The Murdered Model Mystery

8

As I drove to the police station, I felt tears rimming my eyes. No don't get emotional, you are being selfish. Stop it, stop it, STOP IT RACHEL. I blinked back the tears and continued my journey for Chloé's revenge.

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"You know where her house is right?" I asked.
'"Uh, yeah I think I know where the most famous model in the country lives." The police officer said I had never met a more sassy police officer. As soon as I had presented the chief my case he decided it was worth it to check out my claims.

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As the car approached the house I mentally prepared myself for a lot of convincing and persuasion. I knew it would be easy to convince the police officer, over the most famous and powerful person in the country, but I knew I had to try. I had to try for Christina, for all the victims, for my best friend's parents, and for Chloé, the first person to see me as someone other than a poor orphan.
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"You call THAT evidence? John? Honey? I've known you for 10 years. TEN whole years and you go trusting lunatic 16-year-old that I have never met in my life, whom-may I add- you have only known for about 2 hours?"
I and Alexandra were in a battle of convincing the police officer-John-that we were telling the truth and not the other way around. Alexandra proved to be very convincing when she wanted to be.

"Talk about a 'qualified police officer'. Hun, you realize I can always just . . . get you fired, right? I think this girl who is claiming to be my adoptive daughter is just a lunatic that is jealous of my lifestyle. Maybe take her away and ship her off to one of those A-say-lums?" She continued her rant.
"Or wait no! It is asylum, right? So sorry, I'm a normal, mentally sane person. Unlike some people," she took a glance at me
"So I am not accustomed to the word. Now please take her way and give her the help she needs, I don't feel safe with her in my house." She finally finished talking with her awful voice.
I was about to retort her and defend myself but before I could say a word, John grabbed me roughly by the collar of my shirt.
"Come on you filthy little liar, tell me how you did it?" He shouted at me in the car.
"Did what?" I asked, confused.
"Well for a chronically insane, making such a realistic fake testing certificate is pretty impressive."
I just rolled my eyes. I knew where I was going. He thought that just because I was a minor, by coming up with a very TRUE conclusion, with VERY convincing evidence, automatically classifies me as a psychiatric case? Talk about a qualified police officer.