It was ten o'clock and an invigorating winter morning preponderated over the picturesque town of Winterbrook. There was already the freezing breeze which predominated in the atmosphere. A sweet fragrance of the moisty morning dew cascaded all around the breathtakingly dark forest. The fraternised autumn leaves from the thin and towering trees laid scattered on the forest floor, in the movement of transforming into a crisp-looking brown. The dark shadows of the abounding far-fetched trees and shrubberies had become the edifice of the wood. The short and consecutive sounds of multi-coloured birds began to fulfil the air. They chipped, tweeted and yodelled monotonously. The forest was amber-coloured. The branches were crunching under my feet. The trees were the skyscrapers of the forest. We took the lifeless leaf-floored pathway. The teem of the crowd of trees was coffee-coloured.
We reached Darlington Road and panic struck. We were driving by the highway with forest along with slender and crooked rough-surfaced trees aside.
"So what about Mrs Russel?" I asked, abruptly, turning my face at the back, looking at Blake and Mort who were peering through the glass and contemplating at the green.
Blake turned his face to mine with a sharp look, saying something that made me jump, "Well, she's a liar." Blake paused for a moment or two the recommenced, "A mere story-teller."
"Woh, why are you saying that?" I said in utter amazement, unable to believe Blake's word.
Blake took a profound alveoli-reaching breath and sighed heavily, explaining wicked-mindedly, like a high-profile criminal talking, still watching through the glass and scrutinising on the forest, "Well, she did have bruises on the neck and shoulder which implies that something had somehow happened, probably, Mr Edgar treated her unrighteously... and about the letter, the ink was totally fresh and was not yet dried out which indicates that it was anyhow recently written, probably, when we where coming to interview her, she might have spotted me through the window and made up her mind to lead the game more complicated and wrote this puzzling letter along with the story about the mistake... truth whatever it was.... to distract myself away from an off-subject thing... stop!... stop!..."
"What? What is it?" a puzzled Kingsley lastly spoke out at least a word.
"Back there, drive back," Blake said, pointing his thumb to the back.
Kingsley obeyed and made the car go back. They all got out of the car and closed the doors, looking at Blake with bewilderment. Blake moved off and went toward the mass of trees of the wood.
"What is it?" Kingsley asked again, unable to understand the whole thing up, "Blake, where are we going?"
Nonetheless, the amazed Blake went through the woods and the other just simply followed him tranquillity, as they were not receiving any response from Blake.
The response was not necessary as they found it out themselves. A big torn part of a red prom was hanging up a thin little branch. They approached it and examined it was slightly dirty and mud-covered.
We travelled denser and denser into the dark forest, exploring about into the dark shadows of the wood. Each step we made, a sound of crisps of leaves could be heard underneath our feet.
"There's a shoe." Mort exclaimed, pointing a little ahead on the ground, "A red high heel."
The high heel was mud-surfaced on the heelpiece but not that affected on the sides. It was insignificantly hidden by ferns but the sharp-sighted Mort spotted it though.
We were somehow expecting footprints but none was found. Blake moved and went down a slope, passing and ducking through a young broken tree.
Me, Kingsley and Mort stayed still and turned faces and rolled eyes all around the encompassing wood, incapable of understanding what could have been going on here.
"Mort! Kingley! Ashing!" came an abrupt shout from Blake, calling them to come to the slope also, a bunch of ravens flapping their wings and squawking with chaos.
The three came running, crossing and bending through the young split tree.
"Over here!" Blake exclaimed, pointing to the body laid aside along the river. It was a woman dressed in a half-torn red prom along with only one red high heel. We were terror-stricken seeing the body. Mort went dowm the slope and checked if she was still breathing but notwithstanding of the sever injuries scarred on her skin have made the body without a soul. She was neither breathing nor her heart nor even vein could be located.
"Call the other team to come!" Blake yelled at me and Kingsley, awakening our lost minds.
Kingsley quickly got out his phone and started to call the 999, "DCI Kingsley, assistance required, right now..."
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YOU ARE READING
Murder at Winterbrook
Mystery / ThrillerMr Edgar Franklin, an employer working in Clayton Financial had been reported missing by his wife, Mrs Russel Franklin at about eleven o'clock. But when the police team arrives to make an investigation, panic struck to find Mr Edagar dead in his car...
