Autopsy of a Mind

"Was the pattern of locking yourself in your house and composing on hours for an end typical of your routine the week prior as well?" I asked casually, placing my chin in my hand and leaning against the wall on my side. I was giving him a relaxed expression that would help him open up more. 

So far, his shoulder was still slightly stiff and he was glancing at the bored Nash quite often. 

"Yes, very typical. I was only eating snacks and composing at the time." He looked at Nash with a pleading look to understand. How fascinating. Though he was being questioned by me, he wanted reassurance from Nash. 

I looked towards the man and could see that his bored expression could induce anxiety and need to explain more. In reality, Nash was probably not doing this on purpose, he was just tired from a long week of work. 

"Do you have any questions for me before…" I trailed off, looking at him curiously.

He thought about it for a moment. "Why am I under suspicion?" he asked finally. "Is it just my relationship with her?"

Nash stepped in. "Yes, that is one of the big reasons," he began. "Your situation is unique. That is why we had a search warrant for your house and your car. Because we needed to make sure we covered all our bases due to your relationship with the victim."

"Yeah, it could exonerate you pretty quickly," I added after Nash was done explaining. "Do you like living in this city? You used to live in the capital before, didn't you?" I gave him a small smile. 

"It's alright," he shrugged. 

"Did you meet your wife here?"

"No, no. We knew each other in high school and reconnected at university. We moved to this city together," his voice was measured but still warm as he spoke about her.

"Do you have any questions, Nash?" I asked quickly. 

"Yeah!" he chirped, bouncing his leg. "You mentioned that the whole day of the crime you were at home, composing, right? Do you specifically remember that?"

"Yeah!" McCain said confidently. 

"Is it just between the time period we are asking about or the whole day?"

"Literally all day. At the moment, apart from composing, I am not hanging out with too many people. My wife and the girl I talk to are probably the only people in contact with me. Both of them were busy or out of town. So…" he trailed off. 

"Did you go cruise through the town or anything?" Nash asked, sounding confused. 

"I might have done it before, but people recognize me easily when I am on the street," he explained softly. 

That they did. But people were also blissfully ignorant about everything around them. Which was what he must have been banking on, of course. 

"Did you go out to eat or anything? Buy snacks maybe?" Nash prompted.

"No, I didn't go to eat or buy snacks." Very confident answer. 

"What other vehicles do you own apart from the one we searched?" I asked after a moment of silence. 

He explained the three other models and then stopped. "Will you be searching those as well?" He didn't seem bothered by that, though. Like he had cleaned everything down and we couldn't find a single clue. 

"We might. Would you have a problem with that?" I asked. 

"Not at all!" he said quickly.

"Are the cars used only by you or does someone else use them too?" I asked. 

McCain didn't understand what we were asking. 

"The girl you are talking to, does she have access to your cars? Did she take one of them when she went out of town?" Nash explained softly. 

"My manager has access to my cars, but no one else." McCain stared at the two of us. "The girl I am talking to took her friend's car for the visit." He licked his lips as he thought about what to say next. "Primarily, I drive the car you searched, the others are pretty much for show and special occasions."

"The vast majority of the time when you are doing errands or something, you take that car?"

"Yeah. Exactly," he said with a smile. 

There was a long silence as I wrote on my notepad. 

"You know we didn't bring you all the way here to talk about your compositions," Nash sat up and approached him cautiously. 

"Yup," McCain responded. 

"Then why did you think we brought you here?" he asked. 

"Because… I am the closest person to the victim. The one with the strained relationship," he amended quickly. 

"And that is why I am asking you, who can attest to your whereabouts on that night?" The emphasis was on exonerating McCain from suspicion. This was the possibility given to him. 

McCain was silent. "Were you inside your house? Or did you go out and drive through the city?" Nash asked again. No answer. "So, did you take your car out that night?"

He shook his head.

"Okay. How many sets of keys do you have to that car?" Nash changed his approach. 

"Two," McCain said immediately. 

"You and who?" Nash pressed. 

"My manager," he replied easily. I saw the calculation in McCain's eyes and had to smile. His manager was a short and plump man in his forties and looked nothing like McCain. There would be no passing of the crime onto someone else. 

"Okay, and where were the keys that night?"

"I would have had one and my manager would have one." McCain nodded. 

"And your manager was not driving your car around, right?" Nash prompted. 

"Not to my knowledge, no. I was in the house all day."

Nash nodded and glanced at me. He seemed to want to do the majority of the talking for now and I had no qualms sitting in and observing. 

"Now, let's talk about that night in specific," Nash hardened down. "You have lived in this town for how long in this city?"

"It has been five years now," McCain responded. 

"So you are familiar with the city and the roads, right?" Nash prompted.

"Not really. I don't associate with people much and drive only to the essential places."

"So, you're kind of a loner, huh?" Nash smiled. "But specifically on that day, the day you told us you were in your room composing all day, did you go out?" he asked again. 

He shook his head. 

"But it is safe to say that it is not true, correct?" Nash responded stoically. 

"Why would I lie? I mean…"

Nash pressed his lips together. "Maybe there is a misunderstanding about why we are here." Nash cleared his throat. "As I said, we are looking for a needle in a haystack. But you are making it sound like we randomly came across the idea that it was you."

McCain was silent, but I could sense the defenses going up.

"So, what could have brought us to you?" Nash asked, cocking his head. He implored McCain to answer rather than confess. He was giving the suspect a chance to spin the story to his imagination.

"Probably that I was married to her." He stopped. "And that we are divorced due to violence… according to rumors," he corrected at the last moment. 

"Believe me when I say that the full wing of our police department is going to descend on your house and cars. Right now, my primary concern for working until midnight is because we need to give answers to your son, who still doesn't understand what happened to his mother. It has been a day and he must be feeling the brunt of her absence by now. I want to give him answers and I want your help."

"I know!" he sighed. 

"I have your car parked at the back of her house and I need to know why."

He shrugged. He didn't have any idea why.

"I need to know why and who brought it over."

"We can put you out of suspicion if you tell us who had your car and why they would be near her house."

"It has been a full day now!" I prompted. 

"I have no idea," he remained staunch. 

"And you have been in the city for how long?" Nash asked again. 

"Five years?" He was visibly less confident now. 

"Five years. That means you know what we do. I work with the top detectives in the city and you know what we have access to." His gaze was piercing. "Do you think we are not going to track the cameras, a vehicle all over the city? We control cameras at bus stops, inside all transportations, traffic cameras. We can look out of every building and into the streets and you are telling me that I didn't see you driving your car to her house. And I didn't see you moving out of the lane and turning right to go in the opposite direction of your home?"

He gave specific directions that McCain had taken. 

McCain was speechless. 

"And then you turned."

"It just looks like my car. I didn't see the videos and I didn't see me," McCain denied quickly. 

"You know what we have allowed you to know." Nash went really hard when he wanted to. It was not something I liked to mess with. 

"Can I see this stuff that you are talking about?" McCain said after a long time. Now, his voice was mildly condescending. As if he believed that we were bluffing him into making a confession or giving us a hint that he was out of the house that day.