THE NASHVILLE MURDER

 THE NASHVILLE MURDER

 

The town of Nashville was used to the chatter and the noise,  but Melville's voice always seemed to cut through it like a hot knife on butter. He always called a spade a spade, and because of this, he occasionally found himself in hot waters. He sometimes wished he could do something about his foot-in-the-mouth disease. His speeches at the local city council were a cascade of pointed complaints, each a stinging criticism than the last, putting the city’s powers that be in some array of discomfort. The young student had a knack for rubbing some people incorrectly, so it was no surprise when he suddenly disappeared. The air buzzed with speculation and whispers, with the needle of suspicion pointing heavily at two people: Kaamal, the student union leader, and Nashville’s infamous socialite, the Catwoman.

 

A few days earlier, in a dimly lit council chamber, Melville’s voice rang out, shrill and defiant: " Another thing, the budget allocation on housing and the arts is a mockery. Are we supposed to be content with crumbs?”

 

Kamal watched from the back of the room; he clenched his fists.”And what about student safety on campus? What is the administration doing about guaranteeing safety?” Melville hollered. Kaamal admired Melville’s outspoken attitude, courage, and questioning nature but hated his methods. “He’s pushing too hard,” Kaamal thought, his eyes grimacing, “He doesn’t understand the complexities of politics.”

 

A woman with a sharp gaze and an alluring smile observed the proceedings at the other end of the room, picking up clues from here and there. The Catwoman, as she was known, had an air of privilege that commanded attention. She was Kira Orlova, daughter of the late immigrant actor turned politician Ivan Orlova. Her reputation was as sharp as her father’s charm and just as dangerous.

 

News of Melville’s disappearance spread through Nashville. The media was going berserk, reporting from every angle. Nashville was in a state of uproar, and suspicions ran high.

 

“Did you hear?” whispered an elderly man at the diner. “That boy burnt his finger. He bit off more than he could chew.”

 

In another corner of the town, Kaamal sat in his office, his face deep in contemplation. “I knew this was coming”, he muttered. “I told him to be careful,” he spat, staring at the ceiling. “These are wicked people running this town. Damn it.”

 

The door burst open, and Kaamal looked up to see Kira Orlova glide in, her every word and movement calculated and exact.

 

“Kaamal”, she purred, “I hear that you have been rather restless lately.”

 

“What do you want, Kira?” Kaamal’s tone was cautious.

 

“To offer my deepest condolences and sympathy. He used to work with you, didn’t he?”.

 

A body was found that night in the dark alleyways, bearing a striking resemblance to Melville. Nashville’s shock turned to dismay and horror when it was revealed that the body had multiple gunshots in the head. Whispers were going around, and so were the finger-pointing with renewed intensity.

 

Detective Frank was known for his acute observations, deductive skills, and persistence. He had his sights firmly on two suspects. First, he visited Kaamal.

 

“Where were you on the night Melville disappeared?” Frank asked.

 

Kaamal’s eyes met his “At the union office, I’ve eyewitnesses to corroborate that. I was working late.”

 

Frank scribbled in his notebook, expressionless. “What was your equation with Melville?”

 

“He was just any other student. Nothing more.”

 

Next, Frank confronted Kira Orlova in her swanky, lavish, upmarket home. She reclined on a luxurious recliner in her opulent room, her cat-like eyes watching him with disdain.

 

“Kira,” he began, “Your relationship with Melville seemed adversarial and fraught with tension,” he said bluntly.

 

“He was a nuisance,” she confessed, “but I didn’t kill him.”

 

“And yet he is dead.”

 

Kira’s smile faded, replaced by a cold expression, “If I had wanted him gone, he would have gone much earlier. Permanently, but not with such brutality.”

 

Later that night, Kaamal walked the streets of Nashville, deep in thought. “Something is not right”, he scolded himself, “I can’t just lay a finger on it.”

 

As he passed an alleyway, a shadow emerged out of the darkness. It was Kira, her dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

 

“Kaamal,” she whispered in a soft, sophisticated, purring voice, “You are getting to know too much. It’s not good for us.”

 

Before he could react, a knife stabbed him on the shoulders with accurate precision. Kira leaned in close. “You should have stopped prying and stayed out of this.”

 

Kaamal was losing consciousness fast. His body collapsed in a heap to the ground when he heard her final words, “Melville was just a pawn…but you are the real game.”