Introduction: This is my first shot at this, and, like it said in my bio ( I don't know if you all read it) I am just a crack head.
Part 1.
Police tape covered Susan Ervine's classroom. The occassional student looked in the windows on the closed door, probably wondering why their math class was cancelled. A few had gathered by the door, curiously spying on the crime scene unit. Damn, I hated looky-loos.
I had told the Dean of Eastwood Academy to close off the entire wing, after he had refused to close the school for the day. I could have goten a court order to close the school down for the entire eek, but decided the time taken to file that would be better spent on the actual investigation. The least the almighty Dr. Masteson could hav done was gotten a few of those slimy security gaurds to make sure no adolescent pranks were going to jeopardize my case.
It wasn't just Jeopardizing my case that I was worried about, and I had to admit it, nomatter how much I didn't want to. The thing I was worried about was the corpse still lying on the floor. I had grown accustomed to the look of a bleeding human carcass. The life sucked out of it and spreading out on the floor around what used to be a beauty. I was used to the gray matter that was seeping from Susan Ervine's skull. The Brain that had once held the key to her thoughtsm her work, he passions. But I had volunteered for this constant blood bath. There was no reason for kids to see this mess. NO reason for them to come face to face with their own motality just because their teacher's had been carried out.
She hadn't been that bad looking while alive. Some where around 5'7" with long, strawberry blonde hair that's end's curled around what used to be her face, giving it both a cherubic and demonic appearance at the same time. Her eyes had been bright blue. Bt I couldn' tell by looking at her. The gunshot had somehow exploded in her face. An explination from The CSU would be inconclusive, I would have to wait for the coroner. I knelt down, ignoring the camera and it's constant sounds.
"It's a suicide." My partner walked up behind me, holding a piece of paper. Why she was so sure it was a suicide had to be in her hands.
"What is it?" I gestured towards the paper Alex was holding.
"Suicide note." she looked down on it, her eyes moving across the page as she read. "'I tried to be a good girl. I tried to help them all. I'm sory everybody, but even the best of us fall.'" I waited for a smart remark. Alex always knew what to say at a time like this. And she made jokes anyway. Not this time. I held out my hadn, asking for the note. I looked at it. Large, flowing letters filled the page. I was no expert on handwriting psychology, but I know enough about it to tell that it wasn't a depressive script.
"This isn't her writing." I told Eames.
"What do you mean? It was found on her desk."
I moved towards her desk, looking at the stacks of algebra papers on either side of an ink blotter.
"Is there anything else she wrote around?" Icould tell the stacks were here students, so I walked around the desk and opened a drawer. Eames followed me. Where the top of her desk looked orderly and neat, the drawers were a train wreck. I managed to find a wadded up piece of paper with a name scribbled on it. Small, neat, frigid letters. This was a suicide script. I told Eames.
"Well, if that's the right handwritng, why didn't she write the note? assisted suicide?" she asked.
"It's not that easy. I walked over to the middle of the classroom, where two men with coroner's office badges were beginning to pick up Susan's body.
"Move." I told them. "And don't touch that gun." I elevated my voice, "No one touch that gun. Don't even breathe near it." I motioned for Alex to come over. She did. I stood on one side of the body and had her watch me. "I'm killing myself. In the middle of my classroom. I take the gun, put it in my mouth, and shoot it. I'm dead by the time I hit the ground. Blood and residue everywhere. My brain would have splattered." She was starting to understand.
"Parts of it would have been left on the desk behind you." she added. I turned and looked on the front desk. No wonder kids dreaded being moved to the front of the class. You couldn't goof off ith friends, couldn't eat or sleep in class, and there was the ever looming posibility of excess brain splatter.
"Except, I'd be falling." I leaned over, closer to the desk. "so, there'd be some on the legs, too." I bent over, looking at the desk's aluminum legs. Alex looked to me for an answer. "No brains." I told her.
"So, we've got a murderer?"
"A perfectionist, inteligent, the handwriting, most likely an attention seeker. But, they didn't do this for glory. It was to hide something." Alex laughed. "What? I'm wrong?" It goes without saying that that assumption was one not usually made.
"Not at all. But You have to tell the captain."
End Part one
Your criticism is greatly appreciated!
Part 1.
Police tape covered Susan Ervine's classroom. The occassional student looked in the windows on the closed door, probably wondering why their math class was cancelled. A few had gathered by the door, curiously spying on the crime scene unit. Damn, I hated looky-loos.
I had told the Dean of Eastwood Academy to close off the entire wing, after he had refused to close the school for the day. I could have goten a court order to close the school down for the entire eek, but decided the time taken to file that would be better spent on the actual investigation. The least the almighty Dr. Masteson could hav done was gotten a few of those slimy security gaurds to make sure no adolescent pranks were going to jeopardize my case.
It wasn't just Jeopardizing my case that I was worried about, and I had to admit it, nomatter how much I didn't want to. The thing I was worried about was the corpse still lying on the floor. I had grown accustomed to the look of a bleeding human carcass. The life sucked out of it and spreading out on the floor around what used to be a beauty. I was used to the gray matter that was seeping from Susan Ervine's skull. The Brain that had once held the key to her thoughtsm her work, he passions. But I had volunteered for this constant blood bath. There was no reason for kids to see this mess. NO reason for them to come face to face with their own motality just because their teacher's had been carried out.
She hadn't been that bad looking while alive. Some where around 5'7" with long, strawberry blonde hair that's end's curled around what used to be her face, giving it both a cherubic and demonic appearance at the same time. Her eyes had been bright blue. Bt I couldn' tell by looking at her. The gunshot had somehow exploded in her face. An explination from The CSU would be inconclusive, I would have to wait for the coroner. I knelt down, ignoring the camera and it's constant sounds.
"It's a suicide." My partner walked up behind me, holding a piece of paper. Why she was so sure it was a suicide had to be in her hands.
"What is it?" I gestured towards the paper Alex was holding.
"Suicide note." she looked down on it, her eyes moving across the page as she read. "'I tried to be a good girl. I tried to help them all. I'm sory everybody, but even the best of us fall.'" I waited for a smart remark. Alex always knew what to say at a time like this. And she made jokes anyway. Not this time. I held out my hadn, asking for the note. I looked at it. Large, flowing letters filled the page. I was no expert on handwriting psychology, but I know enough about it to tell that it wasn't a depressive script.
"This isn't her writing." I told Eames.
"What do you mean? It was found on her desk."
I moved towards her desk, looking at the stacks of algebra papers on either side of an ink blotter.
"Is there anything else she wrote around?" Icould tell the stacks were here students, so I walked around the desk and opened a drawer. Eames followed me. Where the top of her desk looked orderly and neat, the drawers were a train wreck. I managed to find a wadded up piece of paper with a name scribbled on it. Small, neat, frigid letters. This was a suicide script. I told Eames.
"Well, if that's the right handwritng, why didn't she write the note? assisted suicide?" she asked.
"It's not that easy. I walked over to the middle of the classroom, where two men with coroner's office badges were beginning to pick up Susan's body.
"Move." I told them. "And don't touch that gun." I elevated my voice, "No one touch that gun. Don't even breathe near it." I motioned for Alex to come over. She did. I stood on one side of the body and had her watch me. "I'm killing myself. In the middle of my classroom. I take the gun, put it in my mouth, and shoot it. I'm dead by the time I hit the ground. Blood and residue everywhere. My brain would have splattered." She was starting to understand.
"Parts of it would have been left on the desk behind you." she added. I turned and looked on the front desk. No wonder kids dreaded being moved to the front of the class. You couldn't goof off ith friends, couldn't eat or sleep in class, and there was the ever looming posibility of excess brain splatter.
"Except, I'd be falling." I leaned over, closer to the desk. "so, there'd be some on the legs, too." I bent over, looking at the desk's aluminum legs. Alex looked to me for an answer. "No brains." I told her.
"So, we've got a murderer?"
"A perfectionist, inteligent, the handwriting, most likely an attention seeker. But, they didn't do this for glory. It was to hide something." Alex laughed. "What? I'm wrong?" It goes without saying that that assumption was one not usually made.
"Not at all. But You have to tell the captain."
End Part one
Your criticism is greatly appreciated!