Mr Best

Mr Best was a bachelor and elected local councillor,
He was a successful entrepreneur and landscape gardener,
He was well respected in the community,
He ran marathons to raise funds for a local  homeless charity,
He had lots of friends, lived in a pleasant house and always paid his rent,
The home had an immaculate lawn and white picket fence.
Years passed by without any problems or unexpected events, no one expected what happened next,
The police were called by Mr Wilson, the concerned landlord who  lived  next door,
He reported a domestic disturbance, he heard raised voices and curse words,
The owner  was concerned that if the tenant was injured or dead he would lose the regular income of his rent.

It was winter and already dusk when the patrol car pulled up,
A bay window had been smashed in and glass was laying all over the floor,
There were two experienced officers and a rookie,
The oldest fed asked the landlord for the key,
They knocked three times and then opened the door,
The electricity had been cut off,
The officers entered with caution, their truncheons out and  torches turned on,
The three men completed a short and unenthusiastic inspection,
The whole place was dark,
They checked the front room, kitchen, dining room and the whole of upstairs but nothing appeared disturbed.
They suspected  the window had been broken by local vandals and young hooligans,
If not then Mr Best had got drunk and had an altercation with a secret lady friend.

The officers laughed and said to Mr Wilson "You need a repair man not a policeman, this is not a television programme, we are paid for crime prevention not to deal with an unruly tenant."
The police were about to leave the scene and the nervous rookie returned the landlords key,
Before they could go, another neighbour an elderly widow shouted from a window,
" Don't leave yet, there was a strange noise out in the shed,"
This time they sent the trainee down the side alley of the home,
There was rubbish on the floor and the vegetation was overgrown,
Unlike inside the back garden was a mess,
There was a word written in blood on the shed  it was "the best snitch is dead."

Inside their was an awfully  familiar stench of death,
Mr Best had been suffocated with a carrier bag on his head,
There were newspaper articles plastered on the walls about a trial for an organized crime family,
There was a recording playing witness testimony,
There were identity documents on string hanging from the celling,
The pictures looked like Mr Best but the name, hair style, weight and date of birth were different,
There was a birth certificate, passport and driving licence,
There were teeth, nails, blood and clumps of hair on the ground - all signs of violence.

There was also a note which said:
"New city, new name, a nice place to stay, plastic surgery on his ugly face, lazers for the gang tattoos, plenty of dosh and a new job.
His victims were innocent members of the public but all was forgiven because he became a state witness.  We tracked his IP address when the rat bragged about being the best snitch to impress a bitch online.
Nice people who never commit crimes do not get the chance of a new life. Do you think that's right?

I do not and that's why the Snitch had to die"

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