It had been a long night for Elliot Carson. His throat longed for the fresh lifeforce he could smell all around him. He sat perfectly still in the bare interrogation room where he had been "locked" in for hours. It would not have been hard for him to break free. He was not handcuffed; he had not put up any fight heading to the police station. His hands were set on the table, fingers intertwined and perfectly still. He watched his reflection in the mirror, amused, but did not show it. His dark eyes showed how hungry he was but did not look out of the ordinary for a human. At worst he looked drained.
Elliot found ways to amuse himself in his time of isolation. Most of the time he spent listening through the walls. Much of the night he focused on a couple of forensics techs on a lower level talking to each other while waiting for a test to finish. There was chemistry there, Elliot was rooting for them. As the night progressed, it was like listening to a bad sitcom that he had become somehow invested in.
He only wished he had something to drink.
One of the techs told a bad joke, the other giggled. Elliot felt his heartache, then break as the door to the interrogation room opened. The detective who had brought him here entered, his jacket gone, and tie loosened. A closed manilla folder was in his hand which he slapped down on the metal table that now sat between Elliot and the detective.
"My name is Detective Ryan," The detective took the seat opposite Elliot and folded his hands on the table. They locked eyes, neither refusing to let the other go easily. "And you are?"
"A pleasure to meet you, Detective," Elliot said, a coy grin on his face. "As for who I am, I'm sure all the information you need is in that file. I imagine you did your research."
"Humor me," Detective Ryan said, his eyes narrowing.
Elliot sighed. "Elliot Carson."
"Profession?"
"Private Investigator."
"Licensed?"
"In twelve countries."
The Detective looked taken aback. He grabbed the folder and flipped it open. The opening page had an image clipped to it. It was a picture a few years old, from a news clipping. It was one of the only times that Elliot could not avoid a camera.
"You do a lot of travel?" Ryan continued.
"Obviously," Elliot said. "It helps in my profession."
"Investigations take you out of the country?" Ryan looked up from the file to give an incredulous glance.
Elliot shrugged. "High profile ones, yes."
"You deal with high profile cases, Mister Carson?" Sarcasm leaked from the Detective's mouth.
"Frequently," Elliot said.
"Can you give me an example?"
"No." Elliot said, "To do so would give up privileged information on my clients. Think what that would do to my reputation?"
"I won't tell a soul," Ryan said.
"I do not trust that to be quite frank."
Ryan cleared his throat and flipped a page in the file. Elliot could see the disappointment on the young detective's face. Many of Elliot's recent accomplishments were on the internet now, including a few higher-profile cases. If he were truly intrigued, the detective would properly do his research.
Ryan looked up from the file. "What were you doing at the scene of the crime, Mister Carson?"
"Investigating," Elliot replied matter-of-factly.
"Investigating?" Ryan said incredulously. "Without the consent of the leading investigator, or any member of the local police force."
Elliot smirked. "Forgive me, Detective. My curiosity gets the better of me, sometimes."
"Do you frequent crime scenes, Mister Carson?"
"It is my job," Elliot shrugged.
Ryan scowled. "So, you do know standard police procedure, chain of command, chain of evidence?"
"Do you have a point?" Elliot interjected.
"My point, Mister Carson," Ryan fumed, "is I could have you arrested for tampering with evidence."
"I touched nothing in that house," Elliot retorted. "I merely observed."
"Observed?"
"Must you mimic everything I say?" Elliot snapped. "Yes, I observed. Tell me, Detective, what did you gather from the crime scene? Other than, of course, myself?"
"I'm asking the questions here, Mister Carson," Ryan tried to keep his head, but was failing. Elliot wondered how far he could push this man without being arrested.
"Well, since you are asking the questions, you must now be wondering what I found by observing the crime scene?" Elliot pushed off with his right foot, leaning back in his chair slightly.
"Not quite," Ryan replied. "I still want to know what you were doing there in the first place. Or, maybe, why you are in Salem at all?"
Elliot formed a confused expression. "I thought that obvious, I have a case."
"Your case pertains to my crime scene?"
"Perhaps," Elliot replied.
Ryan straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. "And what could your case possibly have to do with my crime scene?"
"Everything…or nothing," Elliot mused. "It is much too early to tell. I was only able to get a cursory glance around the scene. There is a possibility for correlation."
"You entered the crime scene…on a hunch?" Ryan asked.
Elliot's brow furrowed. "Of course not, that would be absurd. I entered because of professional curiosity."
Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're messing with me."
Elliot frown. "I most certainly am not."
Ryan straightened up again. "Tell me about this case."
Elliot chuckled. "We've been over this, Detective. I must protect my clients."
"And if you don't give me something, we are going to have to arrest you," Ryan retorted. "Perhaps we can help you with your case."
"I don't think you're going to want to help," Elliot said.
Ryan leaned forward, folding his hands on the table once more. "Try me."
Elliot weighed his options for a moment, remaining silent. He debated whether to trust the young detective. Finally, he leaned forward, matching the detective's stature. "I'm looking into the death of Jessica Payton."
Ryan leaned back in his chair. "Jess Payton? Really?"
"Yes, I have been hired to look into her death."
"Murder," Ryan corrected.
"Confident, are you?"
"Who hired you? Her parents? Friends?"
"Neither."
"You said you had a client who hired you."
"And I must protect them until I know more."
"Who are you protecting?" Ryan paused for a moment, then scoffed. "Your client is Peter Harris." This was not a question; it was a statement of fact.
"Very good, Detective." Elliot could not help but grin. "There may be hope for you yet."
Ryan scowled. "Where is he?"
"Safe."
"Where?"
"I will tell you nothing more."
"You're harboring a fugitive."
Elliot's eyes narrowed. "You do not believe that."
"He was seen fleeing the scene of the crime," Ryan said.
"A strange coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
"He fled the city," Ryan snapped. "Why would he flee if not for guilt?"
Elliot leaned back again. "Why indeed?"
"You're claiming he fled for another reason?"
"Panic, for one," Elliot offered. "Not an admission of guilt, but a fear of being framed. And I know you are smart enough to know you are asking the wrong questions here."
"And what is the right question?" Ryan sneered. "Enlighten me."
Elliot leaned forward. "Modus Operandi. Why would a boy like Peter Harris murder the woman he loves?"