Journal Entry #1

9:57pm, November 14th, 198X  
   The New York Helmsley Hotel, New York City

Blood on the sidewalk. Classic cliché with a common twist. The cops aren't sure if the victim got bored of living and decided to try out his eagle impression, or if someone forced him into it. Like flies on shit, the blue was all over the red. William Jorgensen. Famous Swedish Mechanist. Came to the city attending an international convention and ends up, like most other citizens, face down in the gutter. I waited for crime scene investigations to come to a halt before deciding to do some investigations of my own.  
   
I left the darkness of the opposing alley and made my way to the scene of the crime. An old acquaintance stuck around and was staring at the corpse. I used the term acquaintance loosely, as there were only two kinds. He was the kind I'd have no interest in killing. Not yet, anyway. I carried on walking just enough, until we stood side by side. I breathed a little heavier so there would be no doubt that he knew I was there.  
“Figures you'd show up.”  
“You too.”  
We both stood straight, hands in pockets, staring at the dead.  
“Any suspects?” My words were followed by an awkward silence.  
“If you took off your mask, we would possibly have one less.”  
“Fine like this.”  
The cop sarcastically chuckled. He removed his hands from the confines of his pockets and promptly lit a cigarette.  
“All we know is that he was working on something big and it would have had to do with the convention in town.”  
“It'd have to be pretty big to have gotten him thrown off a building.”  
Silence, again. He rustled around in his pocket and gave me a small plastic card.  
“His name is-”  
“William Jorgensen. I know.”  
The cop reacted with a hint of surprise. I threw the card back into his pocket, as if he thought it was useless.  
“I won't ask...” He spoke aloud, followed by a suggestive pause.  
“Then don't. What was he working on?”  
“Another free fuel for everyone idea no doubt, but at the moment, its vague. He had reserved a room in the hotel he came down from. Ransacked. Room safe was broken open. We don't know if anything was taken because inside was a small computer disk and at least three wads of money. Confusing.”  
“Its not confusing. If the person who had killed him and broken into his room wanted something the victim had, he has it. If the disk has important or private data and the money is substantial, then he wanted it to look like a break in, as an idea that he killed Jorgensen to make it easier to steal information, rather than kill him to perhaps either keep him quiet, or damage a process that needed him alive and well. I don't get paid to do your job. You should be telling me this.”  
The cop stood in silence once more. The look of irritation grew on his face. The truth does that sometimes. He threw his cigarette to the ground and knelt down to take a closer look at the body. The victim was in casual clothing. Nothing out of the ordinary here, except he wasn't wearing anything on his feet. The cop began talking again, but this time there was nothing in it for me, so I let it all drift. I backed-up slowly and slipped away, returning to the alley. He didn't notice. I drew up my own list of suspects and scenarios. Tonight was going to be a long night and tomorrow, a long day too.