Children on Scene of Bloodiest Serial Killings in a Decade

Chapter Four

"My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company."-

Jane Austen

'There.' He pointed in the direction of a tall man who had a great resemblance to himself. His skin was wrinkled and aged, but his blue eyes were bright with energy and youth. There wasn't a world of difference between Atticus and his father.

Atticus had magnificent curly, thick hair, with what seemed like a hundred natural shades of light brown, ginger and blonde. He wore black rectangular glasses and a dark green scarf. His walk is naturally brisk, and he always walked with a skip in his step, as if he were on his way to something he looked forward to. Honestly, the main thing Oscar wondered about was if he was more or less intelligent than he was.

One clear difference between Atticus and his father was that his dad had very distinct, jet black hair that was combed with grey strands. He walked a confident, professional stride, yet his eyes told the truth of his desire to express his hidden excitement.

'Second floor, just up there. No obvious cause of death.' He explained. Atticus clinged on to every word. He whipped out a shiny brown leather notebook. He flicked until he reached a blank page and jotted something down. All of a sudden, Mr. Fraser seemed to notice Oscar out of the corner of his eye. 'Friend of yours Atticus?'

Before Oscar could interject to explain that they had only just met and therefore could not exactly be considered friends (right?), Atticus responded, 'Yes'

'Son, it looks bad enough on my part letting you in here, let alone another-'

'Another what?' Atticus looked at his father intently.

'Well, another child' He gave his son a look as if to say I know that's not what you wanted to hear from me. 

'Just this once?' Atticus responded quietly. Mr. Fraser looked conflicted. Before he could answer, he was called over by another officer. Oscar and Atticus took this opportunity to slip away and find the nucleus of the scene: the corpse.

The boys entered the upstairs bedroom as silently as they could. There was a group of about six people standing in a circle looking down, as if they were looking for something down a well. Oscar glanced at the expressions of the police officers; forensic investigators and the medical examiner. They were showing very little expression at all, except for those close to the head of the body. They seemed to be trying to conceal their disgust.

Oscar moved to where they were standing and peered through a gap between two of the people. That's when he saw it.

'Atticus' he whispered, though he didn't mean for it to come out as a whisper. Suddenly the bustling, busy atmosphere of the entire house seemed far away and distant. His eyes glazed over as if they were trying to protect his mind from the picture in front of him. 

'Yeah?' he knew what Oscar was talking about as soon as he caught sight of it. 'Holy crap.' The corpse was completely in tact in every way: from his freshly washed hair to his dazzling white trainers. He looked more put together than most breathing human beings. There was only one thing missing. Well, two. His eyes.

For a few seconds they both stood there, unspeaking. Unmoving. Then, Atticus sighed, 'Well, I guess an eye-witness account is out of the question.' Despite his fear and squeamishness, he couldn't help but let out a giggle. 

'Right, where shall we start?' Atticus whipped out his phone.

'Children, Detective Inspector. Children. You don't suppose this breaks any of those rules that you spend half our time reminding us of?' A muscular, intense woman snarled at Mr. Fraser. 

'No harm with a little work experience, and one of them happens to be my son. Atticus is going to be a fine detective someday you know, start 'em young I say. Right Atticus?' Mr. Fraser brushed her off and artfully slipped on a pair of gloves. Atticus did the same, but Oscar stayed put. Atticus noticed and gestured towards the box of gloves. Oscar rolled his eyes and reluctantly pulled on a pair. Privately, he was thrilled to be finally getting to play detective, gloves and all. He was thrilled to be outside of the orphanage at all.

Jane stole a furtive, menacing glare behind Mr. Fraser's back at the two boys. Atticus looked like he was about to recoil.

'I'm really sorry for the intrusion Jane. However, the only way I can really get a sense for what it's like to be a detective is to actually witness some brilliant detective work first hand, so if you don't mind I would like to study your methods.' His father smirked at him. He placed his hand on Atticus' shoulder.

'Well, Jane is one of our top officers. You are certainly learning from the best.' Mr. Fraser said, winking at the boys.

'Well, alright. I don't agree with it, but I can't argue with the boss.' she didn't look at Mr. Fraser as she said that. Instead, she looked at Atticus. Atticus looked back innocently.

'Right, let's go.' Mr. Fraser looked serious all of a sudden as he strode over to the figure lying on the floor. He lay face up, grasping a book in his hands. Oscar only just noticed the book after being distracted by his eyes (or, lack thereof). He bent down next to him.

Mr. Fraser tapped the man's nose. He examined the man's shoes. He opened the man's mouth and looked inside. He felt inside his pockets. Eventually, he slipped the book out of the man's hands. He opened it up, skimmed through the first page, then closed it in one hand with a light tap and stood up. Atticus followed his every move before having a look himself.

'What do you think, Oscar?' asked Atticus. Mr. Fraser listened while he flicked through the book. Oscar shrugged and he gestured towards the body. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he bent down and tried to copy what he'd just watch Mr. Fraser do.

The first thing he noticed was the man's clothes. For some reason, they looked like he hadn't dressed himself. 

'Can I touch him?' he asked. Atticus nodded, pensive. Oscar gently, with respect to the departed soul, unbuttoned his shirt. The top buttons seemed half undone, as if someone had started from the bottom of his shirt to button it up. He realised this would be weird for him to do himself. Under his shirt, that's when he saw it. Scars. Large, messily patched up wounds. Slashes across his chest, cutting right through the man's right nipple.

'Mr. Fraser' The Detective Inspector swung round. 

'Jesus' said Atticus under his breath. 'How did you see that?'

'Well... I mean, I'm not certain or anything, but it does sort of look like the man didn't button up his own shirt, so I assumed whoever did was hiding something. Maybe the wounds bled through the clothing?'

'How on Earth did you notice that?' Atticus was awestruck.

'They were hastily done at the top but securely fastened at the bottom as if they had been done from bottom to top' Oscar gestured to the bottom buttons. Mr. Fraser referred to the close up pictures taken before the crime scene was allowed to be touched. 'It was just luck, a shot in the dark really.'

'No, that's really good Oscar! Hey, maybe you have a knack for this!' Atticus seemed pleased for him, though it would be impossible for him to not feel at least slightly jealous. He had barely spotted a thing. 'But why would the killer want to hide the slashes?'

'Good question, son.' Mr. Fraser looked at Oscar, suddenly he seemed interested by him. 'And excellent observation. What's your name again, boy?'

'Oscar, sir. Oscar Odell.'