The police ruled it as suicide, but everyone knew better.
Clancy downed the last of the whiskey in the bottle just before he climbed into bed with a one night stand.
When he woke with a hangover, in Autumn Pier Hotel, he was next to Susan's dead body. They had no evidence to pin murder on Clancy. There was no hand prints on the pillow Susan was smothered with. The only DNA on or connected to Susan from Clancy was, in fact, semen.
But the police didn't know how Clancy behaved when he was shitfaced. So because of all of the riots, the police hired a private detective.
Twenty four hours later, the detective had Clancy arrested and in jail for two years. No one knew how he had done it. He kept his work private, of course and never showed his face.
As the detective was having a glass of wine, he chuckled to himself. "A shame the poor bastard looked just like me." He said out loud. "I, Clancy Garcia, have done it again, old friend." He smiled at the dead, floating goldfish in the mucky tank in front of his desk.
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A Collection of Short Stories | On Hold
RandomThis is a collection of short stories that I have written. Simple as that. A lot of them have dark twists. Most of these start off as a prompt I got from somewhere. They may look weird because I wrote most of them on my computer.
