a lazy afternoon at the police station.
friday was trying to clean up her pending files as best she could before her day off.
she had sent a message to william wilson two days earlier informing him that the thirty day period he had to appeal the closing of his case had expired, and asking him to acknowledge that he had received her notice.
not that it was necessary that he send a response - the case was closed anyway - but she would have liked to have it in the file.
he had not responded.
that is odd, she thought. i know his type - persistent, and at least wanting to get the last word in.
something is off here.
she sent him another message, ending - mister wilson please respond.
two hours later, when she was ready to leave, he had not answered .
very strange, she thought. according to him, he has no job, and nothing to do all day.
she decided to drop in on him on her way home.
friday knew william did not have a car or a license to drive one, but bill smith probably did. did he drive into the city to his office?
she rang the doorbell.
twice.
no answer. she had not expected one.
she tried the door. it opened. she went inside
there was a small kitchen to her right. it looked neat and clean, probably not used much.
there was a small room to her left with a couch and a coffee table, and two closed doors beyond that.
she knocked on both doors. no answers.
she tried the first door. it was locked.
she tried the second door. it opened.
william was lying face up on a small bed. friday saw right away that he was dead.
there were no signs of violence or struggle.
but there was a small yellow post-it note stuck on his shirt front.
on it was scrawled , in what looked like deliberately “clumsy” handwriting -
got ya!
so, someone had been after him after all.
is this the end - or the beginning?
friday called constantine.
next
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