“Hello, we understand you are in shock, but this is very important.”
She looks about twenty-five years old, brunette hair, brown eyes, her welcoming smile and genuine look of concern made me feel at ease. Police officers aren’t as intimidating as I thought they would be. “Start from the beginning, what happened?” she leans over the table and removes the cuffs.
Leaning back on the chair, thoughts flood my mind. Why did I pick today of all days? It was simply fun. I only wanted to experiment a little. How could that be wrong? I’d finally mounted a camera onto the drone, and it was ready for testing. I would fly it over the neighboring houses and have a bird’s eye view of the estate. I had the camera recording, and away it went. I looked at the screen on my laptop, and there was a live feed. I could see the Dickson family house; they had the dog in the garden as usual. There was no movement outside the house. They were probably indoors. The cars totaled 4- a car for each member of the family.
Three houses down the road were Mrs. Jacksons’. At 45, you would think she was in her late 20s. A recluse of a woman, her husband, traveled a lot, and she didn’t enjoy the company of the women in the area. I couldn’t blame her. The drama, the gossips, the fights, the lies, the fake life, it was all too much for the quiet life she lived. I always wanted to know what she found so interesting indoors that she rarely came out. I lower the drone and see what looks like a fight in the bedroom. Hovering in front of the bedroom window, I zoom in on the camera.
“Sam, what happened? How are you involved? Was it an accident? Did you mean to do it?” she still had the genuine look of concern on her face. Leaning further in, she looks intently at me. I could see she truly wanted to help, but how do I tell her?
I wonder if Mr. Jackson knew his wife was cheating on him. I knew I should have minded my business. I checked the camera was still recording. After 25 minutes, I lost interest. He was still on top, and she was lifeless. Their lack of imagination was upsetting. Besides, it was getting quite late. I had enough. I’ll fly the drone tomorrow. 15 minutes later, the drone was in my room. I packed up and went to bed with the image of Mrs. Jackson and her lover.
5 hours later, midnight, I couldn’t shake the thought out of my mind. I got up and decided to know what was happening at the Jackson house. I switched on the drone and still drowsy from sleep, accidentally hit the wrong button causing the drone to crash to the ground. It wasn’t responding as it should have, but I was not quick to notice. I was too curious as to what was happening over at the Jacksons’. It was like watching but knowing it was real.
There was no script, simply two lazy human beings giving in to their urges. It was dark, but the street lights made it easier to see what was happening. It looked like some renovation was taking place. Did they make a mess? The lover was dragging what looked like bedsheets into the back of his car. I didn’t know why I bothered. The good part was over. This was strange though. Why so late in the night? I was about to think nothing of it until I saw what looked like someone’s arm hanging out of the boot.
“Michael, we need you to tell us what happened? You called and said you witnessed a murder. What did you see?”
“I saw a lot of things.”
He rushes in his car struggling to keep his trousers on and takes off. Holy ****, is the camera still recording this? It is! I make sure to zoom in and take note of the plate number. I’m witnessing a murder. The murder of Mrs. Jackson. The low signal notification pops up. The video quality drops significantly. I was in shock. Mrs. Jackson was murdered, and I had it on video. I had proof.
I felt a sudden sense of justice. I knew I had to inform the cops. Should I? What if I’m next? I could not sleep. I get up and inspect the drone for damages. It’s amazing. I had watched murder scenes in movies, but nothing compares to a real-life murder.
8 am. I’ve been on my bed motionless, and I couldn’t sleep at all. The guilt of eating away at me. Poor woman didn’t deserve to die. Unfaithful she was, but death was not befitting for her disloyalty. I look at my phone, the numbers ‘911’ appearing on the dial pad.
“I’d like to report a murder.”
The police officer still fixated on me asks “Do you understand the situation you are in?”
“I honestly thought I saw a murder” I plead.
“Did you tell anyone? Your Parents? Did you bother to go by the house the next day?” the police office replies, the smile clearly off her face. I look back at that moment when I called the police and wished I had all my facts right before placing the call.
I hear the sirens, and I was scared-what would I say to them? I run out and watch the police cars parked in a disjointed manner at Mrs. Jackson’s house. The neighborhood was showing concern, some peering out their windows, others out of their houses wondering what happened. I was happy. I had done the right thing. The police were here. I had the video upstairs, and I was certain of what I saw.
I was certain until I saw Mrs. Jackson come out of her house.