I was somewhat of a natural of doing this kind of work, I suppose. Even if I wasn't exactly a "professional" or "certified" to do the work yet...

My name is James Hamish, and I am a high school detective.

---

It was my sophomore year in high school, if I recall correctly. My uncle was at an office party, though he didn't work there at all. He was an investigator, a detective, but one of his old friends he kept in touch with invited him, so he couldn't refuse. I tagged along as well. I had nothing better to do, as it was June 12 and I had no homework; it was nearly summer vacation and I had my finals under control.

It was quite boring for me; there was nothing to do and no one my age there. We arrived at around 6 o'clock and the party was supposed to run until like 10 or 11, or so I guessed. I checked my watch. We had been here about a half-hour and already I was ready to leave.

I played around with my Swiss army knife that I got a few years back. There was a small bloodstain on the scissors where I accidentally stabbed myself once. I was trying to get the scissors to whip out fast and I kinda didn't have a good grip on it...

There weren't that many people at the party yet. I suppose everyone loved to arrive fashinably late. I wished we would arrive fashionably late. We seemed early. In fact, the only people there were the people working overtime, the people setting up the party, my uncle, his friend, and me. My uncle was talking to his friend about who-knows-what and I started dozing off when we heard a scream from upstairs.

The three of us, my dad, his friend, and myself, rushed upstairs jumping three steps at a time and saw an opened door. The hallway was bright enough to see that a small crowd had already gathered around. We shoved our way through arms and elbows and found a woman rather conservatively dressed standing in the doorway. Her arms were to her mouth, the clipboard she was apparently holding on the ground. In the room, we saw a man lying on his couch. Blood was slowly making the shirt inside the man's suit redder. The left lapel was already drenched with blood...

---

A paramedic had come by at around 6:40 and the man was found to have no pulse and no breath. He was dead, as expected. A few policemen and my father gathered around the scene of the crime. I happened to be in the room as well. The policemen were taking various pictures - the body, the lapel, the shirt, the sofa, the table, a needle, the book the man was reading, the floor around the man... pretty soon, they were taking pictures of everything, and it seemed quite rediculous. A picture on the wall, his desk of papers, his chair... I wondered if they truly knew what they were doing.

---

There were three people working in the Law Offices of Defense Atty. Reddwood besides Mr. Redwood himself. There were:

Ms. Hannah Cress, secretary to Mr. Redwood and of 37 years of age;
Mrs. Jessica Little, a defense attorney working at the office and of 35 years of age; and
Mr. John Jacobson, another defense attorney, though working mainly in research. He was a "new gun" and of 27 years of age.

My uncle interviewed the three, starting with Ms. Hannah Cress.

"Name, age, and occupation, please?"

"Hannah Cress, 37, Secretary."

She was looking down at the floor, her eyes stained with tears. The blonde bun in her hair reflected from the office light.

"Well, what happened, then?"

"Well, Mr. Reddwood usually likes to tell me when I'm going to leave for the night. He yells at me the next day if I don't tell him, as he usually has a few last minute requests that he likes to have taken care of. So I did as custom, and at 5:45 I went into his room and told him I planned on leaving soon. I walked out. I don't usually wait for him, because he just shouts out something at me if he needs something, and if not, he won't tell me anything anyway."

"Did he appear... er... dead?" my uncle asked.

"I... I don't think so..."

"You don't think so?!" my uncle asked, "Well, how could you possibly not know?!"

"I... don't usually look in on him when I tell him..."

"You didn't notice whether or not he had blood all over him as he did now?!"

"Well, I notice it now!!"

"But you didn't before?!"

My uncle usually tried to get witnesses to spill information this way. It never worked. Ms. Cress started crying. She ran off, presumably to the bathroom to wash off her face yet again, and my uncle turned to his next suspect, Mr. Jacobson.

"Well, let's have it, Mr. Jacobson."

Mr. Jacobson had glasses and a suit, similar to Ms. Cress, except his eyes were dry. He, too, stared at the ground when he spoke.

"Well, I've been working at this firm for some time, now, and around 5:45 I decided to have a talk with Mr. Reddwood about my salary and my job. I wanted a higher position, and I was tired of doing research for other lawyers. I wanted to handle some court cases, too.

"At about 5:45 I went into his room and I saw Mr. Reddwood lying on the couch with a book near him. I thought maybe he had dozed of reading, so I decided not to disturb him."

"What, thought he was sleeping, too?!" my uncle asked.

"Well, I... yes, I thought he was sleeping." The man looked offended that his own observations would be criticized.

"Didn't you see the big gaping gun wound?!"

"I... I.. well, maybe his book was covering it!!"

My uncle rushed over to the book that was lying on the ground at that point and flipped through the pages. No sign of blood anywhere.

"I...!" Mr. Jacobson was at a loss for words.

Just then, one of the policemen recovered the bullet from the wound and placed it in a plastic bag.

"Mr. Jacobson, did you kill this man?"

"No!!" Mr. Jacobson looked offended and confused.

"Then you would consent to a full body search?"

Mr. Jacobsen hesitated, but then agreed to it. He held his arms out as if he were about to be crucified, and indeed he might have been, for in his pocket, my uncle found...

"A gun!!"

It was a handgun with a silencer. I remembered that I hadn't heard any shots downstairs... But something didn't seem right.

"May I look at that bullet, officer?"

I looked at the bag, and there was something very strange about the bullet. Something peculiar. It seemed as if it were... longer than it should have been... It seemed too clean...

"I remember, officer!"

The third witness, Mrs. Little, spoke up.

"I left my desk a little before 5:45 to get myself some more coffee and I noticed that there was no coffee being made. I put the beans in and whatnot and it took me about 15 minutes to prepare the coffee. I saw him leaving my room at that time!"

"I never...!!" Mr. Jacobson raised his voice and looked as if he might strike Mrs. Little. Ms. Cress at this point returned to the room and sat down.

"Well, what else did you do, Mrs. Little?"

Mrs. Little looked to my uncle's shoulder as she spoke.

"I went into Mr. Reddwood's room at 5:30 to talk to him about one of our cases. We had a short chat about it, when he was very much alive, and I left. As I have told you, I went up to get coffee and saw Mr. Jacobson go into Mr. Reddwood's and my room..." At this point, Mr. Jacobson started shaking his head in objection.

"...and I saw him leave. My coffee was done at about 6ish? Anyway, I went back into my office room and worked until Ms. Cress let out that terrifying scream..."

"Thank you, Mrs. Little." It seemed my uncle was satisfied with at least one of the three testimonies.

Something was still bothering me about that bullet... Why was it strangely longer than it should have been...? Is that what happens with silenced guns? Why...? The needle on the table looked oddly suspicious as well.

The three would have to remain at the crime scene as we were going to investigate further. It must have been one of these three... But who... The policemen and my uncle held a mini-conference...