27 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day (3116) Part 4 | Prompt: garbage sandwich (bocadillo de basura)
Part 3: Interviewing Malvern Street: High-Rise Ambitions Continued)
Officer Lindsey Hubert exited the elevator and immediately took stock of the third floor's layout. The stairwell's proximity to Rosalinda Torres' unit in particular. Cautiously, he approached her apartment. Before he could knock, Rosalinda swung open the door. "I've been expecting you, officer. I've nothing to hide."
An unusual greeting to say the least, Hubert pondered, as he had yet to speak or introduce himself, let alone accuse her of any wrongdoing.
He walked in. What a transformation! From the hallway, one would never guess the luxuries, to put it mildly, that resided in Apartment 3D alongside its tenant both Bradley and Juan viewed as a suspect.
That Hubert had a difficult time concentrating was an understatement. The thermostat ensured a comfortable respite from the outside heat. However, the temperature in the room seemed to rise the moment he fully assessed Rosalinda Torres.
He watched as Rosalinda stood in the middle of the living room with hands on her hips. With the flip of her wrist, she cocked her head to the side. Cranberry Stiletto Matte Lip Whip invited him to drown in its wearer. Long black tresses covered her shoulders but couldn't hide her wares if they wanted to. She wore a tight, low-cut crimson top exposing the neck tattoo. Jeans that looked painted on rounded out the outfit. But it was the four-inch stilettos that caused his pulse to skip a beat. An alluring female donning an outfit that screamed for attention in a building she obviously couldn't afford.
Nothing but his knees went weak, so he asked to sit.
Hubert placed his pad over his legs as his gaze involuntarily drop to her exposed bosom. He forced his eyes back up to her face, clearing his throat roughly to mask the momentary lapse in professionalism.
"Sit down, Rosalinda," Hubert said, his voice tighter than usual. She sat, crossing her legs slowly, fully aware of the effect she had on the room.
Rosalinda's job she mentioned and other information willingly provided clearly didn’t explain how she could afford the exorbitant monthly rent in the high-rise. She watched as Hubert surveyed the interior with a discerning eye. If any conclusion was made, he gave no indication. She rose suddenly and strode over to the window, peering down at the sidewalk as if expecting to see someone.
"I need to know you and your cousin's involvement in the killing of that teen yesterday."
"I'm not involved with that messy business," she stated matter-of-fact while still looking out the window. "My understanding was that the teen was shot over a drug dispute. My cousin is a grown man as far as I'm concerned. I'm not his parent. He told me he was merely defending himself. You know the workings on Malvern Street. I'm not going to do your job for you. I'm just a single woman trying to make it in this city. You have nothing on me. I'm clean. So look elsewhere for suspects. If I'm in trouble Officer, please tell me."
Hubert watched her from behind as she switched positions, roving her hips in tandem, then bending over on the windowsill.
He stood, bid her goodbye, and left.
Outside in the hallway, Hubert bumped into Juan, sensing their second meeting was no accident. If Juan thought he'd gain information about Rosalinda's conversation, he was sadly mistaken. "How did your interview with Rosalinda go? Juan rushed to ask as if actually expecting Hubert to divulge any content of their conversation.
"As well as could be expected," was Hubert's response, offering no additional insight. On his suspect list, he'd already categorized Rosalinda.
"I know you're not allowed to say, but she's an eye full, isn't she?" Juan smirked. No response, so he continued, "she likes the attention and thinks she's untouchable, but there are plenty of men who can take her down a notch."
Hubert paused, then offered. "If you think you're just the fella to do it, then by all means proceed. Don't be surprised if you're slapped with a restraining order." He stared at Juan, then turned and stepped outside the Malvern St. Condominiums. His concern now was to determine if Juan was blinded by incessant jealousy over Rosalinda's rejection or if he held vital information about the murder. He noted on his pad with a question why Juan kept intercepting him.
Hubert motioned to Officer Travis Ingram to remain stationed at the high-rise before heading across the street toward the Duplex Habitat.
He had chosen the Duplex Habitat as his temporary command post. Although it smelt like cooking grease and old desperation, he'd encountered worse. Besides, his instinct told him that the truth resided there among those whose everyday survival depended on what did or didn't happen on Malvern Street. A nod or wink in the right direction brought temporary financial relief to many. Discreetness was their salvation.
Now, Part 4: (Interviewing Malvern Street - Duplex Realities)
As Officer Lindsey Hubert crossed the street, he stared back at the high-rise, remembering that he'd forgotten to interview Charlie Edmond. Juan's rambling and probing distracted him. I'll get the old guy later. No harm, no foul was his summation of the retired, widowed senior living out his last days in the shadows of Malvern Street.
He didn't need any introduction. Sadie Johnson, Duplex 10-A, right side, swung her screen porch door open wide. She'd traced his moves since he arrived on their street.
The neon sign from the bar across Malvern Street buzzed like a trapped hornet, casting a sickly red glow over the peeling wallpaper of Sadie’s house. Hubert shifted his weight in a chair that was entirely too small for him.
In fact, everything about the duplex was small. How a typical family of five could survive in these tight quarters was unfathomable.
Sadie Johnson, a middle-aged, full-sized, sharp-eyed widow, who lived alone purportedly possessed numerous friends and acquaintances. As usual, she had been looking out her blinds where she captured all activity occurring on Malvern St. Whether she took a break to sleep was questionable. She knew everyone and everything this partner informed him. One had only need inquire.
So it was no surprise when she immediately volunteered the information. Whether to get ahead of the situation and cast blame across the street, Hubert didn't know. "I positively saw the teen exit Rosalinda’s high-rise apartment right around the time of the shooting."
Hubert jumped on this precise detail. "How do you know the teen had just left Rosalinda's unit? He could have come from any number of apartments in the building."
Silence pervaded the air for a long moment. However, Sadie's expression remained upbeat while she watched Hubert out of the corner of her eye canvass the living room.
"Because he's Rosalinda's cousin." she blurted, breaking the silence. "I know she told you that when you spoke with her. That's all I know of the boy."
Hubert didn't respond. That tibdit confirmed Rosalinda's connection to the boy. But an inconsistency instantly surfaced when his gaze landed on a photo resting prominently on her small fireplace mantle.
"Do you live here alone?" he queried.
Sadie's eyes traveled to the last spot Hubert looked. Damn, she'd forgotten to put away the photo. Visibly shaken spotting the teen's photo with him hugging her neck, planting a kiss on her cheek.
Bouncing a foot, she glanced at the doorway left open. Her voice now thick and unsteady as she swung her head around, then stammered, "is it a crime to take a picture with the neighborhood children?"
"It is if you lie about knowing one of them. In your case, the teen who was shot to death outside your duplex. My guess is he was trying to make it home. To your home where he also lives."
"That's a lie!" Sadie shouted, visibly shaken. The kid doesn't live with me!"
"My guess is too that the teen who was killed was one of your grandchildren. Am I correct? And by the looks of it, either your son or daughter is his parent, while the other parent is an Hispanic. Again, the reason for the connection to Rosalinda Torres times two."
"Also, not a crime. And I'm done talking. If you want to arrest me, then do so now. Else leave my home. I'm just a lonely old woman trying to make it in this sinful world. I go to church and back home, and try to stay out of other folks' business."
"I seriously doubt that, Mrs. Johnson. The reason you bolted from your duplex last night was because you knew your grandson was in trouble. You didn't stumble trying to get close to the action. You collapsed on the sidewalk because you saw your own flesh and blood lay dying in the street." He paused to allow this knowledge to sink in.
Sadie began to rock back and forth, tears gathering in her already puffy eyes from the previous night's crying.
"For now, you're a person of interest. That's all, Mrs. Johnson. I'm just trying to solve the murder of your grandson. Is that too much to ask for your cooperation because I feel we want the same thing."
Sadie remained thoughtful as though softening by Hubert's last comment before blurting out, "if you truly want to solve the crime against a teen of color, then you're searching on the wrong side of the street."
Hubert sat staring at Sadie, nodding his head. He'd known all along somehow where the answer lay hidden. Sadie just confirmed his suspicion.
"Thanks for your time, Mrs. Johnson. I know how difficult it is for a grandparent to lose a grandchild. Buy the looks of the photo, he was your pride and joy and you were his."
Hubert bid Sadie goodbye, then excused himself and stepped out onto her front porch.
One thing Sadie alluded to made perfect sense. The secrets of Malvern St. lay across the way.
Sitting quietly on a lawn chair, watching the flashing police lights, was Charlie Edmond. The senior widower was calmly circling a listing in the Classifieds, looking like a man who just wanted a peaceful retirement.
Officer Hubert smiled as his thoughts turned to his own grandfather now retired. I must call him when I get home, he thought.
But as he watched Charlie Edmond calmly sitting on the the high-rise porch, his legs crossed, reading the newspaper, a sudden twinge attacked. He seemed out of place in remaining on Malvern Street if a quiet retirement was what he sought.
A chilling realization hit him. The math didn't add up. Rosalinda's cousin wouldn't have executed a kid over a ruined deal unless someone higher up gave the order.
Hubert reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and made two important and urgent calls.
He then descended the concrete porch, leaned against the streetlight and waited.
[to be continued]
For my theme, I was inspired by and utilized the 
12 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3132: buffet for one'
26 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3146: I’m in trouble; and
25 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3145: listen to her!
Cinco instantáneas de silencio - Parte 4: (Entrevista a Malvern Street - Realidades dúplex)
Mientras el agente Lindsey Hubert cruzaba la calle, volvió la mirada hacia el rascacielos, recordando que se había olvidado de interrogar a Charlie Edmond. Las divagaciones y preguntas insistentes de Juan lo habían distraído. «Hablaré con el anciano más tarde». «No pasa nada», fue su conclusión sobre aquel jubilado y viudo que vivía sus últimos días a la sombra de la calle Malvern.
No necesitaba que se lo presentaran. Sadie Johnson, del dúplex 10-A, en el lado derecho, abrió de par en par la puerta mosquitera de su porche. Había seguido sus movimientos desde que llegó a su calle.
El letrero de neón del bar al otro lado de la calle Malvern zumbaba como un avispón atrapado, proyectando un resplandor rojo enfermizo sobre el papel pintado descascarillado de la casa de Sadie. Hubert cambió de postura en una silla que le quedaba claramente pequeña.
De hecho, todo en aquel dúplex era pequeño. Resultaba inconcebible cómo una familia típica de cinco miembros podía sobrevivir en un espacio tan reducido.
Sadie Johnson, una viuda de mediana edad, corpulenta y de mirada aguda, que vivía sola, supuestamente tenía numerosos amigos y conocidos. Como de costumbre, había estado observando desde sus persianas todo lo que ocurría en la calle Malvern. Era dudoso que se tomara un respiro para dormir. Conocía a todo el mundo y todo lo que este socio le había contado. Solo había que preguntar.
Así que no fue ninguna sorpresa que ella ofreciera la información de inmediato. Hubert no sabía si lo hacía para adelantarse a los acontecimientos y echar la culpa al otro lado de la calle. «Vi claramente al adolescente salir del piso de Rosalinda en el bloque de pisos justo en el momento del tiroteo».
Hubert se centró en ese detalle concreto. «¿Cómo sabes que el adolescente acababa de salir del piso de Rosalinda? Podría haber salido de cualquiera de los apartamentos del edificio».
El silencio se apoderó del ambiente durante un largo momento. Sin embargo, Sadie mantuvo una expresión optimista mientras observaba de reojo cómo Hubert inspeccionaba el salón.
«Porque es primo de Rosalinda», soltó de repente, rompiendo el silencio. «Sé que ella te lo dijo cuando hablaste con ella. Es todo lo que sé del chico».
Hubert no respondió. Ese dato confirmaba la relación de Rosalinda con el chico. Pero una incongruencia salió a la luz al instante cuando su mirada se posó en una foto que ocupaba un lugar destacado sobre la repisa de su pequeña chimenea.
«¿Vives aquí sola?», preguntó él.
Los ojos de Sadie se dirigieron al último lugar donde Hubert había mirado. Maldita sea, se había olvidado de guardar la foto. Se sintió visiblemente conmocionada al ver la foto del adolescente abrazándola por el cuello y dándole un beso en la mejilla.
Dando un golpecito con el pie, echó un vistazo a la puerta que había quedado abierta. Con la voz ahora ronca y temblorosa, giró la cabeza y balbuceó: «¿Es un delito hacerse una foto con los niños del barrio?»
«Lo es si mientes sobre conocer a uno de ellos. En tu caso, al adolescente al que mataron a tiros frente a tu dúplex. Supongo que intentaba llegar a casa. A tu casa, donde él también vive».
«¡Eso es mentira!», gritó Sadie, visiblemente conmocionada. «¡Ese chico no vive conmigo!»
«Yo también supongo que el adolescente asesinado es uno de tus nietos. ¿Estoy en lo cierto? Y, por lo que parece, su hijo o su hija es uno de sus padres, mientras que el otro progenitor es hispano. De nuevo, la razón de la conexión con Rosalinda Torres por partida doble».
«Además, eso no es un delito. Y ya he dicho suficiente. Si quiere detenerme, hágalo ahora mismo. Si no, salga de mi casa. Solo soy una anciana solitaria que intenta salir adelante en este mundo pecaminoso. Voy a la iglesia y vuelvo a casa, e intento no meterme en los asuntos de los demás».
«Lo dudo mucho, señora Johnson. La razón por la que salió corriendo de su dúplex anoche fue porque sabía que su nieto estaba en apuros. No tropezó intentando acercarte al lugar de los hechos. Se desplomó en la acera porque vio a su propia carne y sangre agonizando en la calle». Hizo una pausa para que ella asimilara esa información.
Sadie empezó a balancearse de un lado a otro, con lágrimas que se acumulaban en sus ojos, ya hinchados por el llanto de la noche anterior.
«Por ahora, es usted una persona de interés. Eso es todo, señora Johnson. Solo intento resolver el asesinato de su nieto. ¿Es pedir demasiado que coopere, ya que creo que ambos queremos lo mismo?».
Sadie se quedó pensativa, como si el último comentario de Hubert la hubiera ablandado, antes de soltar: «Si de verdad quieres resolver el crimen contra un adolescente de color, entonces estás buscando en el lado equivocado de la calle».
Hubert se quedó mirando a Sadie, asintiendo con la cabeza. De alguna manera, siempre había sabido dónde se escondía la respuesta. Sadie solo había confirmado su sospecha.
«Gracias por su tiempo, señora Johnson. Sé lo difícil que es para un abuelo perder a un nieto. Por lo que se ve en la foto, él era su orgullo y alegría, y usted lo era para él».
Hubert se despidió de Sadie, se excusó y salió al porche delantero de su casa.
Había algo a lo que Sadie había aludido que tenía todo el sentido del mundo. Los secretos de Malvern St. se encontraban al otro lado de la calle.
Sentado tranquilamente en una silla de jardín, observando las luces intermitentes de la policía, estaba Charlie Edmond. El anciano viudo hojeaba con calma un anuncio de los clasificados, con el aspecto de un hombre que solo deseaba una jubilación tranquila.
El agente Hubert sonrió al pensar en su propio abuelo, ahora jubilado. «Tengo que llamarle cuando llegue a casa», pensó.
Pero mientras observaba a Charlie Edmond sentado tranquilamente en el porche de ese edificio de varias plantas, con las piernas cruzadas y leyendo el periódico, le invadió una repentina punzada de inquietud. Parecía fuera de lugar quedándose en la calle Malvern si lo que buscaba era una jubilación tranquila.
Una escalofriante revelación lo golpeó. Las cuentas no cuadraban. El primo de Rosalinda no habría ejecutado a un chaval por un trato fallido a menos que alguien de más alto rango le hubiera dado la orden.
Hubert metió la mano en el bolsillo, sacó el móvil e hizo dos llamadas importantes y urgentes.
A continuación, bajó por el porche de hormigón, se apoyó contra la farola y esperó.
[continuará]
Para mi tema, me inspiré y utilicé la publicación de
12 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3132: buffet for one;
26 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3146: I’m in trouble; and
25 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3145: listen to her!.
Good luck everyone with whatever your endeavors.
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English is my native language.
If translation included, I use DeepL to assist my readers.
Thanks for your patience an understanding.
El inglés es mi lengua materna.
Si se incluye traducción, utilizo DeepL para ayudar a mis lectores.
Gracias por su paciencia y comprensión.
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