The Suitcase

Police men were gathering around a staircase at around noon. A suitcase was open on the floor various items were scattered about; each item numbered from 1-10. A textbook, a small black bag, a wallet, a small notebook, a thesaurus, and a package wrapped in birthday paper. Two of the four policemen left the building.


"What kind of guy would carry all this junk to the city and just leave it behind?" One cop by the name of Maxwell Winston asked as he examined the pile. His partner looked stupefied.


"We won't know who he is until we can open those books. The boys should be back soon with gloves. What makes you think he's from out of state, anyway?"


The other two cops were making their way back, one holding a small white box with a picture of blue rubber gloves on the side. Maxwell pointed to the side of the suitcase.


"It says 'Cali girls are better'." A tacky, brightly colored bumper sticker was plastered to the suitcase. "First instinct says to assume he's from California. Or at least been there."


Maxwell took a pair of gloves and started flipping through the small notebook. Every page was full of names, dates, and phone numbers, all of them of females. He then looked at the textbook. The outside cover seemed to have once had a title written in gold, but it was now scratched out. The inside covered "Advanced Anatomy". Out of the back of the book fell 5 photographs of different women. They looked to be about 18 or 19 years old. Each wore a different kind of outfit (If you could call them "outfits").


"What is this? It's like they ain't wearin' any clothes at all!"


Maxwell was hesitant to open the small black bag. Could it be? ...No, it can't... Five girls couldn't fit in a little trash bag... He untied it slowly. After undoing the first knot he felt this fear of finding a victim, or worse... bits of one. As Office Winston undid the last knot, he sighed. No body parts. Just dirty laundry. A few T-shirts and jeans.


Maxwell's fellow officer picked up the thesaurus and looked through it. Some pages were littered with post-it notes. "Damn, he took note of every synonym for 'girlfriend', 'love', 'relationship'... What's up with this guy? Sounds like a pimp to me."


"Hey, should we open the box?", asked the other cop. "It says, 'To Leon' on it." Maxwell wanted to, but it wasn't his job. "No," he sighed. "Let the boys at the lab take care of it."


There was one item left to examine. The wallet. Inside was a bank deposit for $229.51, a receipt for a dozen roses,  a speeding ticket with the fine scratched out, and a folded note. Maxwell began reading the note aloud. "Dear Paula, These past few weeks have been hard without you. I wish there was an easy way to say this, but I've been making my way around this loneliness. Goodbye, and thank you for the birthday gift. I'll open it when I have time."


"I guess he's a player, huh? Poor Paula... Wrap it up, fellas. Let's get his info."