Murder in the castle

It was raining when I was first called to the castle, it was dark, and I was tired, but as a detective, you don’t get to choose when you get called out. The door was answered by a drunken porter. Who invited me in after saying something about equivocate, ignoring him I walked into the murder scene. Three bodies assaulted my eyes as a bloody monstrosity, two things stood out to me, a bloody hand print on the wall, and that the knives that clearly had killed these two guards and Duncan, the other body, were missing. Suddenly knocking resounded throughout the castle; someone else was at the door. I ran out of the room, to see who else would be coming in at a night like this, suddenly a man ran through the halls sounding the alarm of murder, I had arrived, and was ready to solve, who really killed Duncan, it was not the guards, for they did not have their knives.

I arrived down stairs, to find a meeting, Macbeth just admitted to killing the guards, “out of rage for what they had done.” Or so he claimed, maybe because they saw what he had done, therefore he was forced to kill them in order to hide what he had done. His wife fainted when she found out that I had been hired for the case. Mrs. MacDuff, when the argument had concluded, asked me over. Whispering, she said. “I fear for my family’s life, Already the Malcolm and Donalbain have fled, fearing for their lives as well.”

“I’ll do what I can to find the killer, as soon as possible.”

“Watch your back, or you might end up with a knife in it as well.”

While everybody else retired to their bedchambers, I returned to the scene of the crime, upon my arrival I ran into Lord Macbeth, Who quickly shoved his hands into his pockets, and continued on by without even an apology. The bodies had been covered over with sheets of white, but slowly red blotches began to appear on them. I took the sheets off to examine the bodies of the two guards. The knives had been returned to their sheaths. Walking into the bed chamber I removed the sheet over Duncan’s body, his skin was as white as the sheet I had just removed. Looking over I observed that the hand print had been scrubbed off the wall, and with it, my chances of removing the finger prints left in blood. Walking back out I removed one of the knives and pocketed it for further examination. I decided to retire for the night, and the next morning I sent the knife back to England for examination. I waited for days but never got the results back, finally I decided to go back to England for the results myself. When I stepped off the train I bought a newspaper and was horrified to see the front page picture, my client’s and her children’s dead body. I read quickly the location of this massacre and went there immediately. I arrived and once again found a bloody hand print on the wall, were we dealing with a serial killer, whose calling card was a bloody hand print? Or was this just the work of Scotland’s new, sick, and twisted king, still trying to cover up his lust for power. I took a Taxi to the lab where I had sent the knife. The Secretary said she had sent the results back to the sending address. I asked if I could see those results immediately. She nodded and turned and rummaged through a cabinet and swiveled back around and handed me a folder, there were two different sets of finger prints. One belonging to the guard; and one belonging to another man. The one I had suspected from the beginning, Macbeth. I caught the next boat back to Scotland, when we docked I got in the nearest taxi, but the driver refused to take me to the castle of Macbeth. “That’s a war zone now.” He said. Hopping out, I ran to a stable and rented a horse. I hoped I would get there in time. I arrived and found men in ghillie suites, near the edge of the forest. They invited me to charge the castle with them. But I politely declined; I would wait till after the castle was taken to enter. As I waited I went over the evidence, until the blue firework popped in the sky, my signal to come. I eventually caught up with the prince to be, but he told me that MacDuff was still missing. I had to find him before something happened. I opened each door. Looking and listening for any signs of Macbeth or MacDuff. Finally I opened a door, but instead of the men I was hoping for, I was met by three women, dressed in odd appeal. They spoke to me saying “You shall not stop our work oh wise man.” Another spoke up “Although it was a brilliant plan.” Then the last one. “Macbeth must die, by MacDuff’s vengeful hand.”

“But Macbeth can’t die; he should be put behind bars where he belongs.”

“Macbeth!”

“Macbeth!”

“Macbeth! His head this way comes.” Then to my horror they all held hands and chanted. “Fair is foul and foul is fair, Hover through the fog and filthy air.” With a puff of smoke they vanished, and when the smoke cleared MacDuff appeared holding onto Macbeth’s head by his hair, he was covered in blood, at this sight I promptly screamed. But calmed down eventually. My client’s family had been avenged. And I was paid for my services to the crown. Another case solved, but it weighed heavy on me that I was unable to save MacDuff’s family in time.