Officially Technological
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
FED Files - Volume IV
Whodunit
It was a cool, cloudy day in Battle Creek, Michigan, when Dave Taylor, a lanky, dark sort of guy entered my office. I was swamped with other cases, but he was a buddy of mine, a coworker. I'm not completely heartless, so I couldn't turn him down.
The crime scene was in his office where his mouse lay disfigured and stained with dirt on its pad, the clock above his cube had been dismembered, and the fractured glass that was the face was now discarded on a desk nearby. The clock's time had been changed to reflect Day-Light Savings.
"I can barely use my mouse," Taylor sputtered. "It's clickin' all funny." He whined a little like a creaking door. Squeeking. "My clock was changed to the correct time... I was almost late for a meeting!" He seemed beside himself, his brow was creased with worry.
"Ah, shut up, Taylor," I grumbled as I snapped on my gloves, "We'll take the clock face to finger-printing."
"I think they..." He stuttered. "I think they stepped on my mouse to change..." a little sniffle here, "...to change the clock."
I examined the mouse. The streak was not consistent with the tread of a shoe. The depression in the middle of the mouse wasn't consistent with a shoe either. It was more consistent with... I grabbed the piece of glass that was the clock face. It's edge fit exactly into the impression.
"Fits like Cinderella's shoe, the streak of dirt was dust from the old clock." I mused, picking up his phone to call finger-printing.
"Angel, get up here, we've got a piece of evidence that needs to be finger-printed," I barked at the shifty clerk in finger-printing. I slammed down the phone as he started stammering an answer.
I pulled the mouse cord out of the back of Taylor's computer.
"What... what are you doing?"
"If I'm right, and I'm always right, this is Eric Ray's doing. He's a shady sort of guy who would fix a clock without warning. I'm switching his mouse with yours."
"B-b-but why?" He whimpered, as though he'd be up all night worrying that Ray would figure it out.
"Just think of it... as justice."
Disclaimer: This little story is actually partially true. I only took a few creative liberties. And no, I don't think I'm always right.
It was a cool, cloudy day in Battle Creek, Michigan, when Dave Taylor, a lanky, dark sort of guy entered my office. I was swamped with other cases, but he was a buddy of mine, a coworker. I'm not completely heartless, so I couldn't turn him down.
The crime scene was in his office where his mouse lay disfigured and stained with dirt on its pad, the clock above his cube had been dismembered, and the fractured glass that was the face was now discarded on a desk nearby. The clock's time had been changed to reflect Day-Light Savings.
"I can barely use my mouse," Taylor sputtered. "It's clickin' all funny." He whined a little like a creaking door. Squeeking. "My clock was changed to the correct time... I was almost late for a meeting!" He seemed beside himself, his brow was creased with worry.
"Ah, shut up, Taylor," I grumbled as I snapped on my gloves, "We'll take the clock face to finger-printing."
"I think they..." He stuttered. "I think they stepped on my mouse to change..." a little sniffle here, "...to change the clock."
I examined the mouse. The streak was not consistent with the tread of a shoe. The depression in the middle of the mouse wasn't consistent with a shoe either. It was more consistent with... I grabbed the piece of glass that was the clock face. It's edge fit exactly into the impression.
"Fits like Cinderella's shoe, the streak of dirt was dust from the old clock." I mused, picking up his phone to call finger-printing.
"Angel, get up here, we've got a piece of evidence that needs to be finger-printed," I barked at the shifty clerk in finger-printing. I slammed down the phone as he started stammering an answer.
I pulled the mouse cord out of the back of Taylor's computer.
"What... what are you doing?"
"If I'm right, and I'm always right, this is Eric Ray's doing. He's a shady sort of guy who would fix a clock without warning. I'm switching his mouse with yours."
"B-b-but why?" He whimpered, as though he'd be up all night worrying that Ray would figure it out.
"Just think of it... as justice."
Disclaimer: This little story is actually partially true. I only took a few creative liberties. And no, I don't think I'm always right.
5 Comments:
so what happened? Was it him? Did the clock get fixed? Was the whimpering guy avenged?
poor little mouse.....
(sniff, sniff...)
never had a chance...
(bursts into tears)
The truth is out there.
sorry, couldn't help it, that's all i know about feds and mysteries
Let's see, the anti-climatic way of finishing the story is (not to mention the ACTUAL way it happened) was that Eric came in and confessed to breaking the clock, laughingly apologizing (I don't think he was actually all that sorry) to Dave that he accidentally made Dave an hour late to a meeting, but denied any responsiblity for the mouse. I guess the mouse murderer is still at large.
Oh, and no, Luke, there wasn't any avengence, except Dave DID switch his mouse out with Mary's because she'll be in Iraq for a couple of months and won't notice that her's is missing.
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