Reporters

    Reporters are trained to develop a sixth sense, a nose for when a story smells fishy. And something about this one wasn't right. First of all, this woman looked a little too excited to see me. No one was ever that excited about an unannounced press visit. We were called vultures, parasites and scum most of the time. I had been called worse things from time to time but welcomed? No, never welcomed. Especially, this close to the discovery. And secondly, the look in the woman's eyes was something closer to satisfaction than sorrow.
    I watched her carefully behind my mask of pleasantness. She gave me the same spiel she gave the police pausing only to ask if I wanted more tea. I wrote it all down despite not believing a word of it. Her smile was barely contained when she expressed shock and despair at hearing how the girl had been beaten and assaulted.
    I uttered sympathy when she explained having to find a new babysitter. Never letting on that I knew she was lying. It all clicked into place when she told me she was thinking of getting a boy sitter this time instead of a girl, but she had yet to mention it to her husband since he locked himself in his room with grief and had yet to emerge.
    I bid her good day and strolled away from the house. My mind spinning as I couldn't wait to tell my boss that the babysitter had been sleeping with the husband and that was probably why the wife had her killed.