She Wore A Yellow Raincoat Chapter 2

Officer Martin is a successful police officer, ranking high in the police department. However, a case from his past still haunts him. He struggles to forgive himself and put the pieces together

Martin set the file down on his desk. He took a quick sip of his coffee, mulling over the details once again. It was a mistake to open it, Martin thought to himself. In fact, everything about that case was a mistake. The guilt in his chest seemed to have doubled, making it difficult for him to breath. He clenched his heart in pure agony while trying to take a deep breath. What had the psychiatrist told him to do when he panicked like this?

“Colors..” His voice is barely above a whisper.

He looks around, trying to pick out the colors of his room. But all he could see was the bright yellow color of Margret’s raincoat.

“Officer Martin?” A young man asked with a certain sadness in his voice.

Martin merely points at his burning chest before the young man runs over to him.

“It’s okay, Officer Martin, just calm down. Deep breaths,” cooed the other officer.

Didn’t the boy realize that his chest was so tight he couldn’t possibly breath? His vision is starting to return to him, and Martin looks around the room.

“Blue,” he says, noticing the blue eyes of the man who was trying to help him.

The young man nods, although he doesn’t understand.

“Brown,” says Martin, observing his desk.

“Chief, what’s going on?” asked another cop who had walked past his office.

“I think he’s having a panic attack,” the blue-eyed officer explains.

“Step aside. This happens time to time,” the other man says while moving closer, “Officer Martin, can you tell me what color my hair is?”

“Red,” Martin says, his eyes wide.

He manages to calm down some; his breathing gradually returning back to normal. Martin sits back down his chair, his hand still clenching his chest. The two other cops stare back at him, concern written all over their faces.

“What happened?” the younger of the two officers asked.

It took time before Martin eventually muttered out an answer.

“That poor little girl…”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Margret’s funeral was a small, intimate one. The family were selective about who could attend, but still extended an invitation to Martin. He was tempted to decline it, to avoid Margret’s parents and relatives. After all, so many mistakes had happened that led to Margret’s death, so many mistakes on his behalf. But that wasn’t right. It would be so wrong of him, to not only have help aid in the death of Margret, but then to not even pay his respects.

Officer Martin can still feel the guilt he felt as he walked into the church. The casket sat at the very front of the room, and it was closed.

“Officer Martin, thank you for coming,” said Mr. Buckles.

“It’s the least I could do. Thank you for inviting me. I don’t think I ever told you how terribly sorry I am.” His voice cracked.

Mr. Buckles patted Martin on the arm and his eyes seemed so sad. It’s all my fault, he thinks, I should have told them.

“We don’t blame you, you know,” said Mr. Buckles after quite some time.

Tears burned the back of Martin’s eyes and he willed himself not to cry. How, he wants to ask, how could you not hate me? Even I hate myself, he thought, how can you not blame me?

The funeral service was filled with countless tears; there was not a dry eye in the entire church, Martin included. A slideshow of pictures and videos of Margret made Martin realize what a terrific girl she was. Top in her class, and an excellent dancer, Margret’s death was a truly tragic loss for the world. The last photo was of Margret posing happily in her bright yellow rain coat.

When Officer Martin arrived at work the next day, Carl was waiting at his desk. There was a horrible tingling feeling in his stomach and his legs felt like jelly.

“Carl, can I help you?” asked Martin.

“I’m sorry to tell you this but, we’re gonna have to stop investigation on Margret’s case. It’s a dead end, Martin. There’s not a scrap of evidence and with the media not interested anymore, we won’t be getting no where.”

“We’re just going to give up? She’s dead because of-” he stopped himself.

Carl gave Martin a scowl before standing up from Martin’s chair.

“The case is cold,” said Carl before walking away.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Chief, what are you talking about?” the blue-eyed officer asked out of genuine concern.

“I had a case fifteen years ago,” Martin found himself spitting out the words before he could stop himself, “dealing with the murder of a young girl. It was all my fault that she died.”

Martin buried his head in his hands again, pulling at his peppered color hair. He concentrated on breathing, wanting to avoid another possible panic attack. He could feel his coworkers staring at him yet he made no effort to acknowledge them. Everyone has things they’re not proud of, Martin reminds himself. It doesn’t help.

“Some things are out of your control,” said his coworker, Phil. The one with the blue eyes.

“But this wasn’t.”

“Your view of what you can or cannot control is wrong! No one has ever blamed you for it,” said the other officer in the room named Jim.

“I blame myself. Every day,” said Martin bitterly.

With a nod of their heads, the two cops left the room leaving Martin alone. He pushed open the file once more, looking at the papers after his journal entry. It was then that he noticed a loose picture. A single picture of Margret’s old raincoat. He picked it up, and studied it. This wasn’t here before, he realizes. That’s when he sees the mark that was one the back of his journal entry. The backward seven with the three lines in it. His heart rate sped up; adrenaline entering his body. It was on the corner of Margret’s jacket, easily visible. Mistake number eight was that they missed this. Someone put this here, someone who knows entirely too much. His head reels at the endless amount of possibilities.

It’s then that the truth dawns on him. The person who put the picture in the folder was there, at the scene of the crime. Maybe the person who did this was the person who caused the crime. If that were the case, the killer would have had to get access to Martin’s journal in order to get the entry. The killer had been in Martin’s house.

Author's Note

this -_-_-_- basically means a transition from a flashback to present or vice versa. if anyone has any information on how the police system works, that would be great!