The corpse was half decomposed, surrounded with crusts of dried blood. His face was
buried in the white keyboard. There seemed to be no sign of struggle, nothing in this case
seemed too out of the ordinary for a murder case other than the three letters written in blood on
the computer monitor that the victim was using.
" What do you think it means?" said the local kid whom took a ride along with Markus.
" It could be anything." Markus replied as he crouched on the floor, examining the
documents in the victim's cabinets.
The ride along was a Teenager, his body resembled a fully grown adult, but inside he
was still an immature child. Markus came to the conclusion that he was an aspiring detective.
He had an awkward manner of doing things, despite being quite social.
Markus put the documents back in the desk drawer and got up. Looking over the
corpse's shoulder he interpreted was the letters meant. The first letter was definitely an M. The
second letter was more distorted. The victim must have been dying from blood loss. Loss of
blood flowing to his brain must have affected his motor skills. The letter was either a V or a U.
The last letter was even more distorted either an R or a P.
" It looks like MVP to me chief." Eric the Ride Along said as he munched on an unknown
Markus, again in a crouch position, looked up at Eric and replied " No, No do you see the
last marking not the P or R the last stain of blood was smeared, which means he died of blood
loss just as he began to write the letter. He was trying to tell us something, but he didn't finish."
In between munches of his snack Eric asked " So, what was he telling us Chief? A
Markus paused to think of an answer. He pulled off his disposable gloves and said " I
think the V is a U, and the last letter is an R."
" So then what the hell is MUR." Eric asked.
" Eric, I think he was trying to tell us that he was murdered."

" Mr. Davidson, nice to meet you." Markus said holding a stretched out to shake.
" A pleasure to meet you as well Officer Zimmerman." Mr Davidson stretched out his
hand revealing a chrome Rolex watch underneath his white shirt sleeve. He let out a smile and
said " Please sit down."
Markus Zimmerman sat down in the white leather chair as he unbuttoned his sport coat.
He pulled out a pen and notepad out of the breast pocket of his jacket. He scribbled down a few
notes, and asked " So tell me about your relationship with Todd Hughes."
Mr. Davidson wiped the sweat of his palms on his thighs and said blatantly " Well, I mean
me and Todd had a rivalry in high school, but it was no big deal. Afterward we laughed it off and
became friends. I was so devastated when he was murdered."
" Well we don't know exactly if it's a homicide yet." Markus lied. " But focus more on what
happened just before he died."
" Well the other week we went out for a couple of beers at the local bar, he told me about
his debt to a man named Ahmed Karam."
" Did he tell you why he owed this man money?"
" No, just that he was frightened of him."
" Do you have any contact information on him, like phone number address?"
" Yeah here let me give write it down for you." Mr Davidson wrote Ahmed Karam's
information down. " Oh and please take a copy of my business card, contact me if you need any
further information." Mr. Davidson said.
Markus grabbed the card, and the Ahmed's information. He peered down at the fine
sheet of thick double bonded paper Mr. Davidson wrote Ahmed's information on. It read
Ahmed Karam
8101 Drury St. Apartment 6.
After thirty minutes of driving Markus found himself in a bad part of town. Women barely
dressed sat on street corners, puffing gusts of smoke, and breathing in through cigarettes. It felt
like a lifetime until he finally reached the broken down apartment building.
8101 Drury Street. Up the stairs through the door. Markus firmly knocked on the door
keeping one hand on his pistol. " Portland Police Department open up."
A disgruntled voice screamed through the door " Murdoch you bastard leave me alone,
you know I'm not paying you a dime!"
" It's Portland Police Department open up!"
" Oh, sorry for the screaming, here let me let you in." The voice on the other side of the
door said.
Markus heard dozens of locks being tampered with, until finally the door swung open to
reveal an old arabian man confided to a wheelchair wearing filthy clothing.
" You're under arrest for suspicion of murdering Todd Hughes You have the right to
" Todd Who? Oh, well I guess it doesn't matter pig I know my rights, now don't worry old
uncle Ahmed has no fight in him, you can shoot me with your electricity, but that won't make me
smell any better." The old Arabian man let out a hoarse, and distorted chuckle as Markus cuffed
his hands, and legs to the wheelchair.

The next afternoon at the crime scene Markus further pondered the meaning of the
words. " Murder." he thought. " Murmur."
Maybe it's a name. Maybe it's a...
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He answered " Detective
Zimmerman speaking."
" Hey Markus it's Jones down at forensics, your man Ahmed's DNA results came out
negative, he's not our man."
Markus sighed " Oh well I guess that puts me in a dead end, just keep doing database
searches until something pops up. Thanks."
" Yeah alright Markus good luck."
" Yeah, I need it." Markus hung up the phone.
He looked at the crime scene. The body was removed for forensics, but everything else
still remained, except for a few stray hair follicles that were too small to notice. His watch read
9:30. He decided to call it a night.
On his way home he pulled into a restaurant. Although he never felt good about calling it
that considering how cheap the food was. It was the same everywhere, over enthusiastic
employee. Telling him his total through his fake smile.
" That will be four sixty two."
Markus pulled out five bills, and set them on the counter. Just as he was about to put his
wallet back in his wallet a business card fell out. It read
Murdoch Davidson
Sales and Accounting
It was Mr. Davidson's card. Murdoch Davidson. MUR MUR MURDOCH. " Tell Murdoch
to screw himself, I'm not paying him a dime." Said Ahmed in Markus' memory. " I mean we had a
rivalry in high school" Murdoch said. No Todd wasn't trying to spell murder, he was trying to
spell Murdoch.
" Sir is something wrong?" The loyal employee asked.
" Keep the change." Markus said as he left.
He was speeding down the highway. He was going to Murdoch the murderer's office.
When he got there he sped over the curb, across the lawn, and into the parking lot. Through the
revolving door he went. The man at the front lobby asked him to sign in, and Markus flashed his
badge. Up the elevator, the lights of the numbers flashed signifying the level. First 1 then 2 and
then 3 then to 4 after that 5 then 6 followed by a 7 after 7 it was 8 then 9 then 10 and then the
doors opened at the 11th floor.
He found Murdoch getting out of his office chair feverishly. " Portland Police department!
Murdoch Davidson, you are under arrest for suspicion of murdering Todd Hughes!"
" Oh fine fine, just let me bring my comb along just in case my hair gets..."
" Get your hand away from the drawer, put your palms flat on the desk or else I will
Murdoch didn't put his palms on the desk, and Markus did shoot. Just as the bullet blew
off a piece of Murdoch leg he pulled out a revolver and fired into Markus' chest. Markus fell to the
floor clutching his wound. Markus gargled blood, and grimaced in pain as Murdoch limped out of
the room. Markus felt more and more blood leaving his body. He looked up at the computer
monitor on Murdoch's desk. Markus dragged himself towards the chair. He tried to breathe, but
no air seemed to enter his lungs. He looked down at his bullet wound. The bullet must have
punctured his trachea, the windpipe. He was breathing through a hole in his upper chest
bypassing the larynx, the pharynx, the mouth, and the nasal cavity.
A surge of pain went through his body anytime he drew a breathe causing him to breathe
only when he absolutely need to as he crawled to the office chair on his elbows and knees.
When he finally got to the desk he had a hard time forcing himself upwards and into the chair,
propping his elbows on the desk, and hoisting himself up seemed to be the only viable option so
he did just that. He fell back into the chair releasing a sigh of relief that hurt so bad he nearly
considered suffocation.
He looked through the cabinets for pens or paper, but none were to be found. He
didn't own a single pencil or pen. What could he possibly use for ink. Then he thought
about Eric the ride along. What his reaction would be when he read in the paper that the
Detective was killed by a mysterious murderer whom he was investigating in Murdoch
Davidson's office. And about how Murdoch would claim that the Murderer shot him in the
leg. No. He couldn't let that happen, so he did what Todd Hughes was forced to do.
Markus dipped two fingers into his open wound. He looked down at his hands
dripping with blood as he carefully wrote the letter M on the computer screen as legibly
as possible. " What would happen to the detective investigating my investigation?"
Markus thought as he began to dip his fingers once more in his wound. The U was even
harder with his lack of coordination. Especially the circular curve at the bottom. Anytime
he poked a finger in his wound a pain worse than breathing shuddered through his body.
As he was holding his breath he wrote the arch in the r. Then the straight line.
He had been holding in his breath for quite sometime, and was pushed to the
edge. He let out a deep gasp which felt like fire to his chest. Then he puffed in a deep
breath. Breathing in hurt worse than out. When he breathed out the air was warm, and
somewhat relieving. But breathing in was an icy fire that turned his chest making it feel
colder than any winter he had ever witnessed.
He knew that he couldn't stop at R. Todd stopped at R, and there was no justice
for him. Then Markus dipped his fingers again in the wound, covering it with blood. The
circle in the d, then the straight line he wrote on the computer monitor with his blood.
Each time he dipped his finger in it hurt worse and worse. The same with his breath. "The
letters to write, three pokes to my wound." THought Markus as he shifted his hand
uncomfortably from the screen. More and more he lost his mind as blood gushed from his
open wound. " What was the next letter?" He thought. Markus imagined the word in his
head " Murdoch." Murdoch Murdoch Murdoch he had to write an O. With all his strength
he stabbed his finger painfully into his wound. His hand, now completely covered in blood
he wrote. He coordinated his shaking, and bloody hand with his other unbloodied hand
writing in a complete and perfect circular motion an O.
Murdo. He used the remaining blood to write C. Murdoc. One last letter. He was
on the verge of death, and the only thing that kept him from closing his eyes was the
letter h. " H." He said softly to himself. Markus. Poked deeply in his wound to get a rich
red on his fingers Just like dipping a quill in ink he thought to himself. With his last painful
gasp he wrote the letter H with the ink of his veins. Markus looked at the word "
Murdoch." Markus' face turned pale has the last breath escaped him.