In a dark room, a young woman lay in a bathtub, drenched in her own blood. Her eyes were opaque, the once turquoise irises staring into space forever. On the mirror, written in crimson bloody ink, were three letters: S.U.V. ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Monica ran; sweat glistening on her brow. She had received the call announcing the suicide, committed in apartment 626, Sunset Villa. She was short with shoulder length cinnamon hair, and matching eyes. She was only 17, but had helped solve many crimes in the Los Angeles area, and had cracked a few by herself.
Arriving at the small and dimly lit apartment, the scene was utter chaos. There were markers, police tape, and darkly dressed people everywhere. A brown hand found it's way to her shoulder, and she quickly turned to see an African-American man staring at her solemnly. He was bald, and the lonely light from a lamp glistened off his head.
"Oh!" Monica said in surprise, and then smiling innocently added, "Hello Detective Owen." "Likewise Monica." He said in his deep voice. "You shouldn't be here. This isn't a child's case. We've got it covered, go home." "Hardly civil of you." Monica replied, the smile fading, "I have a right to be here. Mr. Car-" "Yes, I know what the boss told you." Owen interrupted. "I also know that suicides don't fall under your contract." "Understood." Monica said coolly, "But surely you won't mind if I just took a look around." "Yes I would," he said, "But it's not my decision, so look all you want." "Don't mind if I do." Monica mumbled, heading towards the small room that seemed to be the source of all the traffic, she would start there.
She gasped as she entered the small bathroom. It was fairly regular, blue and white tiled floor, white toiled and sink, and a bathtub. What was irregular were the bloody handprints everywhere. Laying spread eagle in the tub/shower unit was a body. No more than twenty, her short dirty blonde hair was matted and stained in blood. She was totally naked, and there were handprints all over her upper body and face. On her arms were around twenty cuts, and wedged in the drain was a knife, tip edged in blood. Seeing the letters on the mirror, she shook her head. Looking at the body from a different angle, she say she say the large purple bruise on the hip area, as well as more cuts on the legs.
A sudden slam of a door behind her made her start, and she looked over her shoulder to see a young woman with raspberry colored hair and green eyes burst in. "What's going on?" she demanded the nearest person. "Amanda Benson, I presume?" Owens said calmly. "I'm Detective Owens, head of investigations for your roommate's suicide." Amanda's face paled considerably, and she sunk into the nearest chair. "S-suicide?" She asked shakily, blinking several times, and obviously confused. "Yes." Monica said, emerging from the bathroom and gingerly sitting on the couch. "I'm Monica, can I ask you a few things?" Receiving a nod from Amanda, she continued. "I know this must be a shock, Amanda." "Mandy." Amanda cut in, looking from Monica to the bathroom door. "Alright Mandy." Monica said slowly, "What was your roommate's name?" "Courtney. Courtney Aloes." "Okay, was Courtney depressed at all? How were her relationships going?" "They were fine. Family was good, and her boyfriend had just proposed." "Can I get a name? Maybe a photograph?" Monica asked, curious. "Carlos. Yeah, she's got a photo."
She took a photo off of the side table, and handed it to Monica. Carlos was good looking enough. Blonde, slightly tan, and bright blue eyes. In the picture, he had his arms around a smiling young woman, Courtney. He was gently kissing her cheek, and her head was slightly tilted to receive it. It was a great picture, and Monica's eyes were misting over from having just seen the smiling woman from the picture dead in a bathtub. She handed the photo back to Mandy. The questions continued, and after about an hour, all that Monica could tell was that Courtney had been close to perfect. Played the cello in the college orchestra, straight 'A's in her marks in school, not depressed, everyone seemed to like her, and she was on the varsity for basketball. In general, perfect. "Thanks Mandy." Monica said, standing to leave, "I'll call later and check up on you later." "Yeah." She replied in a distant tone. ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

All the was home, Monica ran through it all in her head: 'Okay. Cuts on the arms and legs, 23 all together. Big bruise on her hip that looked new. SUV on a mirror, written in her own blood. Roommate, Mandy, who seemed pretty stable, but you never know. Life was good, fiancé, stable, family relationships, those seemed good too. It really just doesn't add up.'

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A few weeks later, Monica arrived at the lab. A short thin man with pale skin and dark hair was standing over the body of Courtney, and a book of snapshots. "Hello, Seymour." Monica said, making him jump. "Hello." He said nervously, adjusting his horned-rimmed glasses. Years as a forensic scientist had made him obviously paranoid. "What have you found on Courtney Aloes?" she asked, heading over to the table and staring once more at the young woman on the table. "Well," he said, and then smiling, "She was hot." "If the best you can get are dead, the you have no hope." She replied rolling her eyes. "Wait, there's more." He said, looking at her thoughtfully, "The handprints weren't hers. And sediments on her skin match those on the foot prints." "Footprints?" Monica asked, eyes widening. "Yup. Three. Two were smudged, but the other was perfect. Size nine, 's or women's I can't tell." "So we could be looking at a-a murder?" "Ex-catly."

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A while later, Monica sat at a table, puzzling over the new info, and wondering the meaning of SUV. It's couldn't mean the car, that wouldn't make sense. Besides, why would someone write that on a mirror while they were killing a person? It was more like, a code.

"A code!" she said out loud, making the person next to her jump, and getting a disapproving look from the librarian. Monica was at the school library; the shelves of dusty knowledge and outdated encyclopedias testify to the low budget. She wrote the alphabet several times in her notebook, and then she wrote every code she could think of. Numbers, backwards, everything. She came up with nonsense, all except for the numbers: 19, 21, 22. "Sounds like a locker combination." She muttered to herself. Suddenly Seymour burst in, grinning like an idiot. "Seymour, you look like an idiot. You could have at least taken off your coat and goggles." "You wouldn't have wanted to wait." "Fine, hurry up. I'm AM a bit busy." He glared at her slightly, but then said, "Fine. Well, I found something at the scene." He paused, highly irritating Monica, but knowing better, she stayed silent. "It's a piece of paper, obviously." He said, taking a piece of yellow paper out of his pocket. "It's a receipt." She said, glancing at the logo on the top. "For a locker at a trolley station. What's so irregular about that?"
Suddenly, her brain put two and two together. Locker number, locker receipt. Clue. But what criminal would do that..do they want to be caught? She stood, and began to walk out of the library, Seymour trailing at her heels. "Where are we going?" he said after a minute or two. "To the trolley station.I have the combination to the locker, I think." "How?" "SUV."

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When they arrived at the station, the Golden Soul station to be exact, Seymour was out of breath. " we walk?" he huffed. Monica rolled her eyes, but then found her way to the locker room. "Ok, Seymour. We have the combo, but there are five hundred lockers here. The part with the locker number was torn off. Apparently out guy doesn't want to be caught that badly, eh?" "All of them?" He asked in disbelief. "Well, actually only one hundred fifty of them, the receipt is yellow. That means it's between 0 and 150. So, the combo is 19-21-22. Hop to it." She said, moving to locker 000.

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An hour later, they were at number 132, and no luck yet. Seymour was beginning to become jumpy again, and Monica was getting edgy. "Monica, what if you were wrong, and they aren't a locker combo?" He asked.

"It really doesn't matter now, just try the combo."
Ten minutes after that, there was still no luck, and they were locker 150, the last possible choice. "19, 21, 22." Monica mumbled while turning the dial. She moved to click the top, and it moved up. "Should have known." She said exasperatedly, "The last one. Next time, lets move from the last to the first, OK?" "Right." He said slowly, taking a mental note of it.
Monica swung the locker open, and had to look inside several times to believe her eyes. The locker was empty. Totally empty save for a small black wallet. Sighing, Monica picked it up to find a license inside. Her heart jumped as she looked at the picture. It was Mandy. She looked at the name, 'Anna Jenkins.' "Seymour, I think we've found the murder. Or at least something. There's a passport here too. To Singapore. Now, why does a murder go to Singapore? Because they need to escape." "We've got her now." He agreed.

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Back at the police station, Monica was arguing with Owens. "Sir, it's perfectly logical." Monica said crossly. "It doesn't add up. A murder doesn't leave their locker combo on a mirror in code, and then leave the receipt for that locker behind. Besides, she's not a suspect. She has an alibi. She was working that night. She told you herself." "THAT doesn't add up." Monica yelled, storming out. "I'll show you Owens." She muttered under her breath as she left the station into the cool night air. She was going to solve this case, tonight, even if it killed her.

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As Monica reached the apartment, she heard moaning. She opened the door a crack, and what she saw, made her stomach turn. She saw Mandy, and Carlos. They were sitting on the couch, or more, Carlos was laying on Mandy. They were kissing, and Monica saw the wine and beer bottles around the room. "Perfect." Monica thought. "She's got a motive. Carlos + Courtney + Mandy -Courtney =eloping couple and a good to be true." She pulled out her camera and took

a few snapshots, then gently closed the door. She was obviously unnoticed by the loving couple, because the moans continues, followed by the sound of the thump of bodies hitting the floor.

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Back at the station once more, Monica showed Owens the pictures. They were a little dark, but you could still clearly see the two people. Owens sighed, and then handed them back to her. "Fine. I'll check it out. Chances are, .um." "Say it chief." Monica said, smirking. "Your right." Owens said callously. "Thanks." She said, following him to the door and going out into the night once more.

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A month later, Mandy and Carlos were sentenced to life in prison, separate prisons, for the murder of Courtney Aloes. They had had their handprints analyzed and compared with those on the walls, and the evidence showed they were both guilty. The knife in the drain was a fake, and the real knives were discovered in the tank of the toilet. The bruise on Courtney's hip was from being pushed into the bathtub when she was getting ready to take a shower.
Monica smiled as she walked into the sunlight from the courtroom, watching as the couples were escorted from the courtroom, Mandy in tears, and Carlos swearing at the top of his voice. She shook her head, and walked to her car, her new car.a gift from Owens for solving the case, or at least, he paid the down payment. "Oh well," She thought, "At least I have a car besides, now that they pay me for doing these things, it'll be worth it."
She drove off, the sunlight glinting off of the rear window, and the new license plate, reading: 192122.

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