The Stick

  A short story

  This story is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are fictitious. Similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental.

  Copyright ©️ 2021 Vineet Verma

  All rights reserved. The distribution of this story without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use any material (other than for review purposes), please contact sayhello@vineetvermaauthor.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Stick

  Thank you for reading!

  The Stick

  When Samantha awoke, the first sensations of consciousness were unpleasant. Her mouth was dry, and her head was pounding. She opened her eyes for a split second, only to shut them tight again. The light aggravated the headache. She tried to pierce through the fog in her brain and recall the events of the previous night. There was a memory of meeting Cindy at Harry’s, a bar they loved to frequent. Had she had too much to drink? Yes, that’s what this felt like. Twenty-eight years old, and still repeating the same mistakes.

  She realized she was naked. It could only mean one thing, and it added to her confusion. She opened her eyes again, working through the ache to keep them open this time. Her clothes were on the floor. She faintly remembered entering the apartment with someone. Kisses in the dark. Undressing. The warm embrace of a tall, ripped body. Ecstasy. Not wanting to change position and make the headache worse, she moved her left hand behind her to search the other side of the bed. It made contact with skin, and further probing confirmed it was a muscular arm. So, it was not a dream. But something felt off. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she turned over to face her mystery lover.

  The scream was piercing and lasted a few seconds, ending when she fell off the bed in shock. There lay a naked body, face up. There was an addition, one that explained the reaction, and why the arm was so cold. A knife blade was sticking out of his chest. She slid back to the wall, sobbing, and sat there for a while with her knees drawn in.

  Once she had calmed down, she mustered enough courage to walk over to the bed. She did not recognize the face. Or did she? What were they doing together? If only she could remember. Cindy was her best bet. Samantha called her best friend and coworker. Ten minutes later, the call ended. Things were a lot clearer now, though there were still some blank spots. But she knew what she had to do next.

  HOMICIDE DETECTIVE Paul Conley stepped out of his car and took a moment to scan the swanky apartment building in Old Town. It was his second day back at work with Wichita P.D. after a brief stint in California. Any hopes of easing into the job had been dashed, for here he was, investigating a murder, bright and early. The call had come in as he was seating himself for breakfast with Brigette. The aroma of the bacon and eggs that he had been deprived of still lingered in his nose. His stomach growled in protest.

  As he approached the crime scene, he noted the impeccable job the patrol officers had done. They had taped off not only the second-floor apartment, but also the path leading up to it. The familiar face of Officer Davis greeted him at the boundary. Paul signed in and ascended the staircase.

  The door to the apartment was open, with the techs dusting for prints. He stopped to examine the door without touching it. No signs of forced entry. He entered, and the first thing he noticed was the sobbing woman seated on the couch. Long blonde hair, attractive face, the beauty marred by the puffy eyes and pained expression. She had on a plain white shirt and blue jeans. Next to her sat a uniformed officer he had never seen before. Must be a rookie, he thought. He nodded to her and moved to the bedroom, where the body presented itself. This would have taken a lot of force, he mused, as he studied the knife inserted cleanly into the hefty torso.

  “Morning, Paul,” drawled Natalie from forensics. “Didn’t know you were back.”

  “Wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he smiled back. “What do we have so far?”

  “Instant death. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Clean entry straight into the heart, no blood. Sometime between four a.m. and six a.m. We have prints on the knife. Checking for more from other parts of the apartment, but not sure if that will lead anywhere.”

  “Yeah, could be anybody who has been in here recently.”

  Paul returned to the living room and introduced himself to the officer and the witness.

  “How are you doing, Samantha?”

  “Okay, I guess,” she replied with a sniffle.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I ... I don’t know. I ... I woke up and there he was ... all dead.”

  “You were with him in bed all night?”

  “I ... I guess so.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “No. I was totally wasted. Don’t remember much.”

  “So, you don’t have any idea who did this? And when?”

  “No.”

  “I noticed your clothes on the floor by your side of the bed. Was that what you were wearing last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the clothes you have on now. Where did you get those?”

  Samantha gave a confused look. “Um ... from my closet?”

  “Did you touch anything else?”

  “No. I called 911 as soon as I saw the body. Then I put these on and waited.”

  “That’s good. Wouldn’t want to disturb a crime scene. And what time was it you discovered it?”

  “Oh. I don’t remember. Around eight, I guess. When I woke up.”

  “Sounds about right. Dispatch received your call at eight seven a.m. What’s his name?” Paul asked, indicating the bedroom.

  “Alex. Alexander Khrushchev.”

  “And you knew him well?”

  “No. Yesterday was the first time we met.”

  “I see. And where was this?”

  “At Harry’s Bar.”

  “Ah, Harry’s. Love it. They make a mean martini. Now, tell me everything. What happened there. How the two of you got here.”

  “Um ... I was meeting my friend Cindy for drinks there. We were gossiping away when he walked over and started flirting with me. He was fun and so gorgeous. We hit it off right away. I don’t recall much after that. Never knew when to stop drinking.”

  “So, you don’t remember coming home with him?”

  “Just very faint images. I do recall entering with him. I fumbled with the keys outside.”

  “I see. And did you find anything strange about the apartment?”

  “Strange? Like what? I told you, I don’t recall much until I woke up this morning.”

  “Do you remember how you got back from Harry’s? It seems you weren’t in a condition to drive.”

  “In his car. I didn’t take mine since I knew I would be drinking.”

  “I see. So his car should still be here?”

  “I guess. Should be in a visitor spot.”

  “Can you describe the car?”

  “Red. It was red. A Honda, I think. Yes, definitely a Honda. Civic.”

  “We’ll look for it. I assume you don’t know what time you got back?”

  “No.”

  “Do you recall getting intimate with him?”

  “Kinda.” Samantha’s cheeks went pink as she replied. “I ... I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”

  “Do you recognize the knife?”

  “You mean if it’s mine? No. Never seen it before.”

  “All right. We will have to keep this place sealed as a crime scene. You have someplace you can crash until then?”

  “Oh. I can’t stay here?”

  “Nope.”

  “How long will you be here?”

  “As long as it takes, but typically, for a case like this, I would estimate not more than a couple of days.”

  “I can go over to Cindy’s. Just need to grab a few things first.”

  “Sorry, can’t let you go in there or touch anything.”

  “But ...” She stopped on seeing Paul’s unmoving face.

  “Leave us your contact number and Cindy’s address.”

  The officer noted the details. Samantha made a quick call to Cindy to notify her. And then she was off.

  Paul donned his gloves and stepped back into the bedroom. He started with the walk-in closet. Chock-full of clothes. And shoes. Expensive stuff. He couldn’t resist a smile. Brigette would have loved this collection.

  He exited the closet and scanned the room again. Alex’s discarded clothes lay on the floor – a dress shirt, blue jeans, briefs, and a leather bomber jacket. Brown Timberland boots under the bed. Paul picked up each item to confirm there was nothing else in there. He searched the pockets. No phone, no wallet. A key. Probably to his home. But no car key. Paul frowned. No way to verify the victim’s identity or where he lived. Only the name Samantha had given him.

  He stepped out of the apartment to canvass the neighbors. There were ten units on each floor. Forty minutes later, he had interviewed eight of the neighbors on the second floor. No one had seen or heard anything. One neighbor did not answer. He would get back to that one later. Three apartments in on the first floor, and still no luck. He knocked on the door of the one directly below Samantha’s. It opened a crack to reveal a woman’s questioning face. In her fifties, estimated Paul. He introduced himself and held up his badge.

  “I’m Diane,” she replied as she let

him in.

  Once settled on the couch, he explained why he was there.

  “So that’s what all the commotion’s about,” she said. “Never seen cops around here. It’s a safe neighborhood. At least, it used to be.” She paused for a few moments, then continued. “Last night, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it was her, then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I went to bed early last night, around nine. It was one of those exhausting days. Around two a.m., I woke up to some noise outside. It sounded like a man and a woman talking, and she was tittering away every few seconds. Drunk, I’m sure.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No. I stayed in bed. It was bad enough to be forced awake like that. I didn’t have the motivation to get up.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I tried to get back to sleep. But they just wouldn’t let me. I heard them go up the stairs. Could hear her heels go clickety-clack. Then they took forever to open the door. And they slammed it shut.”

  “That’s interesting. None of the neighbors reported hearing anything.”

  “You think I’m lying?” Diane narrowed her sparkling blue eyes as she said it.

  “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  “No worries. I’m a light sleeper. Anyway. Thank goodness they’re inside, I thought to myself. Now I might be able to sleep. But no. They just had to get some action, if you know what I mean.”

  “You could hear them?”

  “Oh yes. The thing is, the walls between these apartments are well insulated. Can’t hear much of what’s going on with your next-door neighbors. But between floors, not as good.”

  “How long did this continue?”

  “Not long, thankfully. I fell asleep after that.”

  “And what time was this?”

  “I didn’t check. Couldn’t have been later than three, I’d guess.”

  “Anything after that?”

  “I saw her this morning.”

  “You went to her apartment?”

  “No. I was looking out the window and I saw her.”

  “What time was this?” asked Paul, trying to contain his excitement.

  “Around seven thirty. First, she dumped a garbage bag in the community trash bin. Then she came out again with a black duffel bag and a laptop and put those in her car.”

  “And you’re sure about this?”

  Diane’s eyes narrowed again. Paul threw in a question before she could protest the implied skepticism. “What color was the garbage bag?”

  “Black. And it looked quite empty.”

  “I see. Did you see her again?”

  “No.”

  “And how did she seem?”

  “Nervous. Like she was in a hurry.”

  “How well do you know Samantha?”

  “Not that well, actually. Other than some polite neighborly conversations. If my memory serves me right, she only moved in here a few months ago. Seems like a nice girl.”

  “Have you ever seen her with anyone? Any visitors?”

  “No male visitors, if that’s what you mean. She told me she was single. There’s this woman who was here with her a couple of times. Probably a friend.”

  Cindy, thought Paul.

  “Well, thank you, Diane. You have been most helpful. Do call me if you remember anything else,” he said as he rose to leave and handed her his card.

  Once outside, he wrapped up the remaining interviews. There was one neighbor who confirmed Diane’s story about the late-night disturbance, but besides that, there was no new information. It was time to move on to the task he had been dreading.

  Paul stood before the community dumpster, staring at it as if that would get the stench to back down. The painful memories of a previous dumpster dive were still fresh in his mind. He couldn’t stand another ruined suit. Resigned, he hoisted himself up the wall of the bin and scanned the contents. To his relief, the few black bags in there stood out in a sea of white ones. And the black ones were bursting at the seams. Except for one. That would make his work easy. He carefully landed in the bin, grabbed his evidence and escaped before there was any damage done. He emptied the bag onto the ground. A wallet and a cell phone. Again, no car key. The wallet contained a twenty-dollar bill, a driver’s license, and a credit card. “Alexander Dimitrovich Khrushchev” was the name on the card and the license. The phone was locked and would need some work.

  He roamed the apartment complex parking lot, on the lookout for a red Civic. But there wasn’t one. Had Samantha lied about this, too?

  PAUL SPENT THE AFTERNOON at his desk, writing up the case reports. He entered Harry’s Bar just after 6:00 p.m., ensuring he was there before it got too crowded. Of the ten tables, only one was occupied. A man sat at the bar nursing his whiskey. Behind the bar stood the owner, Harry Belichick, breaking into a smile on seeing his regular walk in. Paul smiled back and walked up to him.

  “The usual, Paul?”

  “Man, I sure could use a martini, but this is a professional visit.”

  “Oh. What’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “I have some questions about last night. New case I’m working on.”

  “Ask away. Anything I can do to help.”

  Paul held up his phone so Harry could see the picture. “Was she in here yesterday?”

  “Sam? When isn’t she here?” he replied with an amused expression before the concerned look returned. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “Perhaps. Sorry, I can’t tell you much. So she was here last evening?”

  “Yes. Sat there.” Harry pointed to the table in the corner.

  “Who was she with?”

  “Her friend. Cindy. Another regular.”

  “No one else?”

  “A man joined them a while later.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tall. Caucasian. Well-built.”

  “Ever seen him before?”

  “Nope.”

  “How did they seem?”

  “Can’t say. I wasn’t watching them or anything. It was a busy night.”

  “What time did they leave?”

  “Not sure. But Sam and the guy left first. She looked quite drunk. Cindy stayed until closing.”

  “And she was alone after they left?”

  “Yes. I did see her making a couple of calls. But that’s about it.”

  “I see.”

  “Speaking of Cindy ...” Harry’s gaze moved past Paul.

  Paul turned around to see a woman standing by the corner table, taking off her coat. She was about the same height as Samantha and just as attractive.

  “That her?”

  Harry nodded.

  “Thanks, Harry. I have some questions for her.”

  “Sure. Say hi to Brigette.”

  “Will do. And I’ll be back soon for that martini.”

  “Welcome any time, my friend.”

  Paul walked up to the table, introduced himself and settled into the chair across from Cindy. The hazel eyes didn’t hide the fact that this intrusion was not welcome.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked.

  “No. Sam didn’t want to come, so it’s just me. She’s still recovering from the shock.”

  “She’s all alone at home?”

  “You judging me? Thinking I’m some cold-hearted bitch who is out to have a good time while her friend wallows in misery?”

  “That’s not what I ...”

  “Just so you know. I called in sick at work as soon as Sam called me this morning. Took care of her all day today. The only reason I stepped out is because she said she needed some space. Needed to be alone. Capiche?”

  “That’s not what I was implying, but I get it. Now, I have some questions about last night.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “I assume Samantha told you everything?”

  “Yes, of course. Poor thing.”

  “Had you ever met Alex before?”

  “No. Yesterday was the first time I knew he existed.”

  “For Samantha too?”

  “First time for her as well. Seemed like a decent guy. Though I did warn her to call it a night.”

  “Warn her? Why?”

  “I don’t think taking a random stranger home is a good idea. For all you know, he could be a serial killer. Or a rapist. Or worse. Besides, she was drunk.”

 

1 2 3