Strychnine Killer
As Kristi Kohan, a sage detective for the NYPD, walked into the musty New York
apartment, she slammed the unlocked door behind her, oblivious to the fact that someone
might still be there. Noticing her mistake, she withdrew, and stood against the wall, with
her gun drawn. The shades of the apartment were down, and only a small rip in the right
shade could lead a small beam of light shine through. All was dark around her as her heart
pounded. She was alone in the alleged home of a serial killer. She stood patient, till the
dust settled from her commotion. No one appeared to be home.
The man she was hunting down, looking for evidence in a poison homicide that
occurred last week, was a suspected serial killer who has been abroad for 2 years. The
NYPD had an arrest warrant for a Mr. Tom McKee, a.k.a. Phillip Orison, Sam Molls,
Henry Whales, and as his latest name registered under the apartment Kristi was in, the
promiscuous Alvan Hodge. Mr. Alvan Hodge worked as a bust-boy for a very prestigious
hotel in New York city, and seemed like a key witness in the poison homicide for Mayor
Billy Potter, who was seemed to have died from a large dose of strychnine n his red whine.
To every serial killer, there is a motive, and for Alvan, he has a grudge with Mayors in
large cities with gray hair. It was said that he was beaten by his dad, the former mayor of
Gothum City, and he just took it out on cross country capricious killing sprees with
poison. He was a dangerous man, having numerous jobs in the food business, where
poisoning could be done very easily.
Kristi finally stammered her way over to the kitchen of his apartment. Their were
flies everywhere, on the moldy bread, sitting on top of the pickle jar, and even swimming
in the chunky milk. She looked everywhere, for one sufficient clue. A scintillating vive
ran through her body, as she saw a medicine dropper lying next to the sugar bin. There
had to be some poison somewhere. She made her way over to his bathroom, and she
opened his medicine cabinet. A large thud caused her to jump back and fall into the
shower. It was only a bottle of Ibuprofen that had fallen down, but she now felt the pain
rush up her spine from hitting the soap dispenser in the shower on her way down.
This guy was a real psycho. In his shower, he had his dad’s portrait pained on the
ceiling, and a large sum of red paint had been conjoined to form the word
“PREVARICATOR” over it. Three was nothing in his bedroom that seemed suspicious,
so she went back out into the dining room.
A resurgence of thought sparked her mind again, as she eyed the refrigerator. You
may wonder, why the refrigerator? But it was purely simple. Strychnine had to be kept
cold to preserve its potentness, and the only place he could have some of that would be in
his ‘frige.
She walked calmly and put her gun back into her halter. She pulled back a blonde
piece of hair that had been bugging her for quite sometime now, but she didn’t have the
motivation, till now, to finally move the troublesome piece of hair out of her eyes and back
into her pony tail. She opened the refrigerator, finally, but the light didn’t go on inside.
She bent over, and could see a small beaker of something towards the back, next to some
moldy cheese. Just as she was about to stand up, the front door of the apartment, opened,
and she quietly hit the floor. Her gun made a clangy noise, and a scornful and brusque
voice said, “Hello? Is somebody here?”
Kristi panicked, but managed to roll over and resume an angle where if he walked
by, she could shoot his leg, stalling him from attacking her, the intruder. Nothing
happened for about 30 seconds, till the door slammed shut, by accident, as when it did
when Kristi first entered. Her heart skipped a sudden beat, as a cold chill ran down hr
spine as she heard footsteps walking, not towards her, but way from her. She got the guts
to peak over the counter, and saw a man wearing a SPEEDO swimsuit and goggles
around his head. He didn’t fit the description of the profile of Tom McKee, a.k.a. Alvan
Hodge. A sudden shock of mistake hit her, did she enter the wrong apartment? She stood
up with her gun aimed and said, “Mr. McKee, put your hands in the air where I can see
them and stand aganst the wall.”
A startled Alvan man of only about 20 years turned around and questioned,
“McKee? I think you have the wrong man. No one by the name of McKee lives here.
Only an Alvan Hodge, but he moved out about 2 days ago. My name is Devon Dingle,
sorry to mislead you with any wrong information, I haven’t changed the name in registry
below. Please dot shoot!” Kristi withdrew her gun.
“I am terribly sorry, sir,” said Kristi pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket,
“I have a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Tom McKee, who, by your profile, is not you.”
“Ya, I’d say so, can you please leave, you are scaring me. There is no Alvan or
Tom, or whoever you think is a serial killer, here in my apartment.”
“One more thing,. . .”
“What!” said the angry man with alarm.
“. . .why do you have medicine dropper and a bottle of mysterious liquid in your
‘frige? The killer used a form of poison, much like the one that I believe is in your
refrigerator.”
“No no no. That’s not poison, that’s stuff for my ear infection. As you can see,”
motioning towards his SPEEDO he had on, “I am a swimmer, and I have a bad ear
infection. Now will you please leave, or do you wanna watch me put in the ear drops?”
“I’ll go now. I hope I haven’t spread any insidious feelings towards you. Thanks
for the clarification. I will be going.” While walking out the door, Kristi noticed a poster
of a swordsman holding a huge iron sword that said, “swimmers rule.” She thought, what
a dumb poster. Her thought was retrieved as she thought about what just occurred. She
walked down the hall, into the distance, and made her way back to the station. She
sighed, pulling her tightly made pony tail down, and kept on walking.
