Detective Derwent- The Midnight Murder

Detective Hugo Derwent is called upon a case in which a murder is murdered, with 6 suspects to trace and justify. But accusing just one proves to be difficult as the lies and truths of each and every one of them just doesn't add up. Who killed and why?

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2. The House

The outside of the building was not exactly classy. Hidden behind a butcher’s, was a weathered brick building around three storeys high. There were no windows and not even a door if one did not exactly where it was. Crawling through a Police-taped rose bush, Detective Derwent straightened his Private Detective Badge and composed himself.

Although many would assume that it was not humanly possible for the inside to be worse it was. The stench of unwashed clothes filled the sensitive nostrils of Detective Derwent. He stifled a cough and waved his hands in front of his eyes in vain, because no matter how vigorously he waved his arms the cloudy mess that was the air would not move. Rubbing his eyes and clicking his briefcase shut, he walked through the archway.

A tuneless melody twiddled through the air, almost as if the drab environment had sucked its beauty out.

Through the door came bustling a cheery woman. Well, came through is an understatement. She turned around, breathing heavily and squeezed herself through the doorframe, stooping low to avoid banging her head or flattening her mad frizz of thick, dark curls.

“Welcome!” she shrieked and enveloped Hugo into a warm hug. The lady, by the name of Louella, was almost twice the size of Hugo himself and Hugo’s face was unfortunately buried into her unpleasantly sweaty armpit.

After about 3 seconds, Hugo had already started turning purple.

‘Oh dear!’ Louella said as she lifted Hugo up and stared at him. ‘You don’t look too well, my dear,  beg your pardon but your face has a purplish tinge. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No thank you, Mrs Louella Treacle, I believe that it is our priority that the case is solved.’ He politely declined by shaking his head and gestured to the seat opposite him.

Louella screwed up her face like a prune and after a hiccup or two, burst into tears.

‘Oh my Samson! Why on Earth my dear Samson?’ She shrieked and emitted a high pitched wail and planted her face into a kitchen towel, which ironically bore the motif-

‘Stop Crying and Carry On Missus’

Hugo blinked and took a deep breath. Samson had killed over seven people and was one of the most feared criminals in the country. Of course, the natal love for one’s child and their bond is always strong but it was almost amusing at how truly distressed she was.

‘Could I look at his room?’ Derwent asked, before hastily added, ‘It would really aid in the speeding up of the process.’

Sobbing, she squeezed herself through the door. Hugo followed and was overcome by the putrid odour of cheese. The floor was splattered in what could only be described as fresh blood. He snapped them with his Polaroid.

‘So perfect!’ he muttered to himself, in awe of the almost symmetrical droplets.

‘Oh yes, he was an art student, even his blood was perfect! My boy…’ Louella groaned and then squeezed through the door. ‘I appreciate that you need your privacy.’

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