mong Wasps: The First Case
Karlis Kadegis
Copyright 2015 Kārlis Kadeģis
[Note: By court decision all names, titles and references that are relevant to the case or the defendant have been altered before publication for confidentiality purposes.]
It seems that the very first sentence of a story is the hardest of them all. At least that’s how I feel as I begin to note down my recent experiences. There really isn’t much else I can do in my prison cell than to look for yet another way an average height, well-built man in his thirties could settle in his miserable bunk bed. Besides that, you can also read a book, but when you’re done with all ten available in here, you can only return back to research on body arrangements. Or you can write. I’ve heard that giving my account of the experiences of the last couple of years could significantly improve my living conditions. Or, possibly, even secure my release. That is the motivation behind this writing attempt, and it is also the little glimmer of hope that I am now clinging to.
To begin with, I feel obliged to give a brief introduction of myself. My name is Albert, and I am an assassin. At least I used to be until I was caught two years ago. It’s safe to say I was one of the best in Northern and Eastern Europe because I only took up a couple of clients per year. My standards were fairly simple – they had to be interesting and the offered salary could not be less than five figures, though I always bargained for six just for the fun of it. Most of my clients were rich, loathsome cowards and would easily raise the pay if the dangerous looking killer in an expensive suit just bothered to ask.
Ironically, I was sentenced for a murder I did not commit. It was a carefully planned and faultlessly executed plot by one sly individual who was driven by love and hate at the same time. Nobody, of course, believes me, but I have given up on trying to convince people otherwise. It’s not that I’m innocent of assassinations anyway, right? By now my real crimes are out in the open and easily found on the internet so I’m not going to dwell on this topic any longer, both for the sake of avoiding boring redundancy and to keep your opinion of me as good as possible for as long as possible. I am not proud of my past, but deeply ashamed of it to be honest. Yet there’s little one could do to change the past, but the future remains like an ocean – vast, with countless number of routes and destinations. It’s just the matter of getting into the right boat.
So there I was, presented with a choice just two months after I was locked up. It came from Rebecca, a woman I used to be madly in love with. I couldn’t turn my eyes away from her, but her smile can easily create an addiction. She is also the only person in the world that believed me when I said that I did not murder Vasilevsky, the victim in the case I was wrongly accused of. Rebecca was one of the police officers assigned to investigate it, but I was the assassin hired to avenge the victim. At least, now I can say with certainty that such relationships cannot last.
Since I am basically destined to die in prison, our relationship quickly became strictly professional, with her visiting me whenever she needed help with one of her cases. So, I’m partially responsible for her becoming one of the leading investigators in Latvia. Partially, because she is extremely bright on her own right, but just needs some guidance whenever forensics and crime labs fall short with supplying evidence. And I have the practical knowledge in the art of murder and crime.
As I said, the first case she presented to me came just fifty-six days after I was found guilty. One of the guards escorted me from my cell. He did not say much, just the necessities. Most of the information and directions were conveyed through gestures with his baton.
“Get up, come with me.”
I, of course, obeyed. The guard took me to some sort of a conference room, not the usual visitor’s wing. It was a simple room, with a wooden floor and walls painted yellow. All the chairs were turned towards a chalkboard on one of the walls. The rest of the place contained only some shelves and a desk right next to the chalkboard. Rebecca was sitting in her uniform, with her back turned against the door, as I was guided in by the guard.
“You can leave us,” she said to him without turning her head. The man did as he was told, leaving the two of us alone.
As the guard left, Rebecca got up from her chair and turned towards me. I saw a smile in her face as we promptly embraced one another, but not for long, for she quickly let go.
“How are you?” I asked, unable to get the smile away from my face.
“All right,” she answered as we moved towards the chairs. “The work is driving me crazy. I can barely force myself to eat and sleep properly. Anything else would, literally, be asking too much. I look awful.”
“Nonsense! You look fabulous! Compared to all the other ugly, fat, sweaty faces I see around here… man, I wish everyone would look as “awful” as you do.” I felt that the last line sounded a bit awkward since I noted a flash of a frown on her face. Then Rebecca burst out laughing, but just as I automatically reached for her hand, she crossed them on her chest. I leaned back and looked at my feet.
“How are you holding up here?” She asked.
“Fine. Everyone is, I guess, is afraid of me. Even the staff. Most other inmates are here for theft, robbery or killing someone while they were drunk. I’m the only professional assassin around, which hardly allows me to create an interest club. So I can, at the very least, be on my own. ”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. The rest of the lot that’s locked here are repellent anyway. But the guards, well, they are not that open to conversations with inmates.”
Her eyes gave away the feeling of compassion, but she did not say anything. For a couple of seconds that seemed like a full minute, we just stared at each other. Suddenly she shivered, as if remembering what it was that brought her here.
“Look, I came to visit you today because there is something that I wanted to ask you. I’m here partially as a police officer and partially as a friend who needs guidance. ”
As she spoke I noticed a little folder in a chair behind her. At that point I felt some sort of a click in my head as I became fully aware why she had made her way to this facility.
“Go on,” I encouraged.
“The rest of the police force does not know that I’m here and I don’t think they would be overly happy about it. With that said, I know what talents you’ve got and how resourceful you can be to get the job done. There’s no doubt that these skills of yours can be used for a good purpose. I’ve seen it!”
“A case is what has brought me here to you today. Truth be told, it has left the whole police force absolutely baffled,” she stretched in her chair as she was speaking. “As the investigator assigned to the case, I have taken the initiative and taken steps that go beyond the pride of the police force and contacted you – the only person I know that has the mind, experience and talents to give us a fresh light on the matter.”
It didn’t take me long to decide that this was my way to redemption. Furthermore, it is also something fresh to waste my time and mind on while I either sit on my bunk bed, or sleep on it.
“Tell me about the case then,” I briskly replied.
Rebecca let out a relieved sigh as she reached for the document folder I had noticed previously. She began to explain the case as she looked through the materials.
“The murder at hand happened ten days ago, on the seventeenth of October in a six-floor apartment building in Riga. A modern house, with a security camera at the main entrance and the parking lot as well. The front door can only be opened either by a key card or by buzzing one of the apartments. There is also no other way of entering – the first floor windows are fairly high, but balconies start only on floor two. So here’s what happened.” Rebecca took a deep breath
. “On the evening of the seventeenth a woman in one of the fourth floor apartments received a call from her sister to come down and pick up a package. It consisted of a variety of farm and countryside goods: jams, honey, juices and what not… Anyway, the wife asked her husband to get all the stuff from the car to home to which he gladly agreed. He put his coat on and went down to pick up the goods. The security camera shows him coming out of the building and aimlessly wandering around for a minute before he, supposedly, notices the car and goes up to it. He then reappears on camera two minutes later, carrying a large and heavy bag. He’s then shown using the buzzer to call his wife to let him in, which she does. But, by the time he gets up to the apartment his wife has been murdered.” The police officer paused a little. “Seven stab wounds in the chest and abdomen, one through the throat. She was found right by the door, where the microphone for the front door lock is. According to the husband, she was still alive when he found her, but died while he called the ambulance. There was nothing the medics could do. When we arrived, the scene was practically untouched. The murder weapon was lying next to the victim – a kitchen knife from their own apartment with no other fingerprints than the
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