December 21 - Echoes of Obsidian
Title: "Echoes of Obsidian"
Chapter 1
Detective Isabella Ramirez leaned against the balustrade of her Santiago apartment, the city below twinkling like a sea of stars against the canvas of the Andean night. The rhythmic beat of salsa music drifted from distant clubs, a reminder of Santiago's vibrant pulse. Yet, tonight, a different melody lingered in the air too—something ominous and cold, carried down from the very peaks of the mountains.
Isabella's phone buzzed, cutting through the night's tranquility. The voice on the other end belonged to Captain Mateo Ruiz, a grizzled veteran who had seen Santiago's underbelly in all its shades.
"We caught one." He said.
"It's a big one."
"Anyone I know?" Isabella replied.
"I think so. It's Fuentes…Alejandro Fuentes."
"The art dealer?!" Isabella said.
"Mmm" Ruiz mumbled.
Isabella's thoughts raced. The murder of Alejandro Fuentes, a renowned art curator and dealer, would send shockwaves through the city's cultural and political elite. He was running for mayor, and friend with the president. But he was also divisive. Isabella could think of a dozen of people who would benefit from his death.
"You coming?" Ruiz said impatiently.
"Yes!" Isabella said, already on her way out the door.
It was a cold evening. Isabella was wearing a long double-breasted coat and her favourite beanie, her short black hair just creeping out from under the hat. In the shadowed streets of Barrio Lastarria, Isabella arrived at Fuentes' opulent residence, its walls adorned with priceless works of Chilean art. The crime scene felt fresh, echoes of violence lingering in the air and the muted testimony of a life extinguished. The victim, Alejandro Fuentes, lay sprawled amidst shattered glass, his blood from a gun shot to the chest seeping into the elaborate patterns of a once-pristine Persian rug.
Ruiz was speaking to the police offer first on scene. He was found by a maid. No one had heart the gun shot, which didn't surprise Isabella. It was a huge house, well isolated from the streets. She stepped closer to the body. Was that a mark on the floor. She knelt down.
"Did you find something?" Ruiz asked, suddenly standing next to her.
"Maybe." She replied.
Isabella's gloved hands traced the edges of a peculiar symbol etched into the wooden floor—a jagged silhouette—and next to it a piece of what seemed like black glass.
"Can we bag this?" She said, gesturing at the CSI who had just arrived on scene.
After a few week's investigation, Isabella had made little progress. She had combed through Fuentes' life, revealing a tapestry of contradictions. The curator, celebrated for his discerning eye, had a trail of hidden debts and underhand relations with dangerous people. The art world, on the surface an oasis of culture, now revealed its underbelly, a realm where beauty concealed treachery, and passion held the scent of betrayal. But as easy it was for Isabella to find people with motive to kill Fuentes, she was no clearer to an actual suspect. Her only respectable lead was Isidora Vergara, an enigmatic artist with ties to Fuentes' inner circle. Vergara had been seen on a bar near Fuentes' house on the night of the murder. She was going to see her that morning.
Vergara's dimly lit studio resonated with the scent of turpentine, and a cold mouldy air. It was on the top floor in an old apartment building with a windowed door to a small narrow balcony the only source of natural light.
"Mrs. Vegara, I'll cut to the chase. You were seen at Bar Puntemont two streets from Fuentes' residency at the night of his murder. Did you see him that evening?"
Isidora's eyes, pools of uncertainty, met Isabella's gaze, and the detective sensed deceit.
"I know more than I say," Isidora whispered, her voice a delicate tremor.
"But fear grips the tongue, Detective Ramirez."
"You can speak to me, Isidora." Isabella said, her pulse rising, trying to sound calm.
Vegara shook her head. She was clutching her right hand around an object that Isabella couldn't see.
"What is that in your hand?" Isabella said, taking one step closer to Vergara.
"Oh this". Vegara opened her hand, revealing a broken piece of black glass similar to the one found next to Fuentes' body.
"Can I see it". Isabella said eagerly.
Vegara smiled.
"You must listen Isabella. You listen to the whispering winds that travel through our city's labyrinthine streets, and you must watch closely the shadows that dance upon its cobblestones."
She swirled and ran towards the balcony.
"No!" Isabella cried.
But it was too late. Vegara hurled herself over the edge, plunging to her death.
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ChatGPT prompt: "Write the first chapter in 400 words of a short story about a female detective solving a murder case in Santiago. Give her and the story a name."
DALL-E3 prompt: "A sketch drawing a female detective with a coat and a beanie hat".