The Case of the Rose-Covered Corpses

I thought I would share the Noir short story I wrote that Richard C. won for solving the mystery I threw out at my last posting! Enjoy, and while you're reading, cast yourself as a detective back in the 40's - light up a Camel cigarette, don your trench coat and fedora, and pour yourself a shot of whisky as you wait for the next case....

The Case of the Rose-Covered Corpses    

        The heavy rain rattled against the grimy windows of Detective Sam Drake’s office, a steady drumming that seemed to match the rhythm of his thoughts. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey. Drake, a man in his early forties with a face like a chilled gravestone, was nursing a glass of bourbon when the door creaked open.

        In walked a vision dressed in crimson—a striking woman with sapphire eyes and a cascade of raven-black hair that framed her face like a halo. Her name was Evelyn Marlowe, and she was trouble, wrapped in silk.

        “Detective Drake?” Her voice was soft, almost musical, but there was a steel edge beneath it. “I need your help. My brother’s dead.”

        Drake raised an eyebrow, put down the glass, and motioned for her to take a seat. “Start from the beginning. Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

        Evelyn’s story was as dramatic as her entrance. Her brother, Vincent Marlowe, a wealthy socialite with a reputation for trouble, had been found dead in his penthouse suite that morning. The apartment was a lavish affair—gold fixtures, marble floors, and velvet drapes. The scene, however, was anything but elegant. Vincent lay sprawled across the floor, a single rose petal resting on his chest, a grim symbol of some twisted love affair or final gesture.

       “Who found him?” Drake asked as he examined the rose petal

        “I did,” Evelyn replied. “I had been out of town, but I returned this morning and—found him like this.”

        Drake’s instincts told him something was off. He had been around enough corpses to know when a scene was staged, and this one had that remarkable air. He made some calls and learned that Vincent had been involved in some shady deals, and his death might not be as straightforward as it seemed.

        Drake spent the day sifting through Vincent’s business dealings and personal life. There were rumors of affairs, gambling debts, and blackmail. The dead man’s secretary, a frumpy woman with a sharp tongue, mentioned Vincent had been getting threatening letters, though she wouldn’t reveal who might be sending them. An old associate of Vincent’s, a slick gambler named Tony “the Snake” Ricci, hinted that Vincent had been involved in a dangerous game that he had been losing.

        It was the letter from Vincent’s lawyer that provided the breakthrough. The letter contained a will, and the primary beneficiary was Evelyn Marlowe. The will had been recently updated, and a sizable fortune was due to pass to her upon Vincent’s death. So many motives—so many suspects.

        By late afternoon, Drake was back at Evelyn’s apartment. He needs answers and a good place to find them. Evelyn had retreated to a luxurious sitting room with a glass of wine in hand. The room was filled with expensive artwork and antique furniture, an opulent shrine to her wealth and status.

        “Mr. Drake,” Evelyn said, her voice laced with curiosity. “Have you found anything?”

        “I’ve found a lot,” Drake replied, lighting a cigarette. “But I still don’t know why a rose petal was placed on Vincent’s chest.”

        Evelyn’s eyes flickered. “Vincent had a habit of sending roses to his mistresses. It was his signature. I suppose it’s possible one of them left it.”

        Drake scrutinized Evelyn. Her composed demeanor was starting to fray around the edges. “You know, Evelyn, something doesn’t sit right. The timing of your return, the will, and the whole rose petal thing—it all seems a bit too neat.”

        Evelyn’s smile was as cool as a winter’s night. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with my brother’s death?”

        Before Drake could answer, the phone on Evelyn’s desk rang. She picked it up and listened for a moment before her face turned pale. “My God, no,” she murmured.

        Drake’s curiosity was eased. “What’s wrong?”

        Evelyn hung up the phone and turned to him, her composure completely shattered. “That was the police. There’s been another murder—Tony Ricci. He was found dead in his office, and it looks like he was killed the same way as Vincent.”

        Drake’s mind raced. “The same way?”

        “Strangled,” Evelyn said, her voice trembling. “And there was a rose petal left on him, too.”

        Drake’s instincts told him that this was no coincidence. He returned to Vincent’s apartment, now a crime scene under police jurisdiction. He asked the officers to let him in, and he carefully examined the body once more. There was something Drake had missed initially—a small but distinct mark on Vincent’s wrist—a tattoo of sorts, faint but identifiable.

       Drake returned to his office, piecing together the puzzle. He had the tattoo checked out, and it led him to an old, forgotten institution—a charity organization with links to both Vincent and Tony Ricci.

The charity, it turned out, had been a front for a large-scale money laundering operation. Vincent and Tony Ricci had been deeply involved in it. As Drake dug deeper, he uncovered something startling. Someone else, it seemed, had been a key figure in this operation, using their status to cover up illegal activities. Vincent’s death had been staged to divert attention, and this person had been the mastermind orchestrating everything from the shadows.

        Drake returned to Evelyn’s apartment. The detective’s revelation was met with Evelyn’s cold, calculating gaze. “So, you figured it out,” she said, with no trace of surprise in her voice. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

        “You were clever, for a dame,” Drake said, "But not clever enough. You used the rose petal as a signature, a distraction. But you didn’t count on me noticing the tattoo on Vincent’s wrist or the patterns of the deaths.”

        Evelyn shrugged, a sad smile playing on her lips. “Vincent was going to expose everything. He was reckless, and Tony was going to turn on me. I had to act before they ruined everything.”

        Drake nodded, his expression somber. “It’s a shame. You had everything, but greed and ambition took it all from you. Now, you’ll pay the price for it.”

        As Evelyn was led away in handcuffs, Drake watched her with a mixture of pity and disdain. The glamour of her life had dissolved into the rain-soaked streets of the city, and the only thing left was the bitter taste of justice served cold.