Chapter 1: The Perfect Scapegoat
Kamala Harris, a young policewoman with a knack for solving bizarre cases, had her hands full. This was Sydney, after all, where crime, corruption, and overpriced coffee all thrived in equal measure. Her latest assignment involved the murder of Biden Langley, a real estate mogul known less for his business acumen and more for his suspicious connections. Biden owned waterfront properties, a house in Glenhaven, and was a silent partner in enough shady deals to make the Monopoly man look like an amateur.
But it wasn’t Biden’s death that was surprising—it was that the cops actually managed to arrest someone this time. The unfortunate soul was Anthony Roberts, an accountant with the personality of a damp dishcloth. He was quiet, church-going, and had the misfortune of having been seen arguing with Biden a week before the murder. In Kamala’s words, “The man wouldn’t kill a cockroach, let alone a real estate tycoon.” But the evidence, a knife with his prints and a random IOU note found in his wallet, was enough to haul him in.
Anthony’s arrest was swift, and so was the media frenzy. One headline read, “Money, Murder, and Misery—The Accountant Did It.” Even Anthony’s own mother thought it might be true. “He always had that sneaky accountant look about him,” she said on live TV. As far as the police were concerned, this was an open-and-shut case, but Kamala had her doubts.
Chapter 2: The Blame Game
Kamala hated loose ends, and this case was all frayed string. She tried to piece together the last few days before Biden’s death but was stonewalled at every turn. Anthony’s alibi was airtight if you considered playing “Happy Days” reruns alone in your apartment an alibi, but nobody else did. His only mistake had been helping Biden with some financial “adjustments,” which, according to Anthony, was just a fancy way of saying he was cleaning up a very messy tax situation.
Kamala decided to visit Anthony in prison, a place that looked more like a middle school that had given up on discipline. There he sat, wearing an orange jumpsuit that clashed horribly with his pasty complexion. “Kamala, I’m innocent,” Anthony said, as though she was the only one left who might believe him.
“I’m starting to think you might be,” Kamala replied, watching as Anthony’s cellmate enthusiastically microwaved something that might have once been soup.
Anthony looked at Kamala with a mix of desperation and surprise. “You do?”
“Not sure yet,” she shrugged. “But if you were guilty, you’d be way better at this whole prison thing.”
Chapter 3: The Plot Thickens… Slightly
Kamala’s boss, Sergeant Fred, was less interested in the truth and more interested in his midday naps. “We’ve got our man,” Fred said, yawning through another lunch of leftovers and diet cola. “Let it go, Kamala. If you dig too deep, you’re gonna find worms.”
Ignoring Fred’s metaphorical wisdom, Kamala did dig deeper. She scoured bank records, traced phone calls, and even put up with listening to an entire podcast called “Property Scams and You.” She found just enough inconsistencies to convince her that Anthony was a patsy.
The real shock came when she discovered a series of payments made from Biden’s account to a private investigator—payments that stopped right around the time Biden ended up in a body bag. And the private investigator? None other than Larry Jenkins, a guy whose business card proudly read: “Cheating Spouses, Missing Pets, and Occasionally Murder Investigations.”
Chapter 4: The Big Reveal
Kamala tracked Larry down at his office, a dingy room above a fish and chips shop that smelled like regret. Larry wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was definitely in the drawer. “Look, I don’t ask questions,” he said, waving Kamala off like a mosquito. “Biden wanted dirt on everyone, even his own barber. Last I heard, he was looking to frame Anthony for some reason, but then Biden ended up dead, so I guess he didn’t get around to it.”
Kamala stared at him. “So, let me get this straight. You were paid to dig up dirt, and when Biden died, you just… stopped?”
“Yeah, well, I’m not getting paid for overtime,” Larry said with a shrug.
Kamala left Larry’s office feeling vindicated and slightly nauseous from the smell. She pieced it all together: Biden, in some convoluted scheme, was setting up Anthony as a fallback for his own dirty dealings, but before the plan could go into action, Biden got himself murdered—possibly by someone Biden had crossed, or maybe just by his sheer stupidity.
Chapter 5: Justice, Sort Of
Back at the station, Kamala presented the evidence. Fred barely looked up from his crossword puzzle. “So, Biden was trying to frame Anthony, but died before he could pull it off? That’s hilarious. Let’s get this guy out of prison. I’m tired of hearing about it.”
Two days later, Anthony walked out of jail, looking dazed and slightly annoyed. A journalist shoved a microphone in his face, asking, “How does it feel to be free?”
Anthony paused, then smirked. “Well, I guess the due process of law is just beyond your wildest dreams, isn’t it? One day you’re falsely accused, the next day you’re out because the real crook couldn’t even finish his own scam.”
Kamala watched as Anthony’s mother hugged him, sobbing loudly about how she always knew he was innocent, despite her earlier statements. Anthony turned to Kamala and smiled. “Thanks, Kamala. You saved my life.”
Kamala shrugged, holding up a coffee cup emblazoned with the words “Best Detective (According to Me).” “You made the opposite of a mistake, Anthony. You just happened to be the easiest guy to blame.”
With that, Anthony walked away, free but forever slightly traumatized by the incompetence of everyone involved. And Kamala? She went back to her desk, ready for the next disaster, but this time with a little more faith that, occasionally, the truth does set you free—right after it sends you to prison first.
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