other parts were nailed too, such as her intestines, knees and feet which were about fifteen inches from the ground. In that space written in blood (no doubt the victim’s) the name ‘McKinesy’, not splattered but painted neatly below the victim’s feet.

John McKinesy recollected himself and cleared him mind, trying to absorb all the facts of this hellish crime.

“No blood,” Carter said “not on the floor, not anywhere else except the blood used to write the Detective’s name on the wall, and a few splatters around the bisected neck and abdomen.”

“How in the name of hell is that possible?” The Chief exclaimed.

McKinesy walked closed to the body. Surprisingly, the stench was not that horrible, it was the sight that grabbed at his insides. He examined the body for about fifteen minutes as Officer Carter and the Police Chief stood silently behind him.

“Ah, here we go.” John finally said “Come closer and look at this.”

Both men walked closer to John who was now crouched down by the victim’s feet, the two men did the same.

“What is it, John?” the Chief asked.

“Look at those marks on the victim’s ankles,” McKinesy said “The victim’s feet were clearly bound together by a rope.”

“Well, yeah” Carter said “He tied her down then killed the poor girl.”

“I have to disagree, officer” John said “The victim was killed and then tied up. There are no signs of struggle on the ankle, no scattered scares and no burn marks from the friction.”

“Why would he tie her down after killing her?” The Chief asked.

“You see how the marks around her ankles are arched downwards towards her feet, not just around the ankles themselves?”

“Yes.” The Chief said looking closer.

“This means he hung her upside down, and that’s how he drained the blood into some sort of container then disposed of it somewhere else.” Detective John McKinesy said with a light grin on his face.

Carter and the Chief looked at each other and back to John who now stood up and walked outside the apartment. They followed him past the other officers, down the stairs and onto the street behind the building. John struck a match and lit up a cigarette, took a deep puff, then blew the smoke into the brisk night’s air. The two men just looked at him in silence, as he paced back and forward.

“I’m gonna get this fucker, no matter how long it takes me.” John said “I’m not gonna give up this time, I promise you.”

John directed these words to himself than to the two men standing near him, he looked up at an invisible moon; he saw Daisy’s blue eyes in the sky, something that gave him motivation and awe at the same time. He flicked his smoke and walked back to the crime scene.

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About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
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