"Get in the car," Deputy Lou told Derrick.
"Okay, sir." Derrick said, but before he could do just that, somebody tugged his shirt so hard he almost lost balance then slapped him across his face.
"It was you, wasn't it?! You did that to my apartment because I won't let you rent the room without paying at least three months in advance. That's why you're angry and now you want me dead, you murderer!" Unsurprisingly enough, it was the landlady.
Her chemically straightened hair was in disarray. She was gnashing her teeth, her non-existent brows furrowed, while glaring intensely at him.
Then Derrick had enough. He had put up with her attitude for the last few days, nagging at him for the pettiest reasons like arriving late, bringing his friend's dog, and not turning off the lights at 10 p.m..
She always claimed that what he was doing was putting her life in danger.
She was like this to all of her tenants but at that day and at that moment, she obviously went over the line.
And so, Derrick raised his left hand then swung it into an ark, then…
*PA!
He slapped her back.
Her head was flung to the other side, his hand imprinted on her cheeks. Then she gasped. She never expected him to do that. No. Never in a million times.
"How—How dare you slap me?!" She snarled at him.
In that short amount of time, her expression changed faster than Derrick could ever let a sneeze out. From shock to disbelief to being insulted and then finally, anger.
"You should ask yourself that, Karen." Derrick spat at her in annoyance before turning to Deputy Lou who momentarily forgot about the serial killings as he stared at the two in amusement.
"Shall we go, mister officer?" Derrick asked him. "But, ah! I won't be thrown to prison by slapping my landlady, right?" he added jokingly.
"In this case, no. You're safe, lad."
"...I see."
However, Karen wasn't done yet.
"You dare! You dare, you disrespectful scum! You don't know how to treat women right. This is physical and emotional abuse and destruction of property. I can never accept this. No. Never. I will report you to the police and you will pay for all these." She yelled while pointing her finger at Derrick who was getting into the car. And if it was possible, her eyeballs would have long popped out of their sockets from glaring too much.
Deputy Lou let out a sigh.
He was so damned tired dealing with these kinds of people. Weaponizing their victimhood and all. Would have been fine if they really were victims but most of the time, they're the ones harassing people minding their own business. They're one of the reasons why some 'real' victims don't get taken seriously anymore.
"Lady, listen. Why don't you come with us as well?" Deputy Lou told her—fed up.
And that was how they arrived at the station in a not so peaceful way.
Immediately, Derrick was taken to the interrogation room for some questioning while he didn't know what happened to Karen after that. She was screaming at him as they were being separated and he couldn't care less.
A policewoman took all his belongings and told him to wait inside. Of course, he willingly gave them all his stuff but he was a bit worried about the typewriter. He felt stuffy too for some reason.
***
At the interrogation room.
It was small and windowless. A metal desk with nothing on it at the center, steel chairs on either side. A white telephone on the wall. Bright lights. And a large rectangular two-way mirror.
Derrick took the seat facing the door and waited there patiently. And not long after, the door opened and a police officer came in.
It wasn't Deputy Lou, however.
Completely bald, his scalp was so shiny as though he rubbed some petroleum jelly all over it. His head was completely oval like an egg and he has a 'toothbrush mustache'. He was smiling brightly at Derrick, showing all of his crooked teeth.
"Hello, Derrick! My name is Steve and I work with Raguna Municipal Police Station. You are here because Deputy Lou thinks you might know something about the case we've been working on for months. And I am here to ask you some questions." The police officer sounded friendly and laid back. Derrick started to relax.
"And while we are talking, I expect you to remain seated, keep your feet flat on the floor, and your hands in your lap. Also, I expect you to keep your eyes and attention focused on me at all times. Do you understand me, Derrick?"
"Yes, sir." Derrick was trying to keep his answers as short as possible. The typewriter got jammed for furiously reminding him what to do during interrogation, questioning, or any interaction with the police: If they didn't ask you anything, SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH!! The less you talk the better. If you can afford one then demand a freakin' lawyer. And most importantly, don't act suspicious! They will suspect literally anything to the point that they will zoom in to you even as you pick your nose.
But Derrick honestly thinks the typewriter was overreacting. 'It's not as if I really did anything,' he thought.
"Okay, Derrick. So is there something you wanna drink? Except alcohol, of course." Steve asked.
"Water will be fine, sir."
"Okay, I'll be back in a minute. Do you want it chilled?"
"Uhh, no. Just room temp, sir."
Then Steve left.
'See? That typewriter was overreacting.' Derrick thought, careful not to accidentally say it out loud in case somebody was listening. Then Steve returned with a 500 ml. bottled water and gave it to him.
"Okay, so Derrick. How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"I see. From the testaments we gathered at the explosion scene earlier, they said it was because of you that they all survived. So Derrick, how did you know about the explosives?"
"I believe Deputy Lou already knows."
Then Steve nodded before placing a typing paper on the table. "And it's because of this, right?" It was the typing paper he gave to Deputy Lou. The typewriter printed it for this moment specifically though Derrick didn't know what the symbol meant.
"Yes, sir."
"Hmm... Derrick, I want you to be honest with this one but… Can you think of anyone who has a grudge against you?"