The Silent Witness

Detective Mark Calloway had seen his fair share of crime scenes, but this one was different. The small apartment was spotless—too spotless. No fingerprints, no signs of struggle, and no murder weapon. Just a body, perfectly positioned on the pristine white couch, hands folded as if in prayer.

The victim, Nathan Holloway, was a corporate lawyer with a reputation for making enemies. His record was clean, but his dealings were anything but. The only clue left behind was an old typewriter sitting on the desk, a single sheet of paper loaded inside. The keys had been pressed recently, but the ribbon was missing.

No ink. No words.

Just silence.

Mark scanned the room, his eyes settling on the typewriter again. It felt off, like it didn’t belong in an otherwise modern apartment.

"Who still owns a typewriter in 2025?" muttered his partner, Detective Lisa Reynolds, as she flipped through a file. "This guy had three laptops, a smart fridge, and a security system worth more than my car. But this?" She tapped the typewriter. "This is ancient."

Mark nodded. "Maybe it’s a message."

Lisa smirked. "A killer with a flair for the dramatic?"

Mark wasn’t laughing. He leaned in, pressing one of the typewriter keys lightly. The machine made a soft click, and for some reason, it sent a chill down his spine. Something about the victim’s posture, the way he was left sitting so still—it all felt orchestrated.

Lisa moved to check the security system, but the footage had been wiped. No sign of forced entry. It was as if Nathan had let his killer walk right in.

Or maybe… the killer had never left.

The autopsy revealed something disturbing—Nathan hadn’t been poisoned, stabbed, or shot. He had died of cardiac arrest. A perfectly healthy 42-year-old, dead without warning.

"Maybe natural causes?" Lisa suggested, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Mark wasn’t buying it. "A man with dozens of enemies, found staged like a museum display? This wasn’t natural. This was planned."

They revisited the apartment. This time, Mark brought an old forensic trick—a UV light. He swept it across the typewriter’s blank page.

Faint words began to glow.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU DID."

Lisa let out a low whistle. "Okay, that’s creepy."

Mark’s stomach twisted. The words weren’t typed with ink—they were pressed hard enough for the indentations to leave a trace.

Nathan had tried to write something before he died.

Lisa dug into Nathan’s recent case files, and one name kept coming up: Adrian Wolfe, a software mogul accused of embezzlement and fraud. Nathan had been his defense attorney. Two weeks ago, Nathan had suddenly dropped the case.

Mark and Lisa paid Adrian a visit. His estate was a fortress of glass and steel, the kind of place where security cameras outnumbered furniture. Wolfe greeted them with an easy smile, but his eyes were calculating.

"Detectives, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, sipping a glass of scotch.

Mark set a photo of Nathan on the table. "He defended you until two weeks ago. Then he dropped your case. Now he’s dead."

Wolfe didn’t flinch. "Tragic. But what does that have to do with me?"

Lisa leaned forward. "We found a message at the scene. ‘I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.’ Ring any bells?"

A flicker of something—annoyance? Fear?—crossed Wolfe’s face. "Am I a suspect?"

Mark’s gut told him yes, but there was no proof. "Not yet."

As they left, Lisa muttered, "That guy’s as guilty as sin."

Mark agreed. But without evidence, Wolfe was untouchable.

That night, unable to shake the case, Mark stared at the typewriter photo on his desk. Then it hit him.

The missing ribbon.

What if the ribbon hadn’t been destroyed? What if it had been hidden?

Racing back to the crime scene, Mark tore through Nathan’s desk drawers. And there, tucked in the back of a locked compartment, was the missing typewriter ribbon.

He unspooled it carefully, holding it under a forensic lamp. The words revealed themselves in sequence, typed in desperation.

"Adrian Wolfe. Not a man. A machine. He sees everything."

Mark’s breath caught. This wasn’t just a murder.

This was something much bigger.