The Nature of the Weak by Marylinn S. Grimm

The rain drummed against the windowpane with the monotony of a prison guard.

Senior investigator Thomas McCain sat at an old oak desk that should have been decommissioned and scrapped long ago, staring through a haze of cigarette smoke at the photographs spread out before him.

There were many photos. Here was eighteen-year-old Caroline – with a defiant bright smile and perfectly smoothed copper-auburn hair. The homecoming queen, the center of gravity, and a constant source of drama. And here was Caroline on the pathologist's operating table. Her face forever distorted in a grimace, lips turned blue, the telltale cherry-red lividity stained her skin. Cyanide. A quick but agonizing death. McCain sighed heavily, rubbed his sleep-deprived, bloodshot eyes, and reached for a handkerchief to dab the sweat from his forehead. The death of someone so young was always a personal loss.

Lying before the investigator were the pieces of evidence and interrogation transcripts.

·         Notes from the locker room. Written in block letters with purple ink on cheap paper: "Don't be an idiot," "Thought I forgot everything?", "Still ignoring me?"

·         The death of a pet. A month ago, Caroline’s cat, Ginger, was found poisoned on the doorstep of her house. A note lay nearby: "You shouldn't torment those you consider weak."

·         A brick through the window. Shattered glass in Caroline's bedroom. On the brick itself, a bleeding heart was crudely painted in fluorescent pink.

Suspects? Her entire class could have easily been put in the dock, but three figures stood out starkly – their alibis resembled Swiss cheese, nothing but holes and lies. First was Anthony. Caroline’s boyfriend, with whom she could break up and get back together ten times a week. On the morning of the murder, they had a fight right by the school gates, and Anthony did not show up for classes after that.

"I went to the Nightingale bar, sir," he muttered during questioning, burying his trembling hands in his jacket pockets. "Got completely wasted. Don't remember a thing. Woke up in the evening in a yard behind the railroad tracks. What fucking cyanide?"

Second was Eva, the former best friend. The girls' friendship snapped in middle school when Eva’s parents divorced – her father left the family for Caroline’s mother, and since then, Eva breathed pure, concentrated hatred: after all, her friend had "stolen" her dad and her perfect life. It was Eva who found Caroline’s body. She claimed she had just gone for a walk to their once-favorite spot, an abandoned restaurant on the edge of town.

"I often go to 'The Pier' when things get heavy," Eva said, staring at the wall with dry, lifeless eyes. "Remembering what fools we used to be. I didn't know she was there. I just saw her shoes behind the bushes..."

McCain turned the page of the case file. There was a third one left. The quietest, most invisible girl in class, who hadn't been questioned yet – Mary.

The office door swung open abruptly, and Chapman walked in – McCain’s young partner. He was dressed in an immaculately pressed suit, smelled of expensive cologne, and held a paper cup of coffee, which he placed on the edge of the senior investigator's desk.

"Still digging through these papers?" Chapman smiled falsely and leaned against the edge of the desk. "Time to close the case. Anthony is the perfect candidate. Motive – jealousy and alcohol-induced psychosis. His mother owns a pharmacy, plus the kid practically spends his nights in the school chemistry lab. Everything lines up."

"Anthony is an idiot," McCain replied dryly without looking up. "But idiots rarely use cyanide. They use brass knuckles or strangle. I want to bring Mary in."

Chapman’s face changed instantly. The smile vanished, his gaze turning hard and guarded.

"Have you lost your mind? Thomas, she’s the mayor’s niece. Do you even realize what kind of hornet's nest you’re stirring up? Her family controls half the city budget. The mayor personally called the Chief. The girl is an angel, she wouldn't hurt a fly, leave her alone. If you start digging into her, we’re both going to have massive problems."

McCain slowly raised his head. He had worked in the police department for too long not to notice the obvious. Chapman’s persistence, his suddenly acquired new Rolex, the attempts to derail the investigation... His partner had simply been paid off. The mayor’s family had insured themselves by buying the loyalty of a junior officer, ensuring the name of their high-ranking household wouldn't even be whispered in the crime chronicles.

"You know, Chapman," McCain said quietly, "I don't give a damn about the mayor, his budget, or your career prospects. Bring Mary in. Right now."

Chapman went pale, his jaw clenching. He stared at his senior colleague for a few seconds, then spun around sharply and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

***

Mary looked strikingly calm for a teenager sitting in a police station. She wore a slightly old-fashioned dress made of thick cotton, patterned with tiny, intricately drawn goldfinches. Silver earrings shaped like bird feathers dangled from her earlobes. She neatly sat down on the offered chair, smoothed her skirt with thin, pale fingers, and looked at McCain with a flat, expressionless gaze from her large grey eyes.

"Hello, Detective McCain," her voice was quiet but surprisingly steady.

"Hello, Mary. Thank you for coming," the investigator leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Tell me about Caroline. What was your relationship like?"

Mary tilted her head slightly to the side, causing her feather earrings to clink softly.

"We weren't friends," she answered without hesitation. "But Caroline had a... peculiarity. When her popular friends abandoned her, were busy with their own lives, or couldn't stand her antics, Caroline needed someone to pour her heart out to. She always needed an audience, you know. She often needed me."

"And how did you feel about that?"

"She could cry on my shoulder for hours, complaining about her mother, about her boyfriend. The next day at school, she’d hug me in front of everyone, calling me 'her girl.' It was... pleasant, I won't deny it. But I knew my place perfectly well. To her, I was just entertainment. A toy taken out of the closet for a little while and thrown back in when she got bored. You understand, in her social circle, no one welcomed someone like me. People in class laughed at me. They said I ran after her like a beaten puppy."

"But you kept humiliating yourself?" McCain narrowed his eyes.

"I was just giving her a chance," Mary shrugged indifferently. "Every single time. I was there when she sobbed after another showdown. I gave her the support she needed because... truth be told, I wanted to be needed by her. But at some point, it all stopped."

"And what changed, Mary? What happened?"

The girl's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, something cold and sharp as a scalpel flashing within them.

"Caroline turned out to be a fool," she said in a flat, measured tone. "She went back to Anthony. After everything he did to her, after all his cheating and tantrums. She promised me so many times that she wouldn't fall into the same trap. That she was above it. But you know, she erased me from her life again, as if I had never existed."

McCain made a note in his pad.

"Where were you last Tuesday, Mary? Between two and five in the afternoon."

"I was at home. Studying," the girl replied without a single hitch. "Preparing for my biology exams. My alibi is easy to check, Detective. Everyone was home: my mom, grandma, grandfather, and Tod. They will confirm that I didn't leave my room."

The investigator allowed himself a bitter smirk.

"Mary, you're a smart girl, you must understand. The testimony of close relatives carries no legal weight for an investigation when it comes to an alibi. They are interested parties."

Mary suddenly smiled – a thin, barely perceptible movement of just the corners of her lips.

"In that case, Detective, I don't have an alibi. But honestly, if I were in your shoes, I would focus on Eva or Anthony. Eva had a deep-seated hatred because of her ruined family. Anthony has access to chemicals and uncontrollable bursts of aggression. Their motives are more obvious, and their opportunities are far greater than those of a quiet niece of the mayor, don't you think?"

"We will decide for ourselves whom to charge," McCain cut her off, sensing that she was beginning to manipulate him. "That will be all for today, Mary. Officer Chapman will escort you out."

Mary rose gracefully from the chair, smoothing the folds of her dress. She took a step toward the door but suddenly stopped, as if remembering something insignificant. The girl turned to the investigator, looked him dead in the eye, and spoke – her tone becoming drawn, measured, almost hypnotic:

"Detective... I forgot to tell you something. Something important. It was me who killed Caroline’s cat."

McCain froze, his hand with the pen hovering over the notepad.

"What did you say?"

"Caroline’s cat," Mary repeated emotionlessly. "I didn't want it to die initially. But you see... it was a terrible creature. It constantly hunted the birds in our garden – defenseless, weak sparrows. It didn't eat the poor things, it just played with them. It broke their wings, let them go, caught them again, until the birds died in terrible agony. Caroline knew about it. I asked her to keep Ginger inside. But she just laughed and said, 'It’s nature, Mary, deal with it.'"

The girl took a deep breath.

"So I decided to help the little ones. I slipped the cat something to cause mild poisoning and scare it away from our garden. But apparently, I overdid the dosage. Well, oh well... No harm done. At least that monster no longer torments those who are weaker than it."

With those words, keeping an expression of absolute, chilling detachment on her face, Mary turned and walked out of the office.

***

McCain was left alone. A suffocating silence settled over the room, broken only by the patter of the rain. The investigator went through the photographs and reports again and again. In one thing, Mary was absolutely right: from a legal standpoint, it was impossible to tie her to Caroline's murder. Unlike the other suspects, she had no direct opportunity.

Chapman peeked into the office, a triumphant smirk playing on his face.

"Well, Thomas? Convinced the girl is just out of her mind? Confessed to killing a cat, my God! She’s a crazy bird lady, leave her be, the mayor is already throwing a fit. Write up the request for Anthony before we both get kicked off the force."

McCain slowly raised a heavy gaze to him.

"Chapman, get out."

"But Thomas..."

"Get the hell out of my office!" McCain roared so fiercely that his partner flinched, hastily retreated, and slammed the door.

The investigator stood up from his chair and walked over to the window. Outside the glass, on a sprawling tree, tiny, soaked sparrows were hopping around. They huddled together fearfully, seeking refuge from the foul weather.

McCain lit a new cigarette. "You shouldn't torment those you consider weak," read the note found next to the dead cat. Mary admitted she wrote it. She considered the cat a monster that tortured defenseless birds.

"Don't be an idiot," "Thought I forgot everything?", "Still ignoring me?" Everyone in class thought these were threats from Anthony or Eva. But now, McCain saw something entirely different in those words. Bitterness. Resentment. An attempt to appeal to the reason of someone considered close.

Mary had given Caroline a chance. Every single time. She was there when Caroline needed her. Mary considered the girl her... what? A friend? A bird that needed protection? Or was Caroline that very "cat"?

"She went back to Anthony... She turned out to be a fool... She erased me from her life again."

Caroline had used Mary. She played with her like a cat with a caught bird – drawing her close, then tossing her away, forcing her to suffer from humiliation and loneliness. Making use of the one she considered weak.

McCain exhaled smoke directly onto the glass, and it fogged up. Mary didn't need to look for cyanide herself; it was enough to whisper the right words about Caroline’s fidelity to Anthony in the lab, pushing his unstable psyche over the edge. She didn't need to know the way to the abandoned restaurant – it was enough to glance through Caroline’s diary and leave the body, knowing that sooner or later, Eva would end up in the right place. The girl didn't get her hands dirty with poison. She just watched "nature" from the sidelines, where the strong devour each other, and slightly... adjusted the dosage.

Framing Anthony and Eva with their own hands – child's play.

McCain looked at the sparrows hopping outside the window. He knew the truth. But he also knew that in this city, where the law is bought for a Rolex on a partner's wrist, proving it would be practically impossible.