Chapter One of The Age-Crime of Murder

Finalist in Claymore Awards and Second Place in the WhoDunIt Awards

“I’m not crazy,” Franklin Bolen kept mumbling to himself as he hurried down the hall. He had to be careful. His 89-year-old legs didn’t move as fast as they used to, and he steadied himself with his hands on the wall to ensure he didn’t fall. This late at night, it might be hours before anyone in the facility would find him and help him. But he had to find Leroy. Yes, it was late at night, and like many elderly people, he had trouble sleeping. But he wasn’t crazy. He didn’t imagine it.

“Damn it. Where is that kid?” he muttered when he got to the dining room, the center of the facility where Franklin lived. “Where is that kid?” he shouted, hoping that saying it aloud would answer the question. Several doors opened from rooms down the hall. Residents came out to see who was shouting and why.

As if on cue, Leroy Josten, the attendant who was on duty appeared.

“Where have you been?” Franklin demanded.

 “What’s happening Frankie?” the young man asked.

“Quit calling me that,” Franklin answered with hostility.

Leroy was used to the unorthodox, even hostile, behavior the residents of this assisted living facility had. Still, he was fond of them. They were often bitter and angry, but they also showed him great kindness and support. This was something the 23-year-old, black man appreciated. As for residents making demands at all hours of the night, this was something else Leroy had grown accustomed to. But he liked working nights. It gave him time to study for the MCAT, the entrance exam for medical school. Also, working nights paid a little better than daytime shifts, and he would need the money to pay for medical school if he got in.

“Sorry. Franklin. What can I do for you?”

“You need to call the police. That’s what you can do.”

“Why do I need to call the police?”

“Because I just saw a girl murdered. Now, call the police!”

Residents were now warily entering the dining area.

“Now calm down,” Leroy said as he pulled up a chair for Franklin to sit in. “Where did you see this happen?”

“Quit looking at me like I’m crazy,” Franklin insisted as he waved a hand before sitting down. “Call the cops. Some poor girl was just murdered. Out there in the back. Near that dumpster behind that restaurant that you can see from the back of this place. You need to get the cops out there right now.”

“Really, you saw a murder?” a resident behind Leroy asked.

“Yes! I did.”

 Several residents had gathered around the two men and started asking questions. Leroy put up his hand to quiet the few residents that had gathered around. “Frankie, you saw a murder. At night, behind the dumpster at which restaurant? When did this happen?”

“At the one behind us. You can see it from my window. I saw it just now, well, a few minutes ago. It took me a while to find you. And quit calling me Frankie. My name is Franklin. You don’t think I know what you all say about me behind my back, but I do. Now, call the cops.”

Leroy patted Franklin on his shoulder. “I’ll go back there and take a look. If I see anything, I’ll call the police.” Leroy turned to the others. “Everyone, please stay here.”

“You fool,” Franklin stood up and yelled. “If you go out there, he’ll kill you too. I saw the whole thing from the window in my room. If you want, you can look out my window and you’ll see I’m not imagining it. I don’t care what you all say. I’m not crazy.”

Leroy nodded and left Franklin in the dining area where he was sure Franklin would be okay with several other residents there to look after him. Leroy walked down the hall and entered Franklin’s room. He walked over to the window and looked out. He saw the dumpster, but no one was near it. There certainly wasn’t a body. He stayed at the window for a moment, staring out at the restaurant’s parking lot, searching for any signs of a person in the area. There was a single car in the parking lot, probably the janitor’s, Leroy figured. He left the room, making sure to close the door behind him.

* * * * *

Leroy returned to the dining area, surprised to see several of the other residents of the facility and two patrol officers talking to Franklin. “What’s going on here?” Leroy asked as he approached the group.

“Well, you wouldn’t call the police, so I did,” Franklin proudly admitted. “And they got here double quick too.”

“We were in the area,” one of the patrolmen replied. “This gentleman said there was a homicide out back. Do you mind if we check?”

“Not at all, officer,” Leroy answered. “But it wasn’t in back of here. Franklin said it happened by the dumpster behind the restaurant that is behind us on the next street. I just checked and didn’t see anything. But please do check. Maybe it will calm Franklin down.”

The two officers nodded in agreement before returning to their vehicle.

“See what you did,” Franklin yelled. “You sent them away. They need to check the dumpster. They need to catch the murderer.”

“Relax, take it easy,” Leroy said as he guided Franklin to a chair and gently forced him to sit down. “They just went over there to check things out. If there is anything, they’ll take care of it.” A couple of the residents came over to talk to Franklin. This gave Leroy the opportunity to retreat to the front entrance of the dining room, where he could watch the front of the building and residents at the same time. Franklin remained in the dining room with several of the residents waiting for the officers to return. The residents were eager to hear what Franklin had to say. It took less than ten minutes before the patrol officers returned.

One of the officers came into the building to talk to Franklin while the other remained in the car. “We checked out the area around the dumpster. Nothing unusual. Are you sure you saw something out there?” the officer asked Franklin.

“Yes,” Franklin adamantly replied as he stood up. “I’m old. I’m not crazy. I’m telling you there was a young woman murdered out there.”

“Can you describe the murderer?” the officer asked as he pulled out a small notebook. He noticed the resident spectators were quiet, listening intently to for any details.

“Of course,” Franklin answered. “He was medium height and weight, nothing unusual about him except he had short hair, like a military haircut, and weird ears. And he was a white guy.”

“Weird ears?” the patrolman said with confusion, looking up from the notes he was writing. “How were they weird?”

“They weren’t shaped right. The bottom part was big, a lot bigger than normal.”

The patrol office wrote all this down. “How were you able to see all of this from your bedroom window, this late at night?”

“When I saw the woman struggling, I used my camera zoom lens to get a better view. I even took a picture of the guy, but it didn’t come out. All you can see is the flash reflecting off the window.”

“He’s really a very good photographer,” said a woman in a terry-cloth robe. “You should see the great job he did with my grandkids pictures.”

The police officer nodded to acknowledge the woman’s comment before returning his attention to Franklin. “Pretty good thinking for someone surprised this late at night.”

Franklin shook his finger at the officer. “Why? Because I’m old. You think because I’m old I can’t think, I can’t do anything. Well, you’re wrong. I’m old, but I’m telling you I saw someone murdered out there. Now do your job and catch the guy who did it.”

The police officer put away his notebook. “Tell you what we’ll do. We’ll patrol the area and keep a sharp eye out for anyone who matches your description. But that’s about all we can do.”

“What a waste of taxpayers’ money,” Franklin yelled, waving his hand. “There’s a murderer running loose and you’re going to patrol the area.”

“Thank you, officer,” Leroy said interrupting Franklin’s rant. “Appreciate you taking the time you took to check things out. I’ll take it from here.”

“He’s all yours, buddy,” the officer said as he waved goodbye.

Leroy turned to face Franklin. It was going to be a long night and difficult to get Franklin back to bed along with everyone else.

* * * * *

“Damn, you’re heavy,” Harry “Haj” Hammer said to the body of the woman he was carrying. “Damn it. I wish you hadn’t done what you did. All you had to do was give it up, but no, not you. You forced me to do this.” Haj placed the body on the edge of the ravine and gave it a kick, rolling it down the embankment toward the rocks below. He thought about hiding the body but realized he didn’t have enough time. He knew someone would find the body, but he hoped the cops would think she died from falling down the embankment into the ravine and focus on collecting evidence here instead of at the restaurant dumpster where he killed the woman. Also, this would give him time to cover his tracks.