Unfortunately, Zavier Witt, a fourteen year old boy, was not the first one on the crime scene. If he had been, then maybe he would've been able to conduct his investigation from the start. The body appeared to have been a day old, its mahogany coloured ink splattered the grass. The only information he got about the body came from what looked to be a rookie cop, the poor victims fingers, cut off and missing, wound to the abdomen, an obvious cause of death. The blood had a sickeningly metallic scent that lingered in the air, unwilling to escape in the warm breeze that flooded St. Helena Island in the late afternoons. The only evidence remaining was the broken hilt of a sickle.
Zavier peered down into his bag and brought out a fluffy, white feline. "Watson? Search." Zavier cautiously placed the kitten on the glassy stalks of sugar cane that litter the grass before him. Unlike any other cat, Watson knew exactly what his companion needed of him and immediately went to find the missing evidence.
Zavier felt as if he was being watched. "Are you lost, Mr Witt?" The voice, aged defined and its wisp almost deafening. This was the man that had found the body, the police reported him as the caretaker.
Zavier wasn't lost but he didn't want anyone to know of his activities. He did the only thing he could think of, lie to this kind old man, "Yeah, sorry. I think I may have dropped something." Zavier feigned a quick look around and emptied his pockets.
"Oh? Can't you see the yellow and black tape, mate? You're not supposed to be here." The old man watched Zavier closely, "Well I hope you find whatever you're looking for, just try to stay with your group. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you now would we?" The old man gave Zavier a warning look and hobbled off.
Zavier's mind reeled, telling him there was something wrong with that conversation. Just as he was about to go after the suspicious figure, a small "mew" came from his companion. The kitten, once white and now bloody, nudged the mutilated finger into Zavier's direction.
The stubbed finger matched the hand like the last piece of a puzzle. Zavier cleared his throat, "One down, one to go." he cringed and grabbed his sandwich bag out of his pack. After replacing his sandwich with the detached finger, Zavier put the plastic back into the bag.
"You want some watson?" Zavier offered half of his tuna sandwich to the kitten.
With his physical focus on his sandwich and his mental focus on the murder, Zavier hadn't noticed the cop trying to catch his attention.
"Son?! What do you think you're doing? Where is your group?" When Zavier's father realised that the minor couldn't hear him he immediately shook Zavier's shoulder. "Mate, you have not been given the authority to be here."
Zavier tilted his head and finally noticed the figure that towered over him. With a sigh, the officer shook his head and pulled the boy with him, back to the group of students near the docks.
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"I'm sorry ma'am but your student was too close to the crime scene, in order to insure there is no more interruptions, he will have to be supervised by someone who can give him their full attention."
"Ugh Dad!" Zavier groaned. He hated when his father acted like this.
"No Zavier, you will reside with Mr Anthony Gale until we get this sorted. Thats final!" With one last glance the officer turned and walked back to the crime scene.
A sweaty hand clamped down on Zavier's shoulder. "I guess its just you and me, Mr Witt." The familiar wisp in his voice made Zavier shudder. With a reluctant nod, Zavier followed after the man.
"So, being the caretaker you must know a lot of the history?" It was time for Zavier to start up his own interrogation. The man glanced at him while he picked up some sugar cane stalks, and shrugged.
"I guess?" Zavier stopped and continued to question him.
"So you would know most of the punishments and such?" Mr Anthony Gale gave Zavier a suspicious look.
"Where is this all coming from?"
Shrugging, Zavier shifted to one side. "I wasn't with the group when they were learning about it. I'm genuinely interested." A ghost of a smile appeared on the old mans face.
"You're interested…" His mouth twitched and split into a grin. "I could teach you a thing…or two."
Zavier bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from blurting out the facts he so desperately wanted to voice.
"This island, as you would know, used to be a prison. The prisoners used to have to work the land, but the conditions were…uncomfortable. They had to work long hours of heavy labor and never got days off. So in order for them to have a rest, the prisoners who worked the sugar cane fields would cut off their fingers." Mr Anthony Gale had a gleam in his eye, a gleam that you only get when you explain your true passion.
"Cut off their fingers? Do you think that may be related to the homicide?" The old man's face hardened.
"I don't know, its not something I want to look into either. Its best if we just stay out of the way, anyone who goes after a murderer is just askin' for it." Zavier noticed the twitch of aggression resting in his left eye, he should have stopped, but he didn't.
"So their looking for someone who knows the history…Someone who obsesses over it?" Mr Anthony Gale's hands had started to shake, Zavier almost hadn't noticed. "Evidence…Finger…Hilt…Body.." Zavier mumbled. He was testing how far could he go until the old man finally snapped. "It was done in the morning…as if the murderer wouldn't of had a chance later on.." The old mans face turned an angry red. "Maybe someone who is alone…" And suddenly, he snapped. The old man violently threw the sugar cane stalks to the ground.
"I told you to stay out of it boy!" He shouted, pinning the boy to the ground beneath him. "If you had of just left it alone, you could've had a chance at getting off this island alive!" Zavier could feel a sharp object softly drag along his side, possibly the murder weapon.
Out of nowhere, Watson pounced on the old man's hunched figure and sunk his claws into Mr Anthony Gale's shoulder. With a yelp, Mr Anthony Gale jumped off the boy and flung the fragile kitten into the rough piles of sugar cane.
Using this distraction, Zavier grabbed the sharp object. The blade was a sickle. A confirmed murder weapon. Before Zavier had the chance to move he was pinned down again. The inside of the blade applied pressure to his abdomen, if he tried to move it would have pierced his skin. "You're not getting away that easily, no matter how many little tricks that fluffy little runt of yours knows."
"Just one more trick… Watson? Hunt." The kitten buried its head into Zaviers forgotten bag and took off in the direction of the docks.
The old man let out a throaty laugh, "You could've told him to do anything, instead you tell him to go find lunch? I pity the woman who birthed you." Mr Anthony Gale pressed the boy into the blade with a little more force.
"Zavier!" The level of concern in his tone was beyond overload as Officer Witt ran towards his son, sandwich bag in hand. The care taker yanked the now bleeding boy from the ground and forcefully held Zavier's hand— the one that held the blade—to the boys own throat.
"Don't come any closer" The police officer held his hands up in a 'surrendering' motion and cautiously took another step. The old man pressed the blade into Zavier's skin, drawing blood. "Take another step, I dare you"
"J-just let him go" Officer Witt couldn't take his eyes off the blade, this was his fault, his mess he had to clean it up. The petrified father decided to brave another step.
"I warned you" it was at that moment that Zavier accepted his fate. With a teary-eyed nod, the boy looked into his father's eyes for the last time.
The uniformed officer watched as the young boy's knees gave out, watched as his only son inhaled and finally exhaled, watched as his last moments were full of pain. He barely processed what happened around him. The care taker, Mr Anthony Gale had been put into hand cuffs. Watson, his son's beloved kitten laid a few feet away from Zavier's body, its own body twisted in an abnormal way. All he could do was walk over to the corpse of his only son and nurse him as he cried in sweet agony, mourning the loss of his son.