Murder at 5th Avenue: Chapter 1


Detective Hudson walked towards the bedroom where the victim lay dead. With every step, Hudson felt his heart beating harder against his ribs. Nobody had told Hudson to be careful. He had a reputation of being a diehard cop. Yet, he could not get the final words of Inspector Buckworth out of his head.  The body is too mangled even for you to look at. The words just kept ringing in his ears.

He turned the knob and slowly pushed the bedroom door. The blood had dripped down towards the edge of the room. He stepped on the blood making an impression of his boot prints. And then, his eyes fell on the naked body that lay still on the bed.

Hudson wanted to throw up right there. He pushed his palm harder against his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. For minutes, he just stood there, ignoring what lay on the bed. Gathering his strength back, he walked towards the body, this time looking into the dead body’s eyes.

The man, Victor Costa, was in his mid thirties and worked for Bastalia’s most reputed software company, Techco Softwares. Even when dead, it looked as if Victor was begging for mercy.

What happened here? Hudson murmured, wondering how easy it would be if dead bodies could talk. Then he mocked at his own foolishness. A sharp knife lay at the edge of the bed. The man had been stabbed several times. Pieces of broken vase lay scattered on the other side of the bed. Hudson walked to the other side and bent down to pick up a piece. He had not finished scrutinizing the piece when his eyes fell on something under the bed. He crawled to get a closer look and when he noticed the unusual thing, he could not help but throw up.

He sat with his back resting against the edge of the bed, looking away from the dead body.

What did you do Victor? What did you do to have met such an end?

Hudson pulled himself up and walked out of the bedroom with the knife in his hands. It was the only thing that could direct him towards the murderer.

Inspector Buckworth’s men from PD entered the room.

“Not your best night Detective Hudson,” said one mockingly.

“I have an old acquaintance with dead bodies, Inspector,” replied Hudson. “The body’s in the next room. I have the knife. Send the body to forensics; I want the reports by morning. I will have a look around.”

Hudson walked towards the bar, pulling out a clean glass, he poured himself a drink.

“Oh, and Inspector one more thing. Under the bed, you will find the body’s genitals. They were amputated from the body by the murderer. Don’t forget to take those; they will be needed back at the forensics.”

When Hudson got back to pouring a second round, he noticed two used glasses at the bar. He picked up one and smelled it. Then he picked up another and smelled it. Several times he smelled the two glasses, sometimes in sequence, and sometimes he blindly shuffled and picked a glass randomly and smelled again.

He finished his glass of whisky and went into the kitchen. His eyes fell on an incomplete set of knives decently hung in a shelf above the sink.

Damn. He thought. He pulled out the knife picked up at the murder scene and replaced it in the shelf to complete the set of knives.

Inspector Buckworth’s men were on their way to the forensic lab. Detective Hudson drove towards the PD. All the way while he focused on his drive, Victor’s dead body kept flashing in his head.

At the Police Department, Inspector Garrison had resumed duty for the night. At the sight of Detective Hudson, Garrison greeted him with an unwelcoming smile. He pulled out a bottle from the nearest shelf and asked, “Scotch?”

“No thank you. I will take the letters,” answered Hudson. Garrison opened the drawer and pulling out three envelops, he tossed them towards Hudson.

“Any evidence back at the crime scene?” asked Garrison picking up his glass of scotch.

“No fingerprints, a knife, a broken vase, two empty glasses and genitals,” answered Hudson replacing the letters in his overcoat pocket.

“Tell me all about it.”

“The murderer was known to Victor. My guess is that the murderer was a woman.”

“That is obvious from the letter,” interrupted Garrison. “All the names mentioned in the letters are women, nothing brainy about that.”

“The body was naked when the murder took place. Victor and one of the women mentioned in the letter were in the middle of physical intimacy. An argument must have taken place during the sex. In a fit of rage, the woman picked up the vase and hit Victor on his head and he fell unconscious. She went into the kitchen and came back with the knife. He was stabbed repeatedly in the chest and the stomach.”

“Why cut the genitals if the man was dead already?” questioned Garisson.

“I have no answer to that yet,” replied Hudson.

“What about the empty glasses?”

“The murderer stayed in the apartment for very long after the murder. She drank whisky from the two glasses in long intervals. One glass had a strong odour while the other had a meek one. Anybody could differentiate between the two glasses. The lip marks were cleared.”

“Victor could have had whisky from the two glasses or either one of them.”

“Let’s wait for the forensic reports to discuss that further.” Hudson got up from his chair and left Inspector Garrison back in his room.

Detective Hudson was back in his apartment. His sleep had deserted him. He looked at the three envelops on his desk. Each was marked according to their arrival. He picked up the first envelop and pulled out the letter. It read:

Murder at 5th Avenue by Mary Capal – XXX

Then he opened the second letter that read:

Murder at 5th Avenue by Samantha Cross – XXX

And finally the last one that read:

Murder at 5th Avenue by Martha Cox – XXX

Hudson placed all letters on the desk, juxtaposing them in the event they arrived. Then carefully, he replaced his glance from one letter to another looking for that one evidence. And then he had found it, right there.


Murder At 5th Avenue : Prologue


Detective Hudson stepped on the accelerator as his car zoomed on a deserted street towards his apartment. All he wanted to do was go home and throw himself on the bed. He had just made the police department of Bastalia proud by cracking one of the most complicated cases. His colleagues could not stop bragging about him.

Ugly bastards just need a reason to down some booze. He thought.

He threw his overcoat, which missed the stand and fell on the floor. He smelled as though he had swum across the city gutters. His eyes wanted to give up for he had not slept in 5 days.

And they deserve to rest, he thought to himself again. This case had taken the most out of him. He wondered how the Bastalia police department would fair without him.

He hurled the keys on the work desk and walked in the bathroom for a hot shower. A while later he found himself staring at his naked body. Drops of water dripped down his bulging muscles as they found their way to wet the floor. He needed someone to warm him, someone who could hold him for the night and caress his Greek body all along. His thoughts began to waver when he thought of his last rendezvous with Lucy. His muscles were tightening when his eyes caught the attention of his vibrating mobile on the desk. Quickly, he reached for it, “Detective Hudson, who is this?”

“Detective!! I am calling from 5th Avenue. You are needed here. Believe me; you have got to see this.”

Detective Hudson found himself stepping on the accelerator again, zooming towards the 5th Avenue.

Fucking city rats. They just cant keep it quiet in this city.

Inspector Buckworth was strolling up and down in front of the lift when Hudson arrived. Buckworth had been working at Bastalia for 15 years, without a promotion or a raise. When asked, he would say he loved his job. But the guys back at PD thought, Buckworth was not Worth the Buck. Although Buckworth knew of this back teasing that went about him, he decided to keep his temper to himself. Everytime Hudson saw him, he thought, where the fuck does he take out his frustration? And then he smiled to himself. Buckworth had a beautiful wife.

“Hey Bucky!!” called Hudson, “Looks like this city will never sleep peacefully.What’s it this time? Murder, rape, homicide?”

“Worse,” answered Buckworth wiping the sweat of his half bald scalp. “Follow me.”

Inspector Buckworth called for lift. Hudson followed him to the seventh floor.

“Back at the PD, we received a letter,” Buckworth began to explain as he slowly walked down the long corridor. “The letter was marked anonymous, and it read that a certain Mary Capal had committed a murder at 5th Avenue. We did what we usually do when we receive an anonymous letter. We ignored it, thinking some college kids were playing prank.”

Buckworth stopped short for a moment, putting his hand in the pocket of his overcoat, he pulled out a cigarette. “Care for one Hudson?” Hudson took the offer and lit the cigarette for both. A puff later, Buckworth began walking slowly again.

“You were saying, Bucky.” Hudson reminded Buckworth of their conversation.

“Oh yes, so we ignored the letter. Two hours later, we received another letter from an anonymous person. It read that Samantha Cross had committed a murder at the 5th Avenue. This time I got suspicious. I decided to drop by here and I found out that the letter was not lying. Although the strangest part is, while I was here, back at PD, a third letter had arrived, again from an anonymous writer. And it read that a certain Martha Cox had committed a murder at the 5th Avenue.”

Inspector Buckworth stopped again, he dropped his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it, crushed thrice. “So here we are. You are about to witness the most gruesome murder ever witnessed by Bastalia.” Saying so, he pulled out the keys, directed them in the keyhole on the door and turned them right, twice. A strong stench filled up Hudson’s nose and with instincts his hands flashed to cover his mouth.

As if I did not reek already, thought Hudson putting on the nose mask offered by Inspector Buckworth.

Hudson threw a glance around. The apartment covered a large area and looked very spacious. Hudson could see his reflection against the Plasma TV that hung proudly on the wall. On the right corner was a small bar with different brands of whisky bottles nicely arranged.

He took few steps back and walked towards the entrance door. Moving his fingers on the rim and then on the lock he said, “No sign of forced entrance. Has anything been stolen from the apartment?”

“We had the entire apartment checked. No fingerprints, no forced entries. Nothing’s been stolen from the apartment. We found ten thousand dollars in cash, in the cupboard over there.” Said Buckworth pointed towards an exquisite antique cupboard in the corner. “The cupboard was not locked. There is no way the murderer could have missed that cash. From our investigation, this is as far as we go. It is a clear case of third degree murder and whoever it was, the person knew the victim. From here on, you are on your own Hudson.”

Buckworth walked towards the door and turned back, “I am off for the day Detective. My men will be here any minute to assist you.”

Hudson threw his hands in the air flashing a casual good bye and a tired smile across his face.

“The letters are back at the PD in case you must have a look at them,” continued Buckworth. “And Hudson, be careful. The body is too mangled even for you to look at.” Buckworth tossed the apartment keys at Hudson and closed the door behind him.

Hudson was all alone in the room. The air in the room was filled with a sudden silence as Hudson danced his eyes around. He could hear the tick-tock of the clock in the next room. He pulled out a bottle of Anxiolytic and tossed two pills in his mouth.

Where are you? Thought Hudson, as his eyes began to search for the victim.

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