Wayward Minds Project: Khione

[01] Gomez - The Murder Case of Beatrice Marriyon

Detective Hugh Gomez failed to love a lot of things in life; he didn't appreciate the glistening, rolling waves during a perfect, summer day, he didn't seem particularly interested in the beauty of art, it be made from a famous artist or an aspiring one, and he certainly wasn't intrigued with sports, like most men are, screaming on top of their lungs, creating bets, cheering for their side of the team. As a child, Gomez did not play with the other kids, preferring to sit by the sandbox of the playground, chin propped up against his palm, eyes tracing the movements of the other kids as they giggled and laughed, in another round of tag, often shifting to hide-and-seek, but always seemed to revert to tag. As an adult with a stable job as a detective of Everhill City, Gomez seldom joined his coworkers after work to grab drinks and exchange stories about their wives, before heading home as the sun dipped behind the mountains.

Gomez's mother used to scrutinize him back when he was a child up to being a teenager until he no longer heard her words after leaving to move in to his new home. She vociferously pointed out that if Gomez continued being like this, being him, then having a wife and kids was an unlikely scenario for him. He will grow old alone, no kids to rush to him during weekends for a visit, no string of grandchildren that will eagerly and sincerely listen to his life tales and lessons for a hundredth time. It would be a miserable life, Gomez's mother often said, filled with empty days and an unbreakable routine that he has been following for several years.

But Gomez didn't mind not loving a lot of things. He didn't mind being not attached to countless of individuals. He didn't mind being him. Gomez may not find interest towards other things, but whenever he was, it was infrangible. When he found something he loves, Gomez's passionate about it, dedicating hours of time to it. Stuff that Gomez loves often directed him in a particular path, often had an impact on his decisions in life.

Like his ambition in being a detective.

The first few books that molded Gomez's ardent dream of being a detective had been Sherlock Holmes novels. At the age of twelve, Gomez was fond of libraries, the smell of books, the quiet, comfortable air that everyone was responsible of keeping alive, as well as the solace of being surrounded by hundreds of books, spines slightly damaged, signs of usage throughout the years surfacing upon the covers. And it was where he found the first Sherlock Holmes book, A Study In Scarlet. Gomez even had to pay a fine to the librarian, because he simply could not let go of the book that resulted to him going past the return deadline. After finishing the remaining three novels, Gomez forced his parents to purchase The Complete Sherlock Holmes, which he received during his 13th birthday celebration.

From then on, Gomez promised himself he would pursue the career of being a detective. When he did become one, it was a moment too late for him to realize that Everhill City wasn't exactly a fit city for a detective to work. Murder, homicide, mysteries; all were infrequent in lovely Everhill City, where kind people were led by a considerate mayor. When there was a case of murder or homicide, the suspect was easy to trace, providing no difficulty in arresting him/her, offering no mystery to be solved with brains and wits. There was no thrill at being a detective in Everhill City, Gomez concluded.

Until he was handed the murder case of Beatrice Marriyon.

It was an early Saturday morning, light barely going through the porous curtains of Gomez's windows, the silence that stretched across the neighborhood invading his spacious house. There were chirping outside, just a diminutive sound from a bird that was hardly audible, but it was not what had shook the sleep off of Gomez as he lay beneath the covers of his wide bed, it was a sound he did not expect to be woken up by. A shrill ring emitted from somewhere in the rooms of Gomez's house, loud and piercing that resonated across the hall and jumped into his dim, open bedroom, causing Gomez to flinch. Lifting his head slightly from the soft, fluffy, white pillow, Gomez cursed, realizing that the blare was from his living room's telephone as he pushed the disorganized curls of jet black hair further away from his eyes.

Gomez groaned, stood up, and, with an irritated countenance, trudged towards the living room, where the sound was more stentorian than back in the bedroom. He strode towards the telephone standing atop a round, glass table right next to the couch and, before the ringing ceased, picked it up, pressing it lightly against his ear. "What? Who is this?"

"Hugh, it's Johannus." Hearing Police Officer Johannus Hanson's voice gave Gomez the sudden need to facepalm, inwardly groaning in exasperation. Hanson, no doubt, was a good friend, but he was repeatedly kicked out of his house by his fierce, pompous wife, seeking refuge behind Gomez's walls. As Gomez's only friend, Hanson, indeed, was welcomed in Gomez's home, before it expired after the 5th incident of extrude. "I couldn't reach you through your phone, so I decided to try your landline."

Gomez vaguely remembered feeling perplexed when Hanson asked for his landline number after requesting for his cellphone number. Now, he can see why. "Johannus, if your wife ejected you from your house for the 8th time─"

"Hugh, it's not that." Hanson's voice carried a solemn tone. "There's been a murder. Last night."

Curiosity and interest spark within Gomez's chest. "Who?"

Hanson did not immediately respond, his hesitation evident that it seemed to seep through the telephone, but, eventually, after a moment, he replied, "It's the Mayor's daughter, Hugh."

Shock overpowered Gomez as he silently lowered himself down onto the rarely-used couch of the living room, gaze pinned ahead of him, and he heard himself whisper, "Beatrice?"

"Yeah. In her own house."

"Why did nobody inform me earlier?!" Gomez stood up suddenly, surprise drowned by the unmistakable wave of fury. "Why are you telling me this just now? Where are you?"

"We're at the Mayor's house. I told you I tried to call you, but your phone's dead, so I had to resort to your landline. You gave me the wrong number!"

"What? No, I didn't." Gomez furrowed his eyebrows together, nonplussed, incredulous with Hanson's claim. "I gave you my landline number. I even saved it on my phone's contacts."

"It was the landline for Globe maintenance!"

The memory finally became vivid. Gomez never saved his landline number on his phone's contacts, he scribbled it hastily on a random scratch paper back at the office. He must've assumed the landline number found in his contacts was his. "I forgot. I must've thought it was mine when I saw it on my contacts."

"No, shit." Hanson sarcastically said, before his voice reverted to seriousness. "Good thing someone in the department has your real landline number. Chief wants your ass here right now, Hugh."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Gomez instantly hung up, returning the receiver to its rightful place.

A small part of Gomez could not believe the sudden death of Beatrice Marriyon, the only child of the Mayor, and the conundrum further became complicated with the fact that Beatrice was loved by many in the city, often called 'princess' by the people and her friends. It wouldn't make sense why someone would desire to watch Beatrice slowly fall to the depths of her coffin. Unless an individual fell in love with her, with her face, her kindness, the beauty she held inside out, and perhaps Beatrice did not reciprocate such affection, leading the admirer to a state of dismay and pain that drove him to eliminate Beatrice.

Or it could be someone blinded by jealousy and hate. Beatrice was a girl with extreme, rare beauty, a girl who was adored by many and was always standing beneath a spotlight, roses thrown to the ground before her, people smiling and chanting her name. She had fortune stored in a bank several streets from her house. Behind her, there was a visible line of boys waiting for her to notice them, presenting her the most beautiful of flowers, the most expensive of jewels, the biggest of teddy bears. It would appear as if Beatrice had a perfect life and someone with unrelenting abhor for her wanted to pull it away from her fingers. Or wanted to pull her away from it.

And what better way for such act to succeed than to involve death and his scythe?

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Gomez arrived at the Mayor's house earlier than he expected with five minutes to spare. Idling police cars lined at the side of the street, empty seats showcased through the clear windshield, some vehicles fortunate enough to park beneath the shade of a large tree, the leaves gently dancing back and forth to the zephyr. Because of the amount of vehicles taking up the space nearest to the closed, colossal gates of Mayor Marriyon's mansion, Gomez pulled his two-year car to a stop farther from the location than he would've liked. He got out of his car and began walking.

Overhead, there were scarcely fluffs of white found in the stretching canvas of bright blue, the clouds' movements lazy and easeful, allowing the beam of the Saturday sun to fill the city of Everhill and provide warmth. The breeze was refreshing on the skin, ruffling Gomez's unkempt curls on the top of his head as the distance between him and the Mayor's mansion gradually shrunk. It would've been a beautiful day for other people, perfect for families to go out at the beach, watching the waves roll as the children build sandcastles, giggling, racing across the sand while leaving a trail of footsteps behind, perfect for couples to spend the day picnicking at the park, exchanging words of affection, laying on the ground with a blanket beneath, admiring the blue of the sky. But to Gomez, to the police department, to Mayor Marriyon and his relatives, it was a day of difficulty, death fresh on the traveling air inside the mansion, the weight of Beatrice's lifelessness akin to a rock upon their shoulders.

Beatrice would've loved this day, Gomez thought, then shook the statement off his mind.

Detective Gomez met Beatrice Marriyon a couple of times, but he never would've prayed for every chance to. Even if they weren't introduced towards one another, Gomez knew Beatrice. Everybody in the city knew the Mayor's daughter. Everybody in the city heard of the Mayor's daughter. And if an individual didn't, then Beatrice involuntarily made them know her, through her countless of kind acts, through her sweetness and humility, through her beauty and benevolence. From what Gomez had gathered from whispering voices of ladies in front of him during Sunday lines in the supermarket, from passing students on the sidewalk, from elders sitting together on park benches, Beatrice constantly donated to the home for the ages, gave McDonald's takeouts to kids who considered the streets as their home, and often visited the only orphanage in the city, carrying boxes of toys for the children and snacks for everyone.

When Gomez finally reached the gates of the Marriyon mansion, it swung open slightly, enough for Gomez to go through. A stunning blonde stood behind, despondent. Her long, thick, golden blonde hair fell upon her shoulders, the ends curled like ribbons, and she wore a business attire for women, though have switched the pencil skirt for slacks. "Who are you?"

"Detective Hugh Gomez, Ma'am."

"I see. Your friend, Officer Hanson, is waiting for you." She opened the gate enough for Detective Gomez to enter the premises, his gaze pinning on her for a few seconds.

Walking away from the gorgeous woman, Gomez found Hanson approaching him, who offered a small, sympathetic smile, but Gomez's visage remained blank, hearing the woman close the gates once again. Gomez whispered to Hanson, "Who is she?"

"That's Caily Ellings, daughter of Vice Mayor Ellings. She's friends with Beatrice."

There were uniformed police officers everywhere, talking solemnly to one another on the veranda and on the lawn, their voices floating into the sober and gloomy air that surrounded the area. Gomez could see members of the Crime Scene Investigation team floating in and out of the mansion, most of them having gloved hands and a serious demeanor.

"Where's Chief?" Gomez turned to Hanson.

"He's at the garden, talking to the Mayor. The CSI won't let anyone just enter the mansion in case there's evidence they haven't yet seen."

"The Mayor's supposed to be in Kadagunyon City for a three-day conference with the Vice Mayor." They halted in front of the mansion's steps that led to the wide veranda, the double front doors swung back open to reveal the grand hall. Bright-colored police tape obscured the path, the words Caution in screaming bold, black letters.

"He left it to the Vice. As soon as we called him, the Mayor immediately got here in under twenty minutes instead of forty."

A woman from the CSI appeared on the doorway, hovering behind the police tape, the sharp features of her face consumed by a grim expression. With an acknowledging nod towards both Hanson and Gomez, she lifted a gloved hand and beckoned them to follow her inside. Gomez walked up the steps, Hanson trailing closely, to reach the veranda, heart beating incredibly fast than he would've liked. Gomez was never disquiet whenever he entered a crime scene; in fact, he often felt a rush of excitement, eager to catch clues that the eyes of the CSI missed, more than ready to connect the dots, create theories, question people, all of these pointing to one individual in the end for Gomez to capture.

The woman backed away to provide space, watching Gomez duck beneath the police tape, before successfully entering the grand hall of the mansion, Hanson following. She drew out her hand, extending her arm to Gomez and they shook hands, her gaze cold and hard. "Pleasure to meet you, Detective Gomez. I'm Miranda Sterling from the CSI. Follow me."

Miranda Sterling turned and they headed towards the stairs, crystal chandelier coruscating overhead, casting tiny flashes of light upon the ground and the steps. When Gomez and Hanson locked gazes, their steps echoing around the empty grand hall, Hanson raised a hand, curled four of his fingers, and offered Gomez a thumbs-up, which he chose to ignore. Gomez, expression remaining blank and devoid of emotion, focused on the woman in front of him, questions flooding his mind. "When was Beatrice's body found?"

"Around 7 a.m., by her best friend, Indarapatra Halabunon."

"Where is she? Is she already questioned?"

Miranda glanced at Gomez over her shoulder. "Already would've been if you didn't show up late, Detective Gomez. Chief settled on you to do the questioning. He is assigning you this case, after all. Right now, he's with the Mayor at the garden."

Once on the second floor of the mansion, Miranda led them to a long hallway, photos of the Mayor and his family hanging on the walls. There was a photo of a young Beatrice amongst it, smile wide, white blonde hair tightly tied back into a ponytail, ribbon sticking out from her small head. Gomez transferred his stare towards Miranda when she began talking, "Beatrice Marriyon's body was transferred to the hospital earlier this 7:30. From what we glimpsed of her, Beatrice was stabbed at the back. Shallow, but enough to weaken her, especially with such a physique. Her throat was slit open, too. After looking around, we managed to create a likely scenario that happened before Beatrice succumbed to death."

"Let's hear it." Gomez said, glancing at photos of Beatrice.

"The first thing we found before we searched her room was a shoe left in this hallway. Next, one of the officers discovered the glass of the downstairs sliding door leading to the garden and pool was shattered, lock still in place. There were visible smears of blood on the sliding door, its lock, and on a chair close to the pool. A Rick Riordan book lay on the ground, its position suggesting that it was knocked down instead of being gently placed there."

"I see. So Beatrice had been lounging near the pool before she was stabbed." Gomez theorized as Miranda stopped by an open door in a shade of periwinkle, a police tape refusing to grant access, before she turned around to face Gomez and Hanson.

"Possibly. Having her throat slit might have happened inside her room. Because the stab was shallow and was way too far from a vital mark, Beatrice managed to run inside the mansion, lock the sliding door, before fleeing to her bedroom, losing her shoe in the process of getting away."

Gomez nodded, convinced, about to open his mouth to inquire further when a booming voice came that startled them all, "Detective Gomez! Where have you been?!"

"Chief." Gomez said as Chief of Police Jeremy Williams approached the three of them, nodding to Miranda and Hanson, before gazing at him. "Apologies, Chief. Phone died, but I got here as fast as I can."

"Good. Have you questioned Indarapatra Halabunon?"

"Yet to question, Chief."

Chief nodded, raised an arm, and dismissed both Miranda and Hanson, before they walked away in haste steps. "Detective Gomez, I am assigning you the murder case of Beatrice Marriyon."

"So I've heard."

"But I need you to take in some juveniles of the city."

Gomez stared at him dubiously, not sure if he heard right. "What? Juveniles?"

"Yes, yes. They are crucial to this operation. Extremely crucial, Detective Gomez, if I must say."

Gomez couldn't believe the words escaping the lips of the Chief. Some juveniles are involved? How? "I refuse to believe this, Chief. They are kids. Underage. They cannot be essential to this case."

"Ah, wasn't it you, Detective Gomez, who told me that every person involved is essential if one were to solve a mystery?" Chief fixed him a gaze.

"Well, yes─"

Chief shooked his head. "I cannot believe it anymore than you can, Detective, but we cannot deny what is in front for eyes to witness. These kids hold the key to all."

The moment Detective Gomez scanned the room of Beatrice Marriyon, his eyes widened and he immediately understood why.