Owens' Case

Case Complex

Owens paid the cab driver and was received by Detective Robinson as she got out.

—Detective Owens, I'm glad you're here, we've already analyzed the scene, but we can't seem to get to a conclusion.— He stated.

—Alright, where is the room in which the kidnapping took place?— Asked Detective Owens.

—This way.

Detective Robinson led Owens inside the big house into a long, narrow, hallway, where they entered the first door on the right. Owens found herself staring at an extraordinary large bedroom; the four walls were bright red, kind of like scarlet. The wall at the back of the room had a window that was wide open; its golden colored curtains were flowing in the icy, cold wind that entered the room. From the left wall to the center of the room was a king size bed, with white sheets that were ruffled and tossed around. Owens walked across to the center of the room and stood facing the footboard of the bed. On the right side of the bed, against the wall, just below the window, was a caramel-colored, dressing table. Between the bed and the dressing table, on the floor, was a beautiful, small, tossed around, Persian rug.

Owens walked over to the dressing table, where, on the corner of it, appeared to be a red smudge. She reached out to touch it and her hand came back sticky with blood. She then joined Detective Robinson again at the center of the room.

—What are you getting from this Detective Owens? — Asked Robinson.

—I'm not quite so sure yet. — She answered uncertainly.

—Well, what I suppose is that the victim opened the window for some fresh air before deciding to go to sleep, then the kidnapper entered the house and took the individual. — He deduced.

—No offense Detective, but that's a really bad scenario. Why would someone open a window in the middle of a cold, winter night? — She paused to think. —What I'm getting of this is that the window was used as an emergency escape for the kidnapper. The victim, as you stated, was probably sleeping before the kidnapping happened, then woke up after hearing the break-in, tried to escape, but tripped over the carpet as she got up, hit her head against the desk and fainted. Then, the kidnapper took her and escaped through the window. — She concluded.

Robinson just stared, baffled by her response.

After a few seconds he finally managed to say:

—How did you know the victim was a she?

Owens pointed at the dressing table, where a few crystal bottles were organized per size.

—Women's perfume. —She added to prove her point.

—Oh.

There was a knock on the door, and a bald, tall man entered the room.

—Detectives, we finally managed to collect some information about the victim.— He stated.

—Ah.— Said Robinson. —Thank you Detective, what did you find out?

—The victim was a woman, around her seventies actually. Her name was Agatha Brooking.

Owens let out a low moan as her vision blurred around the edges, followed by her hand flying straight up to her forehead.

Robinson gave her a worried glance. —Everything alright Owens? Are you not feeling well?— He rested his hand on her shoulder for support as she staggered back.

—No, no.— She answered quickly. —I'm fine, sorry, it's just this headache I've had since morning. It's my fault to begin with; I haven't slept in more than 48 hours.

—Well, then.— Said Robinson. —I still think you should head home Owens, and get some rest. I know how tired you are. 

—No, it's-it's fine, really. — She said. But after receiving an accusing glance, she finally accepted and headed home.

But all she could do that night was toss and turn in her bed, as she waited for sleep to come.