15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  Both he and his wife could hear the rumblings of footsteps above their heads as somebody rushed up the stairs and stumbled around above them.

  “My kids are asleep! Don’t wake them…Not like this…Please!” Betty shouted.

  The footsteps continued upstairs. A barrage of excited voices arose from the rafters and Phil hung his head in shame. He knew they found what they were looking for. It was as if they knew where to look.

  “We have a positive. Around 18 kilos. White powder,” A voice said through the radio strapped on one of the armed men in the living room.

  “Good, haul it in. Chief will love to hear the good news,” the man said, not letting his vision part from Phil’s. “Looks like you’ve been a bad boy Mr Rogers. A coke pile that big, that’s petty astonishing for such a family orientated man like yourself. Next time you try to get into the drugs game, make sure the people you are buying drugs from aren’t backstabbing assholes. That advice is free, but I’m afraid the rest of it is going to cost you around twenty five years,” the man said as he grabbed Phil’s lifeless arm.

  Phil had nearly fainted by the time he was being escorted into the police car. His whole life was flashing before his eyes, and the memories were accompanied by the blue hue of lights that sat on top of the cruiser. The street he lived in was basked in the blue and red lights of the Boston PD. His neighbours had managed to make an appearance on their front porches. A few of them were on the phone, all of them were shocked. His wife Betty had attempted to run after him but she was being held back by a few female officers just beyond the front door. All that was left when the police cruiser door shut was him and his thoughts. Thoughts of regret and pity. Pity on himself for doing the worst thing he could do. All he wanted was extra cash for Christmas. All he wanted was the mortgage paid off before the bank foreclosed. But all that was left was a lifelong debt that he had to repay to Boston, through twenty five years in an 8x8 cell.

  “Merry Christmas Phil,” the driver of the cruiser said as they drove off to county lockup.

  Homeless Witness

  A short

  They called him Ray.

  Ray “Needs Pay” Watkins was what most would describe as a homeless man, a man down on his luck amongst many other things. A man in need of money and food but somehow, for some unknown reason, Ray “Needs Pay” didn’t have a single one of those things, not even on a cold Christmas Eve in 2013.

  He found himself sitting in an alleyway that was paved in stone and smelt of shit. The alleyway in question was situated in the “rough” part of town. The part of town that many wouldn’t visit past a certain hour. The part of town that many would avoid on a cold dark night. The thing is, Ray lived in that part of town and called that part of town home.

  He didn’t fancy living the high life. He never envisioned himself as a suit wearing, job attending or vote counting citizen. Ray was much more than that. He saw himself as a risk taker. Not so much in the financial sense of the word, or the lifestyle sense of the word; no, Ray was more of a risk taker in the literal sense of the word. He would much rather risk not eating than working for pennies to eat at all.

  He didn’t have a drinking problem, although some would suggest that he did. He had no problem with the amount he drank. In fact, he loved drinking, but the fact that he drank at all was always something that damaged his credibility, and that disappointing trait of his would come back to bite him in the ass during the next few hours.

  Ray necked another mouthful of the brown stuff that he was so accustomed to swigging on such bitterly cold nights as this. He was hunkered down in the cold breeze of Christmas Eve. All he had to keep him warm was the throat numbing whisky he had in his company. He sat back in a pleasant slumber of half drunkenness and near hypothermia. He heard the trash bags he was sitting on crack and pop under his conservative weight. He could feel the cold sharp objects pierce through the trash and stick into his backside. Back in the day he would have screamed in pain and cried himself to sleep, but bodily harm was something he was so used to it seemed wrong not to enjoy it for what it was; the last bit of human reaction he had left in him. All the other human emotions were run dry, like a well in summer or the tears of a woman who had lost her child after two years of mourning. He was drained of all things compassion. He didn’t have a shred of humanity left in him, or so he thought at least.

  The night trickled away much like the drain pipe that sat next to him that was emptying itself every second or so as the minutes marred into hours. He started feeling his usual jolly self when he heard the clock tower bell hit midnight. He started singing Christmas songs to entertain himself as he welcomed Christmas day 2013 into the present and marked the occasion with a stiff polishing off of his liquor. When 12.01am came, all that remained was an empty bottle and a near coma toast homeless man stumbling in the refuse of Boston Central.

  A car’s engine echoed off the alleyway bricks and headlights hit his eyesight nearly blinding him. Ray blinked a few times thinking that maybe he was hallucinating. He wasn’t, a car was pulling into the alleyway. It came to a stop a few yards away from him. He was close enough to see the car but low enough to remain undetected. He was used to people stumbling into his home. He figured the car in front of him was occupied by a man who had just ushered a hooker into the alleyway. No doubt he’d witness the car bouncing off its suspension in a couple of minutes and by the time he fell asleep, the man would have shot his load and pulled out of the alleyway. His opinion on the idle car was quickly tarnished when a man emerged from the driver’s seat holding a shotgun.

  Ray’s heart rate sky rocketed and he nearly pissed his pants. He immediately thought the shotgun wielding man was coming for him but when the man went to the trunk of his car he finally realised something else was happening. Suddenly another man emerged from the passenger side of the car. He too was wielding a weapon, but it was an axe. The blood in Ray’s veins was running cold as it hurtled from his heart to his head, making him feel woozy. He tried to remain as quiet as possible as he witnessed the two well-dressed men stand near the back end of the car. He had the frame of mind to catch a glimpse of the number plate. It was one of those personal plates.

  It read “Dr3ad 11”.

  Ray was in panic mode. He knew what was happening. He had heard of things like this happening before. Many homeless people would witness crimes taking place. The police were notorious for dismissing the homeless as witnesses. Ray wasn’t even sure if what he was seeing could be classified as a crime yet. Sure, two men were armed but nothing was happening. For a few minutes the men talked in a language he wasn’t familiar with. For all he knew they could have been speaking gibberish. The voice in his head was telling him the men looked and sounded eastern European. But the rational side of him was asking himself if he knew what an eastern European sounded like.

  Ray thought about running but the alleyway was a dead end. The only exit was through the front, and unfortunately for him, a big black Audi was blocking it. The two sharply dressed men continued to talk. Ray was wondering whether they were talking about sports, broads or killing people. He didn’t know many people who talked about broads while holding guns, nor conversations about sports in the presence of axes. He made himself laugh a little. What an absurd thought process he was having, and at a really bad time as well.

  Ray cupped his mouth, trying to muffle his hysterics. He didn’t know if this sort of reaction was normal when faced with a possible life-ending situation. All he cared about was staying off their radar. Maybe he judged them too quickly and they were returning props from a movie. Maybe they were contemplating a vigilante mission in Boston and ridding the streets of paedophiles and gang bangers. Maybe Ray was thinking too much and didn’t realise what he was getting himself into.

  Suddenly the man with the axe opened the trunk of the car. A red light shone on his face. It was coming from the beacon attached to the trunk. Ray held his breath as both men looked down into the trunk. They stood there, all tough and sober look
ing. They looked pissed off and whatever they were planning, it didn’t look like it was going to pan out for whoever they had in mind.

  “You fucked up. You will now die,” the man with the axe said. His broken English frightened Ray to the core.

  The man swung his axe and ray could hear it crunch on impact. And then there was a scream. A male voice pleaded for mercy. The axe came down once more. Another sputter of terror. A blood spatter to the man’s face and then the shotgun went off. There was no more screaming, just silence and the smell of burning gunpowder in the air.

  Ray nearly fainted but held himself together. He knew his life depended on his silence and he wasn’t going to say anything. He knew he had just witnessed a murder. He didn’t see it, but he damn heard it and there was no mistaking the fact that they had just axed to death a man, and then shot him.

  The two men standing near the Audi looked at each other for a brief period as if they had heard something. It was then that Ray thought he was going to die. But they shrugged at each other and threw their weapons into the trunk. The boot was shut tight and the men both got into the car. The engine turned on and the headlights shone into Ray’s eyes one again. They were gone as fast as they had entered and Ray was left in the cold where he had been before all of this had happened. The only difference now was the fact that he was scared for his life and needed to get out of the area. He couldn’t move though. There was something stopping him from the ability of free movement. He didn’t know what it was but whatever was stopping him needed to let go, or he was about to cry out for help.

  After a few minutes he had calmed down enough to be able to get up. To make things worse he realised he was drunk, really really drunk at that. He cursed himself for being a no-good bum. If he wasn’t drunk he could have avoided this. He was sure of it, sure of his stupidity to come to the alleyway and get trashed. If he hadn’t, he could be safe at that moment in time, but in reality he wasn’t. He was far from safe and he needed to get to safety before he was put into a trunk and axed to death too. The men could return for all he knew and finish him off. Every second he wasted there was plenty enough time for the car to make it around the block and return for him.

  It was with that encouragement that Ray shifted his ass and was out of that alleyway quicker than he had ever left a place before. The alleyway was far behind him as he ran through the city centre and through passer-by’s. No one paid much attention to the terror in Ray’s face. All they saw was a homeless man making funny faces as he ran through the crowded streets. People with shopping bags avoided him, mothers were holding onto their children as he ran past them as if he was the threat. If only they knew what he had just witnessed, maybe the motherfuckers wouldn’t be too quick to judge.

  “Motherfuckers,” he said under his breath as he gasped for air.

  He continued to run. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to find something. His legs were on autopilot. His brain was on overload. Any more thinking and he thought he’d sufferer a meltdown and his brain would fry.

  Stopping in the middle of the street, trying to find some breath he spotted a safe place. A place he was certain would endear him and his story. The place he spotted was the Southside Police Precinct. It looked refreshing in its clean street lit shadow as it stood tall and overshadowed him with fear and relief. He contemplated whether or not going into the police station was worth the hassle. He thought long and hard before taking the first few steps towards the Precinct’s entrance.

  He pushed the two large wooden doors open that had snowy glass in the centre, reading “Boston Southside PD”. He placed his hands to his sides and casually walked in. the place smelt of fresh coffee and cigarette smoke. He could see a sea of police personnel going about their business behind a see-through wall. In front of the glass wall was a large reception desk that housed two depressed looking workers. They were male and female, left and right. They didn’t even acknowledge Ray when he walked up to the desk. No eye contact was made, just grunts.

  “May I help you?” the lady on the right side of the desk asked as she typed on the computer she was fixated on. The man next to her didn’t even look at Ray, he just continued to play on his PC. It sounded like he was playing Solitaire. Ray wasn’t sure, but it sounded like a card game.

  Professional, he thought to himself.

  “Hi my name is Ray Watkins and I have just witnessed a murder,” he said under his breath. He looked down at his tattered shoes and winced at the stinging feet that lay encased in them.

  “I’m sorry sir?” the man playing solitaire asked in shock as he looked up and finally acknowledged him.

  “Did I stutter? I just witnessed a fucking murder!” Ray screamed, finally letting his true emotions run free.

  It felt like a second reaction to him. He could feel the anger escaping and his outburst was evident. He started to cry. Then he started to laugh. He couldn’t control the emotions he was feeling. The two bored looking officers behind the desk looked terrified. He could tell that this sort of thing didn’t happen to them all too often. It was as if the word murder frightened them.

  “A murder?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, a fucking murder,” he screamed.

  “Sir, please calm down. I’m going to get a detective down here, somebody who can talk to you. Please sit over there, you might be a bit more comfortable sitting down,” the woman said, pointing to a row of chairs attached to the wall adjacent to him.

  “I don’t want to fucking sit down. I want a damn drink. I want to be safe…Can you guarantee my safety?” Ray asked.

  “Sir, you’re in a police precinct, no one is going to harm you. Please sit down and I’ll have somebody come for you in a few minutes.”

  Ray obeyed the command and went over to the rickety row of chairs clasped onto the drywall. When he sat down he could feel his weight pull the seat down. The metal frame felt cold against his back. He sat back and tried to relax. He looked on in a haze as he saw the lady officer run off towards the glass wall. He could see her punch some digits into a keypad and go through a heavy looking security door. He watched her rush through the assortment of men and women working behind the wall. Some of them were answering phone calls; others were reprimanding the filth and scum of the street. He saw her go up to a decent looking man. He had kind eyes and a youthful look. He could see her mouth the words “murder” and “witness”. He started to feel excited. He knew he was about to play witness to a murder. There was something about being a witness to such a heinous crime as murder that got Ray a little excited. Was it all the movies he had watched? Was it the slight chance of receiving some money for his efforts? He needed money, but he doubted the fact of him getting any. Sure it was a noble thing, snitching on bonafied killers and all. But he was certain that the only thing he’d be getting out of being a witness was a court appearance as a witness in the box. That was all he had to look forward to. Maybe they’d hook him up with some temporary accommodation…Maybe they’d let him freeze after hearing what he has to say. Either way, he knew what he needed to do. Talking was all that was on his mind. He didn’t want anything for his troubles; all he wanted was those guys off the street. He sure as hell didn’t want to stumble across them again in some alley he slept in. He didn’t want them coming for him. Maybe the only way of avoiding retribution from them was to put them in prison…maybe they were badass enough to demand a new identity from the state. The potential outcome was all over the place. Ray just wanted to talk. He just wanted them to be found.

  ***

  Ray had been sitting in the interrogation room for an hour. The man seated across from him was a stern looking fellow. They hadn’t gone with the friendly looking cop, he was the one that escorted Ray into the room, but soon after the gentleman sitting across from him was interrogating him. For some reason, the cop that was questioning Ray was going about it as if he was the killer. He was asking questions only a killer would know like, “why did he do it?”, something in Ray’s mind was tell
ing him that they were trying to trip him up, discredit him somehow, as if they didn’t believe him because he was a homeless man, or maybe because he stank of booze. Either way he knew it was going to be an uphill battle from then on. He knew the prick staring at him from across the room wanted to disbelieve Ray about as badly as a kid wants to believe Santa is real.

  “So tell me again…Mr Watkins, why is it that these killers you say murdered a man in the trunk of their car, didn’t dump the body in the alleyway. Why is that?” the cop asked.

  Ray paused for thought.

  “How am I supposed to know? Do I look like a mind reader?”

  The cop smiled as he went in for a sip of coffee. He hadn’t even offered any to Ray, maybe they didn’t want him “sobering up”.

  “Don’t you think a body in the back of a nice Audi that costs more than I make in year would be a concern to them? Or do they have money to burn? Don’t you think a body in the trunk, oozing with blood from….let me see…according to you….two axe swings and a gun shot from close range…now that would cause a lot of spatter and if I was the owner of that car, I don’t think I’d drive to a damn alleyway just to murder some guy and then drive off. Now if I was okay with killing the man in the boot then I’d just kill him at mine where homeless men wouldn’t be the prime witness to my rage. Now what do you think Ray?”

  “As I said sir, I’m not a mind reader, so I don’t know why they did what they did. It doesn’t matter anyway because I know what I saw, and what I saw was a murder. Are you going to do anything about it, or am I just wasting my time?”

  The detective got up from his seat and twiddled his thumbs for a while. He started to pace up and down, looking visibly torn between Ray’s statement and the perception he had of him. “These two men looked “mob-like” you said?” The detective asked.

  “Yeah, you know the type, fancy suits and all,” Ray confirmed.