Detective Moss
Case One: The Meeting

Summary: Mr. Moss wasn't always the warden of the prison on Zartacla. Before that, he was one of the best-known detectives in Cyclonia. Will he be able to solve the crimes thrown his way? Or will the criminals slip away?

This will be a series of stand-alone cases. Most will be one shots, but one or two might extend into multi-chapters, depending on how this goes... A few things might be carried over from chapter to chapter though. (Mostly just stuff pertaining to the main characters though, not case stuff...)

You can tell a lot about a man by his boots. The boots of the Talon Commander in front of him were spotless, so shiny that as Moss looked down, he could see his own reflection. Underneath the shine however, he boots were old and well worn. Not old enough to have him issued new ones, but old enough to be noticeable.

These boots told Moss a number of things. One, he was neat, orderly, and cared a lot about his appearance. He was no doubt a strict commander who lashed out at his subordinates for the most minor of infractions. Two, he wasn't paid much or else he would have bought himself a new pair of boots when these showed the slightest sign of wear.

The Talon Commander cleared his throat. "If you're quite finished admiring my boots, Detective, I believe you were about to arrest young Hamish here?"

"I din't do it!" the young man squealed. "I ain't the killer!"

"Now why're ya so sure that this here Hamish kid did it?" Moss asked, eying the suspect. His boots were caked with mud and loosely tied. The kid was most likely untidy, lazy, and a bit absentminded, but was he a killer? That was the question.

"His muddy fingerprints were found all over the murder weapon," he answered shortly. He grabbed Hamish's wrist and turned his hand palm side up toward Moss, revealing the dried-on mud.

"Mind if I take a look around the crime scene?" the detective asked. "Jus' ta make sure? Ya know how the Cyclonian Tribunals can be... They want all the evidence to be completely perfect."

"Oh, I don't mind at all, Detective," the Commander assured him. "It's right outside in the courtyard. I'll show you... I'll just take him with us so he doesn't think about running away..." He grabbed Hamish's arm and began dragging him along to the crime scene.

It was raining outside- it had been all day. This left the ground wet and muddy. The victim was still there, lying in a large mud puddle, a knife sticking from his chest. Blood stained the ground around him, mixing with the mud and water to make a particular shade of maroon.

"I din't do it!" Hamish exclaimed again.

"How'd yer hands get muddy, son?" Moss asked mildly, crouching over the body.

"I was shov'lin' holes all day, tha's why! The Commander told me tha' it was part o' my trainin'."

"You see? There's his hand prints all over that knife," The Commander said. "It was right after lunch- he probably took the knife from his meal and stabbed him with it after they left together."

"Lunch?" Moss glanced back at them quizzically. "You wash yer hands before lunch, boy?"

"No sir," Hamish replied, flushing slightly. "I was so hungry after diggin' those holes all day... I jus' din't want ta waste the time... But I din't stab him!"

"I see..." He examined the knife in question. It was a cheap knife with a large plastic handle. Sure enough, a muddy hand print was on the handle, the fingerprints clearly visible on the top. Getting up, he grabbed Hamish's hand and turned it over, confirming that the prints were the same. He looked up that the Commander. "What did ya do after finding the body?"

"I ran in immediately," he answered. "I ran into Hamish in the halls and noticed how muddy his hands were. I dragged him back here, and the prints matched. That's when you were called in."

"So you stayed with Hamish the whole time? So he din't escape, right?"

"Right," the Commander confirmed.

"So you din't do anythane else?"

"No, I stayed with him the whole time."

"Is that right, Hamish?" the detective asked, turning his gaze to him.

"Yes sir... After he dragged me out here, he din't leave me for a second."

Moss turned his gaze to the ground a few moments. "... Mud, huh..."

"... Something wrong, Detective?" The Talon Commander asked, eying him strangely. "Are you going to arrest Hamish, or....?"

"Oh, I'm makin' an arrest a'right."

"I din't do it! Ya got ta believe me!" Hamish squealed. "I ain't never killed anythane before!"

"Oh, I know ya din't do it, son," Moss replied simply. "Because it was you! Wasn't it, Commander?"

The Commander stared at him, eyes wide for a moment. "Excuse me? How could you accuse me of such a thing? It's not my muddy prints on the weapon!"

"No, they ain't on the weapon... But ain't it strange?" Moss questioned. "The fact that yer boots are spotless, I mean."

"Yes, I take good care of my boots," the Commander replied. "I hardly think that implicates me of a crime."

"No, I'm afraid it does. You just finished tellin' me that after you found the body, you immediately found Hamish and stayed with him the entire time until I showed up! Hamish also agreed on that point. So then, where's the mud?"

"I didn't tell you this, because I didn't find it relevant, but... before I found Hamish, I wiped my boots off on the carpet. See? No problems there."

"Wiped them off on a carpet...? I suppose that would clean them off..." He trailed of for a moment. "But only on the bottom."

The Commander blinked. "Only... on the bottom? Well, that's where the mud was. The bottom!"

"This mud is pretty thick... It's been rainin' all day... It's impossible for the mud not to splash up on the sides of your shoes! Just look at yer feet now. There's mud all over them and we've only been out here a few minutes."

"Then how do you explain Hamish's finger prints on the weapon?" The Commander demanded. "Or are you just going to ignore that bit of evidence?"

"Tha's simple," Moss replied. "Ya planted it ta make Hamish look guilty."

"What? What proof do you have of this?"

"Don't ya think i's strange? How the fingerprints on the knife are?" He pointed. "The fingertips are on the top of the knife."

".... And?"

"So when yer hand curls around somethane, where do yer fingertips usually end up?"

"Oh! The bottom!" Hamish exclaimed when the Commander didn't reply.

"So here's what happened," Moss began. "The crime happened sometime after lunch, you were right about that part. Everyun was off doin' their duties... You must have asked the victim to meet you here because you knew that no un would be around... It was then ya stabbed him in the chest with a knife."

"That still doesn't explain the brat's fingerprints!" the Talon Commander exclaimed.

"I'm gettin' to it, hang on!" the detective hissed. "It was muddy and wet outside- ya probably left some muddy prints of yer own on the knife. That would be a problem. After all, it would implicate you of the crime. So you ran ta the dinin' hall... It was there ya spotted it; Hamish's knife, covered in his own muddy prints. Ya grabbed it and returned to the court yard. The knives were cheap, it would have been easy to exchange the handles... But you made a mistake- you put the handle from Hamish's knife on upside down... You were in a hurry, you probably didn't pay attention ta the way the prints were facin'. By then, yer boots must've been a mess covered in mud and blood... You ran ta yer room and put on different boots. Those uns ain't the pair you usually wear, are they? They're old- someun like you couldn't stand wearing a pair that old, but you needed ta this time, because you din't have time to clean yer new uns, because ya needed to 'catch' Hamish. That's why yer boots ain't muddy! 'Cause they ain't the pair ya were wearin' when ya 'killed' him! If we went to yer room right now, I bet we could find the pair there, covered in mud... and the victim's blood!"

No one spoke for a few moments. "Well, should we take a look?" Moss demanded.

".... No, there's no need," the Commander replied. "Because everything you've said is true." He let out a wistful sigh. "If I had been more careful with that knife handle... Well, what's done is done, I suppose... You're smarter than I thought, Detective. Much smarter..."

Moss smirked as he pulled out his handcuffs. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"Looks like I've solved another un, Bessie," Moss said, rubbing his ride affectionately. "Wasn' too hard either."

"Mr. Moss...?"

He turned, surprised to see Hamish standing behind him, fiddling with his fingers. "What is it, son?"

"I wanted ta thank ya... For ya know... Findin' me inn'cent."

"Jus' doin' my job, boy. Jus' doin' my job."

"I... I was wondrin'... If... Uh..."

"Yeah son? Spit it out!"

"If ya needed an assistant, sir!" Hamish exclaimed.

Moss snorted. "I don't need help, son. I can do my job on my own."

He looked crestfallen. "Oh... Yeah... I... I guess..."

The detective turned away, but soon turned back to him. "But... I s'pose... If ya really wanted ta tag along, ya might find a way ta make things easier..."

Hamish brightened up. "Thank ya sir! Thank ya!"

Moss couldn't help but smile at Hamish's cheerful demeanor as he turned back to Bessie. "... Why do I have a feeln' I jus' made my job ten times harder?"

A/N No one can resist Hamish's sad eyes! Also, the first case was rather simple, but the rest will be more complicated, trust me. :p