The Cat Did It
A bushy haired man named Branson was sitting up on his faded couch that proudly wore the scars of a glorified scratching post. Sitting on the other side of his smoke glass end table were two detectives donning drab grey suits. Their badges were the only colorful part of their attire, perched on their belts next to the spare magazine.
Got To Get To Work
Donavan hung up the corded phone on the wall. "Do you mind if I make another call?"
The guard pushed off the wall he was leaning against. "No more calls. Back to your cell."
Donavan sighed. "I thought so."
The Gun Did It
The detective was sitting at the table, head concealed by the folder that was inches from his face. His eyes scanned through the report, looking for more information on his suspect. A dim light shined from above while his fellow officers snickered behind the glass observation window.
"Alright Mr. Glock, where were you on the night of the fifteenth?" Detective Ruso asked.