Suicide note, a short story

Detective Riley O’Conner and his partner Patrick McManus were walking through the old cottage.  The smell of death lingered in the air. It was Halloween night, and Riley and Patrick were on their way to Salem to have some drinks, but instead they were investigating a missing person report. A neighbor phoned the police when Jason Pierson stopped going to work. The architect was supposed to be finishing remodeling a neighbor’s kitchen.  His mail was piling up, and no one recalled seeing him since the morning of October 18^th.

“Patrick, over here,” called Riley as he entered the bedroom and saw the blood splatter on the wall. They slowly walked over to Mr. Pierson’s body on the bed. The dried blood from his head indicated that he’d been there for a while.  The 38-revolver still in his hand pointed towards suicide, but as detectives it was their job to piece together what happened without insinuating.

“Think it was suicide?” asked Patrick as he started bagging and tagging.

            “If you start with certainties, you’ll end up with doubt,” replied Riley.  It was their captain’s cliché to not make assumptions before gathering the facts.

Patrick noticed the New York Yankee posters on the wall as he looked around. “Maybe he was tired of being a Yankee fan in Boston.”

“With the way the Yankees collapsed this Post Season, I could see a fan contemplating suicide,” quipped Riley. “Should I write that thought in the report?”

“I don’t think the captain would appreciate that…  Hey, what’s that on the table?” asked Patrick. He pointed to what he thought was going to be the suicide note.

“Oh, my god,” spoke Riley after reading it, “We’ve got to take this to the captain immediately.”

“Let me see it,” called Patrick with his hand out.  He read the note as he followed Riley out the door.

Riley and Patrick jumped into Riley’s jet black Dodge Stealth and speed off as Patrick cranked up the music and sang along to Black Sabbath’s “NIB.” The rock music helped clear the detectives’ heads. Riley and Patrick were like two peas in a pod; both were sports fans and rock fans. Both of them lived on the edge. Riley was from Southie where he had to be tough to survive. Despite his baby face, he still looked hard with his muscles and Celtic tattoos, and he liked to gamble and drink, but what most people don’t know is that Riley took in every stray cat he saw.  He wanted to be a detective just like his father.

Patrick, on the other hand, didn’t want to be a detective. Born in Marblehead, he was a boxer and a pitcher until he dislocated his shoulder. While he was injured, his little sister vanished, and Patrick made it his life’s mission to find her. Patrick gave up his dream of being a pitcher for the Boston Red Sox but still had season tickets and the B tattoos on his forearm.  Until he met Riley, his job was his life.  Riley helped him see that he could leave the work at the office before it drove him completely insane.

Riley pulled into the police station and jumped out of the car with the suicide note in his hand. Patrick ran behind him into the captain’s office.

“Captain Sullivan, you have to take a look at this,” spoke Riley.

            Pierson’s suicide note read, “I never imagined killing myself, but I couldn’t turn myself in. Death is a better alternative to jail, and I can’t live with the guilt eating away at me. I must confess my sins and pray for forgiveness. Late one night I was walking home on Beacon Hill when I saw this blonde haired girl who took my breath away. She walked into her old apartment on the first floor, and I knocked on the door. I told her I had an accident and asked her if I could use her phone. When I got inside I noticed a knife on the counter. With the knife in hand, I forced her into her bedroom and cut her shirt off. I tied her to the bed with the remains of her shirt. I used her stalking as a gag and raped her. But something came over me; I saw the devil in her. I used the knife to carve a cross into her stomach to save her soul then proceeded to slit her throat. I covered her with a sheet before leaving. Even writing this, I feel sick but I still have more to confess to. The next day, I saw two beautiful teenage girls walking near the Old North Church. They must have been coming home from a club. I remember the dresses. The fatter girl wore a little black skimpy dress; her name was Joanna. Her friend wore a light pink evening gown. They looked like Barbie dolls. I wanted to take them home and play with them. Instead I took out a dagger and forced them behind the church. First I stabbed the girl in pink in the stomach as Joanna started to run. I followed behind her and pushed her to the ground. I stabbed her in the back a few times before turning her over and carving the cross into her stomach. Her friend was still there, dying, but I didn’t want her to suffer, so I put her out of her misery by slitting her throat. And yes, I carved a cross into her stomach. I’m sorry.”

            “Do you know anything about those murders boss?” asked Patrick when Captain Sullivan finished reading the note.

            “No, but check it out. I want the two of you to go to the church first,” demanded the captain.

            “We’re on it boss,” spoke Riley as they ran out the door. The two detectives ran back to Riley’s Dodge Stealth.  Riley drove towards the Old North Church as Patrick changed the CD and put on Iron Butterfly. Riley and Patrick exchanged glances as Riley speeded up; he liked any excuse to ignore speed limits.

            Patrick jumped out of the car before Riley killed the engine. Riley ran after him to the back of the church, and at first they thought maybe the note was bluffing. Until they saw the blood in the blonde tangled hair as they got closer to the church. Patrick called the captain and requested backup. Riley and Patrick decided not to hang around; they headed for Beacon Hill.

            Riley didn’t really know what to look for; it’s not like he drew them a map, but he saw an open door in an old apartment and his heart sank. He knew they found the crime scene.

            “What do we do in a crime scene when we know who the killer is?” asked Patrick. He didn’t want to tag and bag because what was the point? The note had the details of the crimes; they just had to make sure the medical examiner confirmed the details.

            “I’ll call Conner,” said Riley, referring of the medical examiner.

            “Want to grab a drink?” asked Patrick when Riley hung up. He had seen enough.

            “Beer Works?” asked Riley, “The Bruins are playing.”

            The Beer Works was filled with Bruins Jerseys and beer drinkers surrounding the televisions. Even on Halloween, the fans of Boston only dressed up in their team colors. Riley and Patrick ordered some Black and Tans and watched the hockey game together.

***

            Ring. Ring. Ring. “Who the hell is calling?” spoke a hung-over Riley. It was barely 5 a.m. and his cell phone was ringing. “Hello?”

            “It’s Patrick. Get up. Conner said he needs to see us. Something didn’t match in the autopsies.” Riley grabbed his jeans and a Patriots jersey and threw them on. He quickly brushed his teeth and drove to Patrick’s penthouse.

            “What the hell do you mean something didn’t match? Did Pierson not murder them?” asked Riley.

            “I don’t know, Conner wouldn’t tell me over the phone,” said Patrick.

            “You look like hell by the way,” quipped Riley. Patrick still had on the clothes from the night before, and his hair looked oily with gel he had put in the day before.

            “Thanks, bitch,” answered Patrick.

            “Love you,” joked Riley. Patrick ignored him as Riley flashed his typical playboy smile. Riley and Patrick walked into the station and made some coffee before going in to see Conner.

            “Sit down,” spoke Conner in a somber voice.

            “What’s the matter? Did Pierson lie?” asked Riley.

            “I read his suicide note. Then I examined the bodies. Pierson knew every detail of the murders,” starter Conner.

            “So what’s the problem?” interrupted Patrick. “Did the forensics place someone else at the scene?”

            “I was getting to that. The details were correct, but there is still a problem. Pierson died on the 19^th.  But the time of death on the murder at Beacon Hill happened on the 26^th and the Old Church murders on the 27^th” spoke Conner.

            “That can’t be right,” spoke Riley.

            “Joanna was at the club on the 27^th. The bouncer recognized her and the security cameras show her,” spoke the captain as he walked in.

            “Then his time of death is wrong,” answered Patrick.

            “Science doesn’t lie,” said Conner quietly. “And before you suggest that maybe he had someone else do it after he died, his hair was found on the body at the apartment. And his knife with Joanna’s blood was found at his apartment near the suicide note.”

            “But then… How did he confess to murders that didn’t happen until after he died?” asked Patrick.

“How does a dead guy murder three people?” asked Riley. Riley and Patrick exchanged looks and read over the suicide note again.