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West of the Case: Part 2
Two hours after the mysterious call, a man walks up to the door of a small, urban house. He is dressed in a sharp, grey suit, with a matching fedora. The man is also tall, his head almost level with the top of the doorway, and rather good looking, with clean-cut brown hair and a trim five o'clock shadow cast across his chin and jawline. The man checks his watch, frowning at the time, and knocks again, this time a bit harder. Still no reply. Frustrated, the man lets out an exasperated sigh and turns to leave, but halfway down the porch steps he stops. He stands there for a moment, hesitating, then sighs again and marches back up to the door. This time, instead of knocking, he grabs the doorknob and turns it. He is surprised when the door swings open quite easily and stands in the doorway for a second or two, then steps inside the house.
The room the man steps into appears to be the kitchen. He closes the door behind him, wrinkling his nose as he surveys the scene. Dirty dishes fill the sink, crumbs are strewn across the counter, and grit and other filth covers the floor. The place is a complete wreck. Amidst the chaos, the man happens to spot a wine bottle, laid on its side on the countertop. It's empty. He suddenly realizes what has happened.
The man, who deeply dislikes messes, and also alchohol for that matter, crosses the kitchen in a few strides, and enters the living room of the house, where a woman is sprawled out on a couch, fast asleep and snoring loudly. The man frowns dissaprovingly at her and crosses his long arms, his hat brushing against the top of the doorway he stands in.
"West," he says. The woman doesn't stir. The man, frustrated, rolls his eyes.
"West! You lazy bum, get up it's almost noon." he says, this time a bit louder. The woman snorts, and her eyes open. When she sees the man standing in the doorway she groans and rolls over on the couch, hiding her face in the cushions. The man walks over to her and rolls her back over again. She protects loudly, but it doesn't seem to matter to the man. He sits her up on the couch, and she hits him hard on the arm.
"Don't touch me," she growls, glaring at him. He smiles.
"Good morning to you too, friend," he says, and opens the shades on the window. The woman moans again, shielding her eyes from the sun.
"Beck, please!" she says, "have some mercy for Christ's sake!"
The man, whose name is Beck Delavan, frowns for the third time this visit, and takes a seat across from the woman, folding his hands in his lap.
"I'm sorry, West," he says, in a slightly sarcastic tone, "but I've got a case for you. It's serious."
The woman groans and rolls her eyes.
"Oh come on. You always say that. What is it this time? The case of Little Suzie's missing cat?" she says. Beck narrows his eyes.
"Don't be a smart-aleck, and no. This time it's actually serious. There's been a murder."
The woman, who's name is Samantha West, snaps to attention. Samantha, or West, as she prefers to be called, is a detective for the Spencer County Police Department. Spencer is a quiet, relaxed town, with little activity, much less any criminal activity. West likes to describe it as Boringville USA, and has always talked about leaving, but it's been twenty-five years and Samantha West hasn't budged. Her parents left years ago, so had her brother, but West remained. Why? No one knew.
"That's mildly interesting," she says, straightening herself on the couch.
"I thought you might think so," Beck replies, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "The boys down at the station wanted me to ask you if you'd take the case. It sounds like they're stumped, West. None of them found a thing, not even footprints. Not even blood."
West cocks an eyebrow.
"How was there no blood? How'd he kill them?" she asks. Beck shrugs.
"You think I know? I just heard about this whole shindig," he replies. West stares at the carpet, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"So, are you going to take the case?" Beck asks after a minute. West looks up at him, her brown eyes glistening.
"Are you kidding me? Sign me up. You're in, right?"
"If you're in, you know I'm in," Beck says. He smiles.
"Sounds like we're in then," West replies, leaning back into the couch.
"Yep. Sounds like we're in."
The room the man steps into appears to be the kitchen. He closes the door behind him, wrinkling his nose as he surveys the scene. Dirty dishes fill the sink, crumbs are strewn across the counter, and grit and other filth covers the floor. The place is a complete wreck. Amidst the chaos, the man happens to spot a wine bottle, laid on its side on the countertop. It's empty. He suddenly realizes what has happened.
The man, who deeply dislikes messes, and also alchohol for that matter, crosses the kitchen in a few strides, and enters the living room of the house, where a woman is sprawled out on a couch, fast asleep and snoring loudly. The man frowns dissaprovingly at her and crosses his long arms, his hat brushing against the top of the doorway he stands in.
"West," he says. The woman doesn't stir. The man, frustrated, rolls his eyes.
"West! You lazy bum, get up it's almost noon." he says, this time a bit louder. The woman snorts, and her eyes open. When she sees the man standing in the doorway she groans and rolls over on the couch, hiding her face in the cushions. The man walks over to her and rolls her back over again. She protects loudly, but it doesn't seem to matter to the man. He sits her up on the couch, and she hits him hard on the arm.
"Don't touch me," she growls, glaring at him. He smiles.
"Good morning to you too, friend," he says, and opens the shades on the window. The woman moans again, shielding her eyes from the sun.
"Beck, please!" she says, "have some mercy for Christ's sake!"
The man, whose name is Beck Delavan, frowns for the third time this visit, and takes a seat across from the woman, folding his hands in his lap.
"I'm sorry, West," he says, in a slightly sarcastic tone, "but I've got a case for you. It's serious."
The woman groans and rolls her eyes.
"Oh come on. You always say that. What is it this time? The case of Little Suzie's missing cat?" she says. Beck narrows his eyes.
"Don't be a smart-aleck, and no. This time it's actually serious. There's been a murder."
The woman, who's name is Samantha West, snaps to attention. Samantha, or West, as she prefers to be called, is a detective for the Spencer County Police Department. Spencer is a quiet, relaxed town, with little activity, much less any criminal activity. West likes to describe it as Boringville USA, and has always talked about leaving, but it's been twenty-five years and Samantha West hasn't budged. Her parents left years ago, so had her brother, but West remained. Why? No one knew.
"That's mildly interesting," she says, straightening herself on the couch.
"I thought you might think so," Beck replies, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "The boys down at the station wanted me to ask you if you'd take the case. It sounds like they're stumped, West. None of them found a thing, not even footprints. Not even blood."
West cocks an eyebrow.
"How was there no blood? How'd he kill them?" she asks. Beck shrugs.
"You think I know? I just heard about this whole shindig," he replies. West stares at the carpet, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"So, are you going to take the case?" Beck asks after a minute. West looks up at him, her brown eyes glistening.
"Are you kidding me? Sign me up. You're in, right?"
"If you're in, you know I'm in," Beck says. He smiles.
"Sounds like we're in then," West replies, leaning back into the couch.
"Yep. Sounds like we're in."
