My nerves are shot. Head is pounding. Eyes are burning. Neck is stiff from pain and my back is hurting. Yet, all these discomforts fade into the background when I remember that I could be the jester.

Enough is enough. Standing in front of the chief's door, I try to work up the courage to divulge my suspicions. I lift my hands to knock on the door.

"Tums, I've been searching for you. Why aren't you picking up your phone?" Blade shouts happily coming towards me.

Perplexed by his cheerful mood and abruptly realizing that my phone was ringing, I snap at him, "What are you so happy about?"

Ignoring my snarky attitude, he replies, "The patrol guys caught the jester red-handed. He was vandalizing someone's house."

Relief that someone else was the jester had me crumbling to my knees. A weight lifted off my shoulders, the knot in my stomach loosened and a sense of calm settled over me. Yet, I remained in a daze unable to believe my ears. I repeatedly asked Blade if he was sure even though his response fell on my deaf ears. Blade grew irritated and punched me.

Snapping out of my stupor, I walked to the interview room with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. Blade and I met with the officers who arrested the suspect and were briefed upon the situation. The neighborhood watch had called the emergency services and reported vandalism. The police arrived at the scene to find the jester breaking the windows of a house with a baseball bat. When the officer tried to arrest the man, the suspect punched him and tried to run away. However, the officer caught the suspect and brought him to the precinct. Blade and I discussed our questioning strategy and decided to let the suspect stew in the room for a while. We asked an officer to keep watch at the door to prevent the suspect from running off.

Blade and I began investigating the suspect, Michael Rourke. The house he vandalized was his ex-girlfriend's house. He has lived in New Rocher his entire life and has been the sports instructor at The Crimson Hills School since the past 10 years. However, his job was in jeopardy. If the sports team does not win the upcoming State Basketball Championship, then Michael was going to be replaced. This was a tall order since The Cliff Valley School is the favorite to win the championship. Interestingly, the jester-school incident had taken place at The Cliff Valley School.

Convinced that Michael had motive for at least one other jester incident, Blade and I entered the interview room. The brightly lit interview room was stark with bony, metallic chairs and a table. There were neither windows nor one-way glass mirrors. Blade dropped a box full of fake case files on the table and took a seat across the suspect while I leaned against the wall behind Blade. We didn't utter a word but just stared at the man quietly.

"Man, I didn't do anything. I swear. Just please let me go. I'm innocent," pleaded Michael.

Blade scoffed, "Oh really, Mr. Rourke we have witnesses. In fact, you vandalized the property in front of a police officer AND you assaulted the same police when he tried to arrest you. Under section 21 (B) and section 242, I can charge you with destruction of property and assault on a police officer."

Michael Rourke paled. He pleaded, "No. Please, you don't understand. It's her fault. I did this only once. She kept my baseball cards after we broke up. It's her fault."

Blade scoffed, "So, was the attack on the school a one-off as well? I have proof of you being the jester. See this box of case files. These are proof of all the crimes you committed."

Michael looked shocked. He paled even further and started sweating profusely. His eyes dilated and his hands turned white from clutching the armrest tightly. "That was not me. I did not do that. I read about the jester. I thought if I dressed like him, he would get blamed. I swear. You have to believe me. I didn't do anything else," Michael screamed.

The interrogation continued for an hour. Blade kept intimidating. However, Michael only admitted to the recent vandalism.

Blade banged the table loudly and Michael started sobbing. This was my cue. "Enough Blade. Take a five and get the man some water," I said sternly.

Blade protested, "But, I'm not..."

I shook my head and re-affirmed, "Take a five."

Winking inconspicuously at me, Blade left the room. "Calm down man. I am on your side. You can tell me everything. I'll help you out." Despite my efforts, Michael did not confess to anything new.

After five minutes, Blade brought some water. I shook my head slightly and we began a new approach. "Can you provide your whereabouts on Sunday, February 20th from 7:30-9:30 p.m.?," I asked.

Michael nodded hopefully, replying, "I was at the Irish bar. Jennifer and I broke up that day. I spent the entire evening drinking until the bartender threw me out."

I asked Michael, "Were you with anyone? Can anyone verify that you were there?"

Michael replied with apprehension, "No, I was alone."

I then asked, "Can you provide your whereabouts on Tuesday, March 1st from 3:30-6:30 p.m.?"

Michael shook his head and replied in a troubled voice, "I don't know. That was weeks ago. I was probably at home."

I asked Michael, "Can anyone confirm that you were home?"

Michael shook his head and replied faintly, "No, probably not."

Blade who was continuously tapping his fingers on the table until now, scoffed, "So, you don't remember what happened a week ago but you remember that you were at the Irish Pub two weeks ago? The best part of your story is that no one can confirm your alibis. Very convenient."

Micheal looked terrified. He half-screamed and half-shouted, "I'm not talking anymore. I'm not going to jail. I want a lawyer. That officer who arrested me said I could have one. I'm not talking. I want a lawyer."

Blade responded derisively, "Fine, we'll get you one. But, you are going to jail. You should have thought more before vandalizing your ex-girlfriend's property."