story The Case of the Double Identity - Part II

[Pythor 1,354]

 

                                                                                                                              PREVIOUSLY "IN THE CASE FILES" - 

Underwood emitted a sigh. "Although something still doesn't seem quite right to me. For one thing, the mode. What could our murderer have possibly done to Fresnow to create such a bloody mess? Secondly, the office door. I carefully examined the knob yesterday and the lock was not broken. That means the door must have already been unlocked. Assuming this man had a strong motive to kill, I'm puzzled why the door was left unbolted. Fresnow should have known he had an enemy..."  the detective trailed off as a figure appeared in the opening of the bay. 

 

"Ah Travis!" Underwood exclaimed. "Are they ready?' 

 

The chauffeur gave a thumbs up. "I'll bring in Shrewter." 

 

Asher turned to Darrin. "I'm going to bring in each office owner one by one. It's time we find out if any of these prime suspects is our murderer." 

 

The detective rubbed his hands together in a way that reminded Darrin of a kid in a candy store. Underwood then sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and assumed a professional look. 

 

"You certainly have it all covered," the chief awkwardly chuckled. 

 

Underwood merely nodded. 

                                                                  

                                                                       PART II - The Interrogation 

 

There was silence until Underwood’s chauffeur reentered the truck bay. He was accompanied by another, much shorter man. He was thick; not overweight, but round enough. His jaw was firmly set, and high cheekbones and sunken eyes gave him the appearance of being very tired. Darrin guessed he was about 40 years of age, maybe a little older. 

 

The detective beckoned with one hand, to which the man scowled, then reluctantly walked over. 

 

“This better be quick,” the stranger said coldly, refusing the chair Underwood offered him.

 

Taking a deep breath, the detective launched into the interrogation. “Mr. Shrewter,” he stated in a clear, vibrating tone. “You of course know the reason I have summoned you here today.” 

 

“Do I?” The other shot back sarcastically. “I had nothing to do with the murder.”

 

Asher completely ignored this statement and proceeded on.

 

“Have you ever encountered the owner of office 211? I heard he only moved in a couple weeks ago.”

 

Shrewter scowled a second time, exposing a jagged set of teeth. “I’ve seen him on multiple occasions.”

 

Asher nodded slightly. “What about his face? Have you seen his face?”

 

The answer was immediate and abrupt. “No.”

 

Darrin watched as his friend jotted something down on a scrap of paper he had placed on the desktop. 

 

“Where were you yesterday morning at, say, seven o’clock?” the detective asked, seemingly off-hand. 

 

“I was at home.” Shrewter had an odd gleam in his eyes that unnerved the police chief. “If you need proof, talk to my neighbor. I spoke with him right before leaving my house a few minutes before eight.” 

 

Underwood appeared unfazed. “I’ll do that.” He slid the piece of paper and a pen over the desk to the other man. “Your address please.” 

 

Shrewter stood still for a moment, debating whether or not to fully cooperate. Then, sensing resistance was futile, quickly scribbled on the sheet before giving it back to the detective. The handwriting was messy at best, but Underwood could still decipher the characters. Shrewter grunted, then took a step back as if to go, but stopped when Asher held up a hand. 

 

“One more thing,” Underwood stood up and glared at the other directly in the eyes, almost as if he was exerting a hypnotic trance over the other man.“I want you to cast your mind back to yesterday morning. When you entered the building for the first time that day, were the front doors of the warehouse locked?” 

 

Shrewter looked up at the pipe lined ceiling in an effort to recall the events of the previous day. He then shifted his gaze back at Asher. “No, they were unlocked.”

 

“Ah.” This time it was Underwood with a gleam in his eyes. “And out of the other office renters, who was here when you arrived that morning?”

 

“None,” came the reply. “Save for the murdered man.” He paused, then quickly added. “But I, of course, had no idea of that.” 

 

“Did this man have a key?” 

 

“Not that I knew of,” Shrewter hissed. 

 

Underwood continued with the barrage of questions. “Who usually locks up at night?” 

 

“Whoever leaves last,” the man smirked. 

 

Asher whipped around and advanced a step towards Shrewter. “Don’t be coy with me,” the detective’s voice boomed. Darrin stood up, ready for action as the tensions in the truck bay quickly escalated. 

 

The suspect put up his hands in mock fright, but evidently thought better of himself and answered, “Steven Day.”

 

Underwood paused, hovering over Shrewter’s small frame. A moment of deathly silence filled the room before the detective relaxed his jaw and heavily sat back down behind the desk. 

 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Asher remarked sarcastically. “Rest assured that if we find out Mr. Day locked those warehouse doors, you will be our number one suspect. If you are correct in telling us the victim did not have a key, then there are only two obvious situations that could have occurred. Either you yourself unlocked the doors yesterday morning and are deliberately lying to us, or the doors were left unlocked by Day the night before.” The detective paused, playing on the other man’s emotions. “If the second option is indeed true, I have to wonder why you failed to make inquiries when you discovered the doors weren’t locked.”

 

Shrewter’s stolid stance wavered. He shifted uneasily and ran a dry tongue across his lips. Before the man could think of a comeback, Asher muttered, “You can go.” 

 

Partially subdued, Shrewter left the bay in stony silence, most signs of resilience erased from his features. 

 

After the man had disappeared around the corner, Darrin let out a prolonged breath he had subconsciously been holding in for the past few minutes. Somewhere, the motor of a lawn mower began humming, and the police chief was suddenly aware of perspiration that had accumulated on his forehead. Taking off his cap and dabbing his brow with a shirt sleeve, Darrin broke the silence. “So that went well.” 

 

To his surprise Underwood looked over at him with a smile. “Oh very well, actually.” Asher tapped a pen against the edge of the desk. “In fact, I think we can just about rule out Shrewter from our list of suspects.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he remarked, “But I guess it couldn’t hurt to confirm his story with the neighbors.” 

 

“Travis!” 

 

A few moments later the chauffeur strode into the bay. 

 

“Go to this address and have a talk with the residents there.” The detective stood up and handed the scrap of paper to his friend, then returned to his position behind the desk. “Find out the time they saw Mr. Shrewter leave his apartment yesterday morning.” He paused for a moment, then finished. “Oh, and Travis. Please bring in Mr. Steven Day. You should find him in office 215.” 

 

Travis glanced at the address on the sheet, gave a discreet nod to Underwood, then promptly exited the room. 

 

Darrin knew from past experience that it was unwise to force his friend into explanation. Asher was certainly stubborn at times, and during cases rarely took time to fully divulge his deductions to anyone. 

 

Any subsequent conversation would have ceased rather quickly however, for only a couple minutes later a new figure entered the alcove. 

 

Both his initial appearance and attitude were exactly opposite than that of the former individual. Tall, thin, and clean shaven, this man was the epitome of fitness, partially due to the fact that he was very young, no more than 25. He wore a loose, unbuttoned coat that the occasional wind gust caused to flail about his torso, exposing the dress shirt beneath. A general sense of joy pervaded the man, immediately apparent by his hearty greetings and expression of sorrow over the recent tragedy. 

 

The detective wasted no time in getting to the point. 

 

“Mr. Day, where were you yesterday morning at approximately seven o’ clock?” 

 

On the other side of the desk, the young man smiled. “That’s easy. I was at the gym.” 

 

“Can anyone else attest to that?” 

 

“For sure,” came the vigorous reply. “I know the owner well.” Day hesitated, then concluded, “X Sports gym. About ten minutes away.”

The detective nodded gratefully and forced a smile. “How long have you been renting your office here?”

 

“Hmm,” Day mused, scratching his chin. “Almost two years now I believe.” 

 

“And the owner of office 211,” Asher continued. “How many times have you seen him?” 

 

“Never. I come in around ten every day. He’s usually gone by then.” The man paused, then opened his mouth to say something else, but evidently thought better of it and shrugged. 

 

Underwood shot a glance over at Darrin before posing another question. “Did you lock the doors Wednesday night before you left the warehouse?” 

 

Day fumbled in his front coat pocket and produced a set of keys, which he proceeded to jangle a few times. “I always lock up weekday nights. In fact, I know I locked the front doors Wednesday because later that night I received a call from a trucking company. The delivery guy had supposedly been told to leave a package inside the building, but reported that the doors were locked.” The man grinned sheepishly and let out a short laugh. “Turns out that was the one night I should have left the doors open.” 

 

Asher leaned forward. “The trucker didn’t happen to be a Trent Kreur, did he?”

 

“Oh no no,” Day assured him. “I know the man personally. Trent only comes on Fridays.”

 

The detective furrowed his brow and crossed his arms on the desktop. “Fast forward about twelve hours. What time did you get to the warehouse yesterday morning and who was already there?” 

 

Day thought for a moment, then replied, “Thursday I got here at about ten o’ clock, after working out at the gym. As for who was already here, I know Todd Shrewter was in his office and I think Redford and Madden were both there as well, although I can’t be sure. Even though the offices are pretty close to one another, days can go by without me seeing any of the other renters due to the timing and workload…” he trailed off as Underwood cut in, rather rudely. 

 

“Who else has a key?” 

 

The man seemed taken aback at first. “Well, I’m not completely sure,” he stammered. “I know Shrewter and Redford do.” He held up a finger as if remembering something important. “If you’re wondering if the guy who rents out 211 has a key, he does not.” 

 

“Oh?” Asher raised his eyebrows in interest.

 

“He can’t,” Day reinstated. “One of the facility rules states that in order to possess a key to the front, you have to have worked at the warehouse for six months. This man only moved in a month or so ago, so he can’t have had a key.” 

 

The detective felt his emotions risings. In an effort to hide them, he glanced down at the desk. Then, without speaking, Asher began to rock back in his chair, eyes closed, thoughts racing. 

 

“But… you have a key,” the detective murmured to himself in a clearly audible tone. 

 

An awkward silence followed. Just as Darrin began to wonder what on earth his friend was doing, Day suddenly scooted his chair back as if to distance himself from Underwood. 

 

“Yes, of course,” the man exclaimed huskily. “But I assure you I did not kill the man, if that’s what you’re trying to get at, well…” he broke off. 

 

Asher opened his eyes and stared at the man in surprise. “I’m not implying that all my friend.” He smiled reassuringly. “You have a perfectly good alibi, remember?”

 

“Yes, yes I do,” Day regained his composure somewhat and stood up. “Will that be all?”

 

Underwood held out his hand. “That’ll be all.”

 

After Darrin and Asher were left alone once again, the detective chuckled. “It’s curious isn’t it. The reaction people have when they assume they’ve been accused of a crime.” 

 

The police chief made no response to the statement other than a grunt. “Well now we have three witnesses who say they’ve never seen the face of Mr. Fresnow. That’s what I find the most curious.” 

 

“First things first,” Underwood jumped up with gusto. “We need to figure out who actually rents out office 211. Is it the victim, Jay Fresnow? Maybe the murderer? Or possibly a third party, who may not have any connection at all to the warehouse?” 

 

“I doubt a murderer would kill in his own office,” Darrin remarked. “And then leave sufficient incriminating evidence.” 

 

“Most likely you’re right,” the detective agreed. “After we finish our little interrogation session here, I’m going to pay the warehouse company a visit. They should have the rent records somewhere.” He took a swig from a water bottle lying on the desk. “Anyway, I think our next man to talk should be Mr. Redford. Let’s go find his office.” 

 

A quarter of an hour later the two men were comfortably seated at a round oaken table in the small office space of Harald Redford. The scene slightly resembled a council of war, with a large map of the warehouse spread out in front of Underwood. The owner of the office was an older man, the faint trace of wrinkles beginning to show on his weatherbeaten face. Underneath a shaggy ranger hat perched atop his head was long golden-white hair, in the style of his viking ancestors. Dark, wide-brimmed glasses concealed his eyes, but Redford soon removed them as he began the conversation. 

 

“What may I do for you men?” 

 

“Just a few questions,” Asher said nonchalantly. “Do you happen to have a key to the front door of the building?” 

 

Harald nodded. “I always have it with me. When I’m here at the warehouse the key never leaves this office.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Although… a couple days ago I thought I had lost it.” The man paused, then waved it off. “No matter, I have it back now.” 

 

The detective leaned forward attentively and motioned with his hands. “Go on.” 

 

Redford seemed reluctant, but went ahead all the same, possibly after glancing over and seeing a pistol handle protruding out of Darrin’s belt. “Well…last Wednesday night as I was returning to my car, I realized I was short a key. After examining my set, I found out that it was the key to the warehouse. When I got home that night, I searched my place, but found nothing. However, when I returned here Thursday morning, there it was, lying as plain as day on this very table. I could have sworn I…” the man hesitated as Underwood sprang out of his chair, upsetting his water bottle. 

 

“Where in this office do you normally keep the key?” the detective hurriedly questioned, sweeping his gaze over the contents of the little room. 

 

“Right over there.” The man pointed to a small coat rack situated just to the left of the office door. On the shelf above the coat rack sat a stack of books. “I hide my bundle of keys in ‘1,000 Leagues Under the Sea’. When I’m in the office it never leaves that shelf.” He got to his feet and swept past Asher, who still remained standing. A few seconds later Darrin saw Redford produce a set of keys from a hollow compartment inside the book. 

 

Underwood paused for a moment, then glided over to the rack. “Do you normally lock this door when you’re in other parts of the building?”

 

Redford shook his head. “No. To be honest, I usually just leave the door wide open.” 

 

“Are there any security cameras in this room?” 

 

“In the main area there are, but in my office, no.” 

 

The detective began his habitual pacing. “Mr. Redford, on Wednesday I’m assuming you left your office at some point during the course of the day, no?” 

 

“Well, yes. The occasional delivery and whatnot,” the man replied, furrowing his eyebrows. 

 

Darrin butted in. “So basically anyone could have come in and stolen the key.” 

 

“Stolen the key?” Redford echoed. By his incredulous tone, Darrin guessed that scenario hadn’t even crossed his mind. “But then why would they return it?” 

 

“Ah,” Asher exclaimed. “Because he only needed it to unlock the door Thursday morning… or Wednesday night. After that, it was an unnecessary item.”

 

“But, but…” Redford spluttered, a look of surprise painted on his face. “Hardly any of the public even steps foot in the building, and if they did, I’m certain I would have at least caught a glimpse of them.”

 

Underwood looked at the man with bewilderment. “I didn’t say anything about the public. No doubt one of your fellow office renters is our culprit.” 

 

There was a bleak silence for a few seconds as Redford digested this information. Asher walked over to the table and glanced back down at the map, jabbing a finger at the office labeled 220. “Who rents out the office right next to you?” 

 

“Jake, Jake Fernly.” 

 

“Was he in at all the past two days?” 

 

“He was in a office,” Redford answered emphatically, “but not the one here at the warehouse. Jakes on a business trip in Colorado. He left Monday, and won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

 

The detective muttered something under his breath. 

 

Darrin leaned towards Asher, peering over his friend’s shoulder. “That only leaves office 240.” 

 

Underwood looked up at Redford with a confused expression painted on his tanned face. No one spoke for a few moments, then suddenly a ringing sound filled the room. Asher whipped out a vibrating phone from his pocket and glanced at the number. He hurriedly thanked Redford for his time and motioned towards Darrin to accompany him out. 

 

The police chief shook hands with Redford and reiterated Asher’s word of thanks. “We’ll call you when this whole business is solved.” 

 

Darrin found Asher leaning against the corridor wall just outside of the office. The detective looked the most flustered Darrin had ever seen him be. The phone was aggressively mashed up against Underwood’s right ear and his whole complexion was redend, as if he had just been yelling. Usually the detective was so even-keeled and calm, that this sudden 360 in attitude felt unnatural to the police chief. 

 

The conversation was both quick and one-sided. Asher said scarce more than a couple sentences before hanging up. Slipping the phone back into his breast pocket, he turned towards Darrin. 

 

“That was Travis,” the detective murmured. “It’s been confirmed that Shrewter did in fact leave his house around eight. Which means he couldn’t have been the killer at seven.” 

 

“So…” the police chief remarked with growing excitement, “the guy renting out office 240. By process of elimination, he must be our murderer!”

 

The detective shook his head. “Chase Thorton couldn’t have committed the crime.”

 

“Why not?” Darrin exclaimed. “You just said yourself that someone in the warehouse is the culprit.”

 

“Because of one reason,” Asher took a rasping breath and shot a sideways glance down the corridor. 

 

“Mr. Thorton is blind.” 

 

 

 

                                                                                                    To be continued...

                                 The Case of the Double Identity is a four part series. One part will be released each month for four months. 

 

PyTHOR

 

[kaisdf 3,320]

Part two of Pythor's thrilling series is out now! Curl up by the fire, pull up the story, and enjoy!

[Krill_300 113]

Nice!

Pythor uses PyTHOR

So i use : KrILL

 

lol XD

Edited January 25, 2020 by Krill_300

[Venerable 2,970]

Lovely ending right there... perfect for this type of stories! (I'm referring to this chapter's ending, of course)

Edited September 2, 2021 by Venerable