Creative Writing

This is just a writing piece I did last year and I decided to post it.

Chapter 1 The Case
It was 9:00 PM, June 19th. I turned around in my leather chair to look out the rain-covered window. Crash! A purplish-blue thin streak of lightning shot through the sky. I was going to get a case tonight I could feel it. It also helps that almost every stormy night I get a case. Exactly five seconds later, the phone rang.
“John, I have a case for you,” the voice said.
“Where did it happen?”
“Mr. Smith’s mansion. He died about an hour ago. Better get here quick, they’re about to take the body away.”
“Be right there.”
Chapter 2 The Scene
Mr. Smith was lying face down in the middle of the study. Blood pooled around his chest from the stab wound in it. I put my gloves on and started to look for clues.
“Barney, I didn’t think you would be here. Well I thought you’d be here but not working the case. Did you change jobs?”
“Yeah, I got fired from my old job. Anyway, back to the case. The maid discovered him an hour and a half ago. She also found this knife.”
Barney, the police officer on the phone, held up a plastic bag with a bloody butcher knife in it. On the ornate oak desk to the right of the body there was a hand written letter that said:
“I, Samuel Jay Smith, have had enough with the world. My wife has died, my only daughter’s husband died, and she doesn’t even care about me. I have nothing left. So, good-bye world and everyone. I’ll see you in heaven.”
“It’s his hand writing, alright,” Barney announced.
There was wine on the floor, enough to have been a full glass. I looked closer at his wineglass and saw more than four prints.
“Hey, Barney. Did you get these prints?”
“Oh no, I didn’t. Thanks,”
“I’m gonna go interview the maid,” I told Barney.
“OK, I’ll finish up in here.”
I found a woman out the door to the right, sitting on the staircase. She had a shocked look on her face.
“Are you Mr. Smith’s maid?” I asked the woman.
“Yes, I am,” she said.
“Well, I need to ask you some questions,” I told her. She nodded her head.
“Where were you about an hour and a half ago?”
“Cleaning up after the party in the kitchen,” she answered.
“Alright, was Mr. Smith acting odd after the party, like he was mad or anything?”
“No, but afterwards I overheard him and Mr. Rodgers arguing. Something about Mr. Smith stealing his invention.”
“What was the invention?”
“Shoes with springs in them so your feet don’t hurt, or something like that.”
I thought to myself, shoes with springs, aren’t those already invented?
“Didn’t Mr. Rodgers have a show?” I inquired.
“Yes, but he was fired for violence.”
“Mmm, thank you for your help.” I walked into the kitchen where a woman was standing with a completely calm look on her face.
“You must be Widow Peacock.”
“I would prefer Miss Peacock. And you are?” She asked.
“John Blake, private investigator. I’m here to ask you some questions.”
“About my father’s death?”
“Well that answers one question. Where were you about an hour and a half ago?”
“At my father’s party.”
“The party ended two hours ago,” I answered.
“The party isn’t over until I leave,” she retorted.
Well, well, well, we have a snotty one here I thought to myself.
“Well then, did you hear anything unusual at all?”
“No, I was to busy talking to Mr. Rodgers.”
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“I don’t know, he left a half an hour ago.”
“Thank you for your help, I guess,” I mumbled under my breath.
Chapter 3 Mr. Rodgers
I arrived at Mr. Rodgers’ apartment fifteen minutes later. Knock, Knock.
“Mr. Rodgers? Are you there? It’s John Blake private investigator. Open up…Mr. Rodgers?” No answer. “Mr. Rodgers, open up or I’ll bust down the door.”
“Alright, alright! I’m coming! Just don’t bust down my door!” Click. Clank. After about five locks later, the door opened. Mr. Rodgers was somewhat of a calm looking man, but people have been telling of his anger issues. “What do you want?”
“Is it true that you were at Mr. Smith’s party in his mansion?”
“Yes.”
“Did you talk to Widow, I mean, Miss Peacock?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have an argument with Mr. Smith afterwards?”
“Yes that idiot stole my invention!”
There he goes, out the window like they all said he would.
“I thought that shoes with springs were already invented,” I stated.
“Oh so now you’re Mr. Wise Guy, huh? Well I’ll tell you what! You get off my property and I don’t have to talk to you unless you arrest me!”
“Technically I’m not on your property,” I said as I looked down at my feet, which were about one centimeter away from his carpet, “and you never had to answer any of my questions in the first place.”
“Then good-bye Mr. Blake!” And with that he slammed the door in my face. Well, not literally, but you get the point. I got into my car and drove back to the mansion. When I got there, I went back to the crime scene to look for more clues. I saw a thread on the carpet, the same color of the sweater Mr. Rodgers was wearing. I picked it up with my tweezers.
“Hey, John, we got the results on those prints you found. They’re Mr. Rodgers’ prints.”
“Thanks,” I said as I looked up, “I also found this,” I said lifting up the thread. “It’s the same color of Mr. Rodgers’ sweater.”
“Well that’s enough evidence to arrest him. I’ll call the judge to get him to write up a warrant for his arrest. You can pick it up on your way to Mr. Rodgers’ apartment.
Chapter 4 The Arrest
After I picked up the warrant at the judge’s house, I went back to Mr. Rodgers’ apartment. Knock, knock.
“Mr. Rodgers it’s Mr. Blake. Open up.”
“I don’t have to.”
“If you don’t I will break down the door this time.” I warned.
“Go ahead and I’ll sue you!”
“Alright, if you see it that way,” I said taking a step back. One step forward and a kick later, I was in his living room. He was sitting on the couch eating pizza and watching sports. He immediately jumped up as I came in.
“Hey! You can’t do that! I told you I’d sue you!”
“Not if I have a warrant,” I stated holding it up.
“That still doesn’t mean you can go around kicking peoples doors down!”
“Only if the warrant is for them and they aren’t letting you in.” I retorted, turning him around to put cuffs on him.
“Ow! They’re too tight!”
“Deal with it, sissy,” I hissed.
After throwing him on the couch, I started asking questions.
“Did you kill Mr. Smith?”
“No.”
“Did you argue with him?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go after the party?”
“I had a snack with a friend.”
“And who was this ‘friend’?”
“Barney. We left right after he killed Mr. Smith.”
Chapter 5 Why Me?
“Why does this always happen to me? I basically get a solved case then something is wrong.”
“So, am I free to go?”
“Not yet. You’re a witness.”
After going back to the mansion, I went up to Barney and said,
“This man here says you killed Mr. Smith.” He took off running.
So I ran after him down streets through alleys, over walls. Finally I thought a straight stretch. I pulled my 9mm out of its holster, aimed and shot Barney in the calf. He fell to the ground immediately. After walking up to him I asked,
“Why did you do it?”
“To get my revenge. I was doing just fine until he fired me from my post as his security guard. If only he hadn’t of done that he’d still be alive and I would have a nice house and enough money to pay for it,” He spat.

So in the end Barney confessed to killing Mr. Smith and I returned to my normal routine. Well, normal for a PI.