B22 – THE PERSONAL DIARY OF DETECTIVE PETERSON, LEAD INVESTIGATOR OF THE FAZBEAR MURDERS

"I got one too, Jane." [Eddie sounds panicked, frantic.] "What does it mean? What's he trying to pull?"

"I don't know." [Jane stares at the two pieces of paper and their sinister crayon scrawlings, trying to decipher the meaning. One was sent to her, the other to Eddie, and neither has a return address.] "He's taunting us. Whoever it is, he's playing with our emotions, trying to get a rise out of us. Distracting us from working on the case."

"Well, killers often do things like this. They like to feel powerful, toy with the police so they get to feel like they're outsmarting us. Hell, this sick fuck probably gets off on it." [Eddie seems to collect himself and calm down.] "I already had someone dust it for prints. No luck – he must have worn gloves. I've got someone else looking for fabric fibers and dust particles. Pollen, even, or sweat. We might track down the sender yet."

"But he could have sent it through a proxy, or coerced some poor old lady to drop it in the mail for him. And then we'd be stuck again." [Jane sighs and puts the threatening letters aside.] "I want this guy dead, Eddie."

"You and me both. Who are we interviewing today?"

"I'm doing something different this time. I'm bringing three of our four most likely suspects in at once."

[Eddie gapes at her.] "Are we allowed to do that?"

"Now we are." [Jane sighs heavily.] "And this is going to be a tough interview, Eddie. Look at those old files I dug up – you'll see what I mean."

[He looks at the file, and then moans.] "Oh, no. What the hell do you think he's hiding?"

"Whatever it is, it's something bad, so let's get it over with." [Peterson rises, tucking a clipboard under her arm.] "Ready for round two, Eddie?"

[Eddie shakes his head bitterly as he follows her.] "This won't be fun, Detective."

"I know. But if things go as planned, I think we're about to crack this case wide open."

A36 – THE GROUP INTERROGATION OF SUSPECTS ONE, TWO AND FOUR IN THE FAZBEAR MURDERS

[Antonio Benedicto, Jason Quincey and Karl Borsovich sit at a circular table, staring warily at each other. Antonio looks visibly disheveled, wearing an old grey sweatshirt and a blue baseball cap; but he is nursing a mug of black coffee and looks more awake than before. Jason Quincey wears a confusing mishmash of branded clothing, with chains on his wrists and a wary smile on his face; but his darting eyes betray his anxiety, and he keeps glancing nervously at the door. The detectives forcibly took Karl's cigarettes away, so he is grumpily fiddling with his sleeve and drumming his fingers on the table, distracting his hands from the urge to reach for a smoke; he doesn't seem to know why he's here, and obviously has no desire to stay long.]

[The door of the interrogation room opens, and Jason Quincey coughs nervously into his sleeve as Jane Peterson and Eduardo Reyes enter and sit down facing their suspects. Jane is the first to speak, surveying them all calmly.]

"Do you know why I've brought you all in today?"

[Antonio speaks, warily.] "I've told you everything, Detective. What else do you want?"

"I want the truth, Antonio. In fact, that's what I want from all of you." [She looks at them calmly.] "I brought the three of you in today, out of everyone else we've interviewed, because you three are all hiding one last thing from me."

[Karl and Antonio don't react, but Jason goes visibly pale. Jane calmly opens a folder and shows them the contents.]

"The animatronics were purchased from a company in Ohio, is that right, Quincey?"

"Yes, that's right." [He clears his throat nervously.] "The company paid for them, but I had to cover the shipping. It was part of the franchising deal."

"Did you notice the missing serial numbers?"

"No…" [He shifts in his chair, swallowing.] "I didn't think anything of it. I figured they were just old, and used."

"Did you also notice how inexpensive they were?"

"So what? They were old robots. The company was probably glad to be rid of them."

"It certainly seems that way, because the company documents show that Fazbear Entertainment bought them for less than five dollars."

"Each?"

"Total."

[His eyes dart frantically towards the door again.] "I don't know what you're implying, Detective, but –"

"Why were they so inexpensive, and so suspiciously scrubbed of their serial numbers and model numbers? Do you want me to tell you, or would you like to inform us instead?"

[He sighs, giving in.] "Okay. Fine. I knew they were fishy when they arrived, but the company reassured me they were just lightly used. I figured it wasn't a big deal, that they just needed minor repairs."

"So you called a mechanic." [Jane looks at Karl.] "Didn't you?"

[Karl closes his eyes, and the heaviness in his voice says it all.] "He called me."

"You lied in an interrogation. Twice."

"I had to. What was I supposed to say? You already figured out I knew how to open the robots. What, reminding me of my fucking dead daughter wasn't enough, you had to scare me into thinking I would be deported if I said anything else?" [He gropes desperately in his pocket for his missing cigarettes.] "I need a goddamn smoke. Please, Detective, I just need one."

"Tell me about the robots, and you can have your cigarette." [Peterson waves the box in front of him, and he makes a grab for it; she holds it away.] "Talk. What day did you come in to look at them?"

"January 4th. It was snowing, I think. Had to brush off my car before I left."

"It was the day after I bought them." [Jason tacks this on hastily.] "I wanted him to inspect them. See if anything was weird."

"What did you find?" [Peterson stares at Karl, hawklike.] "Describe in detail."

"There was nothing in them. Nothing strange. But they had a little more space inside them than usual, like their machinery had been stretched out. I'd never seen it before."

"Did you wonder why that was?" [Eddie speaks for the first time.] "Why they looked that way?"

"I did, but I didn't ask." [Karl sighs.] "There, you have the truth now. Are you satisfied with yourselves?"

"Maybe not the whole truth." [Peterson leans forward, looking him right in the eyes.] "Be honest with me, Borsovich. Did you really find nothing in those robots?"

"Nothing." [He looks steadily back at her.] "I swear to you, Inspector. I scoured those robots, looking for something to pin on the restaurant that had taken my daughter from me. But I didn't find anything. I promise you that."

"Had you found something, would you have taken it straight to the police?"

"Obviously."

[Peterson nods, but still holds back his cigarettes. Now she looks at Jason, who is shaking in his chair.] "Now you tell me, Jason Quincey. Why didn't Karl find anything?"

[Jason looks on the verge of a panic attack; he is sweating and twitching, staring longingly at the door.] "Please don't."

"I know you found something, Jason. You must have, if the files from the old restaurants are any indication. If you don't talk, we will, and that won't end well for you. You're already going to jail for obstruction of justice – don't make me jail you for being an accomplice to murder."

"I –" [He squeezes his eyes tightly shut.] "When the robots first came in, I found it right away. I took it out and hid it in my wall safe before Karl came in, so he wouldn't find it."

[Borsovich stares at him blankly; clearly he wasn't aware of this.] "Hid what?"

"You motherfucker." [Antonio looks scandalized.] "What are you hiding, you fucking snake? What was in there?"

"I didn't want to tell you! I didn't want to tell anyone. You have to understand –"

"TALK!" [Peterson's angry roar makes all of them jump, and Jason nearly falls out of his chair in fright.] "Or I'll sit here and just add years and years to your sentence. I've already got a couple right here. Want me to put down a few more?"

"I – I found a shoe." [With badly shaking hands, he takes his cell phone out of his pocket, flicks to a picture, and shows them. It is a child's small tennis shoe, stained with dirt and grease.] "It was worked down into Foxy's machinery. I had to pry it out with a wrench."

[Borsovich looks at the shoe. And then he utters an agonized sound, a pained half-scream. Peterson's lip quivers, watching as the mechanic buries his face in his hands and sobs. The room is dead silent. They all know whose shoe it is.]

[Finally, wordlessly, Peterson takes a cigarette out of the box and hands it to Borsovich; he takes it in violently shaking hands and lights it, taking a draw. No one speaks as he smokes and cries quietly.]

[It's a long moment before Eddie finally breaks the silence.] "We're putting you away for a very long time, Jason Quincey. I hope you know that."

"I know." [He closes his eyes.] "But I didn't kill them. I just wanted the restaurant to succeed, I didn't want it to close and disappoint my parents. You have to believe me – I didn't kill them. I didn't kill her, Karl."

"Tell it to the judge, Quincey." [Peterson nods at the one-way window, and the door opens to admit two police officers, who snap handcuffs onto Quincey's wrists.] "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"I didn't do it! Please!" [He shouts and struggles as they lead him out and slam the door. Antonio looks sadly at Karl, whose face is still buried in his hands as he weeps silently. Eddie looks worriedly at Peterson, who sighs and speaks softly, trying to comfort the grief-stricken man.]

"I didn't know it would be hers, Karl. I knew there was something, but I didn't know it would be that."

"So there were more." [Antonio looks at Peterson uncertainly.] "There were more, a long time ago, and they were hidden in the robots. Just like now."

"Yes, I think so. I think this is the work of a long-term serial killer who stalks Fazbear restaurants, with a very specific modus operandi. We're narrowing in on him, but we still don't have all the information we need." [Peterson studies Antonio with sudden focus.] "Which brings us to you, Antonio. You're the last one I need something out of."

"What do you need? I swear, I told you everything. I didn't know about the shoe, or any of it."

"You did know about one thing, though." [Peterson stares at him.] "I used to wonder why you chose to go back to the place that had hurt you. Something about your explanation just didn't add up to me. So I did a little more digging, and you know what I found?" [She opens a file.] "I found your therapist's recommendation to work there. She thought it would help overcome your trauma, to realize that the restaurant was a safe place."

"It was hardly safe." [Antonio barks out a laugh.] "But she did think it might help. On the contrary. It made it so much worse. I wish I'd never signed that damn contract."

"When did you start seeing this therapist?"

"A couple years ago. I don't remember when exactly. My uncle recommended her to me."

"Has she been helpful to you?"

"Not really, but she tries hard. I'm a tough case." [He chuckles wearily.] "Bit of a broken toy, I suppose."

[As they speak, Karl quietly gets up and leaves the room, flicking his cigarette into the garbage. No one says a word; there seems to be an unspoken agreement between them all to let him have his time.]

"What have you been diagnosed with, officially?"

[Antonio eyes Peterson warily.] "You're not going to drill me like that other interrogator, are you?"

"No. I won't use this information against you."

"PTSD." [He looks at the floor.] "Chronic insomnia, comorbid. Nightmares. A whole lot of disturbed sleep, basically. And bipolar. That's what most of the meds are for. But I've never hurt anyone, and I mostly only hallucinate at night. I don't hurt people, Detective."

"Were you abused as a child?"

"Yes." [He seems to have difficulty saying this.] "Frequently."

"Did that contribute to your PTSD?"

"Next question."

"Have you really never fallen asleep on the job?"

"Never." [He says it stubbornly.] "I'll admit I was late to work sometimes because I slept in, and Quincey let me hear about it. But I didn't hallucinate or sleep on the job. I swear it."

"I believe you." [Peterson closes the file.] "Thank you for being honest with me, Antonio. You're free to go."

"Really?" [He looks surprised, relieved.] "You won't arrest me?"

"You're innocent. You've told us what you know, even if you concealed a few things here and there. As far as we're concerned, you're no longer under suspicion. Just try to stay away from pizzerias from now on, okay?"

"Thank you, Detective." [He shakes her hand earnestly.] "If you need anything else, if you want to ask any more questions – you just call, okay? Call me, and I'll talk. Honestly."

"I'll keep you in mind, Antonio." [They watch him leave the room.]

[Only now does Eddie finally speak again; he spent most of the interrogation studying his suspects, trying to read what they're thinking.] "Do you really think he's innocent?"

"He's not our man. I'm sure of it." [Peterson gathers her things.] "Come on, Eddie, we're going for a drive."

"Where are we going?"

"The place this all began." [She leaves, and Eddie follows her, but the tape catches her last, solemn words.] "Someplace the world wanted to forget."

F1 – THE PERSONAL DIARY OF DETECTIVE REYES, ASSISTANT INVESTIGATOR OF THE FAZBEAR MURDERS

[Eddie seems to be recording this from his house. He places the camera on his desk, and as he adjusts the focus we note the newspaper clippings and papers strewn over his desk; clearly he's been focusing all his energy on deciphering this case and tracking down leads. He looks at the camera to make sure it's watching, then nods.]

"Okay. Look at this."

[He shows the camera a manila envelope, just like the one he and Peterson received last time. He slits it open and takes out the construction paper inside, green this time, with blue crayon scrawled across it.]

[This one is much more straightforward.]

CAN YOU SEE HER?

[He sighs.] "I'm starting to wonder if this guy isn't even our perp. It might just be some random prankster taking advantage of the situation. I'm almost positive –" [As he speaks he sets down the paper, and then does a double-take, seeing the photograph taped to the back.]

[He slowly lifts up the photo and stares at it; the camera is not angled to see what it is. He takes a slow breath.]

"I'm going to kill whoever did this." [He sets the photo down and stares defiantly at the camera.] "No more games. No more tricks. He's dead, and I'll kill him. For Borsovich and his little girl, the kids, the families, everyone."

[He wavers, then sighs and buries his face in his hands. Behind him, the door to his office edges open, and a small voice speaks.]

"Papa?"

"Hi, sweetheart!" [He sits up at once, fumbling to cover the photograph with his other papers.] "Do you need something?"

"I turned on the TV." [Her lip quivers.] "It's scary."

"Oh, honey, I told you not to do that." [He lifts her into his lap.] "Don't worry, sweetie, no one's going to do anything bad to you. Daddy won't let them. I'm working to find the person who did it right now." [He looks at the camera fiercely, as though daring this killer to try anything against his children.] "I'll find him if it's the last thing I do."