Case Closed

Detective Alan Graves surveyed the crime scene with the detached precision of a surgeon. The victim lay sprawled across the plush carpet, blood soaking into the fibres. A single bullet wound to the forehead. No signs of forced entry. No murder weapon in sight.

It was a locked-room mystery. The kind that made headlines.

His partner, Detective Lisa Monroe, paced behind him, flipping through her notepad. “Witnesses say they heard a gunshot around midnight. No one saw anything. No security footage.”

Alan frowned. “Who found the body?”

“The housekeeper. Came in this morning. Called it in right away. Says the victim had no enemies.”

Alan nodded, crouching beside the corpse. There was something familiar about the victim’s face… the shape of his jaw… even the way his hair curled at the temples.

He stood quickly, nausea rising. “Did we get an ID?”

Lisa handed him a driver’s licence in a plastic evidence bag. “Yeah. Name’s Alan Graves.”

Alan stared. The photo. The name. The birthdate. It was him.

The world tilted. His hands shook.

“What is this?” he whispered.

Lisa’s expression shifted—concerned, wary. “Alan… are you okay?”

He clutched his head. He remembered everything. Going home last night. Pouring a drink. The cold weight of the gun in his hand. The silence before the shot.

And then—nothing.

Alan looked at the corpse again.

It was impossible.

And yet…

Lisa’s voice was distant now, tinny, like she was speaking from underwater. “Alan?”

His vision blurred. The room spun. A rush of vertigo hit him like a wave. His knees buckled.

As he collapsed, Lisa’s voice was the last thing he heard. Calm. Certain.

“Alan, your case is closed.”