[Will insert at further notice]
The detectives had arrived late on the scene. The glow of red and blue lights flashed constantly, it entered every house, every window in its vicinity with no sign of break-and-entry. The vibrancy of the moonlight surpassed these added lights, attempting to illuminate the whole street, although its efforts were valiant, it was a trial to that of the streetlamps which lined themselves down both sides of the fractured roadway. People were grouped outside in the street. Police tape was rolled from a speed sign, to a tree, then both ends attached to the sides of the, now, most interesting house in the world. Men and women all stood side by side, eyebrows raised. Most seemed worried, hands clasped around their mouths, some with their arms sternly folded. All were in a shocked awe, simply because they all lived nearby. You could tell by their clothing. Different coloured robes and pyjamas filled up the most boring aspect of the whole ordeal.
The two detectives, one a tall, fair-haired man, his eyebrows were horizontal and defined in a serious fashion, his expression was simple, yet determined. The other gentleman was chubbier and only a tiny bit shorter; a fedora covered his bald head, keeping it hidden from the sight of any bystanders.
The two men somewhat marched away from their vehicle, orderly and subtly before the taller man threw his legs over the police tape and the shorter one pulled himself under onto the lawn of the home. They made their way off the grass and onto the marble driveway, only to be greeted by one of the policemen.
“Good afternoon, Detectives,” The police officer shook the fair-haired man’s hand and then the others, “It’s a real mess in there.”
“Who was the victim?” The chubby one asked.
“Derek Shelk. A local doctor. He was alone in the house while his wife was out late-night shopping. She came back and he was. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Thank you, Officer. I didn’t quite catch your name.” The tall one implied.
“Vullo. Antonio Vullo.” The officer answered.
“Philip Merrick. This is my partner, Adam Phelps. Can we take a look inside?”
Both detectives trudged up the door and were ushered in by a second officer.
In a few seconds they were already greeted by a horrific sight. Phelps turned away disgustedly.
What they spotted was definitely not for the faint of heart. The dead man laid in the centre of the living room, leaning up on the coffee table, his spine was arched backwards and poked out of his hollowed out abdomen along with his bony, grey ribs, some of which were cracked and fractured. His entrails gushed out onto the old, red carpet, which you could tell it wasn’t red to begin with. One of his eyes was slung from his socket, while the other was completely gone; only the cord from which it hung was stuck and almost glued to his cheek. The top and bottom part of his jaw were both ripped away from each other, his mouth gaped open in an overly dramatic, frantic way that it made both detectives quiver at the sight.
“God… What the-,” Phelps started to gag. He of course, was what you would call a rookie in the field of a detective, but this could be the most gruelling case he ever witnessed.
“Pull yourself together, Phelps,” Merrick demanded.
“Sorry, it’s just-“
“I know. I know.”
The two partners went over the police tape at the entrance of the room. Phelps couldn’t help but cover his nose and mouth. The smell was putrid. You could just feel the dry and thick blood with a touch of, either human or animal, faeces waft through the contaminated air.
Merrick made his way over to another cop.
“Do you know who was first on the scene?” Merrick asked him politely.
“She's outside,” he pointed indirectly behind Merrick, “She's with some other officers trying to calm and settle her. Her name is Marilyn Shelk. She is, well, was wife to the victim. Apparently she just came back home and her husband was…” He looked over to the bug infested corpse, "well, yeah."
“Do we have any leads?”
“Not that I know of, but go interview Ms Shelk. She might give ya something you can work with, but be careful. As you can imagine, she is pretty shook up.”
Merrick nodded and walked back to Phelps.
“I’m going to go speak with the witness. Stay here and check the body.”
“Y-yeah. Ok.” Phelps agreed uncertainly, but with a deep gulp he left his partners side and did some, what most people would call, ‘Investigating’. He stumbled around the room, constantly tripping on the corner of the lounge as he was distracted by the deformed body.
Who in their right mind would do this? Phelps thought to himself. Perhaps, he wasn’t in his right mind. Perhaps he was some crazy psychopath with an extremely sharp machete, or some serial killer with scissors for hands. Phelps almost slapped himself, but instead just shook off his crazy and irrational comments.
Slow down. I’m not going to get anywhere like this, he thought, stretching his fingers.
He got down and kneeled beside the body, attempting to balance in the only clean area. He used the collar of his overcoat as a gas mask, avoiding the putrid fumes of which floated around the corpse. Flies were buzzing in and around it, most of them found their way into the victim’s chest cavity; feeding off of the, now, stable and non-beating heart.
At a close inspection of the dead body, Phelps could identify some very distinct bite marks at the left of the torso and down near the crotch and some wonky scratch marks around his left buttock.
He must have put up a fight.
Phelps looked over at its upper thigh.
There were no knife marks. The leg seemed to have been completely torn off from the hip. The severed foot was mangled; the toes had been dislocated and broken.
Maybe he was tortured then killed, but all in such a short period of time? And why the bite marks? It makes no sense. Perhaps it was for the fun of it, if this can even be called such an innocent word like fun.
The possibilities of death seemed infinite, yet, more evidence was needed to determine his fate.
The spine was bent to such a degree that in many parts it had fractured, shards of it had punctured the organs and floated in the pool of blood just to the left of Phelps knee.
He must have been hit pretty hard to do that kind of damage. He could have been thrown at the table? I doubt it.
Phelps was in deep thought for about five minutes when Merrick returned, his same, serious expression stuck on the front of his head.
“Marilyn was out for more than about 2 hours, “ he started, “Turns out, she wasn’t too faithful to Mr Shelk, here.”
“What do you mean?” Phelps asked after clearing his throat.
“She was having an affair with Burt Wethers and, funnily enough, he lives about 2 blocks away. Tanning St, lives in one of the apartments, number-” Merrick pulled a notepad from his overcoat pocket and flicked through about 20 pages, “apartment number 14. Come on. Let’s go have a chat with ol’ Burt.”
Merrick stashed away his notepad and both detectives left the house. They hopped in their stylish, black ‘Ford Crown’ and drove off.