Lord Lank has died and detectives Frank & Creed are certain Lank's wife and lover are responsible, the only issue they have is proving how. *Free murder mystery*
Who Killed Lord Lank?
“Look – I know she killed that man. I don’t know how, but I know she did. At least look at the text messages.”
Frank held out a folder containing the printed transcripts taken from Shelley Lank’s phone and emails. A back and forth between her and the man she was now spending her dead husband’s money with.
Creed paused for a few seconds before he reluctantly took the folder and pushed his lunch to one side. He placed the folder down and pulled out the transcripts. Frank stood facing him, hands palm-down on Creed’s desk. Creed shifted through a few pages before placing them down. He leaned back into his chair, his hands braided behind his bald head.
“Well?” Frank asked.
“Well, it appears she was fucking Ranjit whilst she was married to the deceased,” Creed responded.
Frank blinked rapidly and shook his head, his mouth gaping slightly. He let out a small laugh. “You think?” he replied sarcastically.
Creed leaned forward, picked up the folder and gave it back to Frank before pulling his lunch back towards him.
“It’s an open-and-shut case. Old boy marries young tail, young tail has married him for the money, young tail makes sure the last years of his life are brilliant and she gets all his pinkies when he passes. Seen it a thousand times, a tale as old as the sea mate. There’s nothing to it. Now please let me finish my lunch – my kids are calling in five minutes, and I have to at least appear marginally interested.”
Frank shook his head. “You obviously didn’t read the part where Ranjit asks her how long she reckons Old Boy has.”
Creed bit down into his veggie patty. “So what?” he responded.
“Motive, Creed, motive! Look, Lord whateverthefuck-his-name-is – his son – wants us to look into the case. He has money to burn. Even if there’s nothing in it, we could make a fair bit while we try.”
Creed looked down at his half-eaten patty, then placed it on top of its brown bag. “You know why I’m eating a veggie patty and not a meat one nowadays?”
Frank stared at him blankly.
Creed smirked. “No? Well, let me tell ya. My wife thinks it’s the meat that makes a patty bad for you, but she’s mistaken. It’s the pastry. It’s all the sugar and shit they put in it to make it sweet and flaky. Those chemicals will kill ya quicker than rat piss on lettuce leaves.”
Frank just stared. “Seriously? This firm is barely surviving, and an opportunity comes along like this, and you want to give me allegories?” he replied in annoyance.