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The Masked Murder
The Masked Murder
I ran off into the night at top speed. Things were swirling
through my head; I was trying to make a connection. The
possible suicide of my friend and now this. Something was
wrong…something was very wrong.
I reached the police station far after midnight. It had
been about ten fifteen when he broke into my home; the po-
lice station was about twenty miles from my home. It had to
be at least five in the morning.
I crotched down under the police station sign by the
door, waiting for someone to come.
***
I jumped awake at the sound of more foot steps. I looked un-
der the sign to see a pair of police shoes walking through
puddles. Sighing, I got up to talk to him.
He jumped at the sight of me coming from behind the
sign. I don’t really blame him though; my sight was not a
pleasing one. I was wet and covered in mud. My face and hair
had pebbles and dirt all over it. I could have been mistaken
for the sand man that bright morning.
The officer grabbed his belt and held up his pants up a
little higher. He was the kind of stereotyped officer, wide and
appearing as if he had a couple donuts back in the day. “You
scared me there son.”
“Sorry officer Henry, but I have a little problem.”
“By ‘gum you do. Come inside, tell me what’s hap-
pened.”
Inside the station I felt a lot safer. The atmosphere was nice
and simple. Things were clean and organized. He made me
take a shower before I talked, said that would be better than
me freezing to death.
After the warm shower I was feeling a little better. I sat
down on a large cushiony couch and talked.
“Well you see sir, last night, a little after ten; I heard a
knocking at the door. I looked outside and I saw a tall hooded
man holding a long silver gun. I ran up to my room to hide
cause he broke in. He came up to my room and I tackled him
and ran. He shot my leg on the way out the window, nothing
serious.” I said, unraveling the ripped shirt around the cut.
The officer sat down behind his desk, holding a large
cup of coffee, “Tell me son, you got any enemies?”
“No sir.”
“Did you do anythin’ to get someone mad recently?”
he asked me.
“No, I stay to myself in my little home.” I said, “And I
don’t believe he was there to rob me.”
“No,” he responded, “neither do I.”
The officer was rubbing him chin and I said, “Sir,
you’ve heard of the death of Mr. Green haven’t you?”
“Of course I had,” he said, standing up and pacing the
room, “I was on the case. Wonderful man, his death was a big
surprise to us.”
“Well I was a good friend of Mr. Green. I don’t under-
stand either why he would kill himself. I’m starting to come
to the conclusion that he didn’t.”
“Hmm.” said the officer, once again rubbing him chin.
“I’ve been thinking that maybe there’s some connec-
tion. Is there any way we can go see the body.” I asked him.
“Yes we may be able to see it before the autopsy but…”
“But what?” I asked.
“But they don’t usually let anybody see the body be-
fore they perform the autopsy.” he said, “You know I was a
good friend of Mr. Green too. I don’t believe that man killed
himself, and it’s our civic duty to figure out why he died,” he
paused, “we move tonight.”
The place was spooky. Its walls were covered in filing cabi-
nets that were completely filled. Rooms to each side had small
glass windows with metal wire weaved through. We walked
to the end of the dark hall, and went through a door labeled
“Holding Room.”
The holding room had looked as I expected, hundreds
of black metal lockers lining the walls.
“How do we know which one is his?” I asked, wonder-
ing how we could find his body in the hundreds of lockers.
The officer looked around and then pointed at some-
thing, “Over there, the computer.”
Yes of course I thought, the computer.
We jogged to the computer and turned on the monitor.
The computer had stayed on but it needed a password. Sim-
ple enough, Joshua would help us. Officer Henry typed in the
code on the back of Joshua’s card and came up with a screen
that said, “Search Database.”
Officer Henry typed in Green to find over thirty names.
“Here,” he said, “Hen T. Green, Male, Age 37. He is locker
92.”
We turned and ran to locker 92. It was the third row
from the bottom and easy enough to view the body. The offi-
cer put his card in front of the locker and it scanned. There
was an unlocking sound as the locker became undone. To-
gether we pulled it out to expose a pool of blood.
And nothing else.
“Come on, get inside, don’t let no one see you.” said the offi-
cer in a very sketchy tone. He was obviously afraid, anxious.
Now this scared me because when you’ve got an officer
afraid, there’s good reason for yourself to be afraid.
His home was a humble one, clean and bright. Yet not
for long, he shut the blinds and all the lights except for one at
a computer.
“Pull up a chair,” he said, “I have a feeling we may be
up for a while.”
“Yes! I’m in,” said the officer, “I got a fake name and pass-
word and now I am on the linked FBI/CIA website. Now I
have to look him up before I get kicked off.”
“Kicked off?”
“Yeah they’ll catch me soon, but since it’s late it may
take a little longer. Hopefully luck will be with us this night.”
he said.
“How long do you think it will take?”
“About an hour I’d say. If were lucky we could get two
or three.”
“What if we’re not?” I asked.
“About two and a half minutes.”
Luckily we had more than two and a half minutes because we
were going to need it. It had been half an hour without find-
ing anything. These databases were huge; it was like nothing I
had ever seen. It was pile upon pile upon pile of anyone and
everyone. Millions of people were named in here, for any-
thing they had done. We were almost ready to give up when
something odd came up.
Those horrid foot steps came from the front of the house
again. It was him; he was back for his revenge.
Officer Henry ran to get his gun on the other side of the
room but was quickly stopped by one of the hooded figures.
He put his hand over the mans mouth to stop the yelling and
two more stepped from the shadows. They took Ghost and I
with an extraordinary strength, throwing us both to the
ground. They tied rope around all three of our wrists, legs
and mouths. That was the last thing I saw before I felt the butt
of a gun come in contact with the back of my head.