The truth of it was, he was just feeling mischievous.
He was sick of hearing about all the latest advances in the use of DNA. His older, smarter brother knew all about it. He’d done this project at school and learnt all sorts of stuff. He hadn’t stopped talking about it since. That was months ago and he’s still crowing about it. He, on the other hand, was the younger of the two, but a lot craftier. He put in place a plan to fox those forensic clever-clogs people. Let them know that DNA evidence wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
The barber’s shop was easy to get into; the toilet window was never completely shut. Once in, he went straight to the box, where all the clippings were swept into. He didn’t need a lot. Just enough that it wouldn’t be missed. He wanted a dozen different hairs if that was possible. At home he segregated it by colour and thickness, as much as he could tell. From these he took two or three of the longest strands from each little pile and set them aside. The rest, the bulk of it, he flushed down the toilet. At this point, he was ready. In each case, a single strand of hair was all it would take.
He began making a list of addresses and places where the hairs could be placed. They would be found in locations the original owners had never been!
He was working on this list when he was suddenly struck by a thought.
Once they were all in position… what would he do next?