Fiction
9/30/19
It’s interesting being an up-and-coming murder mystery writer, you always get to see things in a new perspective. What can be used as a murder weapon? How was it used, and by who? What is a good motive for murder? something political or economic is always a popular choice but there’s also the personal grudges like love scorned or revenge for some past wrong that festered in the murderer’s psyche.
Every good murder story has to have a corpse of course, and every corpse has to be placed somewhere. What location is the best hiding spot or sends a chill down the reader’s spine upon seeing those words brought into existence on paper? The locale sets the mood for the whole story. Was it hidden somewhere for the police to deal with after being found by a homeless person in an alley way, or was it in a home setting as a result of a break in or a violent crime of passion. Perhaps there’s sinister crazed lunatic with a lustful thirst for bloodshed on a horrific murder spree, and the cops are always two steps behind finding new locations with each increase in the body count? The body’s location is the start of everything in a crime story.
A good writer gets into the character of the detective and the murderer, understands the motive, and the chain of events leading up to the crime through the eventual capture of the criminal. To do this he or she must ask questions. The more, the better.
That’s what I was doing on November 21st. After my shift at my day job with FedEx was over, I took a small break at a local Starbucks, relaxed and stared out the window as I ignored the scuffling sounds of shoes and minor chatter amongst the patrons. I enjoyed my coffee and stared at the freeway in the distance that I knew all too well from my daily drives to and from work. I escaped into my imagination where boxes and packages and conveyor belts had no business being. I asked myself: Where is a good body dumping ground?
I played around with a few ideas but they all seemed so superficial and over used to me. I had a hard time coming up with something original, if that is even possible anymore. I remember thinking no good ideas were going to come to me that day so I should just call it quits, finish my coffee and head home.
That’s when it dawned on me. I already knew a good hiding place, one that wasn’t overused all the time. It was so simplistic, yet people wouldn’t think of it what with all the over-the-top drama shows and movies coming up with new and crazier ways to kill and hide bodies. After all, sometimes the easier choice is the better one. With my mind convinced, I finished my coffee and dug in my pockets for my car key. It was time to make a short detour home.
I paid for my coffee, not bothering to receive the change, and made my way to my car. Inserting my key, I felt the small electrical charge of excitement run through my body as I began to think that this idea could really work for a good story.
I set the car in drive and took off down the road on my usual path home. About two miles out I pulled over to the shoulder and parked, staring at the overpass of the freeway. Under the freeway running perpendicular to it, was a small dried up river bed. The overpass was a small arc so it had no support beams underneath. It was such a small overpass, that if you didn’t pay much attention, you might never notice the small arcing of the road below your vehicle. I couldn’t believe I never thought of this place before.
I left the car and walked under the overpass. It was small and I had to crouch to get my head under, but It was doable. I could see the potential of this being a good hiding spot for a body as I swatted away at a few flies, the smell of hot tires, pavement and gas exhaust from above assaulting my nose on this cold autumn day.
That’s when I saw it.
My vision. This was a great place to dump a body. I could see it so plainly in my mind’s eye. It was as if I could see an actual corpse in front of me crammed in where the earth ever subtly fell away from the road overhead, tucked in neatly with a blanket or some other fabric cover, left there for God knows how long as the body had already grayed out from blood loss and started to show signs of dried skin probably from being trapped here under the freeway exposed to the elements. I lost track of how much time I stood there taking in the image. Yes, this could work as a good setting, I was certain of it.
As I began to imagine the murder weapon and how and where it would be disposed of though, I realized my mental image of the corpse had yet to leave my eyes. I could still see the lifeless body in front of me. It was as if the setting before me was a real body dump scene left untouched since it first arrived.
A light washed over me and settled on the body and then quickly rebounded back to me, as I heard footsteps calmly approaching from the back. The sound of fabric moving and gravel and dirt being kicked around came to a stop.
“Step away from the body, hands behind your head and knees on the ground now!”
The footsteps mixed in with the sound of dirt and gravel started up again as I began to turn in the direction of the new arrivals, before I was suddenly seized and pinned face down on the dirt.
“10-25, we have a body under the interstate 3 freeway, past the Johnsonville turn off. Send back up. 10-48 in progress.”
“Didn’t think you’d get caught? We saw your car back there. Thought it was weird that a car was parked on the side of the freeway with no one in the front seat. Visiting an old hunting-ground, you sick fuck?”
“What do you mean? What is going on?” I asked as confusion swirled all around me.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.“
My mind wandered in confusion as I watched the officer who face planted me begin to handcuff me as his partner with the attitude approached the body and began waving the light over it in all different angles and looking at the surroundings. I was able to finally tell from this distance with the light washing over it that the body belonged to a middle-aged woman.
It began to settle in, that what I had found wasn’t my imagination manifesting some creative illusion, but a real, true body dump. My questioning, my train of thought, my desire to figure out a good dumping site for a story I could write was spot on! So spot on, it now made me a suspect in an actual murder.
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