13 Dallaway Street

The first version, of a first part, of a first investigation.

At 13 Dallaway Street, we're introduced to a situation—a crime with no clear resolution—from the perspective of the local police force. A detective and his team, working within a district unit, are tasked with investigating a murder. A woman has been brutally killed without any apparent motive.

(I) In this opening act, which is part of a larger whole, we meet several of those on duty. Our unnamed detective, a department chief eager for results, a tense medical examiner, a proactive assistant, and others who appear as the story unfolds.

(II) Next, we delve into the daily routine of the police force—how they usually handle cases and what types of cases they face. We learn what's behind some characters' stress and why others are in this line of work at all.

(III) We then return to the investigation—or more accurately, the development of the case at hand—following leads, checking incident reports, and dealing with the paperwork that surrounds a murder and its many unknowns.

(IV) Finally, we close with a very deliberate hook: the story beneath the story.

There's a lot of narrative to unfold here. As a creative project, we'll be investing in paratexts like these short explanations or even reflections. Instead of releasing full chapters right away, we're putting out shorter parts to speed up the writing and revision process—so we can start reading sooner. Stay tuned: we'll be updating the content to improve the reading experience, both in these paratexts and in the main text itself.

Enjoy!

-----

"I'm on a call with the boss," says the man, showing the badge in the inner pocket of his blazer. The police officer lets him through. He walks through the door without delay, listening carefully to the voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, the forensic team is almost done. As soon as everything is ready, I'll stay on site with my team and try to understand what happened here — tsch, all right, I mean we will understand what happened here." He ends the call and places the phone into his cell holster.

While he waits, a man approaches the door, introduces himself to the officer, and enters the premises. He's carrying two cups of coffee and, as he gets closer, offers one of them.

"Here's yours, Detective."

The detective takes the cup, removes the lid, and puts it in his blazer pocket. He takes a sip without checking the temperature, brings his free hand to his face, and observes the scene in front of him.

The forensics team is wrapping up the initial assessment. The medical examiner gives instructions to his team, who have already taken detailed photos of the body, recorded the injuries, their position, and collected everything that could serve as evidence nearby. With a sketch of the scene completed, he signals for the team in charge of packing the body and taking it to the morgue to come in.

The doctor looks tense. His movements are stiff, his commands mechanical. He urges the team to hurry so the investigation can begin soon. With his notes written on carbon copy paper, he hands a few copies to the detective.

"Everything's here. If you need anything else, call the morgue. I'll be there, but busy. I have to go with the body, so I can't stick around."

The detective looks at him for a moment but doesn't ask any questions. After all, he has what he needs. The medical examiner nods and leaves with the body in the ambulance.

"So, Detective. Looks like this time there's more than just paperwork involved."

"And I don't want to know — at least not yet. Let's see what we've got here," he says, approaching the spot where the body had been.

"Looks like the rest of the team is arriving. I'll go meet them and explain the situation."

"Thanks for your help. As for me, I'm going to focus and try to understand what happened here — or rather, will understand what happened."

Under the department chief's order to "understand and resolve the situation," the detective, now with the notes in hand, begins reconstructing what happened at the scene.

They are in an ordinary house in the suburbs of the city, near an intersection and close to the highway. Almost every street like Dallaway, which stretches to the eastern edge of town, crosses Guard Street. Decades ago, this area marked the city's beginning, but it became isolated when the city center was relocated elsewhere. It's easy to flee from here. There are few neighbors, and they aren't concerned with watching over one another — for many, it's already hard enough to take care of themselves, or perhaps it's just safer to mind their own business. This isn't the first incident on this street this year, but it draws more attention than the last, in which a teenager stole a resident's belongings. This time, the situation wouldn't be solved with detention or community service. All signs point to a killer on the loose.

The victim, Prudence — a fifty-four-year-old woman who lived alone — was found dead on the living room floor by a friend and acquaintance who used to run a small shop nearby and would visit her regularly. Three months ago, he managed to secure a better commercial space and moved closer to the city center. This would have been his first visit since the move. Cause of death: multiple lacerations to the abdominal area caused by a knife attack. She bled to death. The body was found not long after the incident, considering the carpet is still wet. It's plausible that the murder happened within the last twenty-four hours. The autopsy will confirm everything.

There isn't much to say about the house itself. The living room, where the crime took place, is the first room you enter. There is also a kitchen, a bathroom, and a staircase to the upper floor. The furniture is made up of mismatched and old pieces, likely acquired at different times. The same goes for the porcelain and utensils found there. Even if she had sets, they were meant only for herself, and perhaps for a rare guest. There's a larger bathroom upstairs and her bedroom, but there's no sign that the killer went up. Everything happened on the lower floor.

The weapon used was a single-edged knife, typically used for cutting meat — one of the victim's own kitchen knives. So far, there's no indication that any other tools were used.

Boot prints were left behind — the kind of common boots worn on rainy days, often by construction or manual labor workers. The city is currently undergoing infrastructure renovations, so many people are wearing that type of footwear as part of their work uniform. A shoe type and size aren't enough to single someone out. Moreover, the perpetrator was likely wearing gloves, as no fingerprints were found at the scene.

The door wasn't locked, and the suspect — who could easily pass as a typical laborer — knew where to find the weapon. A robbery? We still don't know if anything was stolen. A disturbed mind? We don't yet have a profile. A murder? There's a body to support the claim.

"So, detective, the team is already aware of the incident and on duty," says the assistant. Now that you've read the forensic team's report, do you have anything on your mind?"

"We have very little to go on, but—"

"But?" The assistant waits for him to continue and takes a slow sip of his coffee.

"I've been thinking about how easily he got in and committed the crime. Did he just walk in, or was he known to the victim? Not only that—he may have done it in broad daylight. Knowing the exact time of death will be important. If he really was a worker and not someone pretending to be, we might be able to cross-check some schedules. But what really caught my attention were the curtains."

"The curtains? Why those?" A police officer interrupts them mid-discussion. The assistant thanks him and the officer walks off.

"Evans just finished confirming the victim's friend's statement. Do you want to speak with him too?"

"No. The man's probably tired after everything. Besides, I want to know more about who he is before making an approach. He showed up to visit the victim just after it happened—too much of a coincidence, whether it's bad luck or something else."

"Way too much. I'll bring Evans so we can talk to him. But what did you mean about the curtain?"

"They were closed. If they hadn't been, someone might have seen something, depending on the time. Of course, neighbors or people passing by wouldn't think twice about seeing a visitor—especially if it was someone they were used to seeing. If anyone did see someone, it was our guy."

The assistant calls Evans over. He had just finished confirming the statement given by the victim's friend — **Harold**, forty-five years old, a longtime resident and owner of a small local grocery store. He had regular weekly contact with the victim, and it wasn't unusual for them to have coffee together. Both had lived in the area for years, but they'd been friends for about ten, since he started his business. He said he'd come to check in on Prudence, since they hadn't spoken much lately due to him moving both his home and store. He was horrified and deeply saddened by what he found. He cried for nearly half the interview.

Evans approached the two of them, looking relieved — like someone who's just come down from a physical effort — after confirming Harold's story and letting him go.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, "good to see you — despite the circumstances. When was the last time we had a case like this?"

"Depends on the channel you watch," the assistant replied. "Some say we're on par with the national average. Others congratulate us for doubling the target. Of course, they never explain how they calculate that."

"Truth is, I don't see more cases happening — but they do seem to be replaced by ones like this. Honestly, I still haven't gotten over what happened to that little girl," said Evans.

"Don't even mention it. Let's stay focused on this one. So, what did the man say?"

"He was honest, if I can put it that way. Visibly shaken. He had brought a couple of grocery bags with fruit and natural products. Despite how upset he was, he was able to answer every question. He said it was unfair, that she was a good person and didn't deserve what happened to her."

"Anything that might explain the murder or point us to a suspect?"

"Well, that's what I'd like to know more about—he told us everything he knew about her, spoke of their relationship, up to that point just a friendship, and said she didn't receive visits from any family or relatives. But from time to time, she used to put together baskets—like the pre-made ones you buy—to give to someone in need. A kind of charity she started after her divorce and losing her son."

"Then there might be something there. If your gut is right, detective, we could investigate whether the person who entered her home was someone who had received one of those baskets—or something like that."

"Something like that," the detective said, still observing the crime scene. "At the end of the day, we're left with a lot of maybes, and that's far from what I'd like to have in hand. I still have to report something to the department chief. He's going to be disappointed, but that's just how things are. Check with the guys and see what else there is to do. As soon as everyone's done with their tasks, we'll meet back at the office to gather and confirm everything we've got on the case."

"Will do, detective."