Story With A Twist

dollywolly

,United States

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What a mysterious case. It has been baffling the best of detectives this past week. A man named Daniel Cooper was found dead in his house last Thursday, October 5th 1932. He had been stabbed through the heart with a knife; a bread knife to be more precise. There was no sign of robbery, a struggle, or even forced entry, and the door had been locked from the inside. The house was spotless; there was no evidence that anyone had been in the house at all. At first, the police thought it might have been suicide, but there was no note, and the handle of the knife had no fingerprints on it, which means it had been wiped clean. And if you are committing suicide, why would you wipe your fingerprints off of the weapon? As far as suspects go, the people who might have had a motive to kill Daniel, which were very few, had alibis, except one person. Daniel’s son, Timothy, who would inherit the man’s house and money, doesn’t have an alibi. But he has also disappeared. The day after the police questioned Timothy, he vanished without a trace. No one knows what became of him. The police think that he absconded because he knew they would eventually prove that he killed his father. They are continuing their search for him, but I doubt they will find him. I myself know that he is innocent, and I know who the real murderer is. What a cleaver scheme! The police could easily solve the case if they would pay more attention to the little hints and altered their thinking. For instance, if they would analyze the evidence of the locked door in a different way, they would see that I entered with the man’s permission and exited through the window after locking the door. If they had checked the garden on the side of the house they would have seen the small impression my shoe made next to the roses. True, I don’t seem to have a motive. Actually, I was friends with Daniel! But if they had asked me where I was the night of the murder, I would have lied to them. A small lie of course, but a lie none the less. And if they had investigated my claims they would see right through my lies. They would see the hatred I felt toward Daniel and the relief I now feel after his death. But the police haven’t spoken to me, and it is likely they never will. They haven’t asked me about my whereabouts that night, or what I would gain if he were dead. In fact, the only thing the police have said to me is “I’m sorry for your loss. I know you two were friends.” Fools! If they would only look past the insignificant details, they would see, quite plainly, that I am the murderer!