Missing+Murder+(Morris+Greenberg)

Morris Greenberg =** Missing Murder **=

Chapter 1:
1 hour, 38 minutes. That’s how long Harold had to kill off James. He calculated it to the minute, and the result was 1 hour and 38 minutes. Timing was precise. He told James to get there at 7:30, and everyone knew when he said 7:30, he meant it on the dot.

The meeting was scheduled at Harold’s office, next to the cemetery. He was known as the best mortician in California, if not the United States. He never wanted to be a mortician, but that’s what he ended up with; he originally majored in law, but he never got a job, like James did. Even though he got the A on his college thesis and James got the C+, James got the job. It was all a crapshoot that didn’t make any sense to him. His best explanation was that James had a better personality than Harold for being a lawyer. James was a harsher guy, the typical type of prosecutor that all law firms want. Harold was the sensitive guy that everyone loved. Sometimes, he dreamed he wouldn’t be loved by everyone, just so he could be in James’ shoes. But he never hated James for getting everything he wanted. In fact, it only made their relationship stronger; they had a common topic that they could always talk about.

That is, that they used to be able to talk about. Everything had changed about their relationship. Now it was all business, just a bit of small talk, then the payments. After that one trip to Las Vegas, it had never been the same. It wasn’t Harold’s fault at all. Could he blame feelings of pleasure that are uncontrollable, no matter how nonsensical or morally wrong they could be? No, he could not. It was all James’s fault, failing as a friend completely. Actually, that wasn’t the worst part about it. He also failed as a prosecutor, a person who enforces the law. It just reminded Harold all the more how he should have gotten the great law job, not James.

But, he knew that barely mattered at this stage of his life. He was the best mortician in California, if not the United States. His outgoing but also empathetic personality provided the perfect combination for success in his field of work. Everyone wanted him to take care of their loved ones’ dead bodies. They knew they could trust him. And yet, here he was, about to commit a murder. He knew what he was about to do was completely ironic, completely the opposite of his personality and reputation. Completely the opposite of the reason he was fairly successful, completely the opposite of what he was good at doing. But, if James were to leak out the story, then everything for him would be destroyed anyways. His personality, reputation, success, and any other motivators in his life would be burnt in the fire, just a bunch of ashes that people may have memories of but would never be able to see in real life again. His life would be a cremation.

He looked at his watch frantically again. He kept reviewing the plan in his head, which he knew was perfect, or as close as one could get to perfection. 1 hour, 36 minutes. James should be arriving in about 3 and a half minutes, meaning that Harold would need to work efficiently, but not too hard. He cut this one a bit close, but then again, sometimes the perfect murders need to be hard to create, hard to perform. That why they’re perfect.

7:27 and 47 seconds. 24 seconds faster than Harold had expected James to arrive. "How have you been, Harry?" James always called him Harry, even in the worst of times. "Okay, but I would be feeling a bit better if I wasn't being blackmailed." He was surprisingly calm and casual compared to his frantic state just 3 minutes and 6 seconds ago. "Oh Harry, always making jokes, you're always good for a laugh!" "Well, hopefully my humor and this trip to Paris will help us become closer again. I'm tired of this tension between us." He practiced this line at least 20 times in front of the mirror, until he said it perfectly. He didn't want James to get suspicious. He took out a bottle of wine and poured both him and James glasses. “This toast is to life, whatever that is worth at this point.” This was exactly where Harold wanted James; he did this all relatively quick, the plan was working perfectly. He felt relaxed. "Yeah, well, I don't know how it will turn out. Are you going to do what you did on our last trip?" "NO! Oh, sorry. I mean, I can't tell as of now. Those feelings are uncontrollable. It's an in the moment thing." "Well, anyways, I don't care that much anymore. If you do it once, your relationship is ruined forever. I'm a better friend than to rat you out, and you should thank me for having your wife still thinking that you are faithful to her." "Thank //you//? After all you have done to me, all the money I have lost for one little mistake? I'd rather kill you than thank you." He stood up, walked across to the door, and pulled out the gun. "Sorry James. You messed up, and now you'll have to pay." James knew that this moment would come soon. He had a feeling their relationship was becoming cold enough to do this. He knew that he was going to be tricked into going to the trip. He even checked to make sure; Harold never bought a ticket to France. It was all a setup. So, he only had one option. To bring a gun himself. He pulled out the gun, "You really did underestimate me. There is a reason why I'm the lawyer." He knew that he would win; he was slyer, harsher. Harry was too nice of a guy to commit a murder.

Chapter 2:
The dog barked at 6:09, and well, I'm a light sleeper. It was good to wake up early, I guess. Mrs. Parker, my wife, always tells me that I sleep to much, especially for a detective, who should always be on the lookout. I don't think anyone truly understands, though. In the books and movies, they make it seem like a detective is a dangerous job where everything is secret and very hard to do. All you have to do is look. There's a bit of luck too. But not much else. And no offense to Mrs. Parker, but being a detective isn't quite the womanizer profession as some might think.

Now don't get me wrong; I love my job. I find every case very interesting, and because of it, I've met some of the biggest celebrities in California.

So, I took the dog out for a walk. There had to be a reason why it was barking. The day was nice, it was probably around 65 degrees. I picked up the paper on the way. I think Charlie delivered it. There are three paper route boys who deliver the paper to my house; Charlie, Dan, and Willy. Today, it couldn't have been Willy, because there was a small dent from clutching the newspaper hard, and Willy is a weak kid. He never could have left that noticeable of a dent. I don't think it was Dan, because he whistles when he delivers the newspaper, except when he's really angry. I would have woken up from his whistling had he delivered it. So, it must have been Charlie. Or it could have been Dan, if he was really angry. Actually, that makes more sense, that would explain the hard clutching. He probably would have been clutching it because he was angry and did that instead of punching a wall. Or maybe it was just the guy who handed off the newspapers to the paper route boy who gripped it tightly. This is my life. Everything is a mystery. A little clue, like a tight grip, gets me going for a good twenty minutes at a time. I was so preoccupied in solving the paper boy mystery, that I didn't even notice my friend, Lenny Mitchell, by the coffee shop.

"Hey Allan, are you there?"

That's when I snapped out of the paper route mystery, "Oh, sorry Lenny, I was a bit preoccupied in another everyday mystery. How many times did you try to get my attention before this time?" "Oh, maybe six."

"Hey, six is good. Last time it must have taken at least nine."

"Well, what's up with you?"

"Not much, to be honest. Ever since the basketball case I solved a month ago, murder has been cool in LA."

"Well, that's a good thing I guess. It gives you more times for your little everyday mysteries. What was it today?"

"So, there are three different paper route boys who come by my house. Willy, Dan, and Charlie. Today, my paper had a dent from a hard clutch by one of these boys. The question is, which one delivered the newspaper?"

"Well, I don't have any background. Let's see if I'm sharp enough to get it by just describing personalities."

"Okay, but I must say, this one is a tougher one. I'll start with Willy. Willy is a high schooler, you know the type. He's a small kid but tries really hard to impress. I occasionally give him a small tip when he stops by. I think he's kind of expecting it, so in the end, I give in usually. Dan is also a high school guy, but he's a bit bigger. He is the type of person that can brighten anyone's day. He whistles or hums and has the biggest smile on his face when he's in a good mood."

"But what about when he's angry?"

"Ah, a good question. When he's angry, he's the type who shows his anger, but does not get physical. At the last moment, he holds all of what's about to explode on his insides. It's like he has a huge stress ball at the perfect time."

"Okay, that sounds like a decent suspect. What about Charlie?"

"Charlie is a bit older. He seems like an unemployed guy in his mid thirties, who is always willing to talk to you for a little bit when he's delivering the paper. Most of all, he seems a bit lonely. He wears the same coat and shoes every day, and usually has the same facial reaction on his face, as if every single day is exactly the same." "Have you ever had a dented newspaper before today?"

"No, which is the interesting thing. It would seem like that if Dan was angry while delivering it to me before, this shouldn't be the first time, so it couldn't be him, but it couldn't be Charlie either because if there was a dent once, there would be a dent every day. But Willy is too weak to give the paper a noticeable dent so then it's none of them."

"Well, to me it seems like it should be Charlie. If everything is exactly the same for him, then he probably would be bored and maybe start gripping the newspaper tighter in order to distract him."

"Well, that is a logical motive for clutching, but then that wouldn't explain why there had never been a clutch dent before."

"Well, I guess so, you really need another clue. You're right. This one is a toughie."

"Well, whatever. I have to say good bye now. Bandit seems a bit restless." Bandit is the name of my dog. As a detective, it's only the most fitting name in my opinion.

"Well, good talking to you, Al. I'll see ya later!"

"You as well!"

So, I went home, to be greeted by Mrs. Parker. I made an omelet. It was that type of day. I also made Mrs. Parker an omelet. She likes onions and green peppers in hers. I never got it, but whatever, it isn't my mouth. I looked at my watch. It was 9:41. I knew that there weren't any cases. If there were, they'd call me; I wouldn't have to go to the office. But, I thought it would be wise to go anyways, there might be some mail or something for me. Plus, I liked seeing the guys down there. So, I finished my omelet, kissed Mrs. Parker good bye, and went down to the station. Just a normal day as an LA homicide detective.

Chapter 3:
"What time should I arrive at?" "Anywhere between 7:51 and 7:58. Nothing sooner, nothing later. Time is the name of the game." "What time are you meeting him at?" "7:30. Just remember to make it seem like you're going on a long vacation. Do you remember what you need to be in his bag for travelling? "Yeah, I need to get 2 suits, 8 t-shirts, 4 casual long sleeve shirts, 3 polos, 5 pairs of shorts, 3 pairs of jeans, 1 pair of sweats, 4 ties, 10 pairs of underwear, 12 pairs of socks, his sneakers, a jacket, and the shoes that he'll be wearing when the murder happens." "Good, what will you be wearing on the plane?" "Khakis, a polo, nice shoes. Something comfortable for a plane but also appropriate for a lawyer." "Excellent, remember, the flight is at 11:15, get there at around 10:05 to go through customs and security and the rest of that crap. Don't come too early though. If you are in the airport longer, that means there is more time for people to recognize your true identity." "Okay, what should I do in France?" "Be James. This is your first chance in life to become a first class citizen. Enjoy it. Try and find a job in a high class area. You are smart enough to pull it off." "Okay, great. I should get some rest. I need to be swift tomorrow." "Yes, I'll see you around 7:55. Good luck." "To you as well."

James really wasn't sure why Harry wanted for him to buy the ticket. It didn't make much sense.

But, he didn't care, it gave him a great alibi for this murder.

He planned it all out. He would kill Harry; cremate him as they would be meeting at his office, where cremation is accessible. He would leave the ashes, take the keys and anything else that didn't get burnt by the flames. He would throw all of those things and the gun into the river on his way to the airport. He would arrive there fashionably early, around 9:45, just enough time to dispose of the items and cover up the murder.

The most beautiful thing about this all was Harry, himself. As he would also want to kill James, he would have to make sure nobody would be there to see him commit the murder. James did not have to worry about witnesses, because Harry already did that for him.

In order to throw off the police, before getting rid of the items that do not get burnt by the crematory, he would make a few transactions on his credit card. That way, it would seem as if he was killed later than he actually was, giving James yet another alibi.

The plan was genius. He had no regrets and he was ready, determined to kill his once friend now enemy. Too bad for James that he didn’t realize that Harry had an accomplice.

"You really did underestimate me. There is a reason why I'm the lawyer."

James was right. I really did underestimate him. But, I certainly was not going to let this stop me. I fired the gun and ducked, in case he was firing too and I had missed. I was lucky; I hit him and he didn't fire. But, I hit him in the leg; he was wobbling, but alive. So, I fired again and hit him in the stomach, he fell out of the chair and was done. Dead. I looked at my watch, it was 7:46. It was only a matter of time now.

Chapter 4:
7:46 P.M. Well, that was it.

I know if I can't figure out the crossword puzzle by 7:45, chances are I'd never figure it out. I don't really care so much when I can't solve them. Mrs. Parker doesn't get why I try them if I barely can read the small clues - I have to say, whoever prints them onto the paper should really consider making the clues bigger - with my awful eyesight, but I enjoy the mind exercise.

This one wasn't easy, I couldn't even fill half of it. So I gave up on it and turned my attention to the culture section. I read an article about some new iSomething, I was only half reading it. Half of me was staring at the huge dent still apparent on the page, either done by Willy, Charlie, or Dan. I gave on that too. I should start to apply the 7:45 rule to my little mysteries. I had my head wrapped around this one all day, and there was no use. Lenny was stumped, Joe from the post office was stumped, even my fellow at the office, Lieutenant Roberts, was stumped. Lieutenant Roberts is a crafty guy, if he can't solve a mystery, than probably no one can. Of course, I know he says the exact same thing about me. And if there was another homicide detective in the LAPD, we'd both probably ramble on about him, and vice versa about us.

I was a bit hungry; I didn't eat yet at that point. The crossword puzzle and the mystery had my brain working so hard that I forgot about dinner. Mrs. Parker made some chili for me, and trust me, there is no better chili than hers.

With a full stomach, I went to the TV. I don't watch it much, but with no cases besides my self-employed ones, I didn't really have much to do. It was either the TV or the crossword puzzle at this point, and the crossword was not working out so well. I saw a program on National Geographic about penguins. They really are remarkable creatures; they can live in the coldest places and survive, not really having to rely on anyone. If we had a penguin detective down at the station, I might lose my job. He wouldn't need extra police officers, just him. I was very amused. After the program was over, I called it a night. It was 9:30 by then, and I didn't really have anything else to do.

I was hoping for a case soon, and I didn't realize it, but I was about to get one of the hardest of my life.

I stood there in awe for a moment, admiring my work. I'd never shot a gun before, and hitting him both times was a success. I heard footsteps coming nearer to me. I looked at the clock and saw 7:52. Perfect, he came on the earlier side, but not too early. I didn't know how I was able to find the perfect accomplice.

John was his name. He was a man who had nothing; no friends, no love, no job. I saw him one day by the river. I mistook him for James and said hi. After realizing my blunder, I just moved on, not knowing then that he would be the key part to my alibi.

When it was time to figure out a plan, I realized if he could act like James then I would be golden. What could be a better cover up than people thinking James is still alive? It was perfect.

The plan set off from there. I would try to make it seem James fled the country. I would frame it as a gambling problem that led him into a lot of debt. It's hard to imagine for a lawyer to do this, but after all, it's not like he was that great of one. He did get the C+ on his college thesis.

So, the only question from there would be how to get rid of the body. The answer was so easy for me that it wasn't even a question. I would cremate James, in his very own office. I would get rid of the ashes with the gun, it was perfect.

No body means no evidence. If John could get on the plane, then it would be impossible to conclude murder. So, I took out James' key, wallet, and cellphone, handed it off to John and let him take over as James. Meanwhile, I had a cremation to fulfill.

Chapter 5:
My life was a waste. Getting an opportunity to go to France as a lawyer with a full credit card was a no brainer.

I never found out if the guy who offered it to me got caught.

I remember it all, though. I came at 7:52, like the guy said. I took the wallet, cellphone, keys, and his luggage. He obviously didn't pack everything I needed to have. Why would he?

I remember realizing then that this would be it, there would be no turning back now.

I informed all of my clients in advance that I would not be there anymore. I made up the excuse that life was too unsafe for my occupation. It really was though. I don't understand how so many drug dealers can go uncaught. It is harder than some might think.

Putting that behind, I changed out of my clothes into his. This murderer really thought of everything to the last detail. It was clear that the man was going crazy. I don't think he even realized I was a drug dealer. I think he just thought I was some bum by the river.

I went in the guys car and drove it to the given address. I hadn't driven in a long time, but I was still pretty decent, I discovered. I couldn't believe it was only six months ago I graduated from college, only eight months ago starting this business. So much happened since. I realize it was only eight months ago I was supposed to be a lawyer. I got an A on my thesis, there was nothing to stop me. Somehow, though, it didn't feel right. I was too nice of a guy to become a lawyer. Realizing that I couldn't face anyone to tell them my decision to quit law, I needed to turn to a new profession in secret. When there's a secret job, what better one than dealing?

But that's not important to the story. I went to the guys house, got everything I needed, looked at the clock, and ran out the door. It was 9:26. A drive to the airport at this time of night took a little more than 30 minutes. Everything was going perfectly.

I got to the airport, got through customs, security, everything. No one was suspicious, at least that I could tell of. I did not need to explain much to the people. Just that I wanted to look into some business in France and relax a bit. Completely understandable, nothing suspicious.

I boarded the plane. I looked outside the window and saw the landscape around me. It wasn't much, just a typical airport runway, but I knew I'd remember this moment forever. It was my last moment in the US, my last moment I could be John Shaw.

My part was finished. I cremated the man, took the ashes and the gun and was ready to leave.

As I was turning off the lights, I turned around to make sure all evidence was gone. I was so stupid. The wine glasses were still there. What an idiot I was. I completely forgot that I poured wine, making a toast for life, right before I shot him. How long ago that already was.

I took the wine glasses, and the bottle with me too. I threw all of them in the ocean, what better way to dispose?

There was nothing left that could get the police the right answer. John Shaw was James, and James was ashes in an ocean.

It was a missing murder.

Chapter 6:
Well, my part wasn't really finished.

After all, some may wonder why would James flee the country. It wouldn't make sense for a lawyer with a good life to flee. But, as his former best friend, I knew something that many did not.

James didn't blackmail me out of choice, more out of need. He had gambling problems and he would blow a bit too much money, even for his salary. He didn't have a family, but he still didn't want to be a practically broke lawyer. He needed some extra substance.

So, the plan was simple. I needed to frame him with a gambling problem, and convey that he was in so much debt that he needed to flee the country.

I broke into his house, and went to the computer. I took out my flashdrive and loaded the document I that typed in advance onto his computer. The document was a spreadsheet, showing his winnings and losses in money from gambling. I tweaked the numbers so it was even more drastic than it already was, and I saved it onto his desk top. I labeled it "winnings and losses".

So, with the plan complete I drove away. I'd probably have an interview with the police, but besides that, I was off the hook.

I went to the office, just like any other normal day. I saw a rusty blue car in the parking lot, not belonging to anyone I knew of. Perhaps I was about to get a new client, although, I didn't read about any deaths in the paper yet. It couldn't have been the police yet, as he only died last night.

So, I came into the office not knowing what to expect.

I saw a middle aged man with a cheap, stained trench coat, reading a magazine by the back corner seat of the waiting room. He didn't seem to notice I came in, so I just headed straight to my office. After about thirty minutes of dawdling, I went up to go to the bathroom, across the hall. I saw on the way that the man was still there. When I came out, I approached him and said: "Excuse me, sir. Are you here for a purpose?"

He looked up, surprised, as if he wasn't expecting me to come by. "Yes, Mr. Burton. It is Mr. Burton, correct?" "Yes," I said puzzledly. Who could this man have been? He didn't seem like a client, and the police couldn't have possibly already found out about it. "I am Lieutenant Parker. Do you know of a man by the name of Mr. James Frazier?

Or maybe it was the police.

Chapter 7:
"Yes" I responded sheepishly, "Why do you ask? Is there something that happened to him?" "I'm afraid so" It seemed as if this guy has said that line at least a million times in his life. He seemed pretty experienced, but starting to become senile. If he was the detective, it would not be very hard to mislead this man. "We had a report today that Mr. Frazier is missing. He did not go to work this morning, and his secretary called his house but no one picked up the phone. No one picked up his cell phone either." That was good. John had so far stuck to the plan, not picking up any numbers from the US when they called.

"This can't be true! I just saw him two days ago." This statement was true, but misleading. I saw him two days ago, but I also obviously saw him yesterday.

"I'm afraid it is." There it was again. The same line as before. "I know it may pain you, but can you at least tell me about him?"

Chapter 8:
I had to think carefully about this question. I wanted it to try to sound like a normal speech about a dead man, but I also had to include his gambling problem somehow. I also didn’t want to make it seem like I was trying to frame him. “I knew James since forever. We met in college; we were roommates both majoring in law. In the end, he got a great job in law, I didn’t. But that doesn’t matter now, I am happy here. Enough about me though. James was a happy man, although didn’t always express his happiness. He was single, and was a bit lonely, but that didn’t interfere too much. Along with his profession, he enjoyed gambling. We made lots of trips to Vegas over time, blowing lots of money. Besides that, he liked to listen to classical music, and walk his dog in the park. I think that’s a pretty good, concise summary of him.”

“Interesting you say all of that, Mr. Burton. A number of things you have said have already led us to clues.” Was it possible they already found the document I put in? They were quick, but if they were quick, that probably also means a bit careless. If they find evidence, they’ll move on and jump t conclusions. I liked where this was going.

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“Oh of course yes. First off, I lied a bit. We found that he purchased a plane ticket to France and boarded the plane.”

“So why are you doing an investigation?”

“Well, he didn’t tell anyone about the plane, so there was something fishy going on. It wasn’t a business trip because he would have told his assistant. So, we had to investigate.”

“So what from my little summary about him reminded you of evidence?"

“Ah, good question. First, let’s start with you talking about how he liked walking his dog. Interestingly enough, the dog was in the house unfed and unwalked. James left the dog with nothing left when he left. That is very fishy, if you think about it. Why would he leave the dog in the arms of death if he was going to travel? Shouldn’t he have given the dog to someone?”

“So what are you implying? That James fled the country? A lawyer who is doing very well in Las Angeles? Is that what you are implying based on him forgetting to feed his dog?”

“Well, yes actually.”

“But that’s impossible.” I yelled, “What would be a reason for this man leaving the country?”

“Well, that’s where another part of your little speech comes in. May I ask you, how much money did Mr. Frazier gamble in one trip on average?”

“A fair amount. At least 150,000. But are you really saying that this man just left the house because he was in gambling debt? It seems a bit farfetched.”

“Yes, it does. But right now, that’s the best we have. We saw a document on his computer with all of the gambling results, and they were not too pretty. It would be enough to put a well touted lawyer in debt. It seems farfetched, but this is what evidence leads to. We only have two clues at this point. One is the dog story I just told you about, the second is even more puzzling.”

“What is that?”

“An open door. He left his front door unlocked when he left.”

Of course! I wanted to slap myself right then. How could I have been so stupid as to forgetting to lock the door on the way out. Then I remembered; John had the keys! What was I thinking? I realized that this open door could be a big enough blunder to have them suspect his disappearance. Luckily, I didn’t make any more mistakes in my perfect murder in order to have the evidence pointed at me. Well, hopefully I didn’t.

“This really doesn’t make much sense at all.” I said. At this point, I could tell Lieutenant Parker seemed almost done with the interview.

“No, it really doesn’t, Mr. Burton. I am not satisfied at all right now and I am going to spend some more time working on this case before I interview you more. You seem to be the person to know the man best. In fact, his will says to give all of his money to you. Did you know that?”

How weird. Why at this point in our friendship would he ever want to give me all of his will? Why would he blackmail me in order to give it back when he dies?

“No, I had no idea he was going to give all of his money to me.”

“Well, I guess it’s something to think about. I know it might be in bad taste, but just remember that he loved you. He was going to give all of his fortune to you. So even though he had to flee, he cared about you. You might have been the last thing in Las Angeles that kept him going.”

I cried. I realized he truly did love me, even though he blackmailed me. Why James? Why did you have to be so two faced? Why did you force me to kill you? It was a mistake, the murder. He wasn’t going to kill me out of choice, but out of fear. He really did love me. What was I thinking? What was James thinking? Now, I killed off a friend, a man whom I loved. A man who loved me. Now, I might get caught, because of a stupid open door.

Chapter 9:
“Am I allowed to continue, Mr. Burton, or are you too upset to answer any more questions?” I felt bad for the guy, he really seemed upset by his friends loss. I’ve seen many guys fake being sincere, but there was no doubt about it, this guy really loved James Frazier.

“Sure. Just don’t go on for too much longer, please.”

“Understood. Did Mr. Frazier have a woman in his life? I know he was unmarried, but was he dating?”

“Not since about two years ago. It was a nasty breakup, and since then, his appetite had been spoiled for women.”

“Could it have been possible that the woman blackmailed him or stole money from his bank account?”

“I doubt it. I have never seen her since the breakup. I heard she moved to Arizona. Also, in regards to the bank account, James was a very secretive person. Being a lawyer, he didn’t trust anyone. He would never giveaway his financial information to a girlfriend.”

This interview wasn’t going as well as I had hoped. What should I have expected though? A logical motive, a reason, what should I have expected? I was clearly disturbing this poor guy and I barely got anything useful. Well, I take that back. He was being very cooperative and giving me everything I should have expected. He helped me dismiss some possible motives for Mr. Frazier’s escape. But, it didn’t matter, I wasn’t going to get much more at this point, so it was about time to go.

“Well, I am sorry for taking up your time. I truly feel awful about your loss.”

“No, it’s okay, I understand. You need to figure this out.”

“Yes, I do. And I know we don’t have much yet, but don’t worry, we’ll figure out some more. I may need to interview you again sometime soon if you don’t mind.”

“Just as long as you schedule it in advance next time. Being a mortician is a very time consuming profession and I may be involved in something. Just schedule it with my assistant, Patricia.”

“Understood. I will make sure to do that next time. Once again, I am sorry for intruding. Have a good day, or at least as good of a day you can have at this point!”

“Yes, you as well. We are lucky to be alive.”

“Oh, most certainly.” And with that, I left. I realized I forgot to ask him something, so I ran back into the office.”

“Mr. Burton? Just one more thing I forgot to ask.”

“Yes?”

“Did Mr. Frazier ever tell his assistant about your gambling trips with him?”

“No, we made sure to keep them confidential. After all, he did lose a lot of money on them.”

“That makes sense, thank you. Have a good day!”

“You as well lieutenant.”

So, I left the building, got into my car and left. This was going to be a hard case. I could tell already.

Chapter 10:
I remember that night, going into the house. Obviously, no one was there. It was a bit cool outside compared to most days, but then again, this was Las Angeles. I felt ready to do a mission, to be James Frazier.

I got all of his clothes, everything Harold asked me to do. I remember imagining what the rest of my life would be like, as James Frazier. I was a bit scared, but excited as well. Who wouldn’t want to be a lawyer without the work? I would live a high life but in secrecy. I didn’t really care about the hiding of my future life. It’s not like I could expose myself a ton as a drug dealer. I was all set and ready to go. I took everything and absorbed the atmosphere in these nice clothes, clothes I didn’t have since my college days. What mistakes I made, what mistakes I made.

I was ready to lock up, but then I realized something. How would Harold get in if I lock it? He never told me to lock up as part of the plan. I didn’t know what to do. I concluded that he probably forgot about it and it was a flaw in his plan. It was too late now to try and fix it. I had a plane to catch. Besides, what did I care if he got caught? I am going to be in Paris, being James Frazier. They surely won’t be able to find me. I was going to live in secrecy. I didn’t care for this guy at all; I just wanted the opportunity to change my life.

I froze for a second imagining life ahead of me. I saw a bottle of white wine just open being poured by a waiter, while I would be looking at the beautiful woman sitting across from me in the tight red dress and high heels. She would be speaking French in such a romantic way to me while I would be eating the steak that was just served. And after dinner, I could only imagine what would happen next.

I snapped out of the dream. That would have to wait for the plane ride. I closed the door, leaving it unlocked. What should I care about an open door?

Chapter 11:
I hadn't gotten a chance to look at the crime scene yet. Lieutenant Roberts called me early to tell me about the case and I just did as I was asked: to interview his best friend, Harold Burton. I'm only more stumped now.

So, when I arrived, I looked around. I went to Lieutenant Roberts to talk:

"Hey Joe, have we found anything else yet?"

"Not much Allan, just the unfed dog and the unlocked door. And the document. Nothing new. How was your interview with Mr. Burton?"

"Not too many new things. However, he did confirm Mr. Frazier's gambling problems."

"Well, I guess that's something. But I'm still not satisfied with this case."

"Neither am I. Everything seems fishy, I don't know why, but it does."

Comparing Lieutenant Roberts and me is like comparing ketchup and mustard; we belong together, but are not the same at all. We could probably each do a fine job on our own, but together is ideal. Me, I'm an old, experienced detective, where I figure out a case from observing. Keeping my eyes open for clues, looking to see what types of people certain suspects and victims are, everything is with my eyes. Lieutenant Roberts is the brains. He can make logical conclusions like no other. To be honest, I have no idea what he's doing as a detective. He could be doing something much bigger and better than this. If he went into politics, I am confident that he could be the president. All in all, people forget that not all detectives are the same. Every person has his own method of solving, and that's that. To be a detective, one only has to know his game plan. If that's covered, then he can solve mysteries.

"Maybe you should do some looking, Al. You always find things that everyone else misses."

So, I went looking around. I have a few rules for looking at a crime scene. The first is to start outside. People always make the mistake that all the evidence is in the home, on the inside. But, it's the exact opposite. Culprits are careful on the inside; They make sure to use no fingerprints, no thing that can give them away. However, outside, they just want to make sure they aren't seen. They don't realize if they accidentally leave a foot trail to their houses. They don't care if they accidentally dent the mailbox. I know that that doesn't apply to a missing person case, but to make it simpler, I always look outside first.

So, I looked around. I started with the garage. James' car was missing, as he probably ran away with it. And then an idea hit me: "Hey Joe, I have an idea. Check the airport for his car. Maybe he left something in it."

"Of course, Allan. Why didn't I think of that? You're always a step ahead of me."

"Not for much longer. I am getting older by the day. You look just as good today as the day before." It was true, Lieutenant Roberts still was in his thirties. I was approaching my sixty-fifth birthday.

So, maybe something would come from there. I kept looking though. To be a detective, one can't stop doing his game plan. He has to continue until he has done it to the fullest. Evidence is like peanut butter in a peanut butter jar. You think there's none left, but if you try a bit harder, there's always a bit more. Of course, most people don't care enough to scrape that extra peanut butter out. If you do, you should seriously consider being a detective.

So, I kept looking. I saw the mailbox. It's always useful to see how recent the mail is. Sometimes, if I get lucky, I find out from the mail that the timing is different than perceived. It would be farfetched in this case, but if someone were to kill Mr. Frazier and then leave the country as him, if he forgot to take the mail from the day before, then that could be the greatest evidence of all. The best clues are the ones the culprit forgets about.

I opened it, and as expected, only today's mail was there. I looked for a bit more outside, but not seeing any other clues, I decided it was time to move to the inside of the house.

Chapter 12:
Michelle.

That was the girl I met yesterday, went to a high class dinner with, and now sharing a hotel room with. Just as I had imagined. Life in Paris is perfect. I am a rich American moving here, looking for a new opportunity in business. I decided to switch professions. I have always been good at business, never at law. Sure I did well in college at law, but there is a reason I didn't get a job.

People always forget that grades don't determine much. The best lawyers won't necessarily be the ones who do well in school. The best ones are the ones who are feared by the professors. The few times I met Harold Burton, he mentioned that he did better in law school than James Frazier. It's easy to tell though, that he would have been awful as a lawyer. He has no charisma, no fear factor whatsoever. He wasn't especially eloquent either.

But that doesn't matter now, I had bigger and better things to think about than Harold Burton. I was just coming out of the shower, waiting to see what would come next. It took only one night to convince her to share a hotel room with me. She said she would start helping me look for apartments within this week. It helped that she was the assistant at a real estate firm.

It's going to be interesting, this relationship. Not only because of my mediocre French and her mediocre English, but how I will identify myself, how I carry James Frazier. It's weird to be called a name you never were before. I hesitate for a couple of sentences every time. I wonder if I'll get used to it some day.

I guess it could have been worse. John and James are both short J names; they can sound very similar often. But still, it's just weird.

I don't really care that much though, this is the first time in a while I feel like I am a winner. The dinner was perfect last night. I was what everyone dreamed; a rich, obnoxious guy that everyone loathed but for some reason still dreamed of becoming. I ordered the most expensive white wine on the menu. I got the best chicken parmesan of my life. Well, that isn't such a fair thing to say. I hadn't had chicken parmesan since at least three years ago. I was too broke to buy a nice meal. Even though I acted like a rich asshole, it doesn't mean I appreciated the meal greatly.

There was a reason for celebration. I toasted to Michelle: "To life in France! To new starts, new successes, new possibilities!"

So, here I was. In France. I never remember being this happy in forever. Actually, it must be twenty years now. Before I realized reality. I must have been eight then, thinking I was going to be a detective when I would grow up. I wouldn't only stop mysteries, but stop crime as well. I guess one could have called my dream profession as being a superhero. Boy, I thought I knew everything about being a detective. I read every book, even ones past my reading level capabilities. I was reading Sherlock Holmes in second grade. I even understood it all.

For me, being a detective was the coolest possible job. I thought only the best people become detectives, just like in the movies. But, my hopes were shattered when I was reduced to reality in third grade. My mom scheduled for me to meet a homicide detective. He was the perfect age for a detective. Late twenties to early thirties, this detective was a young guy who I imagined would solve crime and save the city by day, get women at night. But, after minutes of talking to him I realized this wasn't in the least bit true. The guy was really quirky. He drifted off topic often; everything distracted him.

His name was Lieutenant Parker.

Chapter 13:
Yes, Lieutenant Parker. I remember him clearly now. He had a bit of a drift which I thought was weird for a detective; he probably forgot to shower that morning. But, his smell wasn’t what awakened me to reality. It was what he said. He said, to be a detective, all one has to do is to stay focused and think outside the box. Everything is a possibility.

Where were the blood, danger, and women? Was this man actually going to tell me that being a detective had absolutely nothing to do with the movie detectives? Could it truly be possible? Well, I guess I can thank this man now. Instead of stopping crime, I have truly enjoyed being part of a crime. Well, I really am not part of the crime, only the alibi. But, can they arrest me now? Let’s say this Lieutenant is still working for the Las Angeles Police Department today. Will he, a man only trying to “stay focused and think outside the box” try and seek me out here, in a safe haven?

The thought is silly. I don’t think when he said out of the box to think this far out of the box. But, we’ll wait and see. I have done no crime. Only that guy who paid me did some.

So, I got past the Lieutenant in my mind. Now it was just Michelle and me. With the lights turned off, nothing else needs to be said. Did I mention that I love Paris?

Chapter 14:
So, here I was, inside James Frazier’s house. The only thing outside that I found was the possibility of finding evidence in James’ car.

For a missing person case, this all didn’t make much sense. I started in the office. In general, the office is the best place to look at on the inside of a house. There are always documents and such there that could lead to a lot of background information, information which could lead to solving the motive.

In this case, even though the other guys found the gambling stats, I thought I might take a look for myself at that, and at some other stuff just to make sure nothing was missed. I didn’t want to miss scraping that last little bit of evidence at the bottom of the peanut butter jar.

There was no direct evidence, but something was very interesting; the font of the gambling document was different than the font of all of the other documents. The size too. Even the titles were differently formatted, one being underlined and centered, the others merely being bolded. The contrast in format means one thing: that the gambling document was typed by someone else besides the person who typed all of the other documents.

I knew I had to finish investigating the house, but my mind was spinning with all sorts of questions. After I was done with the house, I needed to go to his assistant. She would probably know who types his documents, who has access to his computer, etc.

So, I decided to make it quick. There was nothing in the kitchen, nothing in the bedroom. Nothing in the living room, nothing in the bathroom. But, the other bathroom is what led to the big evidence, the evidence that turned this entire case around.

Chapter 15:
“Hello, Ms. Rodriguez!” I greeted, to Mr. Frazier’s assistant.

“Oh, hello Mr. Parker. Is there something you’d like?”

“Just a few questions about Mr. Frazier. And by the way, that is Lieutenant Parker, not Mr. Parker.”

“Oh, I am very sorry, Lieutenant. Please, continue.”

“Right. Can you tell me who typed the documents on James’ computer?”

“Is this a trick question? Shouldn’t James be the one typing documents on his computer?”

“Well, it’s funny you should say that. As you know, we found the document about James’ gambling losses on his computer. But, the weird thing is that this document is nothing like any of his other documents. The font, letter size, formatting of the title, everything about it is different than all other documents on that computer.”

“So are you implying that someone else typed that document?”

“Not necessarily, just that someone different typed that document. Perhaps you normally type all of his documents as his assistant, but in a personal matter such as gambling losses, he would type the document himself. So, that is why I had to ask you if James typed his documents?”

“Yes, he does. I have never played a part in typing his documents, certainly not on his computer. Does that help?”

“Yes, very much so. Thank you.”

I started to exit, and then I remembered I had a second thing to ask her from my discovery in the bathroom. “Ms. Rodriguez? Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“When was the last time James had a haircut?”

“Yesterday actually. He said he wanted a haircut before this gambling trip.”

“Thank you. And by any chance, could I get the name of his barber?”

“Geovany Rizzo. Why do you need to know all of this, Lieutenant?”

“You’ll see soon, you’ll see.”

Chapter 16:
“Are you Mr. Geovany Rizzo?” I asked one of the many Italian male barbers in the cramped hair salon.

“Why yes I am in fact. I don’t think we have met before. Did you schedule an appointment?”

“Oh, no sir. Although, Mrs. Parker said I should get one anyways. Do you have a customer at the moment?”

“No. If you would like, I can cut your hair. I charge 24 bucks.” Not the worst price for a haircut, but not the best either. I decided to take it. I needed one anyway, and asking questions while getting a haircut is a very efficient use of time. Besides, as a general rule of thumb, if you are going to have a male cutting your hair, after a gay guy, the next best you can get is an Italian. I don’t know what it is, but they just know how to cut hair.

“Sure, I’d love a haircut. But I also have something else to discuss with you.”

“Yes? This should be interesting. I don’t even know your name and you already say you need to talk to me about something. Speak away, but first, do you care to tell me who you are?”

“Oh, of course. My name is Lieutenant Parker. I am a homicide detective. Have you heard what has happened to a client of yours, Mr. James Frazier?”

“No, is there something that I should know of? I saw him yesterday and he looked fine then.”

“Well, it only was discovered this morning, but the man has gone missing. There are a lot of complications at the moment, but yes, I came to you to ask how he was yesterday. Was there anything weird?”

“Nothing really. He seemed a bit conflicted and occupied in an issue not concerning me, so I didn’t bother.”

“Does he usually seem to be a bit conflicted and occupied, or was that a first time thing yesterday?”

“I believe it as a first time thing. He usually interacts with me a lot. Well, I interact with him and he answers. But yesterday, he seemed so occupied in something else that I left him alone.”

“Did he say anything that was at all fishy? Any talks of meeting someone, any talks of leaving, anything?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I let him be, and that was that.”

I could not believe my great discovery was turning into absolutely nothing. There had to be something. There just had to be.

Chapter 17:
I just checked the first bathroom. There usually isn’t much in a bathroom that could solve mysteries except for drugs. And I was pretty sure that he wasn’t on drugs. But that would be a satisfying reason for fleeing the country. So, I checked just to make sure, not wanting to miss opportunities to scrape evidence out of the bottom of the peanut butter jar.

There was nothing, as expected. But then, I realized that this was his first floor bathroom, the one next to the kitchen. A first floor bathroom, in general, is for guests when they come. It is the bathroom to let people use without having them go through the entire house. So, the first floor bathroom wouldn’t have any drugs if James was a druggie because then he would be caught.

The bathroom that could have evidence in it would be the bedroom bathroom. The bathroom next to people’s bedrooms, if not a connection to the bedrooms, is the most personal bathroom in a house. There would be the bathroom that no guests would be allowed access into. So, I went up to the bedroom bathroom.

I checked all of the cabinets, every single drawer. No drugs. But, there was a great piece of evidence. In the shower, there were little hairs. Not just a few, a lot. So, this meant one thing. When there are lots of little hairs that fall out in the shower, it is due to a haircut. All of the little hairs that stick onto one’s body during a haircut get washed away by the water of the shower. Since there were still many hairs, this haircut had to be recent. Maybe the last spot where James Frazier was spotted publicly was in a barber shop. Knowing that I had scraped all that could be possible, I left the house and drove my car to Mr. Frazier’s assistant. I thought I was finally getting somewhere.

Chapter 18:
“So, you are telling me that there was not a single hint, not anything that could help me?”

“I don’t believe so, I’m sorry.”

So, I just sat there, waiting for my haircut to be finished. At least the man knew how to cut hair. Otherwise, he really would have been a waste of my time. After about ten minutes of sitting, he said he was finished. He gave a quick final inspection, then washed my hair again and used a blow drier to dry it. I gave him a nice tip and thanked him. I was satisfied, and I’m sure Mrs. Parker would be too. So, I started to get up and leave, a bit sad for not getting anywhere in the case. Then, I realized I forgot one of the most important things I needed to ask him. So, I turned around: “Mr. Rizzo, just one more thing I forgot to ask.”

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

“What time was Mr. Frazier’s appointment at?”

“I believe 5:15-5:45. Check with my assistant just to make sure.”

I did, and Mr. Rizzo was right. James’s haircut ended at 5:45 and started at 5:15. He boarded a plane that was scheduled for departure at 11:15, so he probably had to go to the airport at around 10:00. I timed the drive for the barber shop to James’s house. The two were 37 minutes apart. Assuming that James went straight from the hair salon to his house that meant he got home around 6:22. Then, he needed to shower, since there were a ton of little hairs in the shower. A man showers in about 15 minutes, so that puts the time at 6:37. He probably would then eat, that’s around when dinnertime normally is. Dinner for a man by himself is also about 15 minutes. If he had to cook it too, let’s say that that whole process took 30 minutes. Then the time would be 7:07. So, we know where he was at 7:07 and 10:00. The question now becomes, what was he doing in between that time? If I could figure that out, then I have the case.

Chapter 19:
“Did you find anything interesting in the car?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. It’s almost as if Mr. Frazier didn’t want anyone to figure out his secret. Everything is so clean,” Lieutenant Roberts said, I drove down to the airport to see what the Lieutenant found. “You should maybe take a look, Lieutenant. You’re the better looker out of us two.”

“Not for much longer, but sure, I’ll give it a try.”

But, there was absolutely nothing. Lieutenant Roberts was right. It was almost as if James Frazier didn’t want anyone to know anything about him. The only person who he seemed close to was Mr. Harold Burton. But would loneliness be a good enough reason to run away? I didn’t think so. So, we started to leave, but then something hit me. I realized my haircut clue could give me some more help on this case.

“Hold on Joe, I’m going to stay around and ask the airport people some questions. Maybe some of them would recognize James. Maybe there’s a clue in the airport.” “It’s farfetched, but at this point, we don’t have much else. Go ahead Allan, I’ll see you later at the office. Good luck!” “To you as well, Joe.”

Chapter 20:
The airport is always a hard place to deal with. The workers there are always frantic, and there are always tons of shifts. This makes it hard to find the people who could have seen clues. Luckily though, I knew some guys at the airport, I have made some connections.

“Hey Bryan! Can you do me a favor?”

Bryan Douglas is the head of American Airlines at the Las Angeles airport. I was lucky that James decided to fly American Airlines, otherwise, I would have been out of luck.

“Why of course Allan! What do you need?”

“It’s for a case. Last night, on the 11:15 flight for Paris, there was a man by the name of James Frazier. The weird part is, the man’s front door was left unlocked, and his dog was left unfed and unwatched. So, he probably fled the country. I have a few questions to ask whoever may have seen him last night during their shift.”

“Yes, very well then. Those people are not here at the moment, but if you come back in two hours, they’ll be right here waiting for you, I promise you that.”

“Okay, great. Thank you so much, you are always so reliable Bryan.”

“No problem. Anything for you Lieutenant.”

So, I went to the office and told Lieutenant Roberts my discoveries. The font and the hairs. I could tell he was really intrigued by both, and he was in full out thinking mode. As I mentioned before, I’m the looker, Lieutenant Roberts is the thinker. I can find the clues, he can draw the connections together. He can figure out the cases. I might be the more experienced one, but he was the sharper one.

“Allan, it is obvious that someone else typed that document. So, the question is who.”

“Right, that’s the problem. Well, actually that isn’t the problem, the problem is why. We know James boarded that plane. We know that James is not in the country as of now. So, someone, or a group of people set up James’s departure as a run away, but why would they ever? It’s not like they murdered him. How can he be dead if he’s in Paris right now.”

“Yes, that doesn’t make sense. I have thought of two possibilities that would explain the document, and the departure.”

“Spit them out. I’m eager to hear anything at this point.”

“Okay. Remember, the door was left unlocked and the dog unfed. What if someone broke into James’s house who knew about his gambling problems, and the uploaded the document? The person might have known he was in Paris, and maybe this person decided to frame his robbery as a missing person.”

“I guess this could be a possibility. The only problem with it is, what happens when James comes back? Surely he would realize that it was a robbery. And surely everyone else would realize that James didn’t flee at all. It seems like a pretty sloppy robbery cover up. Too sloppy for anyone to actually try to put into action.”

“Yeah, I guess. That leaves us with option number two. Maybe James Frazier was murdered. Maybe the murderer somehow got rid of the body. Then, maybe the murderer disguised himself as James Frazier and got himself on that flight to Paris, pretending to be James.”

“Wow. That’s interesting. Except how would he know that James had purchased a ticket?”

“The murderer would convince James somehow to buy the ticket.”

“Actually, there is a problem with this possibility as well. If a person needed to murder James Frazier, then that means that he wants to live here peacefully and happily, and James is ruining or is about to ruin that for him. So, this plan would be so unfavorable to the murderer. He would need to flee the country. When can he come back? Would he disguise himself as James Frazier when he came back too? What would happen to everyone who knew the murderer. Why has no one had a missing report call for this guy yet?”

“You’re right. This doesn’t make much sense. But for some reason, it seems like murder to me.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I looked at my watch. I realized that it was time for me to go to the airport. This case was as confusing as ever, even though I’ve only been working on it for one day. So, I said good bye to Joe, and left for the airport.

Chapter 21:
“So, do you remember who James Frazier was at the airport?”

“Yes, he seemed very excited to go to Paris. He said he’d never been there before.” The most confident out of the group answered. There were three of them, but one seemed too stupid to answer a question, if he could even understand it, and the other seemed a bit flustered by a detective interviewing him. So, I basically was asking every question to the girl, who seemed to also have the longest encounter with him.

“Just to make sure you are remembering the right guy, can you describe his appearance?”

“Yes. He was decently tall, around 6”1. He was well dressed and shaved. He had dirty blond hair and it was long. It needed to be cut.”

“Hold on!” I interrupted.

“Yes?” The woman said, surprised.

“Everything seemed right for the most part in that description, but are you saying that he has unkempt hair that needs to be cut?”

“Why yes. It wasn’t a great look, that was all I meant to say. Sorry for putting in my opinion.”

“No, it’s not your fault at all. I should be the one apologizing for snapping at you. I was just so surprised by this description. The man got a haircut just five hours before the flight. Is it really true that his hair was still long and unkempt. Because if this is true, it could turn the entire case around.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Thank you."

Chapter 22:
So, it couldn't have been James on the plane. This meant that James didn't flee at all, but instead was probably murdered. So, now there are two questions that come up since we know the man who boarded the plane was not James. The first is who boarded the plane in the place of James, the second is where is James' body. If I could figure these things out, then I would be getting somewhere. For now, it was all in the works.

"How heavy were Mr. Frazier's bags?"

"Very heavy, they could have weighed more than him."

"Interesting. By any chance, do you guys still have the x-ray scans of his bags?"

"I believe we do, in fact, it would be on the most recent x-ray tapes. It may take awhile to find Mr. Frazier's bag..."

"That's alright, I'll wait. I have tons of time. This is my only case at the moment."

"Okay, I'll get the tapes right out." The flustered one said, jumping in for the first time in this conversation.

So, he brought the tapes and we fast forwarded until 10:00. That's probably the earliest the fake James could have arrived. We watched until his bags came up. Sadly, there was no body. There was a ton of everything, though, as if he was going to live there forever.

"Well, thank you for your time. I don't think I have any more questions."

"Okay, a pleasure talking to you, Lieutenant. IF you need any more help, we'll be available."

With that I started to leave. Who in the world was this man playing James? I needed answers, and although he became teary eyed before, I knew my best bet was Harold Burton, James' best friend.

Chapter 23:
"Hello Mr. Burton! Do you have time for some more questions, I have compiled a lot since yesterday, and I think I need some more information from you."

"Why of course, Lieutenant. Please sit down and make yourself at home." He seemed to be in a happier mood. That was good.

"So, do you know of anyone who could have been after James? As his best friend, I thought you would know his worst enemies."

"Are you implying that James was murdered?"

"Not directly, but at this point it seems to be the most likely possibility."

"Are you crazy? You even said that James Frazier boarded the plane just yesterday."

"Ah, well, you see Mr. Burton, a lot can happen in a day. Many clues can be found."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Sure. First was the document on the gambling statistics on his computer. Interestingly enough, the font, letter size, and title format were all different than all of Mr. Frazier's other documents on his computer. Completely different, as if James Frazier did not type it."

"So are you saying that because someone else typed this document that this was murder?"

"Ah, well sir, there was an even bigger piece of evidence which has caused this case to switch directions. In James' shower, there were hairs, as if he just had a haircut. I checked with his barber, Mr. Geovany Rizzo. James had a haircut yesterday from 5:15-5:45."

"So what does this mean? That the man wanted to look good for Paris? Do you blame him? For Christ's sake, maybe he got a haircut because he needed one."

"Well, that isn't all of it. I asked the people who checked James through in the airport. They said that his hair was 'He had dirty blond hair and it was long. It needed to be cut.'"

"So just because of some airport person who may have seen James for a few minutes said that he had unkempt hair you are going to believe it?"

"Why yes, actually. Everything said is right until proven false. Why would these people lie to me?"

"This is ridiculous. They probably are mistaking James for the wrong person." His happiness had completely shifted to anger at this point.

"It could be, but for now, we have to still consider this an option. Can you please tell me anyone who could have possibly wanted to kill James?"

"I don't really know. He didn't have very many enemies, besides the lawyer he was up against in his next trial. Maybe if he didn't pay enough money in Vegas there could have been people after him."

"That doesn't seem likely. Why would someone want to shoot him if he only wanted James' money? Killing James wouldn't solve any problems."

"I don't know, I'm stumped. He fled, it's obvious. He boarded the plane. What other evidence do you need?"

"Something, I don't know what yet, but something."

Chapter 24:
That something may be the case I got the following day. well, it wasn't really mine, it was Joe's. They moved me to permanently be on the Frazier case and Lieutenant Roberts to be on this new one. Another missing person. This one by the name of John Shaw. He was a good looking, decently tall, shaved, blond guy. The call was from his mother. She tried to contact him and he was nowhere to be found. He didn't pick up his cellphone and his house hadn't been touched for a few days.

Interesting. Two missing persons two days apart. Usually, there are about three missing people all year. Two in two days is weird.

I went down to the office to gather some more about the guy. I knew it wasn't my case, but we always work together no matter what the heads of the department decide. As usual, Lieutenant Roberts was already there.

"Can you believe it, Allan? Two in the same week!"

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. Have you dug up any information about the guy?"

"Yes, I figured out he's a drug dealer. He had some iffy transactions recently and has gone to iffy places. When I visited them, I figured out that he was a drug dealer."

"Interesting. Maybe he fled, maybe he thought the cops were after him."

"I already interviewed some of his clients. They said he gave them warning of leaving. He knew he was going to be caught."

"Well, he could be anywhere now. What was the last transaction he made?"

"That's the weirder part. He canceled his credit card months ago."

"Months?"

"Yes, months. Even weirder, he put his bank account on hold last week for five years."

"Five //Years//?"

"Yes, he might be barely surviving right now."

"Yeah. Well, I'm sorry, but I have a different weird case to deal with. I figured out that the man on the plane wasn't James. He didn't flee at all."

"Weird. Probably a murder."

"Of course it was murder. But I need to figure out who boarded that plane, and I'm going to look at every security camera at the airport today possible to see if I can gather any more clues."

"Good thinking. I bet you'll catch something. You always do."

"Ah, not for much longer though. I'm getting older by the day. I think it's catching up to me. But, yes, I hope I will find something. Good day, and good luck!"

"You too."

So, I started to make my way to the airport, still with this other missing person, John Shaw, on my mind. Then an idea hit me: what if John Shaw was on that plane as James Frazier?

Chapter 25:
"Have you collected all of the video tapes that filmed James?"

"Yes, we do."

"Perfect, can you please start the reel?"

"Sure. Hit the lights, Mark." One of the airport workers said.

The film started. The first point was James in line for checking in. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual waiting at the airport. Then there was a tape with him in the security line. The guy could easily be mistaken for James, but he also looked a lot like this new missing person, John Shaw. Still, there was no evidence that it could lean towards one or the other. Everything was completely normal. The next tape was him in the terminal. He was just waiting, and once he went up to get some Starbucks coffee, but returned back to the terminal directly after without any suspicious behavior. There was nothing that could prove that the identity of this man was John Shaw, but then again, nothing could disprove it either. Chances are, John Shaw was a part of this murder. Was there a secret about James that maybe no one knew about, or that someone was hiding? Well, I knew there could only be one person to possibly know about a secret, and even though he was irritated by my last visit, I decided my next stop was going to be Harold Burton's office.

Chapter 26:
I was able to take the tapes to the office, to show Lieutenant Roberts:

"Yes, this is very interesting. They do look awfully similar. That man could definitely be John Shaw."

"So, do you see anything?"

"Not yet, Allan. Chances are if you couldn't see anything, I can't now."

"Yes, but it's always good to make sure."

So, he kept watching the tapes, with me by his side. Nothing unusual in the security line, nothing unusual in the terminal. Nothing unusual in the Starbucks.

"Hold on a sec, Al."

"Yes?"

"What did that guy just put in his coffee?"

"Two sugars, and some milk."

"No cream?"

"No cream."

"You should check with James' assistant about what he likes in his coffee. I'll check with John Shaw's mother."

Of course. How could I have been so stupid as to miss that detail. This could be the ultimate evidence to confirm that that man was not James and was John Shaw.

I called the assistant. When she made him coffee, he asked for two sugars, but no milk.

Joe called Mrs. Shaw. Two sugars, and indeed, some milk. We had a match.

Chapter 27:
"Mr. Burton, is there a secret about James that you haven't told us yet?"

"No, Lieutenant. I already told you all that was necessary. What's going on?"

"A lot sir. Did Mr. Frazier ever mention a guy by the name of John Shaw?"

"What is this about Lieutenant?"

"Oh, nothing. Remember when I told you about James not being on the plane?"

"Yes, but that was barely any proof. Just someone's opinion on the man's hair."

"Ah, but, there was confirmation of this theory of mine, today."

"Yes?"

"The man who came in as James went to the airport Starbucks."

"And...."

"He ordered a coffee and put two sugars and milk. Now, when we asked James' assistant, she said that he liked two sugars, but no milk in his coffee. In fact, she told us he was allergic to milk."

"Yes, he is. So, I guess James wasn't that guy on the plane. But what was this business about that man you mentioned?"

"Ah, John Shaw?"

"Yes, John Shaw."

"Well, this morning we got a missing person report on him. His mother called and said he was missing. Now, in LA, there are maybe three missing persons in one year. Two in the same week is unheard of."

"So, what does this missing person have to do with my best friend?"

"Well, sir, they look very similar, James and John. So, we asked John's mother what he put in his coffee. The answer was two sugars and some milks."

"So are you saying that because a guy puts two sugars and some milk in his coffee that he was pretending to be James?"

"Well, not only that. There's also the fact that this man is also missing, and the fact that the two look similar."

"But that doesn't prove anything."

"Nor does it disprove anything. All we know is, that that man on the plane wasn't James, and there's a pretty good chance he's John Shaw. So, is there some secret that we were unaware of about James? Has he ever mentioned this man's name to you before?"

"No. There's nothing I haven't told you."

"Well, okay, I am sorry for wasting your time. Thank you very much."

"Anytime, Lieutenant."

So I started to leave, very satisfied with where I was getting, even though Harold wasn't great at cooperating. Then, I remembered that I needed to ask him something else.

"Mr. Burton? Just one more thing."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"How fast does it take to cremate a body?"

"Pretty fast, less than ten minutes." He said, astonished by the question I asked. "Why do you ask, Lieutenant?"

"You'll see soon, sir, you'll see soon."

It was official. I just showed the murderer that I knew it was him. Now, with John Shaw and the body explained, I needed to figure out the motive. Then, I could arrest Harold Burton for murdering James Frazier.

Chapter 28:
So, I knew who the murderer was, but I could not explain why he did it. I remembered that first interview with him, where he lost it emotionally. He just broke out and cried in the middle. He clearly loved James, but why would he murder the man? He seemed too attached.

When a man murders a friend, it is usually because of betrayal. Maybe Harold did something illegal and James wanted to bring him to court. That would make sense, as James is a lawyer. He would want to enforce the law. So, I went to interview a fellow lawyer friend of James, Mr. Geoff Wilkins.

“Mr. Wilkins, as you probably know by now, Mr. James Frazier is missing, possibly murdered. Can you please tell me if you knew of any business he was working on that could maybe cause someone to want to murder him?”

“I do not believe so. He did not have any cases going on at the time of his disappearance.”

“But, did he mention a possible case that he was about to represent?”

“No, I don’t believe so. In fact, he didn’t seem very interested in any possible cases he could represent. He was very focused on blackmail. He seemed very interested in the subject all of a sudden. It was very weird.”

“Blackmail, interesting. When he was talking about this subject, did he ever mention a man by the name of Harold Burton?”

“Well, that’s not a fair question. He always talked about Harold Burton; he was James’s best friend.”

“Yes, I should have figured that one out myself. Can you tell me what he said about blackmail?”

“I don’t really remember. He seemed concerned about all parts of it: the blackmailer, the victim of blackmail, the legality of it, the whole deal.”

“Interesting. And did he ever imply a personal story with this?”

“No, never.”

“Well, I think that’s about all I need from you. Thank you very much, that was very helpful.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. Feel free to stop by again for more questioning.”

So, with that, I started to leave. I knew I needed to investigate this blackmailing thing. Maybe Harold and James were involved in a blackmailing scheme. That could certainly ruin a friendship. Then, a thought hit me, and I rushed back to Mr. Wilkins’ office.

“Mr. Wilkins? Just one more thing.” I said pantingly, after running from my car back to his office.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember if there were any events that occurred right before Mr. Frazier’s obsession with blackmail started?

“Not really. All I remember is after a trip to Las Vegas he went on he was never the same.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

So, I knew it was blackmail, after a trip to Las Vegas. The saying is, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Well, apparently it didn’t in Mr. Frazier’s case.

Chapter 29:
“Hello, Mr. Burton.”

He looked up. In general, when you know who the murderer is, surprise is a great weapon. The murderer often gets flustered, and he may slip up at some point. That slip up could be enough to prove him guilty. That’s what I was trying to do right now, as I have leapfrogged recently from actual evidence to a lot of conclusions that are not definite.

“Hello, Lieutenant.” He said, surprised.

“How are you, on this fine afternoon?”

“Good. What brings you here?”

“Well, Mr. Burton, it seems that I am stumped. We know that James did not go on that plane, and we are pretty sure that this figure, John Shaw, did.”

“Yes. So what brings you here if you are stumped?”

“Well, I wanted to know if there was any information that you would like to tell us. Because, if you did but didn’t tell us, we could arrest you.”

“Me? For what?”

“Oh, well, Mr. Burton, I will be completely honest. I am pretty sure that you had something to do with James Frazier’s murder. I will explain everything to you, but before I do, would you like to confess to anything?”

There it was. Now, he was trapped. Could he call my bluff? I thought I was playing a pretty good poker face.

“No, this is absurd. I did not kill my best friend.”

I took out the picture:

“Have you ever seen this man before?”

“No, I never have. Why do you ask?”

“Because this man is John Shaw, the man that got on the plane instead of James. Have you ever seen this man before?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

“Well, you are lying,” I took the second photograph out, showing Harold Burton and John Shaw in a coffee shop together. “This is you and John Shaw. I know you are lying, Mr. Burton.”

“Fine, I met that man this week. But what is your point, Lieutenant? That I committed the murder because I met the guy who went on that plane?”

“Well, not because of that. But if you care, I’ll explain everything to you, everything that points the evidence at you, Mr. Burton. Now, if you would like to say something to possibly make your time in jail for less time, I would advise you to speak now.”

I looked at him, with a stone cold expression on my face. He was trembling. He knew he was done. He was thinking, should he give in now, and hope for the better? Or would he call my bluff? Well, it wasn’t really a bluff, it was just a bunch of assumptions that I made, that could be right, but could be wrong too. I lay the final burden on him:

“You could have the death penalty enforced on you, Mr. Burton. Think about the irony. A mortician being sentenced to death. Almost as ironic as a mortician burning the ashes of his best friend to cover up his murder.”

“Fine. I did it! I killed him, and yes, I cremated him. It was a missing murder. Anything else you would like to ask?”

I took the tape recorder out of my pocket and hit the stop button. “No, Mr. Burton. Nothing else is needed. Thank you very much for cooperating.” Then, Lieutenant Roberts came into the office, knowing that I won that game of poker. I was holding a pair of 3’s, but I caused Mr. Burton to think I had a flush.

Chapter 30:
So, that was that. Harold Burton pleaded guilty and was only arrested. He got out of the death penalty. It was a small victory for him, but I wondered if he’d ever realized that I was faking it. I decided to stop by the prison, and talk to him:

“Hello, Mr. Burton. How does it go?”

“Ah, Lieutenant Parker. The man that put me here, behind these bars. All goes well, or as well as prison can go.”

“So, I never got to tell you about how I solved the case. May I?”

“Sure, go ahead. I am very intrigued to know.”

“Well, you know the beginning. The unlocked door and unfed dog. That proved that he wasn’t just out somewhere without telling anyone. When we looked more closely into the case, we figured out about the haircut, and how he likes his coffee. That proved that he wasn’t on the plane. You knew that stuff already. Then, the interesting part came. The meeting was scheduled at your office, next to the cemetery. You were known as the best mortician in California, if not the United States. You guys were scheduled to go on a trip to Vegas, as you always have done as friends. Hold on a second. Friends? Not anymore. Everything had changed about your relationship with James. Now it was all business, just a bit of small talk, then the payments. After that one trip to Las Vegas, it had never been the same. You spent your money on a hooker, didn’t you? And James turned to blackmail? Yes, blackmail, the reason why you committed the murder. Murder, to your best friend. You knew what you were about to do was completely ironic, completely the opposite of your personality and reputation. Completely the opposite of the reason you were fairly successful, completely the opposite of what you were good at doing. But, if James were to leak out the story, then everything for you would have been destroyed anyways. Your personality, reputation, success, and any other motivators in his life would be burnt in the fire, just a bunch of ashes that people may have memories of but would never be able to see in real life again. Your life would have been a cremation.”

“Bravo, but you didn’t explain anything. How did you figure this all out?”

“Ah, well, Mr. Burton, there were a couple of things that made me figure out the case. Once we were pretty sure that John Shaw boarded that plane, we investigated his recent paths. We easily figured out that he was a drug dealer, but then we also figured out that he had a new business with you. We found that picture of you two at the coffee shop, and we saw that you two called each other’s telephone numbers. We thought this was weird, but we didn’t want to jump to too many conclusions right away. Then, there was another piece of evidence that we already knew about, but didn’t have time to look into: the different format of the documents. Your document, the one that you put in the computer was obviously typed by someone completely different than all of James’s other documents. So, when we realized that you were the only person who had access to his computer besides himself, you must have been the murderer.”

“Very good, but that doesn’t explain how you knew it was cremation, and how you knew my motive.”

“Thank you for reminding me. Well, once we knew you killed him, we knew you hid the body somewhere. Then, we realized that you were a mortician and that you could easily have just cremated it and dumped the ashes somewhere. So, one interview at the end, I asked a question about cremation, just to see your reaction. I saw your reaction, both being surprised and angry. That led me to believe you knew that we were onto you, and that you did cremate the body. It really was a brilliant plan, Mr. Burton. This may have been my toughest case ever, so my hat’s off to you.”

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment, whatever that’s worth at this point. But Lieutenant, you never told me about the motive, how did you solve that.”

“Well, I’ll admit, I bluffed. I knew that James started blackmailing you after a trip to Las Vegas because one of his coworkers, Mr. Geoff Wilkins, said that he was obsessed with blackmail after one of those trips. I actually had no idea why he blackmailed you, and I completely guessed. To be honest, you could have been proven innocent. But, I have played poker for a long time now, and I’m pretty good. Missing murder is the perfect title for this case. You killed James Frazier and made the body go missing. I missed a bunch of key parts of the case, but I still had enough to cause you to give in. It was a missing murder.”

Chapter 31:
So, I have now lived in Paris for nineteen years, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. Still, at an age of forty-seven, I am still getting around with the French ladies. Business is going well. Everything is perfect. Thank you, Harold Burton for giving me this opportunity. And thank you, Lieutenant Parker, for making me realize that being a detective is a crummy job.