It was early morning and the sun had yet to rise. I was sitting on a park bench when I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, ‘Buzz... buzz...’ I picked it up and held it up to my ear, it was my secretary, Cindy. “We have a problem down at the Hilton John. A woman by the name of Judy Hill claims that she heard screams coming from room 513 at about 2:45 am. You best come down right away,” she said urgently.
“I’m on my way,” I replied running towards the only five star hotel in the Bahamas, The Hilton John.
Room 513 was being sealed off with tape that repeated, ‘Police Line – Do Not Cross’. I ducked under it and went inside. My mouth fell agape, I had never seen anything quite like it. The guts the murderer must have, to do something that grotesque.
There was a woman – who I later found out her name, Ms. Jen Toopik – lying on the ground with her legs and arms in the most uncomfortable position you could imagine. She had been brutally stabbed to death, with a fork. Her hair was tangled, she had fork holes punched all over her body, even the nose, and one of her eyes was missing from its socket. Her watch had also been stabbed and it showed the time of which the poor woman had died; 3:00 am on the 1st of January (today).
I turned around to see who had just walked in. It was a girl of about 13 years. Her lips fell open, ready to scream. She didn’t, instead she started to cry. One of our experts on ‘comforting the traumatized’ took her outside.
Soon the hotel room was chalk full with forensic scientists, cops, and important people who worked at the hotel.
I walked outside and down to the interviewing room. It was time to put my detective skills to work. “What’s your name?” I asked, starting with the easy questions.
“Dilila,” she answered looking at the floor.
“Okay Dilila, where were you last night at 3:00 am when Ms. Toopik was stabbed?” My voice was slow and calming.
“Well it was New Years, I was out partying with my friends I met a few weeks ago. My mom was at the bar, at least, I think she was.”
Right at that moment I saw a woman scurrying past the door. She carried a fork, dripping in blood. I jumped out of my chair and dashed out the room. The lady was nowhere to be seen. I walked the way I thought she had gone and found the kitchen. The woman was washing the fork in a large sink.
“Excuse me miss? I asked. “Would you happen to know a woman named Toopik? Jen Toopik?”
“Hmm... doesn’t ring a bell but I may be able to tell you something if you tell me her room number,” her voice was sinister coming from the old kindly face that she had.
“513,” my answer was concise and met its point.
“Oh yes. I remember cleaning her room, hmm... the day before yesterday? Yes, the day before yesterday. I found some papers scattered around on the floor. I tried not to peep at them but I was putting them back on the desk, how could I help myself? Anyway, it said something about adoption.”
“Hmm... one more question, where did you find that fork?”
“The bar. It was in an empty bottle, you know, holding side down,” she smiled as she watched me exit the room and I thanked her.
The fork was of no use anymore, the blood and finger prints had been wiped off while the janitor was cleaning it. I was now headed to the bar, not for a drink, but to ask a few questions.
It was a lively place, even in the afternoon. The decorations brightened it up and a disco ball hung from the ceiling. I walked past row after row of empty booths until I reached the main bar. A man stood there looking at me while his hands held a cloth, cleaning the dirt off of a beer glass.
“How may I help you?” His voice was deep and growly.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“And how do you suppose I do that?” His dark brown eyes locked with mine.
“Maybe start with answering a few questions,” I took out a note book and pencil, ready to jot anything important down. “Do you know this woman?” I handed him a picture of Miss Toopik.
He nodded his head and I continued, “What time did she drop in and how long was she in here?”
“She came in at about, I dunno, 9:00. I guess she was single, she started dancing with quite a few men, and she drank... a lot. I think her daughter dragged her back to their hotel room at about 2:30 in the morning.”
“Did she bring anything with her? The daughter I mean?” It was a long shot but I’ve got nothing to lose.
“I don’t think so but she said something about ordering room service.”
Room service... and adoption... something clicked in my mind. “Thank you, you’ve been a great help,” and with that I dashed out of the room.
“Why? Why would you do it?” I was sitting next to Dilila on a couch in the interviewing room.
“I already told you, I didn’t do it!” I gave her no reply, just stared with my head tilted slightly to the right. “Okay, okay... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean too. I was just so mad,” tears swelled up in her eyes. “She told me I was adopted. Why would she keep that from me all my life? I should have known. And she’s rich. I’m the heir to a fortune. Anger and greed took control of me. I just wish I hadn’t done it. I’m so, so sorry.”
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