The Slain Man

By the time the police arrived, the rain had already washed most of the blood into the street's drainage.

Blue emergency lights flickered across the street, painting the narrow alley in brief flashes of red and blue. Curious onlookers gathered behind the police tape, saying things that grew wilder with every passing minute.

Detective Adrian Cross ducked beneath the tape and stepped into the alley.

His coat was still damp from the drive over.

"Morning, Detective."

Officer Mills handed him a pair of gloves.

"Victim?"

"Male. No identification yet."

Adrian slipped on the gloves and walked towards the body.

The victim lay on his back between two overflowing dumpsters. His clothes were neat, almost untouched by the rain. A charcoal overcoat covered a dark sweater, and polished leather shoes remained perfectly tied.

Only his throat told a different story.

A single cut, clean and deep.

Adrian crouched beside him without speaking.

He glanced around.

"No weapon?"

Officer Mills shook his head.

"Nothing so far."

"Witnesses?"

"A delivery driver found him about twenty minutes ago."

"Anyone hear a struggle?"

"No."

Adrian looked back at the victim.

"That's strange."

"What is?"

"If someone dies like this, somebody usually hears something."

Mills shrugged.

"The rain was heavy."

"Maybe."

Adrian wasn't convinced.

He studied the victim's face.

Late twenties. Maybe thirty.

No visible injuries apart from the wound across the neck.

He looked less like a murder victim and more like a man who had simply fallen asleep in the wrong place.

"Detective?"

A woman approached from behind.

Dr. Claire Bennett, the medical examiner, zipped her forensic bag before kneeling beside the body.

"You beat me here."

"Barely."

She examined the wound for several seconds.

"Interesting."

Adrian looked at her.

"I don't like that word."

"I know."

She adjusted the flashlight.

"The cut is perfectly straight."

"So?"

"Whoever did this knew exactly where to place the blade."

She looked at the victim's hands.

"No defensive wounds."

Adrian frowned.

"He didn't fight."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Maybe the deceased knows the killer?"

Claire didn't answer immediately.

"Or he never realized he was in danger."

The forensic photographer finished taking another series of pictures.

"Done."

Adrian stood and slowly walked around the alley.

His eyes settled on something glistening beneath a parked delivery van.

"Hold on."

He crouched and reached underneath.

A silver wristwatch.

The glass was cracked.

The second hand had stopped moving.

11:11.

He held it up.

"Bag this."

Officer Mills sealed it inside an evidence pouch.

"You think it's his?"

"I don't know."

Adrian stared at the frozen hands of the watch.

"Let's find out."

Behind him, paramedics carefully lifted the victim onto a stretcher.

Claire signed the preliminary paperwork before walking over.

"I'll call you once the examination is finished."

"I'll be there."

She gave him a curious look.

"You've hardly spoken."

"I'm thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

He smiled faintly.

The ambulance doors closed.

As it pulled away, Adrian remained where he was.

The alley looked ordinary again.

He turned toward the exit.

Then stopped.

"Officer Mills?"

Mills looked up.

"Yes?"

"The victim..."

Adrian paused, studying the empty patch of pavement where the stretcher had been only seconds earlier.

"Did anyone check his pockets before moving him?"

Mills blinked.

"I did."

"What was inside?"

"A wallet."

Adrian frowned.

"I thought you said he had no identification."

Mills' expression changed.

"I..."

He hesitated.

"I did."

For the first time that night, someone had contradicted themselves.

Adrian quietly looked at the evidence bags lined up beside the patrol car.

None of them contained a wallet.

Adrian didn't speak until Officer Mills had stepped away from the patrol car.

He opened his notebook and wrote a single line.

Wallet mentioned. Wallet missing.

Then he underlined it.

People forgot things during an investigation. It happened all the time. Long shifts, poor sleep and adrenaline had a way of blurring memories.

Still, experienced officers rarely invented evidence that had never existed.

"Detective?"

Claire's voice drew him back.

"The ambulance is leaving."

"I'll meet you at the morgue."

She nodded before climbing into her car.

An hour later, the city morgue was almost deserted.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the examination room.

Claire stood beside the stainless steel table, tablet in hand.

"The preliminary examination is finished."

Adrian walked over.

"What do we know?"

"Male."

She scrolled through the report.

"Approximately thirty years old."

"No tattoos. Good health. No signs of prolonged illness."

She gently lifted the victim's right hand.

"No bruising around the wrists."

Then the left.

"No defensive injuries."

Adrian leaned closer.

"So he never fought back."

"That's what the evidence says."

"And the wound?"

Claire glanced at the photograph on her tablet.

"Extremely precise."

She thought for a moment.

"I don't like guessing."

"But?"

"If I had to guess, whoever did this had done it before."

The room fell quiet.

Adrian looked at the victim again.

His face was calm.

"You've seen hundreds of homicide victims," Claire said quietly.

"What makes this one different?"

Adrian answered without looking away.

"I don't know yet."

She gave a small nod.

"Fair enough."

A knock sounded at the door.

A young officer entered carrying a sealed envelope.

"Fingerprint identification."

Adrian opened it immediately.

His eyes moved across the page.

"Daniel Mercer."

Age.

Thirty.

Occupation.

Financial analyst. No criminal record. No known gang affiliation.

He closed the file.

"Next of kin?"

"Wife."

He checked the second page.

"One son."

Adrian slipped the report into the case folder.

"I'll notify the family myself."

He started toward the door.

"Oh," Claire called.

"Estimated time of death."

He turned.

"Eleven eleven."

Adrian stopped walking.

"The broken watch."

Claire arched her brow.

"What's that?"

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Adrian gave a quiet nod.

"Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow."

---

The hospital lobby was almost empty.

A vending machine hummed in one corner while the night receptionist struggled to stay awake behind her desk.

As Adrian crossed the lobby, someone called his name.

"Cross."

He turned.

An older man in a grey coat stood near the entrance.

Detective Henry Lawson. A detective who retired two years earlier.

"I heard you caught tonight's homicide," Henry said.

"News travels fast."

Henry smiled.

"It always does."

His eyes settled on the folder tucked beneath Adrian's arm as he slipped both hands into his coat pockets.

"You still have time."

"For what?"

"Forget this case."

Adrian gave a puzzled laugh.

"What does that mean?"

"Just drop the case."

"Why?"

Henry looked through the hospital's glass doors at the rain soaked street outside.

"Because curiosity is an expensive habit."

Adrian waited for more explanations but he said nothing more.

Henry opened the door and stepped outside.

Halfway across the pavement, he stopped without turning around.

"Some questions are better left without answers."

He walked away before Adrian could say another word.

Adrian stood alone in the lobby.

What the hell was that??