The cop thought he did a good job with the interview; he had a face for television, after all.  Perhaps that cruddy little interview with the local nincompoop reporter would get picked up by one of the networks.

Maybe ALL the networks, he fantasized, and his eyes got dreamy.  First on the scene was first on the scene, by God.  This case was going to make him a star, get him out of that crappy little podunk town, and maybe get him someplace warm.  He would like to do security for the spring breakers on Lake Havasu or Daytona or something.  His smile broadened, he could certainly picture himself poolside and sipping some fruity rum concoction, that was for sure.  Not too much rum, however, because the hot co-eds didn't want their security guy to some fat pig.  He'd have to cut back on those sugary umbrella drinks pretty soon and possibly work out a little more.

Or start working out; that'd be good too.

That pain-in-the-ass reporter kept asking him inane questions, but the cop could scarcely offer any canny answers, for he was too distracted by her stupid ponytail which bobbed playfully from the side of her head.  Really, who still did their hair in a side ponytail?  Did this journalistic mastermind think she was Cyndi Lauper or something?  Ugh, the things he was forced to endure working in a town with a population under five thousand.  He was destined for the big time, he just needed to get there first.

After, the reporter thanked him and she and her cameraman packed up their stuff and got the hell outta Dodge so they could get back to the station and edit their story before anyone else could scoop them.  It occurred to the cop that television reporting was a little cutthroat, and he decided that he rather liked that aspect of it.  He got back to work putting up the police tape around the house.

And the Barn.

And the driveway.

And even the outhouse in the back yard.  There was a body in there, too.  The cop smiled, he had never before seen a real, live outhouse.  More than anything, he wanted to check it out.  He wanted to do another interview too, he figured that one with Cyndi Lauper was simply a rehearsal, a dry run.  By the time Anderson Cooper arrived the cop would be on his A-game for sure.  He hoped more reporters would show up soon.

"I see your true colors shining through," he sang under his breath as he ran another strip of yellow tape from the mailbox to a fence post in the side yard, which gave him an excellent vantage point of the Crime Scene guys working at the outhouse.  The cop giggled to himself; it took a man who was comfortable with the choices he made to go out and buy a goddamned outhouse!

The cop crept closer to get a better view, 'til one of the Crime Scene a-holes yelled at him, "Hey!  Officer Shit-For-Brains!  You wanna get off the goddamn lawn please, before you ruin the evidence?"

Were they talking to him?  "Huh?"

"Clean the Down's Syndrome out of your ears, jackass!  Get back to the driveway or I'll have you shot!"

The cop retrieved his roll of police tape and thought, Crime Scene guys are kind of dicks.

All the while, the turkeys roamed around the front yard and feigned innocence , impressed with themselves that the authorities hadn't even glanced at them.  The killers were in their very midst and they didn't suspect a thing, the fools!

The End

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