Back to Carl’s bedroom, where Murphy seems to have been directed to “assume the position.”
(Now bend over and cough?)
“No gun,” he declares.
Uh, oh. The room looks like it’s been trashed by a 70s rock band.
Rock bands used to trash hotel rooms, you know. http://www.rockworldmagazine.com/history-of-hotel-room-trashing/
“Must’ve stashed it somewhere else in the house,” Donald deduces.
Just when it looks like the mystery will never be solved, here comes their fearless leader. “The scene of the crime!” Steele pronounces.
(Huh? I thought the elevator was the scene of the crime, Mr. Steele.)
Steele explains. “I have no need to tell you people that the scene of the crime is often the best single source of conclusive evidence.”
If nothing else, Mr. Steele has an excellent memory for lines. Maybe he should become an actor.
“Precisely.” Not to mention indubitably, unequivocally, and incontrovertibly.
Everybody’s ready to check it out. Steele knows where this headed, and heads them off with a brisk whistle.
“We’ll ALL check it, hmm?”
A moment later …
Gee, it gets a bit crowded when the whole gang crams into an elevator. And for their next trick:
Each master detective pursues the investigation in his or her unique way.
Which is to say, they all look around randomly. Carl is getting uncomfortably up close and personal with Laura, while Murphy seems to have formed an inappropriate relationship with one wall of the car. Don wants to know what he’s up to.
“Dusting for prints,” the well-equipped Mr. Michales responds.
Honestly, the sexual tension between these two is palpable, isn’t it?
Murphy isn’t about to share his toys, by the way. So:
He suggests to Laura that they get some coffee. (Yet another man trying to get close to Miss Holt?)
leans over and presses the door close button.
Oh-ho! What’s this? Looks like Sandy would like to have some quality time with Mr. Michaels in the elevator. She wants a ride. Up and down.
“Murphy, listen,” she insists. “Forget about the dusting for a minute. I need your help.”
“What are you talking about?” See, here’s the thing. Murph just doesn’t have those killer instincts.
Sandy presses … her case. “I didn’t kill Alan. But I just know that any time now, somebody’s going to find something that makes it look like I did.”
perplexed stunned indifferent. Good heavens, Murphy. What large hands you have. No wonder Sandy wants some alone time …