The Mystery Flavor

"Good evening, Mr. Sconson."

"Good evening."

"So, says in your file that you murdered seven children."

"Does it?"

"And much more. Tell me, how long have you been working as an ice cream truck driver?"

"Eleven years."

"Eleven years. A long time to be stuck in a van. Did you ever get bored?"

"Sometimes. But I knew how to keep myself busy."

"How?"

"Various things. None you need or would want to know about."

"But I do. Let's see, it's...five fifty-six. I don't get off work for another two whole hours. That means I can devote all of this time to learning about you."

"Well, I don't want to talk about me, Detective James Roberts. I'd like to talk about you."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Because it means the more we talk about you, the less we talk about me. Honestly, James, I would have thought you could guess that one. I'm not a bright man for sure, but even I can think of witty things to say from time to time. It's what kept my regulars from leaving. They loved my wit."

"Who did?"

"My regulars, like I just said."

"No, who were your regulars?"

"Who else buys ice cream from ice cream trucks? Children whose parents can afford to spend their money fattening them up on my delicious ice cream."

"How many regulars did you have at one time?"

"Well, it all depended on the neighborhoods. Crowns' Place Drive and Holly Hills were by far my two favorites. Lots of rich blood in these neighborhoods."

"So you got to know the kids pretty well?"

"You could say that."

"What would you talk about?"

"Things. Unimportant to me, but meaning the entire world to them. I know how to handle customers, James. I'm not an idiot."

"Perhaps you're right, but perhaps not, too. You got caught for some pretty sketchy and - might I add - nasty things, Mr. Sconson. Are you prepared to talk about it now?"

"No."

"Fair. So, what else would you and these kids do?"

"Nothing. They chased my car, I sold them ice cream, they talked, I listened, they ran away, I drove off. That was my routine for every single neighborhood for the past eleven years. Not all too exciting, is it?"

"No. So you had to spice things up a little, huh?"

"I don't follow, Mr. Robertson."

"Mr. Sconson, did you grow fond of any of the children?"

"Of course not. That's indecent, immoral, inhumane, asinine..."

"Really? My file says you let kids tour your van."

"I never did-"

"Where would you take 'em, Mr. Sconson?"

"I never took any kids anywhere?"

"Stuck in a van all day, every day, twenty-four seven, you must get lonely. Especially since your kids up and left you and your wife died."

"Don't bring my family into this."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"No-"

"You got so fond of some of these kids that you let them come into your van and you drove them around a little bit, hmm?"

"That's not at all what hap-"

"But you couldn't stop there, could you? All of the anger and frustration and tension building inside of you because of your wrecked family life just erupted out of you."

"No, I never-"

"You didn't just take those kids for rides, but you used them to unleash all of the tension that you had kept bottling up inside of you! You abused them and ripped their innocence from their souls!"

"Stop, please, I-"

"You raped these children, didn't you, Mr. Sconson? You're one sick bastard, Mr. Sconson! Do you know what they do to child rapists in prison, huh?"

"You're going to-"

"What?! What am I going to do? Read the names of the children you had sex with? If that's what you meant, yes, I will. Here are the children you brutally raped and killed, Mr. Sconson! David - eleven, Elise - eight, Jack - eight, Harrison - nine, Savannah - ten, Terrence - ten; and the most horrible of all: Haley - six. You sexually abused, assaulted, and mutilated a six-year-old!"

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!!!"

"Then tell me the truth!"

"I never raped them!"

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"I only killed the children and used their blood to make my ice cream!"

"Well done, Mr. Sconson. That is all of the info we need. Have a nice life in prison."