The Bowie Knife Mystery (Part One)

“You found what?”  Stewart said to the young man working the loading dock.

“A 10 or 12 inch bowie-knife wedged in the sidewall of your rear tire, Sir.”

He held back the profanity that was creeping to the surface. Stewart stomped off to his late-model, pearl white Lexus. “I didn’t need this today.”

“A doozy of a fight with Amanda and now this, ” he said under his breath. “What else can go wrong?”

The bowie was wedged perfectly to render the tire irreparable. “Great!” He wanted to kick the tire but there wasn’t enough air. Foul language spewed forth with pounds per square inch intensity.

“Here Donny ya want the knife?” he said pulling the knife from the tire.

“Sure sir.” Donny, knowing the blade was razor-sharp, wrapped it in a cloth he had in his back pocket . He waved as he walked back to the dock.

With his hand on his hip in disgust, Stu dialed AAA. He knew the number by heart. He walked around the car to see if there was any other evidence of vandalism.

“Yeah I came out to my car at work and someone has crammed a knife into my tire. Can you send someone to change the tire. I would change it myself but I’m in my Armani suit. Armani just doesn’t go to well with oil and grime .

“Certainly Mr. Cristoph.  I can send someone over in the next half hour.”

“Thanks Brenda.  I’m hoping this will be the last call for a while.  Not used to having so many flats.”

“It’s fine – that’s what your AAA service is for.” He knew the smile in her voice as she hung up.

She had been a great couple month affair. “Too bad she met a nice, unmarried guy.” Stu was thinking. “Ah well.” His thoughts momentarily shifted to Valerie; an old girlfriend from long-ago.

***

He got the call from his secretary that the guy had come for his keys and was changing the tire. Stewart was peering out of his window, as he heard the repairman let out a scream.

“Now what?” Stewart wanted to bellow.

As the repairman turned to Stewart, he looked white as a sheet.

“What is … ” His voice caught as he saw the bloody body in the trunk. He recognized the clothing but that was all that was recognizable. He ran to the bushes and lost his breakfast. He started to tremble and fell to his knees. A crowd formed around the trunk.

Stewart heard a voice at the end of a tunnel. “Get back to your offices. Now!”

He recognized the stentorian voice. It was his partner Randy. He felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder. He hadn’t heard Randy whisper to the secretary -” please call the police.”

“Let’s get you to the office, Stu.”

“I don’t understand, I just don’t understand…” Stewart mumbled over and over. “I just saw her in the kitchen before I left this morning. She was going to work out and we talked about where we were going to have dinner.”

Randy kept him talking until he got to a chair.  Stewart slumped into a despondent heap.

“Here drink this,” Tracy tenderly placed a cup of water in his hands.

“What is it? What is this? What is happening? What…”

“Sir, we are here for you. Please just rest.”

“There was a knife. What was the knife doing in the tire? What is my wife doing in my car. She’s supposed to be at the gym. Maybe that isn’t her. Call the gym, ask for Amanda Christoph. They all know her.” Stewart said babbling incoherently. “That’s right it’s someone else. It doesn’t look like her. Not at all. It only looks like her running shoes and pink work out top.”

Stewart looked with the glazed eyes of a madman. “It didn’t look like her did it Randy?”

“No Stu. You are right didn’t look like Amanda at all.”

He wasn’t lying. The body may have resembled any thirty year old woman. The head had been jaggedly cut off below the neck. It wasn’t with the body. A mangled, bloody mess was lying in the trunk of Stu’s Lexus. Randy felt like being sick as he thought about Amanda’s body.

“Tracy, get my wife on the phone and contact the gym for Stewart.”

“Yes sir,” Tracy wasn’t looking too well either.

Stewart looked up and saw flashing lights circling his Lexus. “Oh good,” he thought “someone has finally come to take care of the flat tire.” His head fell to the side.

Join The Tenth Daughter of Memory for many great stories as we try to write according to the prompt “Below Then Neck.”

Thanks to: A Fonticiella for that beautiful handled Bowie

*http://www.flickr.com/photos/afonticiella/4296416224/sizes/z/in/photostream/