Motive for Suicide

The apartment was immaculate. Someone had been meticulous in their cleaning and caretaking. Nothing was out of place. There wasn’t any dust to be found. So the dead body in the middle of the living room rather stood out.

The senior detective bent down to get a better look. A hole in the head. A small handgun on the floor nearby.

“Looks like a single gun shot to the head,” his partner offered.

He sighed as he stood back up. “Yes, it does. Any reason to think it’s not a suicide?”

“None.”

“Is there a note?”

“We haven’t found one.”

Looking around, he noticed a box sitting open on a dining table nearby. “What’s that?”

His partner looked. “Don’t know.”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “It’s your attention to detail that is going to take you places in this job.”

Walking over to it, he looked inside. There was a small empty case that appeared to be intended to hold a handgun. On the table next to the box was a pair of scissors and a photograph. The picture was of a woman, clearly dead, with multiple stab wounds.

“What the hell?” He turned his attention to the package itself. There was no address or postage. Just a plain brown box. “Who is this woman?”

He didn’t expect an answer, but his partner had one. “Wait. I think I know.” He walked over to the couch and picked up a picture frame off an end table. He brought it back and set it down next to the photograph. It showed a man and a woman, both in formal clothes, having a good time at a wedding reception. Pointing to the man, his partner said, “That looks like our victim. And that…”

“Looks like the woman in this photo.” With his gloved hand, he carefully lifted the photo and turned it over. Five words were printed carefully on the back.

‘I know what you did.’

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to stave off the headache he felt coming on.

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