NationStates Jolt Archive

Stephan McIntyre began to read the day's thNews Newspaper. As a freelance columnist, he needed to keep up with the latest events.

Husband of Writer Found Dead

"Billy Hooglebumph, husband of writer Desmonda Hooglebumph has been found dead in a Capital City hotel room. Desmonda, famous for being the only writer in the whole of Bomble to have published a book, was reported to have been 'distraught' at the announcement of the 54 year old's death.
"He was my inspiration and love of my life!" cried a tearful Desmonda.
"Now he's gone, with no proper goodbye!" she added.
Police are expected to conduct a post-mortem in the coming days.
"We are treating Mr Hooglebumph's death as suspicious." Stated Capital City Police District Commander, Chief Superintendant Smith John this morning.
Police are asking for any information regarding Mr Hooglebumphs death.
"Information is key at this moment in time, if anyone has anything, it would be appreciated." Chief Superintendant John further stated.
In the meantime, locals are asking whether the desperately understaffed Police officers in the area are capable of mounting a serious murder inquiry.
"We simply need more officers" Said 48-year-old Mr Trent.......

Stephen dropped the paper.
"My god" he whispered.
He walked over to his phone. He knew who had done this. He quickly dialled Julien Hawke's number.

There was an answer.

"Hello?" Julien answered,
"Did you hear what happened? Billy Hoo..." Stephen was cut off,
"Well, well, well, Stephen McIntyre. The great Stephen McIntyre! Written any filth lately? Spread any rumours? Told any lies? Pathetic. You take orders directly from the Government. You cook their propaganda and feed it to the unfledged chicks of the general public. You aught to be the one on the front page today. I'm giving you warning. Get out of town, or you WILL be on the front page. One phone call, that's all it takes."
"I'm only trying to earn a living" Stephen hastily replied,
"Leave, or pay the price"

There was a click, the phone went dead.

Stephen knew Julien from university. He was always a loose cannon, never accepting authority, always willing to revenge. But was he capable of murder? Stephen had to find out, lives could be at risk...

Detective Craig Thompson looked up at the circular white clock hung on the wall. 2:32am. Damn, he thought. If only there were any solid leads. There must be someone out there. Someone with information. Someone with clues. Someone with SOMEthing. But there wasn't.

The door creaked open.

"See ya Craig! I'm going home now." Detective Charles Cartwright shouted from the corridor.
"See ya mate!" Craig shouted back. I wish he'd just knock, he thought.

Craig tried to concentrate on his notes. The words seemed to blend into one. He stood up and stretched, before he started to pack his bag.

Craig exited the hideous grey monstrosity that was the Capital City Police station. He tried to remember where he had parked. Next to the sign, that's right. He began to walk to his car when he noticed something strange. Cartwright's car...it was still there. The engine was running. Steam and fumes were billowing from the exhaust, into the cold, dark night.
"Cartwright?" He shouted,
Craig began to run towards Cartwright's car. His black lace up shoes knocking loudly on the damp, hard concrete below.
"Cartwright?" He shouted again as he reached the car's open window.
"Shit." He whispered.
A horrible scene lay before him. Blood was splattered all over the inside of the car. Cartwight sat slumped on the steering wheel. On the dashboard was a note.

"Conformist" it read...