Missing-In-Action13

I remember it clearly, sir. It was a sunny afternoon; the classroom was stuffy and sweaty. We were in a history lesson, and that was how this, all of this, began. Mrs Smith was beginning to drift off track again. That wasn’t uncommon, inspector. Most days we’d start the topic off on something logical, say… the Romans, and end up discussing bicycles or a matter equally random by the end. Mrs Smith’s attention span is about as long as dad’s hair, which isn’t that long, inspector, considering he’s nearly bald. I remember it as being a particularly boring lesson though, Inspector. We, (myself and my classmates)