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Bastard (A Novel)

Chapter 4

By TestPublished 2 months ago 3 min read
Bastard (A Novel)
Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

As Detective George Hamilton examined the case, with papers strewn across his desk, he began to suspect other killers.

Sometimes, it's the person you wouldn't imagine.

It's the person who seems like the nicest, kindest, most lovely individual in the world.

He continued digging for clues. Nothing.

When he arrived home, he sat on the couch, absolutely exhausted.

Jennifer Hamilton was cooking a lovely number: a perfectly seared steak with some roasted asparagus and a bit of mashed potatoes.

"I got a curious call today."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Susan Freid. She's convinced that the doctor did it. Dr. Jonathen Heathrow."

George rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well, she's also convinced that he somehow got the gun and shot Roseanne Miller. She's says she's certain of it."

"Susan is sure of a lot of things, Jennifer."

Susan was the town gossip. She never shut up about the neighbors, and had slandered George's reputation on multiple occasions.

In fact, he wouldn't put it past the woman to make up a murder just to cause a scandal.

Ever since her husband had divorced her, Susan Freid had taken to gabbing about everyone in her circle. She was the kind of friend that could never be trusted but would always entertain, and few could resist the sin of speaking ill of others, even if they were well-acquainted.

Reluctantly, George pried a bit more. After all, he was only hitting dead ends left and right with the case.

"What else did she tell you?"

"Apparently, Dr. Jonathen Heathrow has been in the news lately."


Doctors are never on the news...

"He killed a patient. They were on the brink of life and death, and they didn't make it. They're saying he did it on purpose."

"Why would he do that?"

"He's a man, George. Men love power. You would know."

"Oh, stop it, Jennifer. Honestly, I'm not that kind of man. I keep telling you that. If only you'd just listen. Honestly."

She marched off to the kitchen, angrily resolute, and tasted some mashed potatoes.

He shouldn't eat my food if he's going to be in such denial, honestly, she thought to herself, but brought him a plate nonetheless. She'd taken his hand in marriage, after all, no matter how much of annoying prick he might be at times.

She knew he meant well despite his chiding.

She coughed, knowing she had something important to say and he wanted to hear it. Baiting him.


"The woman's name was Taylor Madison. She was a famous singer with a penchant for speaking out on politics. She had told her enormous fanbase that they were going to get Donald Trump out of the limelight—and avoid him from running for office—and the country was scared that they just might."

"She'd had a horrible car accident. Bad concussion, broken limbs, you name it. She'd been hospitalized for weeks, but was slowly beginning to recover."

She paused for effect, knowing that she had her husband hook, line, and sinker.


"How are the potatoes?"

"Delicious, dear," he smirked reluctantly.

"Well, they say he injected her with potassium chloride, a drug that stops the heart, after hours. No one is certain, but that's the suspicion."

"Why? Why would he do that? He's been our doctor for years and we haven't had any problems."

"They say he liked watching her. Watching the life leave her eyes."

"No! Not Dr. Heathrow. You just like gossip, Jennifer. Honestly."

"I'm telling you, George. The man is not innocent. Susan said someone saw him do it. They just have no proof. No evidence, as you call it."


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