Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

5. In the Spotlight

Same act, different scene. Police station. With Irish standing behind me, arms folded, glaring at the officers running around from place to place, blatantly ignoring us. It is all part of the city experience. So it goes.

When someone finally gets to us, we’re led to the top dog of the precinct. Irish is asked to wait outside his office, to which she kindly inclines, despite her true desire to refuse. This is going to be political nonsense and she knows it. I’m in the most sedate state of concentration imaginable. I’ve spent our entire time waiting, studying some minute factors of people’s lives. From watching the crying woman in the desk closest to us, her child in her arms, to the man in the back, handcuffed to the bench. I watched the officers scurry around, returning to desks with their names marked with neat matching plates. I was in the office of Sergeant Sylum Bishop.

“Well, first off, let me offer my condolences.” He cleared his throat, looking through the paperwork briskly. After a few flips through, he closed the folder to rest his hands on it, just like Irish had on my version of the file. “I’ll try to keep this brief. You are?”

“Mister Hyde Dorrance.”

“Hyde?”

“Edward. But they call me Hyde. I’m sorry. Edward Dorrance.”

His face had been a slight mix of confusion and dismay, now he cleared his throat again. “Do you have an alibi for last night?”

“Yes. I was with my boss, Irish, and coworker Shirley at my job. I work at the Drowning Raven, a bar a few blocks down.”

His face lit up at the mention of the bar. I remembered this man’s face. He sat in a quiet corner to himself, away from the general crowd. He never came to the bar in uniform and most of the general crowd let him be. Sylum Bishop - always kept himself to himself.

“I’m familiar with the establishment,” he continued. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah, Caine, the guitar player that night.”

“Any way we could get in touch with him if we had to?”

“I suppose so. Officer, please, don’t give me the run around. What are you guys doing to find out who killed my parents?”

He coughed a bit, taking a sip from a cup hidden on his desk behind stacks of paperwork. I knew he was thinking over how much he could and couldn’t tell me. This was a police investigation - there were things that the general public couldn’t know. And I was still a suspect until they ran a check on my whereabouts. But he was obliged to tell me something.

“Well, we don’t have any real suspects, we’re going through your parents’ patient records to see who we can talk to. Unfortunately, they’re supposed to be classified files, so there might be some issues in bringing them in for questioning. They’re still going over the scene though for any clues we might have overlooked. We’re working hard on this, know that, Mr. Dorrance.”

“I’m sure you guys work hard on every case, Mr. Bishop,” I replied, getting up out of the chair. “I don’t think there’s much more for us to discuss. I’ll sign off on their bodies if you want. But your record said they had identification on them, so you don’t really need me. If you don’t mind, I have funeral arrangements to make. Good day.”

I got out of the chair, stepping towards the door. My fingers were just closing around the doorknob when I heard his chair scrape on the floor as he got up.

“Mr. Dorrance, we might advise you to be careful.”

I turned to face him. “Are you threatening me?”