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It was a quiet evening in August; the ambiance of the area was of mystery. CSI detectives were filing in and out of the house. The woman that was found lying on the floor with a hole in her head from a propulsive bullet was Mrs. Billiards. She was an old woman of eighty-five, and many neighbors said they could hear her when she went on her ballistic rampages.
CSI detective Sanders was looking in every nook and cranny of the house to find evidence. Sanders saw that the table near the bedroom door was slightly askew, and began to take a closer look at the room. He quickly called over his coterie, and they all looked at the room. Each detective looked at the room and became enraged with the sight that they saw.
Mrs. Billiards was a sick, old woman. There were girls from ages thirteen to almost sixteen years old. Around each of the girls’ girths was an electric collar with a number on it. The older girls seemed to succumb to the feeling of lassitude when they saw that help had arrived. CSI Sanders helped the oldest girl to an ambulance and headed to the hospital with her so that when she woke he would be able to question her.
Around ten o’clock the next morning, the girl awoke. At first she was frightened because she didn’t know where she was. Sanders quickly came to her side and explained whom he was and why he was there. She sighed with relief and settled back down on the bed.
“So what is your name?” he asked with curiosity.
The girl swallowed and then she replied in a whisper, “Chrysanthemum Phoenix.”
“Well, Chrysanthemum. Why were you and all the other girls locked up in Mrs. Billiards room?”
“She…she had us locked in the room because we were her w****s.”
“Yes sir. She kidnapped us because she needed the money.”
“What money? For what?” he asked her rapidly.
“Um…she needed money so that she could buy these really expensive paintings that were all around her living room.”
“The paintings in her living room? They did not look like they were too expensive.”
“They are a style of art called cubism. Pablo Picasso was probably the best artist to accomplish this unique style.”
CSI Sanders just sat back for a second. He couldn’t believe that such an old, little lady could do something as cruel as she did; even for Pablo Picasso paintings. He looked at Chrysanthemum with a frown on his face. He was going to do everything in his path to help this young girl and the rest of the other girls.
“You can call me Chris,” she sheepishly stated.
“Chris, do you know of anyone who wanted to kill Mrs. Billiards? Did anyone else know what she was doing?”
“I’m not sure, sir. The only people who knew of her work were her customers.”
“Do you know any of their names?”
“Only the boy that she supplied me to.”
Chris turned a bright shade of red. She really did not want to tell CSI Sanders about Tyler, but she knew she must.
“His name was Tyler Anderson. He paid her a hundred dollars a week to take me out. He never hurt me, and he was always so polite. He was not like all the other men and boys that took the other girls out.”
CSI Sanders looked at the girl then asked, “Then how do you have bruises and cuts all over your body?”
Chris looked at her body and she began to cry. Sanders grabbed her hand and held it for a few minutes. She finally stopped crying and was able to explain.
“She would beat us if we did not sleep with the boys and men. Tyler never wanted that from me. The only thing that he wanted was for a companion and he promised that one day we would be together.”
Sanders looked at the young girl with surprise. He now knew who had killed Mrs. Billiards, and he did not really want to find him. The girl looked so happy whenever she mentioned his name. She was so proud of this boy, and he did not want to ruin her chances at happiness.
“Thank you for your time, Chrysanthemum. I will find Mr. Anderson for you.”