The Library was far from that which I expected-policemen wandered like they had nothing better to do and only a small part of the room gave the air of interestingness. The small effects that our Library gave were still there: the edge in the off-white paintwork, the smell of cluttered, dusty books, and the large sky-light up above reflecting the dullness of the day. Little did this room know about loss but from the novels it held so dearly. I tiptoed past a policeman interrogating the crying Librarian and to the dark, unlit patch. Tears sprung to my eyes as my fears were confirmed and I looked upon Mr. Craig’s pale figure. A policeman was speaking into his walkie-talkie: “Blow to the head…big object…possibly with blood on it…then strangled…nothing much else found-“
The detective turned to his sergeant, who was holding out a large A3 piece of paper.
“Hmm. ‘Mr. Jacket is finally dead.’?” He read and then I couldn’t help letting out a sob. “Mr. Jacket is Mr. Craig’s nickname-everybody knows that. He was called this because he always seemed to be wearing a jacket. I had always joked that he had one of every colour in his wardrobe: black, brown, cream, white and an endless rainbow of others. Some people even say that he had an obsession with them. That and ABBA music!
At my sob a couple of policemen noticed me and the detective commanded “Get that child out of here!” And so that left me being ‘escorted’ (more like pushed) back into the, now almost deserted, main hall to join what was left of the school, signing out. I ignored the calls of the worried teachers and signed my name so forcefully that I almost punched a hole in the paper; I’m not a child-I’m 14 and in Year 9 but I wouldn’t argue with the Detective who was to find Mr. Craig’s killer. No, I wouldn’t, and couldn’t, interfere now…I would come back later in the night when the school was closed. “Just watch me,” I said to myself, if that detective thought he could beat ‘a little girl’ well he was going to be outsmarted…