milkmaiden38
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2011
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It was spacious and well-appointed apartment and the rent was maybe three hundred a month. There was a small vestibule, a bedroom, small kitchen and a large living room, with comfortable, modern furniture. In the middle of the living room was a nine-by-twelve white shag rug.
Two plain clothed cops from Lieutenant Donovan’s squad were wandering around. A photographer had a camera set up on a tripod just off the white shag rug and his bored assistant dangled a sack of flashbulbs. Two quiet, efficient elves in shirtsleeves from the police lab were going over the room with various items of equipment. Once in a while somebody spoke in a low, muffled tone and once in a while somebody would answer. But never loudly. The only off-key note in the place was the light. Part of it came from the photographer’s flood lamp and part from an overhead fixture with a flaring shade that threw light down in a wide circle onto the floor below.
Lieutenant Donovan crouched near the woman’s body. She was laying on her back, with her left knee drawn up, resting against her right thigh. She was completely nude. Her arms were flung out on both sides, and her face looked at the ceiling. Already there was a bluish tinge to her lips. There was no trace of makeup on her face. High on her left temple, where the hair had been drawn back to disclose it, was a livid, swollen bruise. The skin was not broken, and unless she had fallen against something, the bruise would have been made by a very blunt instrument. There did not seem to be anything against which she could have fallen.
She had been very beautiful. She had firm, tanned skin. Her hair was thick, glossy and dark, almost black but a little brown too under the light. Except for the bruise on her head and a small mole in the hollow of her throat, there were no blemishes of any kind. Her features were well rounded in the right places. She had been maybe five feet, four inches tall. Once she must have looked like the kind of woman who could live in an apartment like this. But now she was dead. Her hair was tangled under her head. Her eyes were half-closed and the pupils glinted strangely under her lids and were without shape.
Lieutenant Donovan stood back up. It did not change his height too much, as he was a dwarf. He walked over to the end table. On top of the table was an open telephone book. It was on the DETECTIVE AGENCIES page. The big, familiar names were there: Burns, Hargrave, Pinkerton, etc. But only one name had a black circle around it, made hastily with a soft pencil. “No Horsing Around Detective Agency” the phone number was underlined.
“Well, I’ll be a silly gnome!” Lieutenant Donovan exclaimed. “What has that centaur been up to?” He said to himself. Even though it was 2:00 in the morning, it took no time for the Lieutenant to call the detective’s number.
When a sleepy voice answered the call, Donovan said in his heavy Irish accent. “Missy, there’s a dead lady here. Come on over.”
He hung up the phone. Then he smiled and called the number again.
Someone answered again, still sleepy “Better come on over. It's the Merlin Apartment building, 5th floor, eight-o-five. Right around the corner from your office.” Then he hung up again, smiling.
Two plain clothed cops from Lieutenant Donovan’s squad were wandering around. A photographer had a camera set up on a tripod just off the white shag rug and his bored assistant dangled a sack of flashbulbs. Two quiet, efficient elves in shirtsleeves from the police lab were going over the room with various items of equipment. Once in a while somebody spoke in a low, muffled tone and once in a while somebody would answer. But never loudly. The only off-key note in the place was the light. Part of it came from the photographer’s flood lamp and part from an overhead fixture with a flaring shade that threw light down in a wide circle onto the floor below.
Lieutenant Donovan crouched near the woman’s body. She was laying on her back, with her left knee drawn up, resting against her right thigh. She was completely nude. Her arms were flung out on both sides, and her face looked at the ceiling. Already there was a bluish tinge to her lips. There was no trace of makeup on her face. High on her left temple, where the hair had been drawn back to disclose it, was a livid, swollen bruise. The skin was not broken, and unless she had fallen against something, the bruise would have been made by a very blunt instrument. There did not seem to be anything against which she could have fallen.
She had been very beautiful. She had firm, tanned skin. Her hair was thick, glossy and dark, almost black but a little brown too under the light. Except for the bruise on her head and a small mole in the hollow of her throat, there were no blemishes of any kind. Her features were well rounded in the right places. She had been maybe five feet, four inches tall. Once she must have looked like the kind of woman who could live in an apartment like this. But now she was dead. Her hair was tangled under her head. Her eyes were half-closed and the pupils glinted strangely under her lids and were without shape.
Lieutenant Donovan stood back up. It did not change his height too much, as he was a dwarf. He walked over to the end table. On top of the table was an open telephone book. It was on the DETECTIVE AGENCIES page. The big, familiar names were there: Burns, Hargrave, Pinkerton, etc. But only one name had a black circle around it, made hastily with a soft pencil. “No Horsing Around Detective Agency” the phone number was underlined.
“Well, I’ll be a silly gnome!” Lieutenant Donovan exclaimed. “What has that centaur been up to?” He said to himself. Even though it was 2:00 in the morning, it took no time for the Lieutenant to call the detective’s number.
When a sleepy voice answered the call, Donovan said in his heavy Irish accent. “Missy, there’s a dead lady here. Come on over.”
He hung up the phone. Then he smiled and called the number again.
Someone answered again, still sleepy “Better come on over. It's the Merlin Apartment building, 5th floor, eight-o-five. Right around the corner from your office.” Then he hung up again, smiling.
