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I ducked under the police tape and stepped into the house.
"Jesus," I muttered, staring at the body of a black-haired woman as Ralph pulled back the sheet. Her front was covered in stab wounds, from her head to her feet—brutal, relentless.
"Gruesome, huh?" Ralph said with a disturbing glint of amusement.
I nodded silently, still absorbing the scene.
"How many times was she stabbed?" I asked, leaning closer. Some of the wounds looked like they had been made by the same strike multiple times.
"We don't have the medical examiner's report yet, but if I had to guess—at least thirty," Ralph replied. "Looks like a crime of passion."
"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Joe chimed in.
"Any other suspects, or just the husband?" I pressed.
"It's the husband," Ralph said confidently. "He stands to gain the most from her death. Life insurance payout goes straight to him, and a few neighbors reported hearing them arguing a couple of nights ago."
"Murder weapon?" I asked.
"None found yet," Ralph shook his head. "Seems like he had time to cover his tracks."
"It's not one of the kitchen knives," I pointed out, nodding toward the rack by the sink.
Ralph sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Even if we found prints on a knife, it wouldn't be suspicious. This is Mr. Gimlin's house. Of course his DNA is going to be on the knives."
"So, we've got nothing?" I muttered, frustration bubbling up.
"Oh, we've got plenty," Ralph corrected. "Just need the murder weapon. Otherwise…"
Joe glanced at Ralph suspiciously. "Otherwise what?"
Ralph waved it off. "Nothing, just thinking out loud."
I ignored the tension, focusing on the case. All we needed was the weapon, which the killer likely hid or destroyed. I had to think outside the box. Knife… or was it?
Suddenly, a memory surfaced—something I'd read in a book. A discussion about the "best murder weapon."
I knelt to inspect the wounds again. They weren't typical stab wounds. They were more like… ice pick wounds.
"Have we checked the fridge?" I asked, standing up.
Ralph and Joe exchanged confused glances.
"No… why?" Ralph asked.
"Just a hunch. Remember that old question, Joe? About what makes the best murder weapon?"
It clicked for them at the same time.
"You think it was an icicle, not a knife," Ralph guessed.
I nodded, glancing at the freezer. "Only one way to find out."
I pulled open the freezer door, a cool breeze brushing against my face. Someday, I thought, this cold might be a real weakness for me. I'd need to find a way to condition my body against it before I became a speedster—if that was even possible.
Shaking off the thought, I noticed something unusual: a long, tube-shaped object, frozen solid.
"What's this?" I asked, reaching in to grab it.
Ralph pointed. "Is that our icicle maker?"
Joe raised an eyebrow. "Icicle maker?"
Ralph shrugged. "Or ice tube shaper. Whatever."
I stood up. "Let's get this back to the lab for analysis."
"Can't cold temperatures destroy DNA?" Ralph asked.
I shook my head. "Nope. Studies show that freezing and thawing DNA doesn't cause significant degradation."
"So, we might still find prints on it?" Ralph pressed.
I nodded. "Exactly."
---
DNA analysis, unlike what TV shows would have you believe, takes time.
"How long is this gonna take?" Ralph grumbled, watching the progress bar crawl across the computer screen.
"Normal DNA testing takes about two to five days," I said.
"TWO TO FIVE DAYS?" Ralph nearly shouted. "We can't wait that long!"
I smirked. "Lucky for us, we've got rapid DNA analysis. Should only take about two hours."
Ralph opened his mouth, then realized I'd tricked him. He burst out laughing, clutching his sides. "Good one, rookie. I was worried you were all business like the rest of these guys."
"To be fair, the job can be pretty grim," I pointed out.
"Exactly why people need to lighten up a bit," Ralph said. "Could be worse, though. Imagine living in Gotham."
I shuddered. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to. Especially with the Joker running around."
Ralph raised an eyebrow. "Wait, are you scared of clowns?"
"Coulrophobia," I corrected. "It's the fear of clowns."
He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not scared. I just don't like the Joker."
"Why?" I asked. "Other than the fact that he's probably killed more people than any serial killer in history."
"There's that," Ralph conceded. "But also, he's deranged and unpredictable. You'd think he'd have gotten the death penalty by now."
I frowned. Ralph had a point. With the Joker's body count, he should've been a prime candidate for the death penalty. But maybe Gotham didn't have it, or the Joker had some leverage over the system. He wasn't just insane—he was cunning.
---
"What do you mean I have to testify?" I groaned, standing in front of Central City's DA, Cecile Hornet. "I thought the DNA evidence was enough."
"It's not that simple," Cecile said. "Yes, the icicle is the murder weapon, and Gimlin's DNA is all over it, but—"
"But?" I asked, sensing the catch.
"We need a forensic scientist to testify, to provide expert analysis and walk the jury through the findings."
Ralph interjected. "But the lacerations on the victim match an icicle, not a knife."
"True," Cecile agreed, "but that doesn't prove Gimlin did it. All we have is an icicle and his DNA. We need more."
I sighed. "So, you need me to testify."
"Exactly," Cecile said, smiling. "With your testimony, Gimlin will go away for life."
I hesitated. "Are you sure I'm the right person for this? I don't have much courtroom experience."
"Experience isn't the issue," Cecile reassured me. "If you present the facts clearly, we'll be fine."
"Barry," Ralph added, "we need your help. This guy can't get away with this."
I exhaled deeply. "Alright. I'll do it."
---
I've always hated courtrooms. And lawyers. Especially this sleazebag.
"Please state your name and occupation."
Simple enough. A tactic to make me relax. I wasn't falling for it.
"Barry Allen, CSI for the Central City Police Department."
The defense attorney paced, twirling a pen in his fingers. "How long have you been a CSI?"
I stayed vague. "Not long."
"So, you're inexperienced."
I glared. "What's your point?"
"Are you sure you didn't make any mistakes collecting this new evidence?" he asked, clearly trying to undermine me.
I leaned forward, voice steady. "I'm confident in my work. I give it 110 percent."
The lawyer scowled, realizing his tactic wasn't working. "No further questions, your honor."
Cecile stepped up next. "Barry, is it true you found the murder weapon?"
"Yes," I replied.
"And whose DNA was on it?"
"Mr. Gimlin's."
The defense attorney shot to his feet. "Objection, your honor. I'd like to see this new evidence."
The judge nodded. "Ms. Hornet?"
Cecile handed over the documents with a confident smile. The judge looked them over and then turned to me.
"Mr. Allen, can you confirm this?"
I smirked. "I don't deal in opinions. Only facts. And the fact is, Judy Gimlin was killed with an icicle."
The judge faced the defense. "Anything to say in defense of your client?"
The lawyer glanced at Gimlin, then back at the judge. "No, your honor."
He knew when he was beaten..