Ms. Revenge

Murder

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"I d-didn't do anything, I swear!" Oscar's tears gushed from his puffy eyes, and little hiccups formed in his tiny chest.

"We know that you didn't have anything to do with this," Arthur said calmly. "We just want you to answer a couple questions."

"B-but, you think it's me!" He stuttered. "I know you do! You think it's me!"

My nails bit into my palms. It had been exactly two hour since we had started questioning this six-year-old, and I knew that because after each torturing minute another part of my patience cracked. Suppressing my frustration, I unclenched my fists and straightened out my uniform. I couldn't fathom how Arthur was staying so calm, when I was so close to tearing my hair out.

"We just want to know what you were doing at the time of the murder." Arthur continued. "Your grandmother said that you were playing with your toys. Is that correct?"

Oscar gave a shaky nod. "I was playing with Mr. Mooseman. H-He has a bright red nose that looks like a reindeer, but Mommy said that reindeers weren't real, so I named him Mr. Mooseman because he was a moose, because that means he isn't a reindeer, so I couldn't name him Rudolf!"

The little boy paused, and then sniffled. "But he's all gone now, isn't he? We left him in the fire. I didn't want to leave him, but Mommy made me. She said that Mr. Mooseman was for little kids, and that he was not important. But now," he heaved. "But now, he's DEAD!"

Oscar then started wailing in full force, and sobbed hysterically into his T-shirt. I took in a breath, and looked over to Arthur who was giving me a fatigued smile. Our matching set of dark eye bags were growing deeper by the second, and I couldn't take it.

I glanced towards Arthur with a pleading look, and he reluctantly gave a slow nod.

"Hey, Oscar," I said, trying to soften my voice. "I think we are done asking you questions now. You can go home, alright?"

Oscar stopped crying and looked up to me. "I-I can go?"

"Yes," I relented. "You can go. We might need you later, but go home and take a good nap, okay?"

Oscar hurriedly scuffled out of the chair and to the door, only stopping to say, "Thank you Ms. Police Officer!"

Giving him a tight wave, my composure collapsed when the door slammed shut. I sank into the chair, and rubbed my eyes. "I'm a detective, not a police officer," I mumbled grumpily.

Arthur chuckled and took a seat next to me. We just sat there for who knows how long, taking a break from the daily torture. This case was beginning to be a nuisance. We were a week in, and we still hadn't made any progress whatsoever. It was like the murder had never happened, and the house just suddenly burnt down on it's own. What remained of Mr. Princeton's body was a charred disarray, and apparently nobody had any connection with him.

"I have to admit, this case seems impossible." I confessed .

Arthur turned to look at me. "You're giving up that easily? You've got to do better than that."

When I didn't respond, Arthur said again, "C'mon, where is the famous Detective Marcie Bennet I know? You're an expert at catching murderers."

I shrugged. "Let's just find this culprit quickly before I kill someone myself. These people are rich, so we better not mess this up."

"We will have this case solved in no time." Arthur assured me. He began steadily flipping through the files, fingers moving quickly over the paper. "In fact," he said, eyebrows raising, "Our next guest is Dela Lou, Mr. Princeton's girlfriend. She just came back from some sort of trip."

I sat up straight. "Not married?" I asked.

Arthur frowned. "Apparently not. I would have thought that a 60-year-old man would have found a wife, or at least have been divorced."

My interest peaked higher. There were numerous cases where gold-digging wives killed their husbands for their insurance money, and this guest could be a possible lead for a new investigation. Ms. Lou wasn't even married to him yet, which provided further suspicion.

But then an odd feeling struck me. "Does the name Dela sound familiar to you?" I asked Arthur.

He turned to look at me. "No, not really. Why?"

"I'm not sure," I said slowly. "I just feel like I recognize it. Is she a famous actor?"

Arthur did a quick search on his phone, and said, "I don't believe so. Where do you recognize her name from?"

"I-I think," I started, and then stopped. It was like a physical barrier was preventing me from remembering that name. It was on the tip of my tongue, and I just couldn't grasp it.

"Huh," I said. "I really don't know."

It was strange. For a couple seconds, I tried pondering it again, but my brain was too fatigued to recall such a subtle memory. "Never mind," I said, shaking it off. "I'll probably remember it later."

"Let's hope you do," Arthur said. "Anything about this woman is crucial. Should we bring her in now?" he asked me.

"Sure. At this point, I'm desperate for anything." I sighed.

Arthur took out his walkie talkie, and spoke into the mic. A couple beeps and a few seconds later, the door creaked open and a security guard escorted the newest guest into the stale investigation room.