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Chapter III
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"Say 'ahh.'"

Wally looked disgustedly at Detective Tony who bent over across the steel desk, a q-tip clutched in between his fingers. Reluctantly complying, the boy opened his mouth, rolling his eyes to the side, obviously annoyed. Tony quickly swiped the inside of Wally's cheeks before pulling the q-tip out, carefully placing it in a thin, plastic container.

"What was that for?" he muttered, wiping at saliva that escaped from his mouth.

"We want to make sure that the hair on the gun is actually your hair," replied the detective, pulling out his briefcase and dropping it on the table with a satisfying thunk. He opened it, the unlatching a pleasant noise in the awkwardly quiet room. "That being said, even if you do have an alibi about why your fingerprints and hair were on that gun, we can use your DNA to further prove you didn't shoot Mr. Birch. So ..." Detective Tony quickly glanced at his tape recorder to make sure it was on before placing the plastic-contained q-tip in his case. "You said you could explain the gun."

"It's simple really. It's not mine." Wally then paused, pondering his statement. "I know that sounds ... unrealistic, but it's true. Have you bothered to check up the serial number on it? Granted, I know you detectives are all, 'Oh, ho, ho! Fingerprints! He did it!' but if you did check, you can see it's not registered in my name. And common sense wise, someone my age can't own a gun anyway."

Detective Tony tapped his pen on the table, frustrated. "All right. That still doesn't explain how your fingerprints and your hair got on the gun. And if it's not your gun, then who's is it?"

"Norman's."

This made the detective raise an eyebrow. "Norman ... Maple? May's dad?"

Wally nodded firmly. "Yeah. He told me it didn't work though. It was for a prank."

"A ... prank?"

"You need constant reaffirmation of everything, don't you? Yes, a prank."

"Wally, take this."

Thrust in the unwilling hands of the green-haired trainer was a gun.

"Uh – wha?" Wally looked around. Surely if Norman wanted to deposit a gun in his disposal, he wouldn't do it in the middle of a crowded room, especially during a party with several eye-witnesses. "Listen, uh ... If you did something 'bad,' then that's your own fault. Don't drag me into this."

Norman rolled his eyes. "I didn't kill anyone. Relax."

Wally shuddered as the back of the gun pressed into his chest when a passerby brushed up against him. "So what do you want me to do with it then?" He examined the gun's sleek, silver flame, his image blurry in its reflection.

Norman looked back and forth, brushing a bright red balloon away that floated in his direction. "All the new Hoenn League champions have had a joke played on them. A prank if you will. It's an odd tradition that us gym leaders decided to start years ago."

"Involving guns?"

Norman chuckled. "Well, not all the time. Don't worry; the gun doesn't work anyway. It's an old one of mine that I used for protection at the gym just in case of intrusions." He put his arm around the fidgety Wally and whispered. "So here's what we'll do. Flannery and I are going to distract Brendan." He fished around in the pocket of his pants, shaking out a black ski mask and handing it to Wally. "You're going to put this on and burst through the front door, pretending to 'stick up' the joint. Sound good?"

Wally wasn't too sure but agreed anyway. "Whatever you say, Norman."

Norman gave the poor boy a reassuring pat on the back, almost making Wally stumble and drop the gun. Regaining his composure, he watched as Norman walked over to Brendan who was busy chatting it up with fellow trainers. Nauseated by the sick joke, Wally made his way to the kitchen and to the corner where a plastic trash container was stationed. He lifted the lid with his free hand, looking down grimly at the trash.

"Good riddance," he muttered, dropping the gun into the trash.

"Classy prank," remarked Tony sarcastically, crossing his arms.

The trainer nodded in response. "I thought so too. That's why I trashed the gun. I don't like Brendan, but that just sounded cruel. Even for him. And I knew my ass would get in trouble for doing that anyway." Wally leaned back in his chair, smiling smugly. "Believe me now?"

- - -

"... That Wally is one cocky ass hat."

"That's a new one. Ass hat. I might use it."

Officer Jacob turned his head toward the door where his colleague stood, leaning on the cold, metal frame with one hand while biting into a sandwich with the other. The smell of peanut butter and jelly overwhelmed the officer's nostrils as the detective made his way closer. He sighed, paying attention to the work in front of him.

"Is this really an appropriate place to eat?" he asked, picking up the revolver he found at Brendan's home. He made its shiny exterior glint in the light, blinking a bit when he blinded himself with it. "You're going to get crumbs all over the place."

Detective Tony chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Unlike you, Jacob, I have found the invention of chewing and swallowing quite useful."

"Right." Jacob sighed again, picking up a q-tip with his right hand and holding the revolver with his left. He stared down the barrel of the gun and swabbed it, pulling the q-tip out a few seconds later. Clean as a whistle. "Well, no gun residue. So even if this gun works – which it doesn't-" To prove this, the officer tried to pull the trigger with his index finger, but the trigger stuck fast, "-he didn't fire any shots. He's not lying."

Tony licked jelly off his fingers. "So back to square one, huh?"

"Not quite." Jacob put the revolver down and pulled a metal tray closer to him, picking up a pair of tweezers. Adjusting the frames on his face, he clicked the tweezers before reaching down, picking up the lone item in the tray.

The detective's content face quickly twisted into a sickened one. "Ugh! Why are you showing me a fetus? I'm eating here!"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "It's the bullet from Brendan's shoulder. Brendan's surgeon got it out and delivered it here." He twisted his hand back and forth, observing the bullet from all sides. Though still tainted red with Brendan's blood, the bullet's metallic surface shined though, the point of the bullet glinting in the light. "We can use the bullet to determine what gun was used. While we'll still have a lot of suspects to shuffle through, this will surely narrow it down."

Tony threw the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing it down. "Looks like .40 ammo," he said, breathing his fresh peanut butter breath against Jacob's face.

Jacob quickly swatted the air in front of him with his free hand like a disturbed Meowth. "God, you smell. Anyway, I think so too. Er, about it being a .40."

"So most likely the shooter was using a hand held gun. So he had to be close to the window." Detective Tony pounded his fists on the table, causing the items on the table to rattle. "Dammit, Jacob. We're getting no where with this. All we're doing is reconfirming what we already know. And even then, you know how many guns use .40 ammo?" He looked down, noticing a disc enclosed in a clear, plastic case. He picked it up, puzzled. "What's this?"

"Hmm?" Jacob put the bullet back down in the tray and looked at what Tony was holding. "Oh. Lieutenant Homer sent that over. Said some anonymous tipster gave that to the department, and he delivered it to us seeing as we're in charge of this case."

The detective rolled his eyes. "He wanted this case, didn't he?"

"Well, he certainly was bitter when he heard that we were in charge, if I recall."

"Whatever." Tony opened the case, taking the disc out, examining its glossy surface from both sides. "Hmm, no label. Know what it is?"

"God, porn I hope. We can watch it together."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "... I hope you're kidding."

"Of course. I never got that entire 'watch porn with guys' thing. I mean, why would you want to do that? When I was seventeen or so, my friend invited me to watch porn, and all I wondered during that entire awkward moment was 'Latios, why is this guy wearing so much cologne?'"

"I am disturbed, yet a little amused."

"I was aiming for that. Anyway, I think it's just a DVD of Brendan's party."

Detective Tony put the disc into its holder and closed it, waving it the air a bit. "Mind if I take this? I have an idea."

"Uh, I guess not." The officer pushed his chair away from the table, stretching his legs. "Why?"

"I know it's a little unprofessional, but I'd like to watch this DVD with a few of our suspects. You know, to get inside their head and see how they really feel. Personal interpretation. Etcetera."

The officer looked worried. "You know they'll just fake their feelings or emotions if you're watching them like that."

"Now who said I would be there?" The detective smirked, tapping the case against the palm of his hand. He headed toward the exit and turned around, once again leaning on the door frame. "I'll be back. I have to interrogate Professor Birch."

"And I'll be in here, hunting down gun owners in the Littleroot area. You know, doing the actual work."

"Yeah, yeah."

- - -

"How long are we going to be here? I really would like to get back to my son."

"Not that long at all, Professor," said the detective, scribbling down notes on a yellow notepad. He nibbled on the pen cap for a bit before lifting his head, staring into the troubled eyes of Brendan's father. The poor professor was a mess. His thick, brown hair stuck up in an unusually messy fashion, and his dark eyes were bloodshot. Covering his wide build was a splotched, navy blue shirt underneath his infamous white lab coat, and his wrinkled khaki shorts revealed his mismatched shoes, one being a sandal and the other being a sneaker. Something smelled musky, and Tony was positive it was Professor Birch and not his peanut butter breath. He brushed this aside though. "Not that long at all. I do have some questions for you though."

Professor Birch sighed, gripping the sides of the cold desk, preparing himself. "All right. Go ahead."

Detective Tony flipped through his notepad, his eyebrows furrowing together. "Where were you when Brendan was shot?"

He thought for a bit before answering. "I was upstairs sleeping," Professor Birch replied. "It was four in the morning, and Brendan said he was going to stay up a bit longer to clean up. My wife went to bed earlier, and I was knocked out as soon as my head hit the pillows."

"And ... you heard no gun being fired? No glass breaking? No sound of your son screaming for help?"

The professor cringed at the last part but shook his head. "Nothing at all. I'm pretty sure I would have heard something since the master bedroom is directly above the living room where Brendan was shot. I must have been more tired than I thought."

Detective Tony flipped through his notepad, continuing to scribble, the scratch of his pen against the paper somewhat comforting in the tense situation. "So if you heard nothing, how did you find Brendan's body downstairs?"

"It wasn't me. The wife woke up suddenly and found Brendan herself."

Shift. Shake. Creak. Tremble. Whimper.

He then woke up to an annoying shaking.

"I hear something," said Professor Birch's Wife, leaning over her husband and shaking him by the arm, the silk of her light pink nightgown brushing up against his skin. "Do you hear it too?"

He grunted and tried to swat her arm away, rolling over so his back was to his wife.

"I feel worried."

He answered her with a snore.

"I'm going to check downstairs."

He ignored this, hearing the ruffle of blankets being tossed to the side and the creak of the springs as his wife got up from the bed. The floorboard groaned underneath her weight as she shuffled her way to the door, opening it with the push of the brass doorknob. Her slippered feet soon faded away as she made her way toward the spiral staircase.

Silence. Lovely silence.

Then he heard a scream, jolting him from his dreams.

"Oh, god! BRENDAN! Call 9-1-1!"

"She says it was 'motherly instinct.'"

The detective was suspicious. Something didn't feel right. The professor seemed half awake in his story – even though he said he wasn't earlier – and his wife seemed to be pretty awake as well. Under those circumstances, it seemed impossible for either one of them not to hear the gunshot. Nevertheless, he had no proof of this and wrote "silencer?" on his notepad, circling it twice.

"Did Brendan have any enemies?"

The professor snorted. "He is the Hoenn League Champion, isn't he?"

"Well ..." Tony looked to the side shiftily. "I mean someone that would want to hurt him. Rivals can be mean and all, but most wouldn't go to the extent of trying to murder him."

Restless, the professor squirmed in his seat as he thought. "Well, he did have a tango with Team Aqua once. It wasn't anything huge, like flawing one of their plans. He just battled some Aqua member and managed to get back some documents for Captain Stern. Something about the submarine he's developing. The poor boy had no idea what he was trying to get back when he did it."

"Ah, right. I remember reading about that in the newspaper," muttered the detective, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together, resting his chin on his enclosed hands. "So what you're saying is that you think a Team Aqua might have a ... grudge against Brendan.

He shrugged. "It's possible, isn't it?" replied the professor.

"True. I'll keep that in mind."

- - -

He wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

That twit Wally was making faces and picking his nose at the one-sided mirror, the mirror being on Wally's side. Little did he know that Detective Tony was standing on the other side, observing him and the others in the room, his arms crossed. A thin string of professionalism held him back from smacking the glass and scaring the poor boy, but he'd have his chance. One day. One lovely, absolutely awesome day.

Nevertheless, the detective had a job to do, and he patiently waited as Wally left the mirror to sit back down in his seat, crossing his arms and scowling. The only source of light that illuminated the observing room he was in was the reflected sunshine from the waiting room, casting the detective's face in a golden yet eerie glow. Occasionally, the complicated machine next to him (also known as a DVD player) beeped impatiently and the ticking of the clock on the wall echoed through the tiny room.

"What are we doing here anyway?" he heard the green-haired boy say.

Detective Tony's eyes jumped from Wally to the sniffling May, a tissue clutched in her hand. She uncurled herself from the ball she was on the couch. "In-inter-interrogation, r-right?"

"How long are we going to be here?" he whined, hopping from his chair again and pacing the floor. He stopped at the window and pressed his forehead against it, sunlight streaming down into the room. "I'm so bored!"

"You're going to smudge the window," muttered Norman who was sitting next to May, rubbing her back comfortingly.

"Meh."

"He does bring up a point though," said the silver-haired champion known as Steven, brushing away the loose bangs that danced across his eyes. "Wally and May have both been interrogated, yet they're not releasing them yet. Likewise, Professor Birch was demanded to bring back Brendan once he's released from the hospital."

As soon as these words escaped his lips, the doorknob jiggled and twisted before opening, revealing the thick build of the professor and the leaner, more gawky figure of Brendan, his left arm cast in a sling so he wouldn't shift or disturb the bandaging to his shoulder. The detective immediately sensed an air of hostility, especially between Brendan and that twat named Wally.

"What's he doing here?" Brendan complained, nudging his head toward Wally as he trudged his way into the room, his dad closing the door behind him.

"The same reason why you're here, Birch," muttered Wally coolly. "We're being questioned."

"I don't see why I need to be questioned. I was the one that got shot after all," complained the white-haired boy, noticing a free seat next to the couch Steven was sitting on, slumping into it, getting lost in the cushions."

Steven patted Brendan's back sympathetically. "You're a crucial part to the investigation, Brendan. After all, you were the only witness to what happened."

"I guess."

Brendan, Wally, May, Norman, Steven, and Professor Birch. They were all here.

Detective Tony picked up a remote control, running a finger down its hard, plastic panel. He then pointed the control toward the machine next to him, and the machine buzzed and crackled, the small, red bulb next to its many buttons turning green. He then pointed the remote toward the mounted television in the corner of the waiting room, watching as it sizzled and snapped as it turned on, surprising the occupants in the room.

"What's going on?" was what he heard amongst the mutters.

The detective smirked. "And let it begin."