The Collection

The Gun

 THE CHALLENGE: Write a story using the words "download," "cork," "hippo," and "Ticonderoga." Challenge courtesy of Claire Schatz.

I chew the end of my Ticonderoga pencil thoughtfully. It's a disgusting habit, and I know the pudgy officer next to me is thinking the same. He's watching me out of the corner of his beady little eyes and cringing. I bite down hard on my eraser, just to spite him.

At least my body doesn't closely resemble a hippopotamus. And besides, he needs my help.

I take the pencil out of my mouth and use it to point to a few bloody smudges off to my left.

"There are fingerprints in those marks. My guess is they belong to the victim." I step over the yellow tape surrounding the scene and stride up to the body of the newly dead girl. I pretend not to hear the grumbles of protest, especially as I lift one of her hands and hold it up.

"See her fingers? They're covered in blood. She probably tried to crawl away." I drop her hand. "Confirm those fingerprints and we'll know for sure."

"And what if they are?" an intern asks. A recent college graduate, from the looks of it. Roughly the same age as the victim.

My ponytail flips over my shoulder as I turn around. "Then the killer either wanted her to struggle, or did a messy job." I point to the girl's skinless face and raise an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure it's not the second one."

Before anyone can answer, I step back over the tape and head for the door. I'm halfway there when the Hippo stops me.

"Where are you going?" the he asks.

"Home," I say. "Just because I'm in fourth grade doesn't mean I don't have homework."

***

I've never been more bored in my entire life. The urge to tell my teacher to put a cork in it has grown to dangerous levels. Does he really have to go over multiplication tables again?

I tap my fingers on the desk. My mind wanders to the murders. Hippo-human called me earlier this morning to tell me that crossing the tape had smudged the killer's footprints. And that lifting her hand had put my fingerprints on her, which may have tampered evidence. There was so much irritation in his voice that I can't help but smile, just thinking about it.

The police force is currently investigating the victim's family and her best friend Charlie. I wonder what they'll say.

But I don't have time to hypothesize. The bell rings, and I'm the first kid out the door. To the police station I go.

***

"The victim got into a fight with her friend two weeks before the murder."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. He seemed to think that her boyfriend was shady. It started out as a suggestion but the argument exploded. We investigated the boyfriend. He seems fine. Not involved in drugs or gangs or any of the like."

"Did Charlie give a reason for disliking the boyfriend?"

"All he said was 'I got a weird vibe.'"

"Was he jealous, perhaps, of the boyfriend?" I ask.

Hippo crosses his arms. "Maybe. We're looking into that."

"Alright. Has the lab report come back?"

"Yes. The weapon has been discarded, so we can't fingerprint that. But there are traces of Charlie on her arms, hands, lower back, and neck. Same with her boyfriend." He narrows his eyes. "There are also traces of you."

I shrug. "I was trying to make a point."

He huffs. "You made it," he mutters. "Believe me."

***

I click the PDF impatiently. The email is refusing to download. The email that will entertain me for the rest of class. The email with all the suspects, all the alibis, and all the possible motivations. All of their backstories. And all the DNA evidence, comprehensively.

I shake my phone. I turn off the WiFi. I turn it back on. I tap the PDF again.

And finally. It loads.

I hold my phone under my desk as I skim through the file. Kids aren't supposed to bring phones to my school. Getting caught would mean ruining my perfect 4th grade record. I don't want to do that.

I skim over the mom, the boyfriend, and the father. All have clear alibis. The sister has motivation but a clear alibi. She wasn't even in the same state.

I read through Charlie's file. I read it again.

Possible Motivation: Unrequited Love.

DNA: On the body.

Alibi: Left the victim's house 3 minutes before the murder.

History: Goes to a therapist for bipolar disorder.

My mouth spreads into a grin. I take out a yellow highlighter and run a line through Charlie's name.

I found my guy.

***

Sirens wail around me. I watch from the side of the street as a tall, skinny boy is thrown into a police car. His brown hair is all over the place, and his green eyes are wider than Hippo's protruding belly.

Charlie.

He meets my eyes right as the car pulls away. I lift my hand and wave.

"Nice job," someone says to my left. It's a broad man with salt and pepper hair. The head of the police department.

"Thanks," I say. Then I turn on my heel and walk away.

***

My father's safe opens with a click. Inside sits a gun, a shiny new M9.

I pull it out and slip it into my coat.

It's been three weeks since Amy Green was killed. Two days since I put away her best friend, Charlie Anderson, for a murder he didn't commit. I'm growing restless.

I close the safe and walk out of the closet.

Last time I used a knife. This time, I'll use a gun.