the Legit murder

The Totally legit Murder

Tuesday, 10:17pm, 1996.

Porky Joe was having a bad day (and a pie), his car was stolen by a thief, he got fired from the butchers and he was a fatty (and a cynic). Suddenly a massive knife protruded through the Joe’s back like a hot knife through butter, “ahhhh,” Joe screamed as he heard loud footsteps growing further away.

Wednesday morning.

Detective Sherlock homeless woke with a start as the phone rang, “hello,” Sherlock said into the phone “hey Homeless, we need you in the police station right now!” After Sherlock had breakfast (toast on peanut butter) and got dressed in his long brown coat and grey fedora, he ran to the police station as fast as he could. “Hey Homeless, your late,” said officer stout.

“Yeah I know, so what’s it this time?”

 “A murder,”

“Oooh, a murder I love those mysteries.”

“Yeah well anyway, it happened last night, porky Joe is dead.”

When Sherlock got to the crime scene and saw Porky Joe on the ground with blood all over the flaw he gasped.

 “Oh I must be hallucinating, so evil, so much villainy and death.”

Sherlock looked all over the block but only found a pencil of Joe’s, some muddy footprints and some crumbs of a doughnut that Joe was probably eating.

Sherlock got back to the police station to report what he had found to Officer Stout while he was licking his fingers from the food he had just eaten.

“So the murderer must have been quite big and was easily and adult,” Sherlock said writing on his pad.

“I also asked the bakers and she said that Joe bought a pie not a doughnut.”

“So who murdered him,” asked officer stout.

“Well, I have an idea,” replied Sherlock.

“Who is it Homeless!”

“You.”

 There was a very shocked silence, then.

“What?”

“You,” Sherlock said calmly, you have big feet and your favourite food is doughnuts, I also asked the baker and she saw you walking around the block after buying a doughnut.

“Sherlock I swear it wasn’t me.”

“Another thing that I recall is you and Joe having a major row over the price of steak sausages,” Sherlock said.

“That’s got nothing to do with anything Sherlock, please believe me I’m telling the truth,” Officer Stout stuttered.

“Let me see your bag.”

“What?’

“Go on show me or I will show the judge myself.”

Officer Stout gave Sherlock Homeless the greatest detective in the late 19^th century his bag.

“Aha” Sherlock exclaimed, “A knife, and a rather big one I see.”

Suddenly Officer Stout made a break for it and ran down the stairs, but three officers were at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed him when Sherlock shouted. “Stop him he’s a murderer.”

Friday, 1:00

After the court had sentenced Patrick Stout to twelve years of prison and then death, Sherlock went home to enjoy a scone on jam while thinking about his old friend Officer Stout, the man who had saved his life but also the man who murdered someone because of the price of 3 steak sausages even if twelve pounds thirty was a lot.

END.

By Will F