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The Waiting Room

~ Chapter Forty-Eight


Evidence Found


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 Ichabod stood over the damaged computer as a doctor about to perform an autopsy. Carefully he sifted through the damage, his eyescope in place to see the more minute details.

Many eyes watched for many had reason to find the truth.

Mort Rainey needed the truth as to who was responsible for the demise of his laptop. Sparrow fumed at the bar, draining another glass of rum, waiting for the truth as to who was keeping him from his ladies.

Even Sands waited with anticipation, for there was some finger pointing in his direction that he pulled the trigger.

“Ah-Ha!” Crane exclaimed as he reached inside the broken pc with a set of tweezers. “The culprit!”

With care Ichabod withdrew the evidence for which he had searched. A single bullet was embedded in a microchip component. Ichabod moved it back and forth examining what he had found.

“It appears to be from a handgun…” Ichabod announced.

“No s--t, Sherlock,” Sands snapped. “What did you think? Someone used a freaking cannon? Get on with it, man. What kind of bullet is it?”

Crane changed lenses on his eyescope to get a closer look at the lettering.

“Nessler,” he read. “It is a Nessler brand.” He ripped the scope from his head, brow furrowed as he continued to look at the evidence in hand.

“Well, then. What we need to do is check everyone’s ammunition and see who uses this brand. Find the rest of the bullets, we find the shooter.”

“You called my name?” came a drawn out southern voice.

Ichabod glanced up to see the man he knew as Rainey wearing a black rimmed hat, holding a shovel.

“I’ll be more than happy to help y’all with your impending in-vest-I-ga-tion. More than happy to find out who took out Mr. Rainey’s computer.”

Ichabod waved a hand. “No, no, not necessary. But I thank you for the offer.”

“Very well, Detective Crane. But let it be known, the offer stands.”

The hat disappeared into the lower drawer, the shovel went down behind the desk.

“Thank you…I think?” Ichabod bowed slightly in the writer’s direction.

On swift heel, Crane turned to face the room holding up the tweezers that held the bullet.

“Now, who wishes to surrender their gun first so I may inspect the make and brand of your ammunition? Please note, this is the time to clear yourself of any wrongdoing.”

The Room was shocked as to who offered his gun first.

 



 

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