The Crimson Footprints

It was the chilly night of January 17th in 2015 when the New York Police Department received a very alarming phone call at 9:23 pm. The caller, a woman, spoke frantically. “Hello? Police?! Help me, please! I’m Charlotte Smith. I just received a very disturbing phone call from my husband and it seems to me that he is in a deeply perilous situation. He called me from our landline, which means he must be at home. I’m on my way there as we speak. Our address is 38 Central Park South. Please help him. NOW!” The sense of urgency in her voice was enough to give chills even to the police.

Officers Ryan Johnson and James Miller, who were closest to the given address at the time of the call reached the exquisitely built 30-storey glass and steel building, only to find Mrs. Smith repeatedly pressing the elevator button. “The apartment is on the 18th floor, the stairs would take much longer”, she explained wiping a drop of sweat from her brow, her face panic stricken. As soon as the elevator opened its doors, the three of them rushed into the elevator and waited while it slowly climbed up the floors, one after the other. The calm before the storm. After the nerve wrecking period of watching the floor numbers count up to 18 was over, the officers followed by Mrs. Smith hurried out of the elevator as soon as the elevator doors slid apart, the officers came across the building doorman who was banging his palms on the doors hoping for a response, but in vain. The officers kicked open the main door, which surprisingly gave way without much effort. You’d think that such a posh and well-made apartment would have a stronger door. But what the door gave way to, was a ghastly, appalling sight.

The silence of the nipping winter night, was pierced by a series of loud shrieks, Mrs. Smith’s, each more painful than the last, which echoed throughout the eerie quiet.  Anthony Romano, the Smith family butler, kneeled over the still body of Richard Smith, which lay in a crimson pool of blood. The victim was the 42-year old co-owner of Smith and Langford Associates, one of the richest men in the tristate area. He was dressed immaculately in a tuxedo right up to the bowtie and diamond cuff links, and had a single gunshot wound to the head. An Iconic Smith & Wesson M&P revolver lay beside the body of the deceased, the grip and the frame, heavily covered in a bloody carmine. The bulky and heavy frame of the butler cast a shadow over the millionaire’s ruggedly handsome face, which gave it a more sinister look. Anthony, who seemed to be grief stricken at the effects of his attack, was oblivious to the recent developments around him and stayed there, tears streaming helplessly down his cheeks. Even the clamour caused by the doorman’s incessant hammering, the policemen barging in and Mrs. Smith’s wailing seemed not to perturb him. To add to the ominous milieu, Anthony, using his napkin, kept mopping the pool of blood around his master in repetition, smearing the blood more instead of cleaning it in his delirium. Officer Miller swiftly went ahead and searched the rest of the apartment and when it was found that there was no other person on the premises, he pulled up Anthony Romano, heaving with the effort of lifting the 6’2” tall servant, slapped handcuffs on his bloodied wrists and dragged him out of the apartment. Anthony, quiet as a mouse, didn’t once look up during the whole arrest.

Meanwhile, Officer Johnson, alerted the NYPD about the situation and then went looking for Mrs. Smith, who after her initial outburst had left the apartment. As he turned to head out, he saw the doorman, pale in the face and approached him instead. “You there!”, he exclaimed. The doorman initially startled at the sudden break of silence, walked towards the officer and nodded politely. “What were you doing outside the Smith’s apartment at this late hour?” “I was called by Mrs. Smith, Sir. She informed me about the details of the situation, told me that the police would arrive soon and commanded me to rush upstairs to avoid any tragedy. She even gave me permission to use the elevator which is usually restricted to us doormen. A very kind-hearted lady, Madam Charlotte is. Alas! Even the elevator did not get me here fast enough…” Feeling a pang of pity for Mrs. Smith he dismissed the doorman and resumed looking for her. He found her weeping on the stairs just outside the apartment, beside the elevator. Charlotte Smith, the 34-year-old wife of Richard Smith, was a very attractive woman. With luscious blonde curls down till her shoulders, flawless pale skin, dressed in a deep violet evening gown and classy Louboutin purple suede pumps with an elegant diamond necklace around her thin, slender neck, she looked like a freshly bloomed Cattleya orchid. Despite the tears smearing her dark charcoal-like mascara, Officer Johnson observed how remarkably attractive she was. He thought to himself how it was such a pity that she be widowed at such an early age. With a heavy heart, he spoke softly, “I am deeply sorry for your loss; it must be terrible seeing him like that. Your own butler, too…” She sniffled, pulled out her satin kerchief of her purse and then wiped her nose with it. It had the initials C.S. marked in it with a mauve thread. She trembled when she spoke, “I can’t believe… Anthony…” After regaining some composure with a deep breath, she continued, “Richard treated him like family. How could he do this to him? To us?” The hint of betrayal was evident in her voice. Just then, the elevator dinged, and again, and yet again and eventually the entire police team had swarmed the apartment, with evidence bags and microscopes, scanning the entire house.

“With luscious blonde curls down till her shoulders, flawless pale skin, dressed in a deep violet evening gown, she looked like a freshly bloomed Cattleya orchid.”

Detective Sarah Jones, one of the leading homicide detectives of the NYPD was handling the case. Just 28-years-old, Detective Jones had brought many laurels to her team. She was a tall, smart and blunt woman, who had made work her life. She treated every case like it was her most important case and spared no effort in bringing justice to the victims. She was definitely the right person for such a high profile case. She walked out of the elevator, head held high, with an authority which was hard to challenge. Her auburn trusses were tied into a high bun and her lean body was wrapped in a dark maroon coat which complimented her fiery dark eyes. Her burgundy boots clicked as she walked out of the elevator making everyone aware of her presence. “Johnson!”, she barked. Officer Johnson got up from where he sat beside Charlotte and rushed up to Detective Jones’ side. “Fill me in on all the details right from the beginning. Don’t spare even the slightest one, you know I hate that. Let’s get this case wrapped up within 24 hours!” She told another officer who stood guard at the door to get Mrs. Smith to the police station downtown immediately. As Johnson started to fill Jones in, they both marched into the house, which now looked nothing like the house they had barged into, hardly half an hour ago. The place was crowded with policemen, the body was being cleaned up, the chalk outline was being drawn and the furniture was being dusted for evidence. 

Reaching up to the body, Detective Jones bent down and leaned in over the corpse which lay face upward. She had a contorted expression on her face the whole time while examining it. The coroner spoke. “Well, I need not mention the time of death since we know it happened within the past hour anyway and I can’t narrow it down further, but it seems to match the timeline of the phone call to the police. About the cause of death… The bullet was shot through the back of the head and according to the blood spatter, from close range and could even be at point blank.”, he informed. “So our victim knew and trusted the killer, I presume.”, Jones noted. “But we already know who the killer is! It’s the butler! We caught him red handed, with the gun in hand; what more evidence do we need?”, exclaimed Johnson. Detective Jones smirked. “My dear Johnson. Did the butler confess to his crime?” “No, but…” “Did you see him shoot the victim?” “Not exactly, but…” “Well then, we still have to find out the killer of our victim here and we will go where the clues lead us!” Conceding defeat, Johnson didn’t say more but approached the body himself. Upon seeing the body up close, Johnson noticed a few peculiarities. There was a cordless telephone just to the left of the body. “This must be the phone he used to call Mrs. Smith”, he remarked. Jones nodded curtly without a word. The area just around the body had blood smeared all over the floor, courtesy of Mr. Romano’s repeated mopping which made the scene look even ghastlier. Oddly so, there were crimson footprints leading away from the mopped pool of blood towards the main door, they did not leave the apartment, however, but instead turned around and met near the body where they had initially started. There was one other intriguing detail which piqued the detective’s interest. A couple of unsymmetrical stains of blood near the pelvic region of the body were visible. They had a triangular shape but looked smudged on the edges; the most peculiar pattern. “What are these?”, Jones muttered under her breath. “Maybe the victim wiped his bloodied hand on the side of his shirt? Or maybe the butler wiped his own hands?”, Johnson tried to reason. Jones then demolished his argument by saying, “But the victim was shot from behind at point blank range, so he must’ve died instantaneously and would not have had time to touch his own blood, much less wipe it. As for the butler, I would have seconded that, but these stains look nothing like fingerprints, in fact they look as though made by some sort of hard surface with edges. It’s the most intriguing thing and could possibly be the key to finding the killer!” Johnson just rolled his eyes. “She keeps saying “killer” but we all know it’s the butler!”, he thought, but kept it to himself.

“There was a pair of crimson footprints leading away from the pool of blood . . .”

Just then, Johnson’s phone rang. It was Miller. He had a sense of urgency and a hint of excitement in his voice as he spoke. “Johnson! I think I may have found the motive! After I arrested Romano, I brought him to the interrogation room to ask him a few questions but he hasn’t opened his mouth since we came here. It seems like he’s still dazed. I realized that an interrogation with him is pointless so I did a background check. Now get this: Anthony Mario Romano, Age 45, has been the butler for Smith family for over 8 years but before that, he worked for Gambino family back in 2005. Italian mob, Johnson. He worked for the big guys. Apparently, they had some big fight in which Romano allegedly killed a family member. He then left town for a couple years only to return to New York as the Smith’s butler in 2007. Maybe Smith found out about Romano’s past and confronted him about it, things got out of hand and boom! He killed him!” Johnson was shocked. “Wow, this is big. Good work, Miller! I’ll tell Detective Jones about this. What about Mrs. Smith by the way? Did you interrogate her too?”, he said. Miller replied, “Oh yes, I did. She said that she had to attend the Jiva Gala tonight at 9:00 pm. Even Mr. Smith was to accompany her, but he refused at the last moment. He said he just wanted to stay in that night and gave no reason why, even though she insisted on him telling her. Eventually she gave up and left at about 8:30 pm and returned along with the police later that night. She did mention that Mr. Smith had seemed a bit troubled lately and was being secretive about it. That’s all. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” and he hung up. Johnson relayed the entire conversation to Detective Jones who listened intently, nodding. Just as he was about to finish, one of the forensic experts called out, “Detective! You need to see this.”  Jones walked briskly to where the forensic expert stood in front of the main door, Johnson trying to keep up by her side. The expert held the gun in an evidence bag with him. As Jones reached, he said, “We observed the gun, it’s an iconic Smith & Wesson M&P. It is one of the top quality revolvers known to be used by the Italian mob back in the early 2000s. It is used by others, but it’s quite uncommon.” Johnson excited by this new piece of information, butt in, “Oh! Anthony had a history with the Italian mob. This makes perfect sense!” Jones just shot him a glare silencing him. The expert continued, “But that’s not the oddity. We noticed that there were just four bullets in the cylinder of the revolver which meant that…” “…two must’ve been shot already.”, Jones finished. “Exactly. But the victim was shot with just one. So we made a thorough search of the premises, looking for the second bullet or at least some hint of it and we found it now.” The expert then pointed towards the ceiling right above them. “We found the second bullet lodged in the ceiling here and it matches the bullet which we took out of the body, though ballistics will confirm whether it is the same gun by tomorrow.”, the expert concluded. “Thank you, sir”, said Jones before walking away, deep in thought.  “It’s well past midnight. We should all go home now. We have all the evidence we need right here. I think some good night’s sleep is what is needed to tie it all together. I have a feeling that we’ll be able to crack this case the first thing tomorrow!”, said Jones. With this, Detective Sarah Jones and Officer Ryan Johnson parted and headed home.

The next morning, when Johnson entered the police station downtown, the whole place was swamped with officers running helter-skelter. In the midst of the crowd, was Jones, who was shouting instructions at officers with a triumphant look on her face. Johnson walked up to her. She noticed him and exclaimed, “Johnson! Perfect timing! You won’t believe how marvellously this murder was planned. I was able to put it all together last night. It was all cluttered when I left the crime scene, but as I reached home, it all magically fell into place. When I came in at dawn, I just needed to verify a couple things and once I did, I knew I had solved the murder of Richard Smith!” Johnson, baffled by the new information was then dragged towards the interrogation room. “The murderer is sitting inside. Let’s go inside and I’ll explain to you the whole thing.” As the entered the room, Johnson beheld the most shocking sight. Charlotte Smith sat on a lone metal chair in the interrogation room, now in an orange jumpsuit instead of her violet evening gown. Hair tied into an untidy ponytail, dressed in the jumpsuit without any jewellery with a sombre expression on her face, she looked completely different from her beautiful elegant ladylike self from last night. Her sad, pitiful demeanour had changed into a malicious and arrogant one. She lifted her head to look at Johnson, her eyes as cold as ice. “Meet the murderer of millionaire Richard Smith!”, announced Jones. Johnson gaped at Charlotte with his jaw wide open for a few seconds before Jones started explaining.

“Her sad, pitiful demeanour had changed into a malicious and arrogant one.”

Jones started narrating the whole murder, “So, let me start from the beginning. Richard and Charlotte Smith were at home getting ready to go to the Jiva Gala at around 8:30 pm. Charlotte, who had been having an extra marital affair with a younger man, one Thomas Hannigan, which we confirmed later from her phone records, had planned the whole murder beforehand, down to the last detail. She wanted to get rid of Mr. Smith so that she would inherit all his money and could then get married to Mr. Hannigan. Just as they got up to leave at around 9:00 pm, Charlotte pulled out the revolver she had hidden in her purse, with a silencer attached to it, and shot her husband in the back of the head from a close range. She then went and picked up the telephone from the center-table and kept it on his left side, her right side. But if Mr. Smith himself would’ve used the phone, it would have been to his right side, since that his dominant hand, a mistake she made in haste. Since she had underestimated the blood loss which would happen in that little while, the soles of her heels got wet with blood, which would’ve left footprints and spoiled her whole plan. So she wiped the bottoms of her heels on the side of his shirt, thinking no one would notice them enough: the peculiar triangular stains of blood, yes. She then walked towards the main door, took off the silencer and shot at the ceiling once more, this time creating a loud bang to ensure that the butler would come out. Before the butler came running out of his chambers, she threw the gun inside, closed the door but forgot to lock it in her hurry, which is why the police were able to knock it down quite easily. She then started running down the stairs when she called the doorman, insisting on him using the elevator since she was using the stairs. Once she was in the lobby, she called the police so that she could hide out in the lobby till they arrived and then run towards the elevator pretending that she just got here to avoid any suspicion. I checked the call records and the call to the doorman was made at 9:15 pm which was 8 minutes before the phone call to the police, which gave her plenty of time to reach the lobby via the stairs. Meanwhile, Mr. Romano, hearing the gunshot rushed outside to find the body of his beloved master covered in a pool of blood. He ran towards him and broke down, howling with the agony of his master’s death. He got up a few minutes later, looking around with tears brimming his eyes, saw the gun lying near the door, which Mrs. Smith wasn’t able to throw too far. He walked towards it, with bloodied footprints, picked the gun up and walked back towards the body, where he fell to his knees, sobbing. He stayed that way when the police broke in and you know the rest. I sent a team this morning, looking for the silencer on the building premises and they found in thrown into a potted plant on the 6th floor, the floor from which she must’ve called the doorman. When I arrived at the station, I went to where Mrs. Smith was detained, and I checked the soles of her heels. Covered in the blood of her husband, it confirmed my entire theory. So there you are. Mystery solved!” 

Johnson listened to the whole story silently, taking time to process what Detective Sarah Jones was telling him. Jones beckoned Officer Miller to take Mrs. Smith back to her cell wherefrom she would soon be escorted to Lincoln Correctional Facility for life long imprisonment on account of a first degree murder. As they came out of the interrogation room, they were met with Anthony Romano who had a faint smile on their face as he came closer. “Thank you, ma’am, sir. Mr. Smith was the nicest man and he deserved justice more than anyone ever. Despite knowing my background with the mob, he still gave me a chance at a normal life by making me his butler. It’s terrible, his demise, but at least there’s a silver lining of having caught his murderer. How Mrs. Smith could do such a thing is beyond me, but she never seemed as kind as Mr. Smith from the start. Alas! What’s done is done. I guess I better head out now. Thank you again.” Jones and Johnson smiled as Anthony walked away. Finally relaxing, Jones looked at Johnson and laughed. “Convinced that Anthony was the murderer, weren’t you? Surprised, eh?”, she guffawed. Johnson smiled sheepishly and said, “I was intrigued by the crimson footprints leading away from the body, whereas I should’ve been focusing on the ones on the body!” Jones smiled, appreciating his comment, patted him on the back and bade him farewell as she walked away. “Another chapter closed.”, she thought, gleaming with the satisfaction of having caught the real killer.