The Little Things

Prosecute

Thomas lay on the  cold hard floor of his cell, looking up at the plain white ceiling illuminated in the artificial orange light of the prison corridor.
He'd been in the cell for about three hours, but he couldn't tell because the hours dragged like days. It must be at least 5am by now, surely? He couldn't be sure. He kept dosing, or at least he thought he had. The uncertainty was strong, he felt feverish and he couldn't sleep well.
How had this happened? What had gone from the perfect morning in with his new girlfriend had turned to a suicide, but was it? Thomas' usually cool and collected head was spinning, and in the end he just silenced it by smashing his head against the iron bars in fury.

In the morning, the natural light crept in slowly under the corridor door, casting large shadows of the figures behind it, officers busying themselves with daily tasks, some woman coming in about a post purse, curiously a man turning himself in for drug use and dealing. Methamphetamine, he said.
He waited and waited for the door to open and him to be taken out, presumably for another round of good cop bad cop, or hopefully, home. He hadn't done anything.. Had he?
At last the door opened and the detective that questioned him stepped in, accompanied by another officer. "Step out sonny, I'll unlock it for ya. Don't try anything or I will put you on the ground. You understand?"
"Yes sir."
The door was opened and he was pulled through, dragged, almost onto his hands and knees.
"We called your parents. They're waiting for you." Was he finally going to get to go home? "Right after we question you. We have evidence back from the lab. Detective Hodges here is being fed the evidence. It's waiting."
Bugger, he thought, and was dragged into the dimly lit questioning room, the tape recorder spinning on the desk.
"Sit. Go on!" He was shoved into the chair and the detective book was slammed down opposite him. The detective sat down and his walkie talkie slid slowly out of his pocket and clattered to the floor, breaking the awkward silence.
Hodges didn't even bother picking it up, and he leant forward, his eyes boring into Thomas'.
He opened his thin, dusty laptop and the screen flickered to life in front of Thomas. It seemed to be running an ancient version of Linux, but it still loaded fairly fast. A few windows opened on the screen but Hodges quickly closed them and looked at Thomas out of the corner of his eye.
A few clicks later and he opened the email from Bristol Forensics, marked classified, with Thomas' National Insurance Number stamped on the PDF thumbnail. The document flickered and Hodges scanned the page quickly.
His expression changed to one of significant interest. An image of Thomas' hands flashed up on screen, compared with the hand marks on Robert's neck. Thomas looked sadly and dumbfounded, on the verge of tears at seeing his short lived best friend's corpse once again.
The screen flickered and an app opened, and Hodges remained stern. The finger print scanner opened, and the finger prints that had been lifted from the neck of Robert were shown on screen. Hodges asked Thomas to hold out his right hand, and as he did he connected it to a USB scanner and scanned each of Thomas' fingers in order.
The screen blinked, and a green loading bar seemed to take an age to reach the end.
Hodges smirked lightly. "Of all the perks I've caught, you're the youngest. Fifteen? Just how did you accomplish that? What makes you tick?"
"I... I didn't do it..." Thomas shook his head sadly because that's all he could say.
The bar disappeared and red text appeared on the screen:

"MATCH FOUND"