Crime Scene

The shapely blond lay face-down on the hardened ground next to the parking lot. Rigor mortis was in and advanced stage. She was wearing clean white underwear--no holes or overstretched elastic--which would indicate that she had come from good breeding. Or at least that she listened to her mother. The only other garment to be found anywhere in the vicinity was a filmy pink something or other. Could have been a skirt or a pair of wings for all I could tell. She had both shoes on, but no stockings or socks. Her hair was clean, but slightly disarranged. Come to think of it, that might have been by design--best not mention that.

Closer examination showed no bruises or abrasions, no sign of blunt-force trauma or strangulation. I was able to pick her up and check her out completely--she was only about four feet tall and weighed just a few pounds--and put her back in the exact same position in which I had found her. (I know I shouldn't have done that, but I just had to see if I could.)

The only indication that she had been mistreated was the lack of warm clothing to ward off the chill night air. But who can tell what goes on behind closed doors? Perhaps there was an argument, and some kid decided to throw her out the window as the family car backed out of its space. Or maybe she jumped, thinking she could make it to the store and find something warm in the toy department.

Of course there's the always the chance that this was all just a tragic accident--that she was on the edge of the seat when the car door was opened, and fell to the ground without anyone noticing...I left her where she lay, hoping that was the case, and that the family would return to the scene in an effort to silence what surely would have been their child's deafening wails.

When I returned this morning, she had vanished.

Case closed. Sort of.