Back
Chapter Two
Lieutenant Haynes and I made our way back to the station. By the time we got back, it was night, and we hung up our badges and went home.
I spent that night thinking: about the case, about the victim, but mostly about the killer.
To some extent, I’m a killer - but not a murderer. Sometimes I get hung up on the pain of having taken somebody else’s life, and I think to myself, am I a hypocrite for my hate? Does having ceased another thinking, breathing human from existing, bringing distress to those who loved him or depended on him, take away my right to feel pain when the life of my partner is taken? Sometimes I wonder.
I recall pulling the trigger. I recall the feeling of looking a man square in the eye and letting him die before me. It felt like my good deeds had washed away at once, and I was forever caked in a layer of sin. But I had to take the shot.
The next morning, Lieutenant Haynes stopped by my home office to drop off some files. I had just gotten out of bed, and I put on my coat and hat to maintain the illusion of professionalism. Haynes stepped through the door, gripping a folder of truths in his hand.
"Here’s the case files on Mr. Johnson," said Haynes, and he lied them on my desk. I lied back in my desk chair and took a look at the files: papers and papers, a better description of who this person really was than any memoir could be.
"Thanks," I replied, and I began flipping through the pages. After a few moments of searching, something in the files caught my eye: information on the toxins administered.
"Looks like you’ve found the intersecting part. The cause of death was poison, definitely caused by the toxins in his body."
I looked closely on the page. The toxin was identified as "VX," just as Haynes had told me the day before. It was at this moment that something clicked, as if every case I’d ever worked on was coming together at this single moment. It hit me. It hit me like a brick thrown through a window, the paradigm shattering and a new world becoming apparent; the worst part is knowing that it’s always been this way, and all I needed was the right hints to figure it out.
"VX?" I said. "That sounds familiar . . . How common is the VX toxin?"
"Not very common at all," Haynes answered. "It’s an old nerve agent, they stopped manufacturing it decades ago."
"How do you think the killer got ahold of this type of toxin?"
"Who knows? Maybe they’ve got it stockpiled. Why does the toxin matter so much? It’s not like we can trace it."
"No, but this toxin is exactly identical to the toxin they found in my partner’s bloodstream."
A moment of silence passed, like the silence after the storm of a bomb exploding. I stood up out of my chair and threw down the case files.
"Whoever killed Chris Johnson is the same person who killed my partner."
Detective Mavish III
Written By: Vincent Diego
Fiction
Lieutenant Haynes and I made our way back to the station. By the time we got back, it was night, and we hung up our badges and went home.
I spent that night thinking: about the case, about the victim, but mostly about the killer.
To some extent, I’m a killer - but not a murderer. Sometimes I get hung up on the pain of having taken somebody else’s life, and I think to myself, am I a hypocrite for my hate? Does having ceased another thinking, breathing human from existing, bringing distress to those who loved him or depended on him, take away my right to feel pain when the life of my partner is taken? Sometimes I wonder.
I recall pulling the trigger. I recall the feeling of looking a man square in the eye and letting him die before me. It felt like my good deeds had washed away at once, and I was forever caked in a layer of sin. But I had to take the shot.
The next morning, Lieutenant Haynes stopped by my home office to drop off some files. I had just gotten out of bed, and I put on my coat and hat to maintain the illusion of professionalism. Haynes stepped through the door, gripping a folder of truths in his hand.
"Here’s the case files on Mr. Johnson," said Haynes, and he lied them on my desk. I lied back in my desk chair and took a look at the files: papers and papers, a better description of who this person really was than any memoir could be.
"Thanks," I replied, and I began flipping through the pages. After a few moments of searching, something in the files caught my eye: information on the toxins administered.
"Looks like you’ve found the intersecting part. The cause of death was poison, definitely caused by the toxins in his body."
I looked closely on the page. The toxin was identified as "VX," just as Haynes had told me the day before. It was at this moment that something clicked, as if every case I’d ever worked on was coming together at this single moment. It hit me. It hit me like a brick thrown through a window, the paradigm shattering and a new world becoming apparent; the worst part is knowing that it’s always been this way, and all I needed was the right hints to figure it out.
"VX?" I said. "That sounds familiar . . . How common is the VX toxin?"
"Not very common at all," Haynes answered. "It’s an old nerve agent, they stopped manufacturing it decades ago."
"How do you think the killer got ahold of this type of toxin?"
"Who knows? Maybe they’ve got it stockpiled. Why does the toxin matter so much? It’s not like we can trace it."
"No, but this toxin is exactly identical to the toxin they found in my partner’s bloodstream."
A moment of silence passed, like the silence after the storm of a bomb exploding. I stood up out of my chair and threw down the case files.
"Whoever killed Chris Johnson is the same person who killed my partner."