Grey: A Novella

Chapter 3

I went into the house and made for the crime scene upstairs. When I came in and went under the yellow tape, I saw my buddy Dave already inspecting the scene. "It doesn't look good, Derek. It looks like a suicide."

"Does it now?"

I went in closer. This room seemed to be a small office, with a writing desk on the left and massive drawers on the right. In the middle, splayed out on the floor, was the body of a middle-aged man, bald in the head and fat in the body. He looked just like any other guy his age. There was dried blood around his head and a gun in his hand.

"It does look like a suicide," I mumbled. "But we gotta make sure."

I inspected the body and the room itself. I came up with nothing. I went through all the drawers. Empty.

"That's strange."

"What is?" asked Dave.

"All these drawers are empty. This place looks like an office. You would think he would have at least some papers, books, or even some newspapers."

I caught Dave looking at the ground. "They were empty when we got here."

I walked up to Dave. "You're not hiding anything from me, are you?"

He looked me in the eye. I caught a small twitch in his cheek. "Why would you say that?"

"Were there any papers in the drawers when you came here?"

"No." The nod was subtle, but I was able to catch it. When people lie, their body usually betrays them.

I decided to back off for now. I would get to the bottom of this later. I took out my cigarette case from my coat. I put a cigarette in my mouth and lit it with my silver lighter. I blew out some smoke and asked, "What did this guy do, anyway, Dave?"

"He was a writer for the San Francisco Chronicle. Lots of opinion pieces and editorials. Many have called them controversial."

"You think one of those so-called fans of his could've bumped him off?"

"I wouldn't see the point. He just got fired for spouting some nonsense about the Greys experimenting on people."

I bit back a retort. I wouldn't put it past the Greys to break the Interstellar Accord they signed ten years ago, and Dave knew that. But there were other cops here who might've been sympathetic to them.

"So he had a nice job at a newspaper until he lost it due to one of his so-called controversial pieces. Then, all depressed, he took a gun and shot himself. Is that about right?"

"Yeah, that's about what it looks like."

"Is that his gun?"

"Yup. It's all registered and everything."

"There's something weird here," replied one of the officers.

"Oh?" I went in closer. "What's that?"

"The shells don't match the gun. They're completely different. It also looks like this gun hasn't been fired in a long time."

"I see." I turned to Dave. "I guess this wasn't a suicide after all."

"That's my guess," replied the officer. "We'll have to send this to Ja-lil in forensics to be sure."

I scrunched up my nose. Ja-lil was one of the Greys that was working for us. They were in a pretty high position, as most Greys were wont to be. I say they because the Greys have no gender to speak of, nor do they even understand the concept of gender.

"All right, I guess this is all we can do." I turned to leave. "Better leave it to the Greys and their superior intellect to solve this one."

Dave chuckled. Everyone else looked at him funny.

I got into my 1954 Plymouth Savoy and turned the key in the ignition. The plasma motor thrummed to life. I could feel the wheels tucking themselves inside the car as it began to float. My dashboard was full of buttons, screens, and blinking lights. It looked more like the cockpit of a plane than anything. I took the wheel and pulled it down. The hovercar began to soar into the air.

I made my way home. The flying saucers of the Greys could be seen high in the sky. They said they wanted to live among us, yet they still lived in their ships. I guess it just suited them to look down on us from the sky.

I turned on the radio. It was on my favourite channel, 102.9 Jazz FM. All jazz, all the time. Louis Armstrong was just finishing up West End Blues. As the song ended, a commercial for El-lil burgers came on. "A surprisingly good taste," came the Grey CEO's voice. I would never trust burgers made by Greys. You never know what they're made of.

I saw the sun start making its way past the horizon. A new day was starting.