Atticus Finch, Nazi Hunter

Examining Dead Bodies? All in a Day's Work Here

After getting back to work, I notice that there's a rather complicated case on my desk. Taking a look at the file on my desk, I notice that I've gotten a case about Boo Radley. Apparently, he was killed, and a distant relative whom he was rather close to- a cousin in fact- wants to bring his killer to justice. (That actually makes perfect sense. It is inconceivable that his no-good relatives- certainly not his father, the meanest man God gave breath to- would want to do this. But maybe a good relative would. Even social outcasts like Boo Radley have people who support them.)

"So," I say, examining the case. "It appears that he was slashed over the neck by a man in what appears to be a formal uniform."

I always knew Boo Radley was a bit of an oddball outsider, but I never thought he'd be murdered so brutally. I guess Bob Ewell would've done so if he could- that son of a bitch would've killed him if it meant the world to him. Luckily, he killed him before he could kill him.

"You know, the Nazis are taking control of Europe," says one of my colleagues. "Who's to say they won't come to the United States?"

"That's a pretty terrifying conundrum, but there's still not enough evidence," I say. "In any case, since they haven't invaded our country, our best bet is that a Neo-Nazi killed him. You know what they say about those crazy kids."

"That uniform still looks pretty official," I say. "He's probably part of a bigger organization that it appears."

I take a closer look, using my Sherlock Holmes methods of deduction. From what it appears, the bullet entered his body instantenously.

"In any case," I ask. "I'm not quite sure why they would want to assassinate Boo Radley. Perhaps he was coming on to them in a way they didn't appreciate."

Cue snickers from my colleagues.

"Not in that way!" I exclaim. "Get your mind out of the gutter! What I'm trying to say is that, perhaps his assassin believed he was trying to attack them, and reacted in self-defense. While that still gives no excuse, it's easy to see why he'd do so-."

"Fascinating," says one of my colleagues.

"Everything is fascinating to you," I say, being the smart-ass that I am, naturally. "Does your coffee in the morning taste fascinating?"

"Very funny," he says.

Oh well. All a day's on the job.

I start to examine more of what's happened to him. As it turns out, he was slashed by the neck, presumably to avoid a too obvious looking bullet wound. But...why would they do that? Why would it look less obvious to the outside world?

Thinking, I go grab a coffee. Boy, am I grateful for my coffee break.

Eventually, after a long day of examining, I decide to go home. It's been a long, tiring day, and I need to go relax. And of course take care of the children while I'm at it.

I'm about to walk up to my car, when suddenly, I feel a gunshot wound through my chest. Several, in fact. And boy, are they painful- it feels as though i'm dying. I am dying, as a matter of fact.

From what it appears, it looks like white supremacist. It's difficult to make out what he's saying, however- it sounds like something about Tom Robinson, but it can be difficult to tell.

Am I dead? I should be dead. One of them went through my heart, the vital organ that pumps blood. That's basically a death sentence for someone like me.

Wait a minute. I can't die and leave Scout and Jem behind! They're just children! Jem can't raise Scout on his own! Please, God. Just give me another chance. Not even the reminder that I love them would be enough.