Museum Murders

Chapter One

The killer crept swiftly through the gloom of the carpeted hall, wielding a knife that glinted in the rays of moonlight seeping through cracks in closed curtains. Moving quickly, breathing shallow, finding the study door and listening for any sound from inside. The muffled rustling of papers told the killer that the target was in the study, and everything seemed to grow colder as reality dawned. This was really happening.

The killer raised the knife and opened the door...

...

Detective Brie Mason stood over the dead body of a middle-aged man, her brow furrowed and her hand on her hip. She knelt down and examined the stab wounds in the man's blood-soaked chest.

"Murdered at about 11:30 last night with twelve stab wounds to the chest and abdomen," she said, standing up straight and looking at her colleague, Ben Tucker.

Ben wrote her words down on his small notepad in his rushed, messy handwriting. His mouse-brown hair fell over his eyes briefly as he looked up at her for any other details.

Brie tucked a long, dark curl behind her ear and walked around the crime scene: the study in a large, expensive mansion. At a glance, it would seem that the person who lived here would be extremely wealthy, but as she took in the smaller details, she could see that they had suffered recent financial troubles. The vintage, crimson curtains were dusty and becoming worn at the bottom, the tissue box on the desk was empty and had not been replaced, and in a small cup were plastic pens instead of the standard emerald fountain pens usually found on an impressive, mahogany desk.

"This man was having financial difficulties, and he also lived alone," Brie said eventually.

"What makes you say that?" Ben asked with a frown, his pen poised over his precious notepad.

Brie motioned to the desk and almost bare shelves, "Do you see any photo frames or pictures anywhere of family members or a woman?"

Ben shook his head and scribbled down notes.

"I'm done here for now," Brie said, walking out into the hall, "Tell the medical examiner he can go in."

Ben nodded and walked briskly to the group of police officers and official examiners. Brie looked around the hall, careful not to disturb the obnoxiously yellow caution tape. She made mental notes of the thick, red carpet that would allow someone to enter unheard, and the broken lightbulb that would make the hall incredibly dark at night.

This will all be much easier when they've identified him - then I can find a motive, Brie thought to herself. There is something very familiar about him, though. Those high cheekbones, the rust-colored hair and the handsome features and --

"Excuse me, Detective Mason, but the victim has been identified as twenty-eight year old Rick Morris, a private investigator for the FBI and part-time salesman," said Rodger, one of the medical examiners.

Brie nodded, "Thank you."

Once Rodger had left, she called Ben and told him the new facts.

"He was on the front page of the newspaper a few days ago. Something about a drug bust," Ben said, running a hand through his hair.

"That could have something to do with it, but for now, we wait for the autopsy. You feel like pizza?" she asked with a smile.

An hour later, Ben and Brie sat at the local pizza parlor. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the outside dining area and the gentle breeze ruffled the edges of the umbrellas over the tables.

"This was a good idea," Ben said with a mouthful of pizza.

Brie chuckled. "I guess it was."

Ben looked up at her with a small smile. "Relax," he said.

She sighed and took a bite of her pizza, "Sorry, I'm just thinking about this case."

"You're always thinking about a case," he said with a laugh, "So relax just for now and eat some delicious pizza."

She dutifully followed his suggestion, but nothing seemed to drag her thoughts away from Rick Morris' murder. There was something about it that bothered her. Maybe it was the way he was so familiar - besides being on the cover of the newspaper - or maybe the fact that he was stabbed twelve times. Surely once would be enough to kill someone?

The murderer must've really hated Rick... Unless they were nervous or inexperienced... That could also lead them to stab more than once, almost as a precaution... Or even because of panic...

These thoughts followed her home that night and kept her awake, tossing and turning, until the early hours of the morning. Just as she let her heavy eyelids droop, her cellphone rang loudly on the bedside table, and she groaned before reaching over to fetch it.

"Hello?" she said, rubbing her eye with one hand.

"Brie? It's urgent." It was Ben.

"What's up?"

"You need to get to the agency right away." There was definite urgency in his voice.

"Why? What's going on, Ben?"

"Rick Morris's brother has been murdered."