orley Munson knew there was trouble brewing the second he saw the local detective sitting in the lobby (of his office). He had been late into work as he’d been busy disposing of the body of Constance Freeman’s husband in the wee small hours. He was tired from traveling (and from tying rocks and chains around the corpse). And now this.
Morley Munson smiled at the local detective and ushered him inside. There would be a smatter of whispers and raised eyebrows at this surprise visit by the police but there was nothing that Morley Munson could do
about that now–the only choice he had was to listen and nod (and speak when spoken to).
Morley Munson tried listening to the local detective’s inquiries with the uttermost politeness. The man had really only come to pick up some (personal) items belonging to his former secretary but he felt compelled to ask a few questions while he was there. Checking into the whereabouts of a missing person (who was associated by work with Mr. Morley Munson), the local detective had uncovered a number of calls placed to the Munson residence on the very night in question.
Morley Munson studied the local detective in front of him but came to no obvious conclusions–the man was an enigma to Morley Munson and that frightened him.
A little. Morley Munson acknowledged that the calls had indeed come but that he had been feeling poorly that night and had stayed in bed, letting the phone ring without answering. Simple as that.
Morley Munson watched the detective smile and close his notebook. He left without further incident as Morley Munson’s cheek began to twitch. He touched his face and started to pace, biting the inside of his mouth until it was raw (and bleeding).
