Try, Try Again

No sooner did the tape end than Martin grabbed his coat and went to the police department. Cold night wind biting at his exposed face, he mounted the stairs and threw the door open. Snow and ice followed in his wake as he approached the secretary's desk. She looked at him over her horn rimmed glasses.

"May I help you sir?" Her voice was high-pitched and nasally, the stereotypical secretary that you would see in plays.

"I hope so. I need to speak to either Sergeant Nielson or the Sheriff, now." He replied with a tone of urgency. 

"I'm sorry sir, they've already gone home for the night. Is this an emergency?" Her voice had taken on the lifelessness of an emergency operator.

"No, it's not an emergency, but I have a clue for a case I'm working on that they really need to know about."

"Well, sir, I can give them a call if you'd like. Who should I say is calling?" The secretary picked up the phone and began dialing.

"Martin Elwood."

As she finished dialing the number, she looked him over. "Ya know, you're a bit of a celebrity around here. Ever since you cracked that gambling den over in Rockwell C- Oh, yes sir, this is Barbara at the department. I was calling because I have Martin Elwood here saying he found something out regarding the case he's on."

Silence.

"Yes, sir."

Silence.

"Okay, sir." She hung up the phone. "Sergeant Nielson said he'll be here in fifteen minutes. But like I was saying; impressive work on that R C bust." 

"Thank you, it wasn't an easy case, though."

"I can imagine." 

Small talk continued until Nielson finally walked through the door, in casual clothes. "This had better be good, Elwood."

"Well, you know how you said that interview didn't really give us much? It gave me enough evidence to bring John back in for questioning." Martin said.

"Oh? And what might this 'evidence' be?" The Sergeant crossed his arms and looked at Martin with an eyebrow arched.

"In the interview, when asked about what he saw, MacPherson claimed that he saw blood dripping into the road from the body. However, when we were at the scene, there was no blood anywhere to be seen. So either he's lying, or somebody cleaned all the blood from the crime scene while he called us." 

Nielson's arms came unfolded and were now limp at his sides as he stood there. His expression was unreadable. "Fine, we'll bring him back in. I'll let you question him this time, though." His voice was flat as he replied. "It'll be a couple hours before we can bring him in, however. So sit tight, I'll make the necessary calls, and we'll have him soon." With that, Nielson walked towards his office.

A Useless Interview

It was early evening by the time Elwood's phone finally rang. That metallic clang of the phone's bell grated on his ears harshly until he answered.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Elwood?" Whoever was on the other end of the line replied.

"This is he. May I ask who is calling?"

"This is the CPD calling. We have finished questioning of one Mr. MacPherson, and we have the interview recorded and other personal information waiting for your scrutiny."

"Thank you, I'll be there shortly to pick it all up."

Downing the last dregs of his drink, Elwood stood up and made his way down to the lobby of the hotel. He walked out into the freezing wind outside, and walked to the police head quarters. Sergeant Nielson stood just inside the front entrance, with a brown package in his hands.

"The interview didn't give us much, just as we had expected." Nielson said.

"That's yet to be seen, my friend." Elwood said as he nodded at the Sergeant and turned on his heel to walk away. Just a short walk and an elevator ride later, Martin found himself back in his hotel room, with another glass of scotch in front of him. He took one sip from it before turning his full attention on the box of evidence.  Inside was a small stack of papers, the mugshot of John MacPherson along with the pictures of the most recent victims, and at the bottom of the box was a tape recorder, already loaded and rewound. Elwood chose this as the first piece to inspect. Walking up to the record player on the wall, he unplugged it, and connected the tape recorder to the speakers, then pressed 'play'.

The static-muffled voices began their conversation.

"Alright, we just have a few easy questions for you. First, name?"

"John MacPherson."

"Age?"

"Fifty-four."

"Occupation?"

"I own several apartment complexes throughout the city."

"You called in the murder of Ron Carlson, correct?"

"That is correct."

"Around what time did you make this call?"

"It was around 7:45 to 8 o'clock in the morning."

"Did you touch the body at all before you called?"

"No. I did not."

"Were you certain he was dead when you called?"

"Yes, I was. He had bullet wounds to his chest, and was not breathing."

"Did you see anybody around the scene before you called?"

"No. The streets were fairly empty around that time."

There was about an hour's worth of these pointless questions before something caught Martin's attention.

"Explain what you saw when you first discovered his body."

"I was standing across the street, and I saw a man lying on the ground, blood dripping into the road. I ran up to him and inspected his body, only to see multiple gunshot wounds to his torso. I then rushed to the convenience store down the road, and called nine-one-one immediately."

Elwood gave a single, dry laugh before sipping on his drink again. "The interview didn't tell us anything, huh?"