sharp objects
-or-
practicing police
-or-
practicing police
it was a cold, overcast day; tryptical. i met this guy, neal wiley, who had come to my
attention as a possible suspect/lead in the home invasion that i had been hired to
investigate. he seemed tense, and jittery, like a coffee spiked w/ adrenaline, but i've
dealt w/ that before: that's why i recognize the behavior. i make small talk, commenting
on the reports of multiple stabbings in the area; it's a slight gamble to see how he
reacts to unpleasant news and also hints at his current level of awareness about current
events. in other words, i'm looking for a tell.
as we talk, we split pitchers of beer, the only item on the menu that interested either
of us. i could tell he was troubled and take great care to study all of his mannerisms,
even try to decipher his mutterings. that's the thing though: he seemed disturbed (not
mentally) by something, but as far as i could tell (after maybe 3 (4?) rounds), he simply
knows something he'd rather forget. this guy didn't commit the crime, but he most
certainly has info connected to it.
outside looks like it's getting brutal, so i up the ante: 2 maker's, neat. my companion
doesn't mark a word of dissidence. the drinks arrive and i continue to make small talk,
asking about the west end (where the crime was committed) and such, subtly memorizing
his alibis. finally he slipped, remarked about a frame-up he was ashamed to have
partaken/assisted w/; it involved some girl named jackie, which left my trail cold: i'm
investigating something deeper.