The phone began to ring. I ?ipped on the lamp beside my bed and looked at my watch; it was 7am. The caller ID told me it was my work. This couldn't be good. I sat up in my bed and slowly reached out and picked up the cell.
     I answered barely awake, "Hello?"
     The man on the other end said in a grim voice, "You're needed at The Radison Hotel.
There has been a murder suicide in room 712. Park in front of the hotel and officer James will escort you," he then hung up.
     I proceeded to open up my closet and throw on some jeans and a Minnesota Vikings
sweat shirt I have had since I moved here about four years ago. I walked over to my bedside table, opening the drawer to reveal my glock and police badge witch was currently on a neckless like dog tags are worn. I slung the badge around my neck and my weapon into its holster. I had to drive twenty minutes from my home in St. Paul to the mall in Minneapolis. The roads were icy as they usually are, but they had laid down salt just the other night so it wouldn't be a delay.
     I pulled into the parking lot and looked down at my watch, it was 7:43. I was told to park in front of the newly built Radison hotel connected to the mall by a skyway.
     A man in a blue police vest greeted, "You must be officer James," I said.
     "Yes sir," he said in a no nonsense tone, "follow me."
     I was lead through the glass doors of the hotel and onto an escalator, we then
proceeded into the elevator. He pressed the seventh ?oor button.
     "What do we have?" I asked as we waited for the elevator to climb up the massive
building.
     "We have a murder suicide in room 712, he was found by housekeeping no more than an hour ago."
     The elevator door opened, I was lead down a long hallway and there it was, room 712. 
     I crouched down under the yellow warning tape to see the two bodies. The victim in the bed, the sheets sprayed with blood and then the hotel employee lying face ?rst on the ground in front of the bed.
     I was approached by a tall lean man with a scruffy beard.
     He thrusted his hand forward and I did the same, "Nice to meet you Detective Ross, I'm Tom Walker. To me looks it looks like a murder suicide. Case closed."
     "Not quite yet," I responded, "let me take a look."
     I kneeled down and began my investigation on the employee. The hotel employee, no more than twenty, had shot himself directly in the head. I stood up and proceeded to pull back the sheets. The man in bed had been shot in the chest, directly through his rib cage. The entry point on the hotel employee was in through the back and out of the front of his cranium. A truly horrific crime.
     "What time do you think they were killed?" I asked Tom as a looked at my watch.
     "About 6," he responded.
     I then proceeded past Tom. His expression insinuated that he didn't want me here. None the less, I went on to interview the man who had found the two. He was sitting on the ?oor in the hallway.
     I sat beside him and began my questioning, "What time did you ?nd them?"
     He responded, "About 6:30 I was headed up to clean his room because the man had
scheduled an early checkout when I found both of them dead."
     "The man who worked here..."
     "Henry," he interjected. A superfluous fact but I humored the man.
     "Henry, he seems quite young how long has he worked here?"
     "He started yesterday he was set to be trained tomorrow."
     "By who?" I asked
     "The person who has worked here the longest."
     "Why him?"
     The man paused for a moment, "well that man," he pointed to the young one on the floor, "was going to be his replacement."
"Why was he being replaced?" I asked.
He replied, "He's younger and cheaper I guess."
     "That will be all," I said and stood up. I still wasn't sure this man was innocent but I would have to leave him for now. I had to dig deeper.
     I went over to Tom, "is the owner here?"
     Tom pointed over at a short man in the corner of the hotel room.
     "Quite a debacle," I said to him.
     "Indeed, this is just going to cripple my business."
     "Do you think you will pull through?" I asked.
     "Hopefully," he replayed.
     "I apologize for the inconvenience but I just have one question."
     "We'll get on with it," he returned rudely.
     "Which one of you room service employees has worked here the longest?"
     "Probably Mitch. He has worked here as long as I can remember."
     "Where is he now," I asked very seriously.
     The owner pulled up one hand and pointed to a man standing in the doorway of the
hotel room.
     I then pulled my Glock 17 from its holster and pointed it at the man in the doorway,
     "Freeze! Hands on your head!"
     He bolted out of the door. I ran out the door with my gun in my right hand. The speed of the 55 year old was no match for mine.
     He was running down the glass skyway when I raised my gun, "Heads down!" I
screamed and then ?red my weapon.
     I clipped his left leg just below his knee. I ran over and detained him.
    "What are you doing!" Tom said as he came up behind me followed by the rest of the of?cers.
     I took a moment to catch my breath, "This man killed both Henry and the man in bed,
and then he planted the gun on Henry."
     "Care to explain?" one of?cer asked.
     I began, "This man..."
     The same man I had interviewed before interjected, "Mitch."
     I started again after the rude interruption, "Mitch followed Henry into the room he was
cleaning with the weapon that is now in Henry's hand, he then shot Henry in the head
and then the man in the bed. After both were dead, he planted the gun to look like a
murder suicide."
     "Henry could have just shot himself," Tom said.
     "Henry couldn't have shot himself in the back of the head. The entry point of the bullet is from the back of his head and the bullet exited right through the front."
     "Why was the man in the bed killed then?" One of the of?cers asked.
     "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was a witness. Mitch didn't want to leave any loose ends thus that man in the bed being killed."
     "Why would Mitch do this?" The owner asked obviously disappointed.
     "Because Henry was going to take his job," I explained.
     Tom was angry. I don't know if angry was quite right, he was disappointed. He knew I
was right, he so desperately wanted me to be wrong but he knew I was correct.
     "Let's get him out of here and down to the station," Tom ?nally said in a depressed tone.
     He then thrust his hand forward and I did the same.
     Tom spoke ?rst, "Good job today Ross," he paused for a moment, "I'll get you next time," and he broke a smile.
     "Hopefully there won't be a next time," I said jokingly.
     We both chuckled and went our separate ways.