The Perfect Crime

Chapter 3

An old man with a long face that rivals a the length of a squash. Hair as white as freshly bloomed trilliums, and a nose as pointed as a knife. His eyes stare blankly at the table he was sat at.

The clock's hands tick slowly and the man's patience begins to slowly run out.

"Hmph." The old man scowls as he taps his fingers against the wooden table's surface. He leans back and glues his eyes to the clock's ticking hand. Waiting.

The door to the interrogation room swings open a few minutes later as the sheriff walks in carrying a tray of assorted cookies and other baked goods.

"Took you long enough." The old man grumbles leaning back in his seat and scrunching up his wrinkled face.

"I suppose you wouldn't fancy any sweets then?" A light smirk grows upon the sheriff's visage, as he casually leans forward and pushes the tray of sweet delectables closer to the old man.

The old man eyes the treats that lay on the silver platter before him. His left eye twitches slightly as the sheriff continues to inch the tray closer to him.

"Will you stop that! I will not take any of your filthy treats!" The old man growls loudly and the whole station turns to face the interrogation room. "I know what you're trying ta do an' I wont have any of it!" His voice calms a bit as he leans farther back in his seat.

"Um, more for me then." The sheriff reaches forward and wraps his fingers around an overly sugar powder dusted, chocolate truffle. He lifts the treat up to his mouth and takes a gentle bite that results in half of it being taken, "what am I trying to do?" He mumbles while chewing his sweet.

"You're trying to make me confess to killing that girl by bribing me with sugary treats! BUT I am NOT going to fall for that!" The old man raises his shaky hand in the air and waves it about while pointing to the ceiling.

"Hmm," the sheriff leans back in his seat and plops the rest of the truffle into his mouth. "Interesting," he mutters and licks his fingers with contempt.

"What?" The old man grunts, the sheriff was irritating to him and he didn't want to be there for a minute longer. "When are you going to stop torturing me and release me already!" He yells aggressively.

The sheriff leans closer to the man, his patience dwindling with him. He slowly reaches for another treat, his eyes staring down the man.

"So," the sheriff grabs a chocolate chip cookie from the tray and slowly leans back, bringing the cookie back with him. "Where were you on the night Betty Richards was beaten beyond repair?" The sheriff questions before he moves the cookie to his mouth, and takes a moderately average bite.

"I was out getting some tools." The old man grunts as he crosses his arms and looks away.

"Hmm... alright." The sheriff takes another bite of his cookie, not saying anything more.

"I needed tools to fix my late wife's bird house that fell from the night before last's big windstorm. I was going to get some more tools because the tools that I had weren't proper for making bird houses or were falling apart." The old man explains further, trying to make the sheriff understand his point of view.

"Alright, but why so late at night?" The sheriff takes another bite of his cookie, crumbs falling down onto his nicely pressed shirt.

"Well..." The old man's cheeks began to turn a light shade of pink as his lips begin to curl with displeasure.

"Go on..." The sheriff leans in closer as he finishes off the last of his cookie.

"I don't like going in during the day because there's all those rift raft in there! There's less or sometimes none at night because they all have a curfew or somethin'!"