Sarge: Alright Jake, bring him in.
Jake: Here he is sarge, uh, but you should now—he, well… he won’t say anything.
Sarge: Ah, so he wants to lawyer-up does he? I knew you looked like a coward, you scumbag.
Jake: Well, no. He didn’t exactly ask for a lawyer. He appears to be a street performer.
Sarge: Street performer? You mean like a prostitute?
Jake: What? No. No, He’s a mime.
Sarge: I see. So that explains all of this eccentric make-up. I assumed he was some weird clown that only wore black and white.
Jake: I mean, that’s kind of exactly what he is.
Sarge: Listen up clown boy! I’m not here for games. You better tell us everything you know about the murder in the alley.
Jake: He appears to be pretending that he’s an obnoxious teen causing mischief in the street.
Sarge: That must be the murderee. We already know who was killed. Get on with the story, what happened to him?
Jake: Okay, he’s leaning against a wall holding his mouth like he’s causally whistling. Now he’s looking side to side like he’s about to commit a crime. Wait, what? Oh! He threw someone down and is now stepping on him with his boot.
Sarge: So that’s how it happened, huh? Some guy on the street attacks a teen and you don’t say anything!
Jake: Not saying anything is kind of his thing, sarge.
Sarge: How about I grab you by the collar, scumbag, huh? Wanna get roughed up a bit, will that get ya talking?
Jake: Hold on, sarge. He’s writing something down.
Sarge: A confession perhaps?
Jake: It says that he was born mute. He literally can’t talk.
Sarge: Mighty convenient, wouldn’t you say? Oh, that’s right, you can’t “say” anything.
Jake: Do you think he has any proof? Like do they carry a card around or something that says they can’t talk?
Sarge: If they could, this scumbag would probably forge one. Stand up, mime-y, show me a trick. Let’s see if you’re even a mime.
Jake: Oh wow! That’s pretty impressive. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was actually in a box. Can you do the thing where you pretend to pull a rope?
Sarge: Yeah, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a confession! A box? That’s where you deserve to be, right? In a jail cell.
Jake: Look, sarge. This guy may be guilty, but we literally have nothing to hold him on, and I don’t think he’s gonna talk.
Sarge: Alright, alright. But don’t think I’m done with you mime-y. This ain’t over. Now get your butt out of my precinct! Oh yeah… and don’t leave town.
Jake: That guy sure was a weird one, huh?
Sarge: Yeah, he certainly was… Dammit Jake! Did you step in the crime scene? There’s a bloody footprint by the door.
Jake: No, no I wouldn’t. My shoes are clean, see?
Sarge: Mine too… that means—
Jake: Sarge! There’s a note here. ”What’s black and white, and red all over.” A newspaper, right, sarge?
Sarge: …Flip it over.
Jake: ”Answer: A mime who just got away with murder”
Sarge: After that mime!