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GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Historic Georgetown was a thriving neighborhood, commercial, and entertainment district located in Northwest Washington, D.C. It was positioned along the Potomac River and founded in 1751. The port of Georgetown predates the city of Washington and the establishment of the federal district by forty years. In 1871, the United States Congress created a new consolidated government for the whole District of Columbia, and in 1895 an act was passed repeal Georgetown’s remaining ordinances and renamed the neighborhood’s streets to conform with those in the City of Washington.
Today the intersection of Wisconsin Avenue and M Streets serves as Georgetown’s primary commercial corridor, containing high-end designer boutiques, bars, restaurants and the Georgetown Park Mall. Its newest edition was the Washington Harbor waterfront restaurants at K Street, between 30th and 31st.
Georgetown was home to the main campus of Georgetown University, and numerous other landmarks, like the Volta Bureau, and the Old Stone House, the oldest unchanged building in Washington. The embassies of France, Sweden, Venezuela, and others were there; but amidst all of this history and grandeur was the home of Chief Justice Weston.
Amongst the puzzled looky-loos cordoned off at the corner of Justice Weston’s street, amid the confusion of arriving police, an impeccably dressed man stood in the crowd. He had been mentally recording their activity with the utmost importance. The man wore preppy spectacles, a striped tie and had a tobacco pipe dangling from his lips.
Watching the investigation get underway, he caught himself gawking at the females possessing striking beauty approach an officer who seemed in charge of maintaining the crime scene’s prosecutorial integrity. The man had developed an infatuation for the detective with the deep-bronze complexion and long, auburn hair that reached her calves. Pulling out his cellular phone he took pictures of her. I shall find you, my sweet, he mused.
When he put the phone back into his pocket, he glanced down at his fingertips. They were blood-red. He tried to wipe them clean before his arrival to the scene, but they were dyed red.
He looked up and one of the onlookers, a silver-haired man wearing a fedora was eyeing him. To get the man’s mind off of his fingernails, he asked, “What do you think happened? All this drama is very exciting.”
“Your guess may be as good as mine, considering I got nothing.”
“If I were to speculate,” David Thurman said, motioning up the street toward the colorful alphabet-rich squad of authorities, “I’d guess a murder investigation is underway.” He gave impressive nod, aware of his chances of being questioned by police, who no doubt was going to canvas the area for clues leading to the suspect. And I’ll be right here to throw them off.