"That's, that's my pen!" I was horrified. I've been looking for that pen for days now. I thought it was strange that I would lose it, after all, it was too precious for me to let it out of my sight. Since the day I lost the pen, I had use this lousy one which who knows when the ink would come out.
"Well, obviously," Deveraux had picked up then pen with his latex glove and examined it. The pen was covered in blood which had dried up because of the coldness of the night. He wiped the blood away, "your name is right here." He pointed to it.
It was an ash-colored water fountain pen with my name on it, engraved in gold. Most importantly, it was precious because it was given to me on the day I got the job as the town newspaper writer. When Deveraux picked it up, the tip of it was crushed, like it had been push down very hard.
"Kid, you're now a suspect of this murder." Deveraux put my pen in a plastic bag.
"But I didn't,... I would never..." I stuttered, "I would never do anything like that! Ever!" I exclaimed.
"Well, you're innocent until proven guilty anyways."
Deveraux looked closely at Mr. Schoenburg and open the jacket that he was wearing. There was a large wound where his heart is. Clearly, Mr. Schoenburg had been stabbed, several times for that matter. But in the pocket of his jacket, Deveraux found a list of the things Mr. Schoenburg supposedly did on the day he died. The very last box was never checked...