Private Eye, Brooke L [classic novels to read .TXT] 📗

Eventually, I decided I would just solve the case and leave it at that, too tired to keep my eyes open. After all, how dangerous could it be? I'd done it thousands of times.
The next afternoon I took a closer look at the murder. It occured around four in the afternoon on Saturday, and only a small handful of press had witnessed it. Marianne Brown was one of them. She had been a suspect from the start, and I decided I needed to get some 1-on-1 time with her to discuss the incident.
Then, I looked at all the actual evidence. The police had just collected the bullet and were currently examining it. A psychologist was still trying to get some information out of the lady whose house had been broken into.
About an hour from then I called the Washington Post building and asked to set up an interview with Marianne. With lots of hard work, I finally got an appointment for 4:15.
When I walked into Marianne's office, she looked nothing like I thought she would. The last time I saw her was on the news, when the Washington Post labeled her Reporter of the Year. She had long, curly blonde hair and was dressed nicely, in a smart-looking pinstripe blazer and skirt. She had taken the foot-tall bronze statue with tears in her eyes and thanked "all the small people."
Now she had dyed, dark-brown hair up in a messy bun and was wearing a too-big T-shirt and sweatpants. She was chatting on the phone with what I guessed was one of her friends, discussing the new wardrobe she just got from Anthropologie. I sat down and politely waited for her to get off the phone before pulling out my tape recorder.
She took one look at me and shrugged, as if I was insignificant to her. I composed myself and began the round of questions, everything from what she witnessed to the angle she witnessed it at. Three hours of interrogation, and I had no reason to think she was guilty besides her not liking Pellistan. And lots of people didn't like him, so that wasn't very convincing anyways.
Once I got home, I had pretty much concluded that Miss Marianne Brown was innocent. Later on, in the news, I actually saw a recording of the shooting with her in the shot, screaming. That definitely ruled her out.
I decided to lay down for a couple of hours and recollect myself. This job was wearing me out. What if I never solved it? At the moment, it was certainly a possibility.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. When I answered it, it turned out to be Thomas. I let him in, and made us both a cup of coffee.
"So," I said, taking a sip, "What's new?"
"The FBI has a new suspect in the killing."
I put down the mug. "What? Who?"
He set down his drink and leaned in, as if we were sharing a secret. "The Assistant Director of the FBI...Jacob Henning. We think he shot Mr. Pellistan."
My jaw dropped in shock. I never even thought a member of the FBI had shot the mayor.
"But," I stammered, "Why do you think he did it?"
"Well, John and Jacob never got along.They were always accusing each other of something, usually stealing or lying. Also, Jacob took a 'sick' day the day John was shot."
I was speechless. Hinckly sounded like he knew his facts, and the theory made perfect sense.
"So, do you want me to interrogate him? Should I look for evidence?"
He smiled a little. "Nah, I think we've got this one. We may need you to provide some help in court, but for now you're good."
Then, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Your check, sir. Thank you for your efforts to solve this case."
I took the check, almost shaking with excitement. Slowly, I turned it around. $200,000 was the amount written on it, made out to me. I was so happy I almost screamed.
"Th-thank you so much," I said, shaking his hand. "Really. Thank you."
He let out a laugh and headed for the door. "Have a great day, sir!"
Once he left, I sat down and pulled out all of the things I had used for this case: all of the papers, cameras, flash drives, and recordings that I had reviewed so thoroughly. I looked through everything one more time. Later, I turned on the news. They had released some photos from the murder. One had a small glimpse of the killer. I looked at it for a moment, then studied it. The killer had light brown hair and fair skin, and was well built. He looked strong. Then, without thinking, I got out my laptop and searched John Henning.
He had black hair and tan skin.
Suddenly, I was googling everyone involved in the case, from Hinckly to the actual director of the FBI. I saw that Hinckly was a Section Chief in the FBI, one rank below Henning. Right above Henning was the Deputy Director, Charles Davids. Davids had been in lots of trouble for taking bribes.
A story began to play in my head, perhaps not true, but definitely likely. In it, Hinckly wanted Hennings's position, and decided to do something about it. He bribed Charles Davids into helping him kill the mayor, or perhaps hire an assassin. Once Pellistan was dead, they covered up their tracks. As FBI agents, they must have been masters of escape, and excellent at destroying evidence. Then, Davids gave Henning the $200,000 I was holding in my hands right now to, in a way, bribe me. To make me lose my focus on the case, to stress me out. Besides that, the man who reported the case is never thought to be the killer.
I was stunned. If I was right, it would change the people's perspective on the FBI dramatically, and make them wonder how safe they really were. I called the information hotline number given on the news.
"Hello?" I said into the phone. "I may know who killed the mayor." Then, I began my story.
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Publication Date: 07-22-2011

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