Young Writers Society

"Your first case as a detective." Lestrade said handing her a manilla folder. She opened it up and began flipping through the pages. "Take it slow, 'kay? We have a man in custody that we think did it. You're going to sit in on his questioning and see how we do it."

"The muslim didn't do it." Sheri said flipping the cover closed.

"What?"

"It's obvious, really. I can see how it looks the way it does, but the man you have in custody, Eric, the muslim, he didn't do it."

"What makes you say-?"

"Nevermind it I'm sure this will be a wonderfully tedious experience." Sheri walked through the door of the interrogation room and sat down in front of the man. He looked the part, he was of indian descent, but even this close to 9/11, that doesn't mean he killed someone. "Mornin'."

"Morning." he replied.

"So my colleagues think you viciously killed your wife."

"Yes." he said very calmly.

"How's about instead of kidding ourselves by pretending you did it we discuss why you're not." Lestrade walked in and stood behind Sheri. She opened up her folder and pulled out the pictures. First a picture of a stain on a maroon polo shirt. "Now this blood stain was found on your shirt, matching the sample taking from your wife. This is supposed to be proof that you beat her, but we both know that your wife suffered from chronic nosebleeds."

"What?" Lestrade asked. Sheri turned to her superior with a hint of a sarcastic smile. Blindly she picked up a picture of the murder scene. It was a bloody tan living room. There was a couch and a coffee table spread out in front of a TV screen.

"Look at the coffee table." she advised. Lestrade took the picture and squinted.

"Are those tissues?"

"Bloody tissues, your wife started bleeding and it got on your shirt. Now exhibit B." she pointed to a witness statement. "'I saw him raise the bat over his head and beat her. She screamed, but by the time the cops got there she was dead.'"

"And?"

"She didn't scream."

"She didn't." Eric agreed.

"What makes you say that?"

"One hit." Sheri said, pulling out the forensics report. "She was hit from behind once by a blunt object. She died instantly because the object hit so hard that it broke her spine. If she had screamed it would have been before she died, which would have been when she saw him. Which she didn't because she was hit from behind. Exhibit C." she pulled a picture of a broken wine bottle out.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"The glass fell when he saw the dead body. Eric?"

Eric blinked for a second, not sure if he should answer.

"I went to go get the bottle, but I lost the opener so I went downstairs. I heard the sound of the door closing and when I got upstairs I saw the body and the bottle must have slipped."

"He could be lying." Lestrade countered.

"I'm not-"

"Relax." Sheri told him, "Think about it Lestrade, you have a wife to kill. Do you drop the expensive wine? No. You don't even bring it in. No murderer would be that stupid. And if the bottle broke before he found her, there's no other signs of a struggle that would allow for it to be pushed off during the attack. Next time let's not confuse the suspects with the witnesses just because they have a certain religion." Lestrade was partially impressed by Sheri, but also annoyed that his suspect was smiling at him like he wasn't wearing pants.

"Okay, so if you're so sure about Eric, than who should we take in for questioning?" Sheri stood up from the chair and packed up her folder.

"I, for one, would like to know why Ms. Catherine lied in her witness statement, wouldn't you agree?"

***

"Ms. Dean, what exactly did you see on the night of the murder?" Lestarde asked the brunette woman in the comfort of her living room. It was a little clean for Sheri's taste. One of those homes with pristine white carpets and a place for everything.

"Why'd you lie?" Sheri said blandly as she picked up a glass knick-knack and held it up to her eye.

"Sheridan!" Lestrade yelled.

"Well, she did." Sheri put the glass down and stretched her arm out. "And I prefer Sheri."

"I'm sorry." Catherine said, from the far armchair. She was wearing the ugliest brown dress and her purple heels didn't help. "I think you are mistaken, I didn't lie."

"Yeah, ya did." Sheri insisted, looking around the living room. "I'm not sure why, but I think it has something to do with your brown shoes."

"What? My shoes?" Ms. Dean looked sown at her purple heels self-consciously.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Sheri said poking fingers in the blinds so she could see out the window.

"I don't have a-" she started, her mascara filled eyes blinking furiously.

"Yes you do, he's the good-looking gardener. The same one the Suresh's hired to do their bushes about, oh, six months ago. The same bushes that you miraculously saw over to see through the window of their living room. Awful high, they need a trim, what do you think?"

"How did you-?" she asked, as Lestrade just watched her walk around the room awestruck.

"It's a science I've been perfecting... Now, here's something interesting." Sheri pointed to a blotch on the carpet by the door to the kitchen. She swung the door open, peered in quickly, then lied down on the ground next to the white blotch.

Suddenly she stood up and followed a specific route on the carpet. She stared at intently sometimes stopping, backing up and walking forward after a while.

"Bleach." she said finally.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"Bleach, in some spots, but not others. It's more visible in a specific spot, by the door, but there's a faint trail running to the bathroom over there." She pointed to a wooden door behind Ms. Dean. "Remind me, Catherine, where is your boyfriend?"

The woman's lip quivered. "I-I don't know. H-he said he'd be back b-by now."

"And why did you lie?"

"He was holding a pair of garden shears, I didn't know what else to do. He said he'd....he'd." Catherine burst into tears.

"It's okay, Ms. Dean. You've said enough." Sheri opened her mouth to rebuttal, but Lestrade turned and glared at her. She shut her trap and leaned against the wall.

"I'm o-okay." she stuttered through sobs. "I just was so scared. I told him to stay here, but he just cleaned off his hands and ran off."

"Looks like we can let Eric go then." Sheri smiled as Catherine cried. Lestrade just stared at Sheri, like be was slightly offended and awestruck by her performance.

***

"That was amazing!" Lestrade told Sheri as they drove the police car back to the station. "Who would have known the gardener was the killer instead of the muslim?"

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"What do you mean, you were so sure it wasn't Eric."

"It's not, just I'm not completely sure it's the gardener either." Sheri frowned as she picked at her fingers. "I'm 33 percent sure he didn't do it either."

"So you give us him on a silver platter, and then change your mind? What's bugging you?"

"Her shoes. They were absolutely atrocious." Lestrade laughed. "I'm serious. They didn't match one part of that awful brown dress."

"That is defiantly my first shoe based accusation." he said letting one of his hands drop to pick up a reusable coffee cup.

"That woman had a place and a color scheme for everything, so why were her shoes purple?"

"You're over-thinking this."

There was a long silence, but when Lestrade finally looked over, the young cop was staring at him.

"What?"

"No, I'm sure your right." she said shaking her head.

"Really?"

"Yep, and then we should pull into the nail salon and get a manicure for a job well done." she smiled at him sarcastically.

"I can't even tell if you're joking."

"My point!" Sheri exclaimed, "Is that we still don't have the guy in custody and you're already assuming he's guilty!" Lestrade pulled into the police station parking lot.

"You did good today, kid, but you have to know when to let go and relax until the rest of the team catches up."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying get some sleep, and let go of the tiny details." Lestrade parked the police car and the two got out. They both went their separate ways. Lestrade back to his office to put out the message about the mysterious gardener of Ms. Dean. And Sheri, back to her car. A red cross-fire with a custom design on the side of caution tape.

***

"Sheri pick up, your dang phone we found the gardener!" Lestrade said into his phone irritably. As much as he'd rather his new colleague to not see that she was right all along about Catherine, but he didn't exactly have a choice. They found his body lying in the home of another muslim family in town. At first they thought it was an act of self-defense against a burglar, but when they saw that the name on his driver's license was the same as the gardener's they figured out exactly what this was.

"Here." Sheri said from behind him. Lestrade closed his phone and turned around. She was already pulling a pair of rubber gloves on like she was ready to look at the dead body. But her clothes didn't convince Lestrade that she was ready for work. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a black dress with a leather jacket covering her arms. Her boots reached over the bottom half of her calves and well over her leggings. It looked like she wanted to cover every bare skin, which was excusable since she was paler than paper.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"2,000 pounds worth of custom leather. And that's the British currency not the weight measurement." she said tying back her crow black hair in a ponytail.

"No, I mean you should be wearing a uniform."

"I read my contract, it doesn't say I have to, and I didn't have time to clean my uniform last night."

"You clean yours?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I like to be clean, unlike the other habituous primates that assume that they share a significant amount of genetic material, but lack the neurological ability to hypothesize from the same data."

"I think I'm offended." he said running the sentence through his head a second time.

"Exactly." she said walking past him into the autopsy room. The first thing you'd notice in the room was the stretcher with the dead guy on it in bloody T-shirt and jeans. From there you'd see the table of scalpels and the X-rays of the body hanging on the wall.

"His name is Gary Simon. He was found in house just down the street from Ms. Dean and the Suresh's. The wife reported waking up and seeing the body lying on the kitchen floor. There are open wounds, but he died from being smothered."

"So far, so obvious." Sheri circled the body, occasionally looking closer and making odd hand gestures. "He was killed a couple days before they found him. He did some weeding right before he died, looks like dandelions by the residue on his hands. There's blood on his jacket that's a few days older than the rest. He was stabbed several times in his chest after death. And hmm..."

She paused, looking closer at his pants.

"What?" Lestrade asked trying to look over her shoulder.

"Bleach again. It's mostly covered in his blood, but you can make out white at the edges." she inspected the rest of his pant leg. "Do we have Catherine in custody yet?"

"No, but I have cops ready to take her in of needed."

"Good, tell them to bring her over. And tell another group to search her laundry room for a pair of brown shoes with big stains on them."

***

"I don't understand why you're questioning me." Catherine said in an annoying shade of orange today. "I already told you all I know about Gary."

"Oh we just found him, and he told us all about your part in the murder." Sheri said slyly from a corner of the interrogation room.

"What? I didn't do anything to those Suresh's." Catherine, rubbed her light brown pants flat.

"Is it true that your son died in 9/11."

"9/11," she scoffed, "It was a terrorist attack, let's not give it a name like a holiday."

"So he did?"

"Yes, so?"

"And is it also true that on the day after the murder you were wearing red?" Catherine stared at her for a while.

"Yeah, I wore a red dress the next day. What does this have to do with the murder?"

"And, the day before that it was brown."

"You are wasting my time." Catherine said starting to stand up.

"And these are your brown shoes." Sheri said, holding a pair of brown heels in a bag out from behind her back.

"How did you get my-!"

"Legally, I assure you." Catherine sighed and stared at Sheri angrily, "Now these stains on your shoes, that's red nail polish right?"

"I dropped my polish, so?" Sheri smiled.

"Yes you did. You see when Gary killed Mrs. Suresh, you weren't expecting him to come back to your house. You got angry because he got her blood all over you floor, at the time you had been painting your nails for tomorrow. As you do everyday to match your clothes."

"Fantastic, you understand fashion." she mocked, her hands clenching into fists.

"That's not all, Catherine. You see, you got so angry at your boyfriend that you started yelling at him and eventually you attacked him. Smothered him with a pillow even. And that nail polish you were using spilled on his pants and your shoes during the struggle, so when he was dead you decided to bleach the stain out, but you couldn't get it all out. So you decided to sneak into another family's house and fake a stabbing to get you off the hook for killing him. You picked another muslim family because of what happened to your son."

"How fanciful." she said, smiling as best as she could through her panic.

"It's not just a theory, Catherine." her smile quivered, "I have proof. Did you know that the nice family you tried to frame had a dog?" Catherine stopped smiling all together. "Of course you do, how could you not."

Sheri took another bag out from behind her. It was a black book, with long gashes in the side.

"Now these holes are pretty deep, I'd have to say that you'd have bleed a lot from a bite like that. I'd bet my cross-fire that some of that blood could be identified as yours. Wouldn't you agree?"

Catherine sat back down and Sheri smiled.

"You should keep that nail polish on, it'll match well with what you'll be wearing tomorrow.

***

"It was absolutely fantastic. She solved it in under three days." Lestrade told Captain Gregson.

Gregson, tapped his fingers against his desk impatiently. "And why are you telling me all about this?"

"Well, I need your permission to move her from your team permanently." Gregson sat up in his chair.

"I'd love to get rid of her, Greg. I really would, but she needs one more thing to be promoted."

"What?"

Gregson leaned back and opened one of the drawers in the filing cabinets behind him. "Let's see, she's taken the crime scene and basic laws test, six times. And she's failed it, six times."

"But she actually solved a crime! She exceeds in logic and morality-"

"I understand that she's smart, but she's also arrogant, psychopathic, and plain annoying. How am I supposed to know she won't abuse this position?"

"You don't need to trust her, you just need to sign a sheet of paper." Lestrade pushed a sheet of paper blackened by words toward the short captain.

"I'll sign it if she passes my test."