Ramona Evans had had a terrible day. She was interviewed for two different jobs, and was not selected for either. She figured a couple of drinks would clear her mind, so she went to a nearby bar. There, she asked three different men on dates, and was rejected three times. 

	Ramona was afraid of the law, she would only drive home if she had a designated driver. Driverless, she began to walk home. The hard rain was streaking down windows on nearby stores. She passed by two fast-food outlets and a clothes store. She then got to a Best Western hotel. The front of the hotel had a large canopy. Under the canopy were a couple of old wooden benches to sit on. She was drenched from the heavy rainfall, and decided to dry off a little bit under the canopy. She picked the bench closest to the hotel. 

	She was sitting, thinking of other job opportunities she could try. Then, she heard a muffled voice coming from behind her. She turned, only to see an intercom. She kept thinking of job’s or maybe even going back to school. Again, she heard voices behind her. Ramona got up and looked at the chrome intercom. The voices were distorted, but clear enough to understand. She heard an argument between a man and a woman. The man had a very deep voice, and the woman a very shrilled voice. The man laughed “There’s nowhere to run, bitch.” The woman was screaming. Her scream became muffled and got quieter. Scared, Ramona quickly ran back to her basement suite and laid down on her couch. She began thinking to herself, were the voices real, or was it the alcohol talking? She began to sleep.

	The next morning, Ramona was still thinking about the man and woman arguing. She decided to call the police. About twenty minutes later the door bell rang. She opened the door to a familiar face. Ramona had been in trouble with the law a few times, and had remembered the police chief’s facial features. He had semi-long brown hair, blue eyes and a long pointy nose. He smelt of doughnuts, and had a very deep voice. She let him in as he began to question her. When he got to the question “Did you drink, or do any drugs last night?” Ramona paused. She had only had two glasses of vodka, and she had spilled half of one glass onto her clothes. The police chief staring, she answered. “Yes, but onl-” She was cut off. “Well then, you may as well stop now, because there is no way of proving that it really happened.” The chief led himself out of the house.

	Throughout the day, Ramona was wondering. Was it the alcohol? She had no idea what else she could do about it. She continued her day as she would any other, looking for jobs and men. Ramona took a shower, got dressed and left her apartment. 

	The first thing that she had to do was pick up her car from the bar. As she walked by the hotel, she noticed three men looking at the intercom. Ramona went over to see what was happening. The van the men came was definitely an electricians van. On the side it said Jigg’s Electric. She came up to the men and asked what they were doing. One of them answered “We are fixing this old intercom, for some reason it keeps broadcasting from room 205.” Ramona shuddered. She entered the hotel and asked for a room, a specific room. A baggage man led her to her room, she was there at last, room 205.

	Ramona entered the room, gave the baggage man a tip, and closed the door. She searched the room for any sign of what had happened. After about five minutes of searching, she noticed some dark brown spots near the bed, and a tiny bit of red splatter at the bottom of the off-white walls. Ramona was more frightened then before. Many questions popped into her mind. Where was the injured, or dead woman? What were they arguing about? She went back to the police. 

	Showing up at her hotel room this time, was again the police chief. Ramona showed the police chief the stains. The police chief looked at them and smiled. “This stain here is probably just chocolate milk or something, blood is not brown.” Then she showed him the red splatter on the wall. He spoke quickly “This ones probably just some jam, or maybe the people who were here last had ordered a strawberry fudge sundae. That would explain both spots.” Ramona knew something had happened. As the chief left, he told her to stop calling the police with all these little suspicions. She heard him mutter under his breath “crazy little bitch.”

	Ramona decided to search the room more. She looked in both closets, and every single drawer. In the middle drawer, she found a British Columbia Identification card. She had to look at the very back of the drawer to find it. It could have been there for weeks already. On the card was a picture of an middle-aged Asian woman. Her name was Fiep Lee. Also on the card was an address, and age. She lived on 96A Avenue, and was 27 years old. Ramona decided pick up her car, and drive over to her house. 

	Ramona pulled up at the house. It was an old, tan colored house with beautiful plants in the front yard. There were many Asian styled ceramic pieces in the yard. When she got to the door, she hesitated to ring the doorbell. Ramona thought about how if she did not ring the doorbell, she would always think of what could have happened. She had to ring the doorbell twice before someone came. An old wrinkly woman answered the door and said “Who are you, and what do you want?” Ramona answered slowly, in a quiet voice. “I want to ask you about your daughter, Fiep.” The old woman began to laugh. “You flatter me, I am her grandmother.” Ramona asked if she could speak with Fiep’s mother. The woman answered “Her mother is dead, and has been dead for twelve years. But she was a whore and deserved it. I never liked that woman.” The old woman let Ramona in and began to talk to her.

	The house was filled with many Asian paintings. The old woman must have been making herself dinner, there was rice on a plate, with some chicken next to it. “Would you like something to eat? I always make too much.“ Ramona was very hungry, all she had all day was a bowl of Cheerios. She accepted the offer made by the grandmother of Fiep. The old woman began talking about Fiep, and how she has not been home for at least 36 hours. The old woman said it was not unusual for her granddaughter to be gone for long periods of time. “Considering her hopeless and dangerous way of life.” Ramona asked “What does she do for a living?” the woman answered “She walks the streets, and has been dragging down the family name for years. Just like her mother was.” Ramona shuddered. “A prostitute?“ “Precisely.” The woman answered. “Well, I am sorry to hear that, but I really must be going now. Bye, and thanks for the meal.” Ramona ran back to her hatchback and drove home, way too fast.

	The police were on Ramona’s tail within ten minutes. Two Chevy Impala’s with flashing red and blue lights were following within three meters of her Honda Civic. She slowed down and pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot. The policeman came up to her car and knocked on her window. “Hey miss, you were driving over 20 kilometers over the speed limit. Step out of the car please.” Ramona exited her vehicle. The policeman asked to see Ramona‘s license, and then asked her to walk in a line. Ramona tried to walk in a line, but she was still scared. All the pieces of the crime were coming together. She knew it had happened. Ramona tried to walk in a line, but couldn’t. She was shaking too much. The officer said “We are going to have to give you a breathalyzer test at the police station.” He opened the door to his car and showed Ramona in. The policeman brought her to the station. 

	Ramona agreed to paying the fine without hesitation, but she wanted to talk to the police about the Fiep, and how it must have been her at the hotel. The men agreed and called over the police chief. The chief came over and moaned. “I told you miss, please stop telling everyone your bullshit story. You were drinking that night.” Ramona told the chief how all pieces molded together. She told him about the Jigg’s electrical company fixing the intercom, the BCID she had found in one of the drawers, and how the grandmother had told her that Fiep was a prostitute. The police chief kept bringing up the alcohol problem again and again, until Ramona finally left. She had to go pick up her car from the McDonald’s.

	Ramona had picked up her car, and was returning to her apartment, when she saw these four teenagers beating up a homeless person right by her house. She called the police on her cell and turned into her driveway. The police said they would be there within fifteen minutes. When she entered the house, she noticed a pile of newspapers along the wall. About twenty sheets were covering a square meter of her hardwood floor. In the middle of the sheets was what appeared to be some kind of shiny substance, like a pile of new pennies.. Ramona went over to the sheets to see what it was, when suddenly she felt a hand around her throat. “You know to much you stupid whore, now you will die just like the last one.” Ramona was scared. The chief’s hand was tightening around her neck as he pulled a knife out of his pocket with his free hand. He brought the knife to Ramona’s neck. Ramona tried to scream, but his strong hands were to tight. “This is what happens to bitches who know too much.” The chief slid the knife across her neck.

	Ramona could feel the life draining out of her, her hands were covered in her own blood. Just as she fell to the ground, clasping her neck, two policemen opened the door. The police chief yelled “FUCK” and withdrew his weapon, but by the time he could aim it at the other police, he was shot three times. Once in the arm, and twice in the chest. He lay down next to Ramona’s body. There were two people lying on the ground next to each other in a giant puddle of blood.