December 19 – 2:35 PM.
C.I.D. Precinct 9.
“DETECTIVE MERLIN, WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!?”
“I-I’m good, Inspector. SNIFF. Just, PTSD. I’m fine. Thank you for--”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M ASKING YOU DUNCE!”
After Detective Merlin returned Tessa Roads to her cell in the police station, he was summoned to his Inspector’s office. The reaction he received was not what he was expected, but couldn’t think of a better choice of words.
Inspector Saul spent his precious afternoon coffee break to yell at the Shaggy Mongrel, veins bulging in his neck. “You told me you only wanted to go to the suspect’s apartment to get more evidence!”
“Yes.” Merlin dabbed his red eyes with a tissue from the inspector’s desk. “I made progress.”
“YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BRINGING HER AROUND TOWN!”
“New information came to light. Of course I wanted to see where it went. Tessa was my golden crumbs so I had to--”
Inspector Saul slapped a hand across the table to shut Merlin up. He dropped into his office seat, it gave a large creak, and he jabbed his finger in the detective’s direction.
“Detective! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to tow a cold-blooded suspect like Tessa Roads in an insecure environment!? What if she knocked you out! Or worse, knocked you out and killed you! Or even far worse: knocked you out, killed you, AND erased all the evidence! That would look bad on the news! That would look bad on me!”
Detective Merlin pinched his nose bridge and used the silence to give his brain a break. “Inspector. In the theory of multiverses, there will always be 1000 different what ifs or alternate possibilities. For example, there might be a high possibility that Tessa Roads isn’t the murderer and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Rubbish! That sort of things happen only in movies!”
“Just think of this possibility. Tessa Roads was invited by her boss, unaware of his true intention to molest her. When she realized it, she did what any good citizen would do and exercised her right to defend herself. It would also perfectly explain why she fled the scene in a hurry without her bag or shoe: because she was running for her life, not from the law.”
Merlin plucked more tissue and blew his nose, stuff them into the overfilled trashcan by his foot. “In that time, there is a strong possibility another murderer slipped in between the gap and beat Liam Ferguson to death – with the same weapon Tessa Road used. Then exit stage left, in time for the staff to find the body, call the cops...And by some freak of nature quantum event that screwed up some kind of sacred timeline: Tessa Roads happened to return to the scene of the crime at the worse time possible.”
“That’s not astronomical coincidence. That’s calculated planning!” Inspector whipped out his kerchief to dab his face from the rage sweat on his face and moustache. When Merlin opened his hands in a shrug, the Inspector muttered. “Don’t forget. We’ve had a lot of cases where the murderer intentionally returned to the scene of the crime as either a bystander or surrendering. Then by some form of manipulation, psychological battles, and illusions, they were able to get off the hook and walk away scot-free! The perfect crime!”
“Sir. Tessa was out in the cold wearing only a paper-thin shirt, a pair of yoga spats, and walked with one shoe. I think she stepped on glass or something because they were bleeding when we found her coming back.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Aaaall part of an aaaact. To raise pity points! You see!?” The Inspector rubbed his kerchief around his neck and shook his head. “Look. Detective. You’re a smart man, but don’t lie to me that you’ve never been tricked by a pretty face before.”
“....Just...the one time.”
“Five times!” Inspector Saul slapped his hand again to nail in the point. “Fortunately you woke up fast enough to catch them. What makes this woman any different?”
Merlin held up his hands and counted his fingers. “One: Tessa claimed to have struck Liam on the head once. But clearly he was smoked multiple times, so why lie about something so obvious? Two: she claimed Liam was reeling across the ground next to the couch, yet his corpse ended up in the bed? And third: I found out there was 10 minutes or so of unaccounted time before the housekeeper found the victim’s body. So anything could happen in those 10 minutes, anything!”
Inspector rubbed his forehead before stuffing his kerchief into his chest pocket. “Alright. I’ll play your game. Say there is a high possibility that you’re right, Tessa Road hit him once in self defense and no more. By the time she returned, he was killed by another. So tell me, when the murder weapon has two sets of finger marks – Tessa Roads and Liam Ferguson – how high is the possibility Liam beat himself to death in the back of the head!?”
“Astronomically unlikely.”
“Exactly! So, by process of elimination, therefore – it’s Tessa Roads! Case closed!”
“But sir!”
“Fine. Fine. Another round of Alternate Realities. Say this mystery murderer existed and wore gloves. Who else could have access to Liam Ferguson's room within those 10 minutes from Tessa Roads running away and the staff reporting the body? Nothing was stolen from his expensive room and there have been no calls of burglary at the building. And may I remind you, Diamond Hotel don’t use keys you can copy at a locksmith on 23rd Avenue – they have digital key cards! Each of them specifically encoded to the room they serve, tough to crack by hackers.”
The Inspector tapped his knuckles onto the desk as if knocking on a door. “So tell me, detective. Who else connected to Liam Ferguson could have motive, access, opportunity, and the cunning to dip in and out without a trace in those 10 minutes? I am 100% confidant the victim wouldn’t have shared his plans in meeting Tessa Roads for a private liaison. And yes, the suspect expressed concerns about meeting in a hotel – but in the end she made no mention of confiding anyone about her worry, right? So, what is your conclusion? Hm? Hm!?”
As much as Merlin wanted to come up with a counterargument, a legitimate topic of debate, or even a witty comment...all he could do was sag in his seat, deflated.
Inspector Saul shook his head, before he pulled his chair up and lowered his voice. “Look, Detective. I’m not trying to make this difficult for you! Both of know well enough how the jury will respond to her story, to the circumstantial evidence. This isn’t your first rodeo in the court room. Even if I say or do nothing, the judge and jury will come to the same conclusion regardless.”
Merlin hung his head over the back of his chair, glaring at the ceiling. “Inspector. What are her chances she could actually be innocent in all of this?”
“At all the paperwork I wrote up, slim at best.”
“What are the odds she will go to prison?”
“Oh. Very high, I can assure you. No room for an appeal.”
Merlin scratched the side of his head. “What are the odds she’ll die in prison and come back to haunt me.”
Inspector Saul snorted. “Where we’re sending her shes—Wait, wut?”
“What are the odds she haunts me to death for failing her, and my spirits comes looking for you in vengeance?”
“H-hold up, Merlin. That’s going too far--”
“What are the odds I try to haunt you, forgot your address, and I go looking for Eve to ask where you live?”
“Detective! You leave Eve out of this!”
“What are the odds that--”
“STOOOOOOOOP!” Inspector Saul bolted to his feet. Seething eyes, lips, and wrinkled moustache. Fingers digging into the face of his desk. All glares on the Shaggy Mongrel...then. “... Y-you may return back to your duties, pretty please.”
Merlin sighed with defeat. It was worth a try he thought. All he could do was shrug his hands open, out of options and picked himself up to his feet. A lazy salute before he walked out the door.
But stopped to say one more thing. “Sir. You think the odds are against us?”
AND DUCKED OUT. In time to avoid a brass paperweight smashing a hole in the closed door.