Truth Read Free Page A

Scott walking by the door and they pulled him outside and into the debate.
    He tilted his head to the side for a second. “Passive,” he said and left. And everyone else sat there nodding.
    Anyway, it’s always interesting to work on a story with Scott. On one hand, he makes me a bit nervous. I might not live up to his transcendental vision of the world. On the other, he sees things that I would otherwise miss.
    We arrange to walk over to Ian’s house — the “scene of the crime” — after school together. Scott can get some shots, and I can grill any investigators that are hanging around.
    Lucky for me, the first police officer I see is Dave McBride. He plays tennis with my dad in the summers. He’s just on his way tohis car when we see him. I’m happy to find him outside because I really, really don’t want to ring the doorbell and talk to Mr. and Mrs. Klassen. They can’t possibly be in a good mood right now.
    â€œOfficer McBride!” I call, and Scott follows behind as I run up to the police car. “Can you give me any info on the investigation? I’m covering the story for the school news.”
    â€œHey, Jen!” he greets me with a big smile. “Don’t know how much I can tell you. You should call the detachment and they’ll put you through to our press contact.”
    â€œAnd what will he tell me?”
    â€œOh, general stuff. The victim is Ted Granville, local banker, 43 years old, father of two elementary school kids. The force is dedicating its full attention to the investigation.”
    â€œAnd what does that mean?” I ask. “How exactly do you investigate? I thought there would be police all over the place, but you’re the only one here.”
    â€œThe more officers you have, the more likely someone will disturb the scene. Istopped by to make sure everything was secure, but there’s an investigator inside finishing up the real work.”
    â€œAnd what’s that?”
    â€œHe photographs everything, makes notes of blood splatters and body position, looks for signs of the struggle, collects the major evidence.”
    â€œDoes any of it point to a killer?” I hold my breath.
    â€œSorry. Can’t release that information to the press.”
    â€œOff the record?” I say hopefully. I glance back at Scott. He takes the hint and wanders away, turning the camera toward the house.
    â€œI really shouldn’t be discussing it…” he says, but I detect a hint of wavering.
    I think fast. “Of course I’d never tell anyone. But I watch all those cop shows on TV, and the way they collect their evidence is
so
amazing.” Am I overdoing it? I hold my breath.
    â€œIt’s an art form,” Officer McBride agrees.
    â€œFascinating. Can you give me an example?”My eyelashes have never been batted so quickly in their entire eyelash lives.
    â€œHypothetically?” Officer McBride says.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWell, we might see a partial boot print in the blood at the scene. We can compare that to prints on file — find out that it’s not a regular shoe.”
    â€œReally? Is that what happened here? You have a distinctive print?” I try to keep my excitement out of my voice.
    Officer McBride looks uncomfortable. “I was speaking theoretically,” he says. “And not a word of that to anyone.”
    â€œScout’s honor,” I tell him (which doesn’t count for much, since I quit after three weeks of Brownies).
    I grab Scott and prepare to scram, but just then a second officer comes out of the house and strides towards us.
    â€œYou kids looking for something?” he asks. He’s tall and thick like a stereotypical cop. Beside him, Scott looks like a string-bean.
    â€œJust getting some footage for the school news show.”
    He leans towards us. “I hope you’re not involved in any of this.”
    We shake our heads in