Tyrone watched the news, a glass of OJ in hand. When he saw his name pop up on a murder, he stepped back. The glass dropped from his hands, painting the carpet with orange and glass shards scattered.
"What?" he mumbled, shocked. "Mum?" he called without looking away from the screen. There was no reply. Perhaps his mother had gone to work. But why was he a suspect on a murder? He cleaned up the mess on the floor, excluding the orange stain and quickly changed out of his pyjamas. He heard sirens wailing in the distance.
"They're almost here," he whispered. He looked out his window. Sure enough, the police cars were heading here. They turned in, or stopped by the side and officers filed out of the cars. Ty watched as they rung the bell. He shook his head, then opened his window. Luckily, there was a wooden fence round the house that closed off the house but the door. He stepped out of his room, on to the soft grass and silently crept away.
















