It was the evening after I had murdered Jonathan. I had told no one. There was a knock at the door.
“Good evening, Wallace,” stated the tall man before me.
“Oh, hello, Riley,” I responded, surprised to see him, “Do come in sir, do come in.” He stood in the center of the room uncomfortably.
“Care for a cup of tea?” I asked.
Riley hesitated, “Yes, please.”
It was unnerving to see my friend act this way. Awaiting the tea to brew, I initiated conversation.
“What brings you at this hour, Riley?”
“I needed to speak to you,” his voice was clipped.
As I brought Riley’s tea it looked like he was about to speak again when he was interupted by a loud banging on the door.
“Open up!” called a gruff voice. A policeman stepped inside, eyes flicking to Riley, then back to me.
“Wallace Marvel, you are under arrest for the murder of a Mr. Jonathan Buchta.”
I had been waiting for this. The officer made a show of cuffing me slowly. Riley’s eyes were cold and steely as he cleared his throat.
“I murdered Jonathan.”