Flash Fiction
“He’s in there, Detective,” said the police officer, nodding toward the showroom floor.
“Thank you, Emily,” said Friehda, ducking under the police tape and approaching the scene of the crime. Mark Thompson, retired NASCAR driver and mattress store owner, lay dead on a queen-size pillowtop, a nerdy hoodie with a Star Wars character thrown carelessly over his face. She moved the hoodie aside, saw his lifeless, staring eyes, noted the bruising around the throat.
Friehda turned to the woman standing nearby. “You work here?”
“Yes, I’m the assistant manager.”
“You have security footage?”
“Yes ma’am, but only at the front and back entrances.”
Friehda smiled grimly. “That’ll do. We just need to know who was in the building around the time of the murder.”
# # #
Friehda looked at the three suspects she’d gathered at the police station. There was Winston Neva, the only customer in the building when the murder occurred, Howie Irvine, a young mattress salesman, and Christen Lillian, the assistant manager.
“Before I begin questioning,” said Friehda, “I’d like to know who found the body.”
Howie Irvine gulped. “I did.”
Friehda turned to Christen. “Ms. Lillian, did you see the body as well?”
She nodded. “I came right over when I heard Howie yell.”
“What about you, Mr. Neva?”
Winston gave Friehda a bewildered look. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“He’d already left before we discovered the body,” Christen confirmed.
“That does not rule him out as a suspect.” Friedha’s eyes narrowed. “Was the hoodie already thrown over his face when you found him, Mr. Irvine?” Seeing Howie nod, she turned to Christen. “Have you ever seen Mr. Irvine wearing a hoodie?”
“Sometimes.”
“And what kind of designs were on his hoodie?”
“I don’t know, probably GCU?”
Friehda raised her eyebrows at Howie. “You’re a college student? I hear educational costs are getting higher every year.”
Howie stared at her. “How would killing Mr. Thompson help with that?”
“Mr. Irvine, did you know that Mr. Thompson’s collection of NASCAR trophies has gone missing from his office?”
“What? I didn’t even know about them.”
Friehda shot a look at Christen, who nodded. “I don’t believe Howie’s ever been in Mr. Thompson’s office.”
“That you know of,” Friehda shot back. She stopped to think for a moment.
“Detective, please,” said Winston, glancing at Howie. “We already know who did it.”
“You suspect Mr. Irvine? Why?”
Winston motioned at himself, his business casual clothes. “Do I really look like the type to wear a Star Wars hoodie?”
“And what do you do, Mr. Neva?”
“I have a used car lot on the south side.”
Friehda turned suddenly back to Christen. “Ms. Lillian, how would you describe your relationship with Mr. Thompson?”
“We got along just fine,” she replied, looking baffled.
“Do you have a gym membership?”
“Yes, I do.”
Friehda nodded. “Okay, you three are free to go.”
“Really?” asked Howie, incredulous. “But why?”
“Oh, I already know who did it,” replied the detective. “I just need to establish the motive before I make the arrest.”
#
*Who murdered Mr. Thompson?*
