"But where's the murder weapon?" Detective Brody gave his partner, Adam Brown, a side glance as the ice cubes in his coffee-and-whiskey-hold-the-coffee clinked against the clouded glass. He took a sip. "We have a victim, we have a fatal injury. Where's the murder weapon?"

Adam ruffled through some of Miss Johnson's papers on the nightstand. Finding nothing of interest he stopped down to inspect her body. She had fallen at an awkward angle.

Brody nodded to his partner. "A shame, that. Poor lass." He took another sip. "What was the motive, here? Nothing was taken. She mostly kept to herself. Bills paid on time. A dame like this has no enemies to speak of."

Adam shook his head, equally confused. "Not sure, detective." He stooped a bit lower and looked under the bed, a long, thin object caught his eye. "Found something." He fell flat on his belly and reached under, grasping the handle and pulling out a large, metal bat. Blood caked the side of it.

"Looks like we found our murder weapon. Now where's our perp?" The ruffling of clothing from a nearby closet pierced the silence between them. Brody nodded yet again to his partner, silently unholstering his gun. "Come on out, we know you're there."

The mirrored door slid on its tracks and a young boy - couldn't have been older than 15 - trodded out with his hands up and his eyes downcast. "I din't mean ta'." He was sobbing. "She jes'," sob, "she jes' wanted ta' see me swing for tha upcomin' game. I got too close." More sobs.

Detective Brody sighed. The type of sigh after a long, hard day. "Come on, boy. We'll take you down to the station, get you cleaned up. Looks like this one is all wrapped up." He took one last swig of his brandy, draining the contents. "Blunt-force trauma to the head, accidental swing from a metal bat by a minor." He paused and put his sunglasses on as they opened the front door, leading the boy out.

Adam groaned. Here it comes. It always comes.

"Looks like this case had no goddamn point at all."