Author's note: An old type-writer inspired this book.
I woke up at 9:30 to the sound of my telephone ringing. I rubbed my eyes, yawned, then picked up the phone.
“We need you to come down to the station,” Mr. Ramond’s voice exclaimed.
After eating a breakfast of cereal, coffee, and toast, I got in my car and drove to the station. Mr. Ramond was waiting at the front door.
“The results for the finger prints came back.”
“Nothing. The fingerprints belonged only to Mrs. Larth and Mr. Larth”
This brought a whole new level to this investigation. Whoever kidnapped Mr. Larth was a professional. He either wore gloves, or wiped the fingerprints off. He must have done it silently as well, for Mrs. Larth hadn’t notice her husband was gone until she got in bed. This, paired with the shooting last night had me completely stressed out. However, Mr. Ramond was only giving me one more chance, so I had to go and figure out my next move. I drove back to the Larth residence. Their home is located on a part of the neighborhood that has hill full of trees in front of it. I got out of my car and walked down the hill. After a mile or so of walking, I found yet another piece to the puzzle.
At the bottom of the hill was a dirt road. Lying on the dirt road was a pair of gloves that were covered in blood. I pulled out a pair of gloves myself and put them on. I didn’t want to ruin any piece of evidence that this pair of gloves may have had. After securing the gloves in a bag, I drove back to the station for the gloves to be examined. Examination could take hours, so I went to my office to do research on Mr. Larth. I entered his name, Frank Larth, into the database. I clicked the first result that came up. A short paragraph about Mr. Larth appeared. Nothing seemed worthy of my time until I came upon something quite interesting. I found that Frank Larth was famous for being a physician. I found this odd, odd because physicians make a decent salary and his home was anything but decent. Then the real surprise came. He had also killed a man.
After prescribing a patient by the name of Randy Mayfield a drug that killed him, Frank Larth was put in jail until trial. He was found not guilty, mainly because of an exemplary lawyer who proved that Mr. Larth didn’t know about Randy Mayfield’s medical conditions. After this incident, Frank and his wife Sheila moved to 5382 Smithson Drive. They had been living there for 4 years, until he was kidnapped. I was dazed, so I didn’t hear Mr. Ramond screaming in my face.
“Otis! Listen to me!”
I had finally came to.
“What? Did the DNA test on the gloves come back?”
“Yes. The blood belonged to Frank Larth.”