A MURDER IN THE BRONX
by Mean Mug
I got a call from January saying his girlfriend had been fatally stabbed. I went to his one-bedroom apartment down in the Bronx to investigate.
When I arrived at his apartment, January was sitting at the kitchen table. His hands were folded and he had a sad, dazed look on his face. He had a bandage around his right hand with blood seeping through. It turned the white cloth a bright red.
"What happened," I asked him as I sat down in a chair across from him.
"I was in my room listening to some music when I got thirsty and decided to go for a glass of milk," he said. "I got some milk and walked into the living room where my girlfriend was watching television. As soon as I walked in I saw her lying on the floor surrounded by blood."
"Did you hear anything," I asked.
"No. I probably had the music up too loud."
"What happened to your hand?"
"As soon as I saw my girlfriend on the floor I crushed the glass of milk in my hand." He started crying uncontrollably.
I got up from the table to take a look around. I got out my notepad to write down what I saw. I started in the kitchen.
The kitchen was nice and clean. The floor and counter were sparkling with shine. Fruit was on the counter. A basket of plastic flowers sat right beside it. I moved into the bedroom.
The bedroom was a mess. There were clothes scattered on the foor. An unmade bed by the window had food wrappers and crumbs on it. There was an old beat-up chair with one leg missing leaning against the wall next to the black and white television set. I left the room and went into the living room were the body was at.
The body was surrounded by a sea of blood mixing with the spilled milk beside it. There were broken pieces of glass on the floor next to the body. There was a couch in the right corner with two pillows missing. A book was lying on its edge. There was a big screen TV in the middle of the floor and ragged curtains hanging over the window to its right. I walked back into the kitchen and over to January, who was still at the table crying.
"Are you taking drama lessons?" I asked him. "Because this sure is an act you're putting on."
"What are you talking about?" He replied.
"Just confess to the murder and I won't seek the electric chair."
HOW DO I KNOW JANUARY COMMITTED THE CRIME?