have told me Ludlow didn't have the "Balls" to pull off something like this.
In the center of the room is a chalk outline of the victim. It appears to be of a small lady. This wasn't warranted. It was a cowardly act. She probably couldn't even put up a worthy fight. While surveying the scene I suddenly noticed something that would've been overlooked by the canniest detective: a button. I kneeled down for a closer look. I've seen it before. It was a distinct button with a gold star on it. A routine patron named Bailey used to bring in his Italian-made silk shirts to the dry cleaners when I worked there. I only remembered them because Bailey was extremely bullheaded about his shirts. Many of his shirts had this same button stitched into them.
I was betting on Bailey still living in the apartment building a few blocks from the dry cleaners. I've picked up and delivered his dry cleaning to him every so often. Unfortunately, his cherry red '76 Stingray isn't parked out front. However, from the rooftop on an adjacent building, I did notice the silhouette of a busty female pacing back and forth by a back window inside his apartment.
While delivering dry cleaning to patrons one afternoon, I bumped into Bailey in the lobby of his building. He was retrieving his mail. Instead of taking his dry cleaning from me there, he made me follow him upstairs to his apartment. He retrieved a key from the top of his door frame and unlocked his door with it. I felt for the key on the door frame. It's still there.
His apartment is immaculate. The hardwood flooring in his living room and hallway is pristine. The colors of his modern-style furniture go well with the oil paintings hung on his walls. It’s showroom worthy. I'd expect this from Bailey. He comes off as an obsessive-compulsive person.
There was a racy pink tie-back halter top and a white mini-skirt on the floor in the bedroom. The shower was running and I overheard the mellow voice of a female singing from within. I went into Bailey's closet and sifted through his gold ancient tile patterned silk shirts. There were several and I was hoping to find the one with the missing button.
Suddenly I got an earful of the grating squeal from the shower knob being turned and the water stopped running. The female is going to come out any second. There was no time to dawdle. I had to move with haste. Just as I finished going through his shirts, I noticed a stuffed black garbage bag sticking out from underneath Bailey's bed. I fetched the bag out and sifted through it. There was a pair of jeans with a good amount of blood staining it. There was also a silk Italian-made shirt inside and a white knitted ski mask that also had blood splatter. Black buttons with a painted gold star was stitched into the shirt. A button, right on the chest, was missing. Bailey has adulation for his Italian-made shirts. I didn't think he'd wear one to commit this heinous homicide. He probably didn't have much time to prepare for the brutal murder he committed.
Just then, a cellphone began to chime inside the bathroom. The female answered it:
"Hello... Hey how's it goin'?... Nah, I just too k a shower... Yeah, I'm gonna be dancing tonight at Lacy's... No, Bailey isn't here… I can talk to you... No, he went to Sterling's Pool Hall with two of his buddies..."
The bathroom door knob began to turn. I set the bag back underneath the bed then scaled out of the bedroom window just as she stepped out. I descended down the fire escape, made my way into the alley and fled into the night.
Sterling's Pool Hall is located on the top floor of a narrow three story brick building on Ninth Street. There is a vertical neon sign fixed to the side of the building with its name illuminated in red. Bailey parked his Stingray in an alleyway besides the pool hall. For the past hour I've been watching him down six beers. He's accompanied by
In the center of the room is a chalk outline of the victim. It appears to be of a small lady. This wasn't warranted. It was a cowardly act. She probably couldn't even put up a worthy fight. While surveying the scene I suddenly noticed something that would've been overlooked by the canniest detective: a button. I kneeled down for a closer look. I've seen it before. It was a distinct button with a gold star on it. A routine patron named Bailey used to bring in his Italian-made silk shirts to the dry cleaners when I worked there. I only remembered them because Bailey was extremely bullheaded about his shirts. Many of his shirts had this same button stitched into them.
I was betting on Bailey still living in the apartment building a few blocks from the dry cleaners. I've picked up and delivered his dry cleaning to him every so often. Unfortunately, his cherry red '76 Stingray isn't parked out front. However, from the rooftop on an adjacent building, I did notice the silhouette of a busty female pacing back and forth by a back window inside his apartment.
While delivering dry cleaning to patrons one afternoon, I bumped into Bailey in the lobby of his building. He was retrieving his mail. Instead of taking his dry cleaning from me there, he made me follow him upstairs to his apartment. He retrieved a key from the top of his door frame and unlocked his door with it. I felt for the key on the door frame. It's still there.
His apartment is immaculate. The hardwood flooring in his living room and hallway is pristine. The colors of his modern-style furniture go well with the oil paintings hung on his walls. It’s showroom worthy. I'd expect this from Bailey. He comes off as an obsessive-compulsive person.
There was a racy pink tie-back halter top and a white mini-skirt on the floor in the bedroom. The shower was running and I overheard the mellow voice of a female singing from within. I went into Bailey's closet and sifted through his gold ancient tile patterned silk shirts. There were several and I was hoping to find the one with the missing button.
Suddenly I got an earful of the grating squeal from the shower knob being turned and the water stopped running. The female is going to come out any second. There was no time to dawdle. I had to move with haste. Just as I finished going through his shirts, I noticed a stuffed black garbage bag sticking out from underneath Bailey's bed. I fetched the bag out and sifted through it. There was a pair of jeans with a good amount of blood staining it. There was also a silk Italian-made shirt inside and a white knitted ski mask that also had blood splatter. Black buttons with a painted gold star was stitched into the shirt. A button, right on the chest, was missing. Bailey has adulation for his Italian-made shirts. I didn't think he'd wear one to commit this heinous homicide. He probably didn't have much time to prepare for the brutal murder he committed.
Just then, a cellphone began to chime inside the bathroom. The female answered it:
"Hello... Hey how's it goin'?... Nah, I just too k a shower... Yeah, I'm gonna be dancing tonight at Lacy's... No, Bailey isn't here… I can talk to you... No, he went to Sterling's Pool Hall with two of his buddies..."
The bathroom door knob began to turn. I set the bag back underneath the bed then scaled out of the bedroom window just as she stepped out. I descended down the fire escape, made my way into the alley and fled into the night.
Sterling's Pool Hall is located on the top floor of a narrow three story brick building on Ninth Street. There is a vertical neon sign fixed to the side of the building with its name illuminated in red. Bailey parked his Stingray in an alleyway besides the pool hall. For the past hour I've been watching him down six beers. He's accompanied by
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