After rummaging through my closets for the last few days, I can safely say I don't own a single "Chuck."

Chapter 3

The wall of the interrogation room could definitely use a new coat of paint.

OK, I'm sure that's not a particularly interesting revelation. But it's what was going through my mind as I sat there, so I figured I was duty bound to mention it.

Besides, I didn't really know a whole lot about what was going on anyway.

Officers Wallace and Grimmeault had left me in here after we had arrived at the police station. That had been about fifteen minutes ago. I had seen enough cop shows on TV to figure that they were planning their approach, and were probably watching me through the one way mirror at the other end of the wall I was staring at.

Finally, I heard the rattle of keys from beyond the door, and in walked my two captors.

They sat down at the table in front of me, and watched me for a second. I watched back. Officer Grimmeault still looked as if he had been carved from stone. His black hair was receding, his close-set eyes were boring down on me, and his large hands looked like they were just waiting for the go-ahead to pound on to the person unfortunate enough to get in their way. All in all, he reminded me of a guy who'd recently worked at the Buy More.

Officer Wallace looked only slightly more friendly. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back, and her brown eyes studied me intently. Her fingers were drumming on the table impatiently. I wasn't sure why she was so impatient, since the ball was in their court.

Finally, the show started. "Why'd you do it, Morgan?" Grimmeault asked me, in a gruff, but not entirely unkind, way.

I looked back at the wall. I've done many things I'm not proud of, including some that involved Emmett Milbarge. But I couldn't imagine any of them would interest the police. At least nothing recent. "Do what?"

"I think you know what." His voice was slightly less unkind this time.

"No really, guys. I'd love to help you. But, uh, maybe you could clue me in first."

"You've been seen at the Burbank Buy More lately on several occasions." This came from Wallace.

"Ok, that's true. I was visiting."

"Visiting Emmett Milbarge?"

"No, I didn't particularly want to visit Emmett. We aren't exactly friends."

Grimmeault leaned forward slightly, and I could smell onions on his breath. "Oh, we remember that Morgan. No disagreement here."

"So, Morgan, where were you last night?" Wallace asked me.

"Last night? Why do you ask?"

"Just answer the question, Grimes. Last night, where were you?"

"Well, I...was home."

"Interesting. Anybody that can verify that?" Grimmeault asked.

"Well, there's my girlfriend."

"Ah yes, Anna Wu. We spoke to her earlier today. Nice girl. She said you stood her up for dinner last night."

"Well, that's right, I guess. I forgot."

"Call me crazy, but that seems hard to believe. I think if I were you, I'd be thanking my lucky stars I had a girlfriend at all, and would make extra sure to do everything she wanted."

He was right, of course, but I didn't feel much like agreeing with him.

"By the way, during our conversation, she mentioned that you know longer live at that apartment."

Ouch. I glared at Grimmeault, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Wallace was also giving him a look.

"She was putting all of your stuff into boxes when we talked. Nice doll collection, by the way. But we did convince her to give us these." Grimmeault slid several pieces of paper onto the table.

"Is that how you spend your spare time?"

I glanced at the scattered remains of my investigation wall. I noticed that everything had been scrambled such that they were now out of order. I chose not to complain about this.

"You obviously didn't take the death of your friend too well."

I looked up at her. "How would you feel? Suppose he," I gestured at Grimmeault, "got run over by a truck. Wouldn't you want to know exactly what happened?"

"Sure, but there's one difference between you and us," Grimmeault gestured at himself and Wallace. "We're cops. You are an electronics salesman. Or used to be."

Grimmeault paused for a moment, almost theatrically. I wondered if he'd taken drama in high school too.

"So your friend's death is eating you up inside." He gestured down at the pictures and clippings scattered on the table. "And who is there to blame? How about the guy that sent him on that call in the first place? The Assistant Manager, Emmett Milbarge?"

I don't know if I was more worried about what was going on, or relieved that they were finally getting to the point.

"That was his job."

"Oh sure, but he could have sent anybody out on that call. But he didn't. Because he liked to pick on you and your friend Chuck, didn't he? So who else is he going to send out there but your pal?"

Involuntarily, I clenched a fist with my hand. I didn't realize it until I saw both cops staring at it. I tried to relax.

"Well that's a bit silly, don't you think? I know that he didn't intend for anything to happen."

"That's very rational of you." Grimmeault paused again. He definitely watches cop shows on TV to develop his act. "But, I seem to recall how we first met. You weren't all that rational then, were you?"

As he hunched over the table looking at me, I wondered if he expected me to confess or applaud. I glanced over at Officer Wallace. She looked as if she had seen a few too many command performances as well.

Grimmeault turned to Wallace. "Do you remember that day, Officer Wallace? You and I were called to a disturbance at the Burbank Buy More. It's a bit of a blur, but I seem to remember that day. We had to pull one little geeky-looking guy off of another geeky-looking guy. What a mess." Grimmeault let out a wheezy laugh. "I imagine it's what one of those Star Wars/Star Trek Dustups at those comic book conventions looks like."

"Well anyway, the manager at the store convinces the victim, a Emmett Milbarge, not to press charges. So that's that. Our work is done. But then, Wallace, do you remember? The one little geeky guy says to the other, 'I'll kill you!'"

Grimmeault turned to look back at me. "And now Emmett Milbarge is dead. Funny that!"

Things didn't go a whole lot better after that. Grimmeault explained that the murderer had hit Emmett on the back of the head last night at the pier. He then went on to inform me that I was that murderer.

Fortunately, I had two things going for me. One, outside of that past altercation Grimmeault so kindly brought up, and my lack of an alibi, there didn't seem to be any real evidence against me.

Two, I knew I hadn't done it. Neither Grimmeault nor Wallace seemed to be particularly swayed by that argument, however.

So, after a warning of "Don't leave town," I was free to go. Neither officer offered to give me a ride home, of course. That meant I had to call for help.

"Hello?" came the answer after I had dialed the number.

"Hey Lester."

"Dude, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you! You won't believe what's happened!"

"You mean Emmitt?"

"So you know."

"Yeah, the, uh, police told me."

"Oh. Yeah, about that. A couple of cops came to the Buy More today, asking around. I didn't say anything, I swear!"

"Don't worry about that. I'm at the station now, and I kind of need a ride."

"Uh, sure buddy. I can take you home."

"Oh yeah, I need another favor. It looks like Anna's kicked me out, and I need a place to crash."

There was a pause. "Oh, ok. Um, I'm sorry to hear about that and all, uh…"

"Dude, I didn't kill Emmitt. And I'm not going to kill you either. I just need a place to crash while I figure things out."

I heard a sigh on the line. "Alright, but you owe me."

Lester's apartment was small and smelled like old cheese, and his couch felt like it was stuffed with Lego bricks. Still, I didn't have a lot of options. After we had arrived, Lester had said something about a long day, and headed off to his bedroom. After the door closed, I thought I heard the sound of furniture being shoved against it.

I suppose I haven't really earned anybody's trust, given the way I've acted the last few months. Still, it hurt a bit that Lester and the cops were leaping to the same conclusion so quickly.

About a month after Chuck's death, Big Mike began to relinquish more control to Emmitt. He told me his heart wasn't in managing the store anymore. Apparently, Chuck had meant a lot to him as well.

Emmett used his added power to control the store like a petty dictator desperate for someone to go to war with. He would take every action as a personal slight, and eventually began acting out in anticipation of perceived slights. It was hell, and it wore on everyone's nerves. One day, after sending one of the Nerd Herders out on a call, he announced to everyone how much better things were running now that "Fools like Chuck Bartowski were no longer standing in the way of progress."

What can I say? I snapped.

That was my first meeting of Officers Grimmeault and Wallace. Of course, Emmett wanted to press charges. Big Mike, still technically the manager, was able to convince Emmitt not to, but he had no choice but to let me go. I didn't argue.

A few days later, Big Mike left the store, and Emmett officially became the manager.

Until somebody killed him. Now there were two mysterious deaths surrounding me. It could be a coincidence, I suppose, but it doesn't feel like one. I didn't particularly care who killed Emmitt, unless it was someone involved with Chuck's death. If it was, that person would probably only be too happy to see me go down for it.

Things are getting far too complicated. But there's no way I'm giving up.