How To Solve A Murder - For Toddlers

Chapter 1

At last! Here is the long awaited chapter!

Detectives swarmed around the small yellow cottage, men in blue uniforms not giving the bright yellow tape a second glance. They all head, at one point or another, into the kitchen of the house. In that kitchen there was alot of blood.

Alot of blood.

And a body, bloodless now, lying on the floor, bent at angles you aren't supposed to bend at. This body had once belonged to Arthur Lorrington, part time bar tender, part time vet. It now belonged to the Burmingham police department.

People poked and prodded the body with a stick, paying close attention to the multiple stab wounds in his chest. Like, seriously. I can deal with ripped jeans but polo shirts just don't do it for me. I guess the bloodless look really only works for Edward Cullen and maybe Nathan Fillian because he'll look good in anything but this particular body (I refuse to call it Arthur because it does not belong to him anymore. I'll call it John), didn't suit having 14 stab wounds adorning his torso.

One of the many officers poking and prodding at John was Judy King's husband of 7 years. he was more formally known as Detective Chief Inspector King, most definitly not 'Judy Kings husband' because that will do damage to any mans self esteem.

Most people called Detective Chief Inspector King, Gov, or Mr. King, because one does not generally want to say, "'Ello Detective Chief Inspector King! 'Ere's your coffee Detective Chief Inspector, Sir!" I can safely say that is not pleasant.

Moving on with our story.

"'E looks like 'e's been stabbed, 'e does."

Here we have the body that currently belongs to Constable Mark Hundy. There's a body but I wonder if there's really a brain. I think he bought the six pack but forgot the beer.

No-one really knows how he got the degree worthy enough to convince someone to put him in the position he's in now but he managed so we don't question it. He never seems to fully realize what he's looking at which is an awful trait for any detective. As you can tell by his previous statement, and added to by the fact that they've been standing there for around ten minutes, you can tell he's not the fastest train on the track.

"That he die- *cough* does. I said does."

That was Detective Chief Inspector King. (See? I feel like I've run a marathon just by saying his name!) He has to put up with Constable Mark Hundy's brainless stupidity all day everyday.

Too bad Mark forgot the beer because DCI King could really use one whenever they're around together (whch, if you'd been paying attention, is all day everyday.).

Together they've been standing by John, watching photo's being taken of him.

"I wonder if they'll put 'im in a toothpaste add and say 'This is what happens when you don't brush your teeth.'. They'd be selling millions of 'em. They'd 'ave to stock up on toothpaste."

"They'd have to stock up on lawyers."

This is how the twos conversations normally went.

"Tuck your shirt in Constable." Ordered DCI King, without looking up from the-body-that-used-to-belong-to-Arthur-Lorrington-but-now-belongs-to-the-BHPD-so-we-call-it-John.

"Yes, sir." Constable Hundy pulled the waistband of his unwashed, homebrand dresspants out and used his hand to tuck his blue stripy shirt into it. "Done, sir."

"Cut it with the formalities, Mark. Start investigating." Almost immediately Constable Hundy was squatted, hands gloveless, about to poke and prod the deceased one. The one lying on the floor with multiple stab wounds. Not the one lying in cold furnace in the crematorium two streets away.

He wasn't superhuman.

"No stop. Nevermind. Go stand around and make comments in your head about things and you can tell me them in the car. Don't touch though. Don't touch." DCI King then handed the Constable a pair of blue gloves and got back to whatever Detectives think they're doing when they poke a dead thing.

Soon a man in a white lab coat started stringing dates and times from his ass and then they knew it was time to get serious.

..........

Eleanor tapped her foot impatiently. She had been waiting for ages for her dad's sliver sedan to pull up and take her home to play with her new Barbie and Ken Dream House™.

She turned around, feeling a tap on her shoulder.

"Hello Eleanor!" Said the receptionist of the daycare, overly perky as always. "Daddy called and said he would be a bit late. Wanna come back inside?"

Eleanor sighed but nodded anyway, following the lady back to where she had been for the past 4 hours.

She slid into one of the plastic chairs, retrieving her drawing from her bag and starting to resume coloring her fairy in pink.

She scribbled slightly and put the pink down, grabbing the red. As she scrawled in red around the fairy a strange feeling tugged at her chest.

Something was wrong.

.:AUTHORS NOTE:.

Heyheyhey you little poos. How are you? haha don't care.

You can comment, please. Maybe even vote. Ily.

Sweet dreams ;)