Hardly A Victim (Short Story)

Hardly A Victim: Part One

           "449, Winchester Lane." Kestrel squints at the document he had previously stashed away in his yellowed folder.

          "Eye witness- If you can even call her that- named Ellis Thompson, a rather talkative, 26 year old, phoned in on the case." He rubs at the smudged ink on her name, most likely a rookie mistake in spelling made by none other than his apprentice, and closest ally, Theo. He scoffs as it rubs off on his thinned fingers.

          "Why, are you implying she's not an eye witness? What else would you even call her?" Cassius, Kestrel's only (and favorite) little brother pipes up from the driver's seat, eyes focused on the road ahead.

         "Eye witnesses quite literally witness things, first-hand. Murder, accident, robbery; She witnessed nothing, absolutely zilch. I'm sure there's a better word for her type."

          "She phoned in because she had the belief that something had happened to her neighbor, I think that's 'witness' enough." Cassius chuckles, fingers tapping the leather steering wheel.

          Kestrel gasps exasperatedly before continuing, clearly ignoring his brother's comment, "'witness' claims, 'I saw him every morning, at 8:45, as he collected his mail, and set food out for the strays.' However, there's a damned contradiction here, blazing, even." He gives a solid flick to the page for proper annunciation.

         Cassius glances over at it, as his brother murmurs a stream of ideas under his breath. "Speak up, huh?" He coaxes, flicking his blinker, as he halts at a stop sign. A yellow Volkswagen breezes by his left.

          "She, Ellis, sees him every morning. No exception of a missing day. Then she goes on to add, 'One day, he stopped coming outside. I'm plenty sure his mailbox is well full, and I've resorted to feeding his strays for a while now.' It gets- Lord, it just-" Kestrel practically fumes, though most likely only due to his struggle with explaining his ideas properly. His brain runs rather faster than his mouth.

          Cassius holds onto a sigh, knowing well how flustered his sibling would become if he hadn't. "You know damned well how- you know how difficult this is for me, so hold your mocking!" yes, that was exactly how he'd say it, too, in that precise tone.

         Kestrel gives a panicked sigh, before he begins again.

         "The time that she noticed he'd stopped appearing really should have been her first clue that something was off. To follow that, she claimed in her interview that she left for vacation to visit her parents."

          "How long was her vacation?"

          "An entire week! Who knows what could have happened in that week, Cass! When she returned, the mail was still in its package box, and the bowl on his porch, still empty. She told me, 'I asked around my neighbors to see if they had seen him at all, but no one had. I tried to open his door, but it-" Kestrel frowns, pausing mid-sentence.

         "No no, that's not right, now. His type, I mean- Judging by his way of life, people he knew, routines- He'd have a key somewhere nearby the door. No, not under a pot, though, he's far too witty for something like that." Kestrel mutters, flipping the pages to check out the photo of the victim- No, not a victim. We aren't certain if he's dead or not. If he is dead, he's a victim. For now he's- What is he; a person? Surely.

          "Kestrel," Cassius snaps his fingers, smiling as his brother looks up with those ever so exhausted eyes. "What on Earth are you droning on about?"

        "Ellis claims she peered through windows, each had curtains pulled shut. She says both doors, front and back, were locked. She searched for a key, but there was none, and I quote, 'to my surprise, there were no keys under any of his flower pots, pet bowl; nothing.' Why would she search there? He wouldn't even bother putting it in practical plain sight!"