The deafening noise of hungry chickens screeching for their daily breakfast filled every nook and cranny of the massive warehouse that morning, making Mike cover his ears with his fingers. Next to him, Steve smiled, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants, enthralled by the sight of the famished poultry. Mike figured that enough rock concerts and the latest blow to the head might be to blame for his partners insensitive hearing.
It didn't take them long to make out Ed Morrison, who was pushing a cart filled with grain totes down the narrow aisle between pens, stopping occasionally to dump a tote onto a small conveyor which in turn distributed the grain to the eagerly awaiting chickens. As a result, the loud screeching noise was slowly but surely was replaced by the peaceful pecking of beaks against the metal trays holding their protein-laden breakfast.
Keeping a guiding hand on his partner's shoulder as the two detectives marched over to the owner of the plant, Mike let his eyes drift across the many pens, surprised by the absence of any other workers. Morrison noticed their presence by the time they walked down the narrow hallway toward the feed cart, the expression on his face that of foreboding dread.
Nodding at them with a fake smile, he gestured over to his office door, tucked in between the chicken farm and the processing plant.
Steve turned around fleetingly to face the Lieutenant, sharing the same unease as they walked past the feed cart and toward the door Morrison was holding open with obvious impatience.
"I am hoping you two just stopped by to bid your farewells…", he barked and waited for them to enter the office, before shutting the door, quieting the atmosphere significantly.
"I am afraid not…", Mike said beneath a broad smile as he watched Steve lean against an exposed metal beam to his right, "We have a few more questions we'd like to ask you."
"Well, you better make it quick, Detectives. I have to finish feeding these chickens before they cause a riot and take down my building."
The obvious insincerity in Morrison's words raised Mike's interest that morning and he nodded understandingly, as he pointed at the small picture frame on the cluttered desk.
"Does your daughter work at your farm, Mister Morrison?"
Pretending to be surprised, the other man glanced up at him wide-eyed, before nodding hesitantly.
"Sometimes, yes. She helps around the grounds, runs the tractor. When one of my guys calls in sick, she's always there to lend a hand. Why?"
Without answering, Steve stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Was she working ten days ago on…Tuesday? The day the shipment that contained Rory Darr's head was processed?"
The man froze in his tracks, his eyes moving feverishly back and forth between each detective, before ending up on Mike.
"That…that was Rory?"
"Mhm hm."
Staying quiet to observe the man's reaction under pressure for a few moments longer, Mike noticed the thin layer of perspiration on Morrisons forehead, the tension crease above his right eyebrow and the nervous tapping of his right foot against the vinyl floor.
"Well that's…that's horrible. I…I don't know what to say. He was a good kid. Mickey must be heartbroken."
"How long have you been aware of his relationship with your daughter, Mister Morrison?", Steve pried again, pacing the small distance in front of the desk like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey.
As Ed's face turned the same color as his tall white ceiling, he licked his lips repeatedly, trying to find the right words to further derail them from the truth.
"Amy and Rory you say…yeah well…I think…I think they've been together for oh…maybe a year now."
"And Rory's disappearance didn't raise any warning bells for you?", Steve continued eagerly, his bright green eyes sternly focused on the man ahead.
"Well, Inspector, I don't know what you want me to say. She's a grown woman. I don't sit there and watch her every step of the way. I knew her and Rory hung out together a lot. See, I don't talk to her all that often…"
"When was the last time you saw Rory?"
Mike couldn't hide a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched his partner continue the intense interview, verbally nailing the other man against the wall with every question that led them closer to the truth.
With a hint of fatherly pride, he watched the heated exchange intrigued, noticing Steve's calculated body language, his peculiar choice of words to corner his suspect and the unreadable expression in his stern eyes, hiding a sensitive and caring man with the intuition of a cop many years ahead of his time.
"Well, they'd always meet Sundays for lunch downtown at the ice cream place…"
As Morrison stumbled over his own words, Mike could hear his rapid breaths all the way across the desk.
"That's not what I was asking…", Steve retorted instantly, putting his hands on the cluttered desk to lean closer toward the man, his red tie touching the picture frame containing Amy's photo, "When was the last time you saw Rory?"
"Well…eh…", kneading the fabric of his plaid shirt tucked into his dirty blue jeans, Morrison let out a few deep sighs before continuing, "I'd say that…that would have to be on ehm…Tuesday…ten days ago."