The mayor smiled at Sheriff Sam as he greeted him. It was not a pleasant smile. It was more a slight movement of the lips, the kind of condescending and arrogant facial movement meant to mimic a smile that the wealthy tended to employ when they were forced to greet or acknowledge someone they considered to be below their social status or level. He motioned for him to enter his office. Sheriff Sam had a fleeting moment where he felt like a fly landing in a spider's web as he crossed the threshold into the mayor's domain.

"What brings you to my office, Sheriff? I hope you have some answers to that awful debacle up at the grey house."

Mayor Goodrich sat back in the executive, high-back, leather chair that flanked his enormous desk. The timber was polished to near glass like levels. He did not motion for the sheriff to have a seat, but he moved the visitors chair and sat down regardless. Sheriff Sam was acutely aware that that sort of lack of courtesy was a direct power-play, the mayor wanting to subtly assert his dominance over him. He suspected that he would have his secretary wipe down every surface he touched after he left to erase his presence from his domain. Sheriff Sam looked around the opulent office, allowing the mayor to simmer for a minute - two could play this game. The office was large, with a lounge area off to one side, rich, oxblood chesterfield couches flanking a luxurious cream rug with an imposing, timber bookcases overlooking it. The remaining walls were clad with dark timber, a huge portrait of Mayor Goodrich dominating a central position, leering over the office. The mayor's large desk dominated the other side of the office, strategically placed in front of the large bay windows that overlooked a good portion of the town. Everything about the office alluded to the mayor's higher rank and social standing, oozing power and dominance like the gelatinous gloop that had pooled on the gurney below that decaying, severed neck.

"Mayor Goodrich," Sheriff Sam looked the mayor in the eye as he spoke. "I don't have much to go on yet, but I am following all leads. Which is why I am here. Mayor... Please can you confirm your whereabouts two weeks ago, Wednesday, around 1:00am"

Mayor Goodrich stared at the sheriff, any last vestiges of cordiality draining from his features. "What is this about? Why would it matter where I was? Most likely at home with my wife at that hour of the morning!"

"Mayor Goodrich, I have a witness that places your vehicle at the grey house. I'm obligated to follow every lead," Sheriff Sam responded casually, keeping eye contact with the mayor, seemingly unperplexed by his immediately defensive reaction.

The mayor stared at the sheriff for a long moment before pulling out his diary in a show of cooperation. The defensive hostility of his movements belying his true feelings to being questioned. He flipped through the pages aggressively, threatening to tear them from the spine, before spinning the book around and shoving it in the sheriff's direction.

"As you can see, I was at a fundraiser that night. For the upcoming renovations to the children's wing of the hospital. It ended well after midnight. I wouldn't have made it back to Credence by then," he huffed in indignation.

Sheriff Sam studied the page. Sure enough, he was at the fundraiser in Maitland, or at least had it pencilled into his diary. But there were two other notes and appointments that really caught the sheriff's interest. A trip to the mechanic the previous day. And an obscure note for a meeting at midnight with someone stencilled in only as 'SR' and the description 'payload'. In Sheriff Sam's experience, obscure meetings in the middle of the night never led to anything good, and even more so when names were shortened to initials with ominous details like 'payload' following. It didn't take much to jump to the conclusion that something was happening that probably fell on the wrong side of the law, and Sheriff Sam wanted to know what.

"Do you mind if I take a picture for my records?" Sheriff Sam enquired, already in the process of holding his phone above the page and taking the shot, not allowing the mayor a chance to decline or snatch the diary away. "What vehicle were you driving that night, Mayor Goodrich?"

Sheriff Sam could see the subtle red creeping up the mayor's neck from below his collar, discoloring his cheeks, as he battled to tamp down his anger. Some part of Sheriff Sam was really enjoying getting under the man's skin. It's not that he didn't like or respect the mayor - he was a good mayor - but the sheriff had an inherent disdain for those who thought themselves better than anyone else. And the mayor purveyed hubris like a starving child purveyed desperation.

"We took the Oldsmobile 442. Why would that matter? We've already ascertained that I couldn't have been at the grey house," the mayor spat incredulously, rising from his chairs and assuming an aggressive stance, hands on hips, as the red that had subtly been creeping up his neck and discoloring his cheeks exploded across his face. "Do you really think I am a suspect?"

Sheriff Sam shifted in his chair and schooled his features, portraying a mask of innocent neutrality - he couldn't let the mayor see that he was actually enjoying putting him in his crosshairs. "Mayor Goodrich, I said your vehicle was seen, but I didn't say which vehicle. It was the Ford F250."

The mayor blanched, the red draining from his cheeks in an instant. He sat back heavily in his chair, all the fight and bluster draining as confusion flashed across his features. "That's not possible. The truck was at the mechanic nearly the whole week. I blew the head gasket. Rick had to order spares before he could get the repairs done. The part only arrived on Thursday."

Sheriff Sam considered everything that the mayor had said. Despite the mayor's general bravado throughout their meeting, he had seemed to be forthcoming albeit a little put-out that he could even be questioned in the first place, as if his title alone would recluse him from purview. Sheriff Sam had noted the appointment scheduled with the mechanic on Tuesday morning in the mayor's diary and it seemed likely that he didn't have his F250 that week, but he wondered if it was as inoperable as he seemed to indicate. Perhaps the vehicle had been at the grey house, sans the mayor. He would need to stop in at the mechanic and have a chat with Rick. And then there was the question of what the secretive midnight rendezvous could be about. Again, Sheriff Sam felt like he was coming up against dead ends, smothered in a side helping of secrets and lies.

He thanked the mayor for his time and left the building, walking the short distance to the mechanic's shop to follow up on what the mayor had said with regards to the F250. The mechanic, Rick, had earned himself a reputation as the best mechanic in Credence since moving to the small town nine years ago. His shop was always a bustling hive, full of vehicles of all make and model in various stages of disassembly, the air around the store thick with the smell of engine grease and car oil. Despite the chaos of cars and parts littering the repair bay, Rick kept a neat shop, the tools packed away into mobile toolboxes instead of littering the floor and the cans of coolant, grease and oil stored neatly on industrial shelves along the back wall.

"Sheriff, what can I help you with? Is the car ok?" Rick asked, looking up from below the hood of a truck as he walked into the shop.

"Rick, how are you? I was just hoping to ask you a few questions," the sheriff said casually as Rick looked around for a rag to wipe his hands on. "I just want to check when the mayor's truck came in and if it could still have been driven despite the blown gasket, and if it was here the whole time."

"Sure. The mayor brought his truck in on Tuesday and fetched it again on Friday morning. You can technically still drive some with a blown gasket, for a short distance at least, but it's something that you really shouldn't do - it'll mess up your engine faster than you can believe," Rick responded, equal parts confusion and interest warring their way across his face. "Far as I know, the vehicle was here the entire time, but I left early on Tuesday and didn't get in till mid-morning Wednesday - my sister fell and broke her ankle, so I went to Maitland to visit her and stayed the night. I keep the keys in a lockbox though and no one else has access to it."

Sheriff Sam pondered his conversation with Rick on the way back to his vehicle. It was possible that someone had gotten a hold of the keys when Rick wasn't looking and had taken the truck after Rick left on Tuesday and returned it early Wednesday. Security at the shop wasn't exactly tight - a common occurrence given that Credence had virtually no crime. Anyone who could jimmy a lock with a credit card would have been able to get in. It was also possible, and more probable, that Rick had taken the truck himself and was lying about his sister and their visit. Sheriff Sam rubbed his face with his hands as he walked. It seemed this whole town was landing up on his suspect list one person at a time and he wondered when it would end.