Thursday, November 1, 2012

P.E Shops

Messing around on my bike outside on a Monday morning I glared over to shops and noticed that there was nothing, I don't know why.  It was very quiet this morning almost too quiet. I cycled back to my house .  Mum was waiting in the car I jumped in, Isara where have you been she exclaimed I pretended I didn't hear because I knew I wasn't supposed to go any where near the shops. Although I never knew why.

That afternoon I checked the mail, the newspaper sat on top of all the others. The front page read shopkeeper dead at Pt England shops.

Grabbing my bike I cycled as fast as possible to the shops. EHHHH my wheels skidded about two metres along the footpath pulling to a stop in front of three policemen behind a yellow tape reading caution do not enter crime scene. There it was, the body of the shop owner with a knife directed right into the stomach. Blood dripped out as they carried the body into the ambulance.

The next day it was on the news that the investigators can not find the person who robbed and killed the shop owner.  Apparently they have all the latest technology for DNA and all this other stuff. They say it is near impossible that he could do this but we will carry on .

That night I did some research I realised every first monday of every month there was a reporting of a killing or a robbery . The month before this one there was a robbery at ohu ohu street then I dug deeper and another robbery at naana rd .

I sat and looked at it and it was going in alphabetical order.


Jumping on the computer I searched nearest dairy starting with Q and the first that popped up was Queen street. Thinking about what could happen all the rest of this month .I called 111 on the last day of the month (June) . I told them to get four armoured police to get on the site the next monday.


They hid in every corner of the shop. The owner wore bullet proof body armour and was armed with a gun. One of the policemen was behind the counter protecting the owner.


That afternoon at about five o’clock a man walked in with a black ski mask . All policemen in the building jumped up and pointed their gun at him, he raised his hands and the four men ran at him.  The first pulled of his mask he was a brown solid built man with a scar across his face.
They requested a police van to take him away to live the rest of his life in prison.


On that tuesday I looked at the paper this time the cover was robber in prison thanks to a local hero Isara. Mum saw it and threw a fit. Police came and rewarded me with a medal my mum felt very proud of me and then cried.

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