Clueless

by Sole Cook, age 11
Clueless Sole loves to write fiction. She lives with her mom, her dad, and her fish, and she is ten years old.

“Let me tell you a little about me. I am a detective. I work on a lot of murders, but usually they’re easy to solve.”

The door opened to the front of my office. My assistant walked in looking flustered. 

“There has been a murder!” he yelled. I looked at him and shook my head. 

“We see murders every day,” I said.

“Not like this,” he said. “This person was brutally killed, then the body was stolen while the cops were searching the house.” 

Let me tell you a little about me. I am a detective. I work on a lot of murders, but usually they’re easy to solve. Like once, this man killed his high school enemy, and when I walked into the room he confessed that he was getting payed $100,000 to kill that man. Then, he was found dead in his jail cell, but the stupid man who had killed him had forgotten to put on gloves, and we found him right away.

“Who was murdered?” I asked. 

“This lady named Yvonne Harrison,” said my assistant.

“Rich?” I asked.

“So-so,” he said.

“We have to search her house,” I said.

***

Her house was small, about the size of my office. I looked around. There was barely anything around. A small television and a rag couch sat in the middle of the room. There was a patch of dry red blood stuck to the rug. 

“Have you tested her blood?” I asked a CSI man.

“Yes. And we found it didn’t actually belong to the Miss Harrison.” Interesting!

“Who did it belong to?” I asked.

“It belongs to a man named Gregory Doff,” said the CSI guy.

“Where does he live?” I asked.

“In a cemetery. He died a year ago.” 

Right now, I had no suspects or clues. Just a mere ‘the pool of blood this lady was lying on is not actually hers! It belongs to someone who’s been dead for a year!!’

I searched the bedroom. There was a Rolex watch on the bedside table, and next to it was a lamp. The bed had flowered linen sheets over a three inch thick comforter. I walked out the door. 

“Who are our main suspects?” I asked Jonathan Fedley, the head of the CSI. 

“Well, for starters, we have her brother-in-law. He is her only living relative.”

“In-law? Miss Harrison was married?”

“Yeah. To a man named Greg Doff who died in January of 2002.”

I have a good memory, so I don’t know why I thought my mind was tricking me of that name being familiar.

“Who?” I asked.

“We don’t have much information on him, except for that he was very poor and he probably married Mrs. Harrison for her money — ” There were suddenly shouts from across the hall in the crime scene.

At first, it sounded like the CSI investigators that were investigating the murder were shouting, “This house has been clean!” but then I realized they were saying, “The house has been swiped clean!”

In police code robbery equals 211, but this was not a robbery. Even the flower sheets were gone!

“How is this possible!” I yelled at the same time Mr. Fedley yelled, “This is not acceptable!”

The CSI investigators didn’t even find a trace of a footstep. Or a fingerprint. The only way we knew anything was stolen was because it was missing.

“Inspector Krysley, we have found out more information and a motive for Tristen Doff, Mrs. Harrison’s brother-in-law,” said Jonathan after we had searched the entire house for clues. 

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“We found out that Mrs. Harrison hated on him because of some sort of romance with her sister.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh yeah. We found out that Mrs. Harrison supposedly hit Doff with her car almost over a decade ago. We still don’t know why.” Another mystery!

Now it was time to round up the clues. Also, round up the suspects, motives, and alibis.

“Blood on the ground suggests she was either shot or stabbed,” said a clueless CSI member.

“But it’s blood of another person!” said another CSI member.

“Blood of another person suggests someone unlawfully blood banked Greg Doff’s blood,” said Jonathan. I groaned. It was hard to work with someone who was as smart as me.

“Small house and rag couch suggests revenge and not money,” I said.

“Stolen body in plain sight of cops suggests disguise,” said Jonathan.

“Rolex watch suggests a small wealth,” I said.

“Flowered comforter suggests living mother,” said Jonathan.

“But that’s absurd!” I said. “All her relatives are dead except Tristan!”

“But maybe she died, like, a few days ago!” said Jonathan.

Everyone gasped. There was no police code for Double Agent, but everyone in the system knew the signs. I started suggesting more stuff.

“Dead husband suggests grief,” I said. Jonathan glared at me.

“Everything stolen in plain sight suggests more than one person working for someone,” said Jonathan.

“Suspect affair with victim’s sister suggests connection of families,” I said.

“Suspect hit by victim in car suggests private connection with each other,” said Jonathan. I wrote everything down, except the silly stuff.

  • Blood of another person suggests unlawful blood bank
  • Rag couch and small house suggests revenge and not money
  • Stolen body in plain sight of cops suggests disguise
  • Rolex watch suggests small wealth
  • Dead husband suggests grief
  • Many items stolen in plain sight suggests more than one person/double agents
  • Suspect affair with victim’s sister suggests connection in families
  • Suspect hit by victim in car suggests private connection

And I added something.

*Jonathan knows something we don’t

How did I know Jonathan knew something we didn’t? Well, he’d been showing lots of signs. For example, Jonathan knew that Tristan Doff was the brother-in-law before the conversation. And I know that because he was one of the people searching the house. He didn’t have time to discuss it with the CSI people. And if he knew that, he must have known more about the case than we did. And I was going to get it out of him. 

When we finished our meeting, it was time to go home. I called my assistant, and he got me a car. The driver dropped me off at the front of my apartment building.

“Thank you,” I said.

I walked into the building and rode up to the 12th floor. I was the only person who lived on the 12th floor. The rest of my neighbors probably had vertigo or something, but I liked the 12th floor. It was so quiet and never smelled like food. I opened the door, and what I saw was a big surprise. A few CSI investigators were in my house, poking around in my kitchen. 

“What are you doing!?” I yelled at them.

They turned to me, then each of them talked at the same time. Luckily, when they stopped, one of them who I recognized as Rupert Hackett told me something that sounded pretty much like the truth.

“Mr. Fedley, he suspects you,” he said.

I knew that’s what they thought, but I was pretty sure that Jonathan was lying. 

“Where did he go?” I asked him.

“He said he was going to investigate more,” he said. 

“Where?” I asked.

“At the crime scene,” said Rupert. 

“Thank you!” I said. “Get me the camera footage. I think he’s guilty.”

Rupert looked at me uncertainly, then pulled up the camera footage. 

Jonathan is not alone. He is with Chief Inspector Harper and most of the crew. He looks around at the numbered evidence. He picks up evidence number 33 and talks to Miss Harper about it. Then he picks up a lot more evidence and talks to many different inspectors about it. I recognize Johann Dreyfus, Blanche Mac Lottery, Lauren Aaren, and Henry Kensington. So many detectives! They can’t all be Double Agents! Then, Jonathan writes something in his notebook. Dreyfus nods at him. Jonathan says something, then hugs Dreyfus, and walks out the door.

“See? He’s innocent!” said Rupert.

“Wait. Go back to when he’s hugging Dreyfus,” I said.

Rupert rewound the video.

So many detectives! They can’t all be Double Agents! Then, Jonathan writes something in his notebook. Dreyfus nods at him. Jonathan says something, then hugs Dreyfus — 

That watch!

“Zoom in on his hand!” I said.

Rupert looked at me like I had three dinosaur heads, then did as I said. 

“Jonathan is the killer,” I said. “At least one of them… ”

I rode in a cab to Jonathan’s house with my assistant. The lights were on, and I knocked on the door. The lights suddenly were turned off, and the curtains were closed. An old lady answered the door. 

“Are you looking for Than?” she asked. Than.

“Yes,” I said.

“He’s out. I’m his mother. Visiting from Orlando,” said the old lady. 

“Where?” I said doubtful and suspicious. 

“He’s gone,” she said. I frowned.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” she asked.

“Sure.” It would give me a chance to search the house. “Come in,” she said.

I walked into the house, following the old lady. She sat me down at the table, and I put my hands on the checkered tablecloth. The lady faced away. 

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Leana Krysley. I’m a detective,” I said. 

“Leana. Such a beautiful name. Why do you want to see Than?” she asked. She poured the hot water into the cup.

“Well, we need to question him — ”

“Ahhhh,” said the old lady.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“My name is Carla Fedley. And I know Jonathan is not guilty of the murder. And yes, I lied. He is in the house.” Then, the old lady smiled and got back to my tea. “Do you want your tea to go?” she asked. 

“Yes please,” I said.

Then I turned and walked out the door without my tea. Jonathan wasn’t the murderer. He couldn’t have been if he was at home. It only took me three minutes to get to my house to his house, but from Mrs. Harrison’s house to his house, it took an hour. So he couldn’t have taken that much time from Mrs. Harrison’s to his house, so he was at his house all along. There were only two questions. Why did Jonathan say that he was going to investigate, and who had rigged the camera system in Mrs. Harrison’s house? 

When I got home, I saw a letter on the table from my assistant.

Dear Leana,

I am really scared that I am going to get killed. Since you told me everything you know, will they kill me first? I ran away to my upstate house. I QUIT!

Sincerely,

Your Assistant

I put the letter down and went to bed. 

The next day, I returned to the crime scene. After all, nobody had ever solved a murder in just a day. 

Dreyfus was there to greet me, and Jonathan was there too. They were investigating like it was any other day. I looked over at Rupert, and he looked away. So he didn’t tell Dreyfus. I looked around to see a new piece of evidence. A note.

“Where did this come from?” I asked Dreyfus.

“I found it under a floorboard. Read it. Maybe you can figure out what it says,” said Dreyfus.

1/4/02

A chara Yvonne,

Tá a fhios agam gurb é seo an uair dheireanach a scríobhfaidh mé chugat, ach táim ag imeacht ó New Jersey chun cónaí le mo chara is fearr a bhuail tú le cúpla bliain ar ais. Mar sin féin, chuir mé litir chuig Than agus Tristan Tá mo dheartháir ag teacht go Nua-Eabhrac ach níl mé ag iarraidh aghaidh a thabhairt air tar éis duit é a bhualadh le You-Know-What. Bí ullamh aghaidh a thabhairt air.

Grá,

Greg

“I didn’t know Mrs. Harrison was Irish!” I said. “I’m Irish!”

“So read it!” said Dreyfus.

January 4, 2002. Dear Yvonne, I know this will be the last time I ever write to you, but I am running away to New Jersey to live with my best friend who you met a few years back. Anyway, I have sent a letter to Than and Tristan my brother is coming to New York but I don’t want to face him after you hit him with your car. Be prepared to face him. Love, Greg.” THAN!!!

Then I remembered the day before on the first day of investigation. 

I had asked who the suspects were. Then, Jonathan had said it was Mrs. Harrison’s brother-in-law. I had asked if she was married, and Jonathan had said yes, to a man named Greg Doff! Greg!

“You were friends with Gregory Doff?” I asked. And then I remembered the date.

“And the last time he was ever seen alive was January 4, 2002! That means you were the last one to see him alive!” I yelled in realization. Jonathan looked at me sheepishly. “And did you… kill him?” I asked quietly. Jonathan nodded.

“But I swear I didn’t kill Mrs. Harrison. She was nice! And I would never kill her!” I frowned.

“But what about the watch?”

“That’s my watch.”

“Then who killed Mrs. Harrison?” 

I wrote suspects, alibis, and motives in my notebook.

Suspect: Tristan Doff

Motive: He hated Mrs. Harrison for some reason

Suspect: Gregory Doff

Motive (Or what we think is a motive): He knew that he would never see her again/needed the money?

Alibi: He was murdered before Mrs. Harrison, so he can’t be the murderer

So I crossed him off.

Suspect: Johann Dreyfus

Motive: Found the letter; maybe knew what it was?

Suspect: Carla Fedley

Motive: (Unknown)

Suspect: Police Chief who guarded the house

Motive: (Unknown)

Jonathan was arrested the next day, and the next day was also a return to the crime scene.

“Let’s meet some new suspects,” said Dreyfus. He brought in five people. 

Suspect: Karen Calhun (Best Friend)

Motive: (Unknown)

Suspect: Jeremy Rolfson (Brother in-law’s best friend)

Motive: Helping his friend

Suspect: George Harris (Friend’s husband) 

Motive: Stealing away time with his wife

Suspect: Doctor Trenton Murray (Victim’s doctor)

Motive: (Unknown)

Suspect: Jenny Wolfson (Best Friend)

Motive: (Unknown)

I questioned all of them, but none of them seemed to have a motive except Tristan Doff’s friend who might have done something for his friend and killed her.

“I’m really stuck,” I told Dreyfus. 

“Then let’s do a walk through of the crime scene.”

We entered through the front door. I walked to the kitchen. 

“Have you guys checked the fridge?” I asked. Dreyfus nodded.

“We have, but you can check again.” 

“Okay.” I opened the fridge and gasped.

Dreyfus gasped when he saw too. In the fridge was a dead body. On it were carved letters.

Good Work, Detectives! -C .F 

“Who’s initials are C F?” asked Dreyfus.

“I think I know,” I said.

When we got to Carla Fedley’s house, Dreyfus knocked on the door. No one answered. Dreyfus was about to knock again, but I said no. He drove me back to my house. There, I rode the elevator to the 12th floor and went into my house. I made myself some tea, then got disgusted and drank matcha instead. Then, I watched some TV, and at 12:00, went into my bed and fell asleep.

It must have been just a minute later when I woke up. I checked the time, but it was only 12:46. I heard a rustle. I turned my bedside light on and looked around. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows. Carla Fedley

“Leana, you figured it out at last,” said Carla Fedley said.

She held the knife above my head. I ran out of bed, grabbing my phone on the way. I ran out of the door and locked it and called the police. They came in an instant, and I showed them Carla. She was arrested the next day.

It turned out, Tristan Doff bribed Carla into killing Mrs. Harrison by saying he would expose Jonathan’s secret if she didn’t kill Mrs. Harrison. When the body was still in sight, she told everyone to check the fridge masked as a CSI member. After they checked the fridge, she put the body into the fridge disguised as a CSI person. Then, she and some of Tristan Doff’s friends stole everything, all dressed as CSI members. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drink tea again.


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