Madison Manhunt

Malcom Emerson has been sitting at the metal desk for what feels like an entire year, but in reality it's only been a matter of hours. Having to explain his whereabouts has grown tedious, so now he sits there, ignoring the officers who are speaking to him.

He knows that it's pointless to try and speak. The police have deemed him the suspect and just like a dog with a bone, they refuse to let go.

"Mr. Emerson, what can you tell me about this?"

Forgetting about the handcuffs, which were placed after Malcolm became irritated and in a spout of irritation shoved the paperwork to the floor, he tries to reach out for whatever it is the officer is talking about. The handcuffs rattling reminds him and mentally, he chews himself out.

If only he had kept himself calm he wouldn't be wearing the handcuffs and deemed unstable by the officers.

The officer conducting the interview sets something down on the table in front of him and after a moment of staring, he sees it.

In front of him, inside a clear evidence bag is a small black notebook that he found three weeks ago, within an envelope sitting on his front porch.

"It's a notebook," said Malcolm.

"Do you recognize it?"

Malcolm does recognize it and upon seeing it, his stomach turned inside out. It's as clear as day, the notebook belonged to his father. The ends of the pages have begun to turn yellow. He can see where his father pressed too hard with his pen and left indents of what he was writing. Instead of saying he has seen it before, Malcolm gives a firm, "No, I don't."

Adjusting his position, Malcolm makes direct eye contact with the officer.

"Why are you showing me this," asked Malcom.

"It's very funny that you say that, Mr. Emerson. You and I both know that's not the truth, but I'll play your game. Would you like to know where we found it?"

Without answering, the officer spoke.

"We found it inside your home when we brought you in for questioning."

The metal door's hinges screech as the door swings shut. Malcolm watches as a second officer pulls out a chair, scraping it against the floor and sitting down across from him.

"Now that you know that we're aware of this book belonging to your father and that we found it in your possession, will you cooperate with us and explain to us why your father wrote this?"

The man sitting in front of Malcolm is the detective who knocked on his front door this morning. He introduced himself and without making any form of friendly conversation, asked if Malcolm would be willing to come down to the station for a few questions. When the questioning began and they asked Malcolm if he wanted an attorney, he declined. The only attorney he trusted, his father's best friend, left the states a week ago and it would take days for him to arrive back. He'd rather get this done sooner rather than later.

Detective O'Neil searches through the folder he carried into the room and pulls out a single photograph for Malcolm to look at.

The photograph is of his father's notebook and a single line of text from it has been highlighted in yellow ink.

Over the years, Malcolm's father burned through notebooks, jotting down every single piece of information, but this one in question is one he's never seen. It was quite the surprise when he opened up the envelope and pulled the book out.

At first, Malcolm didn't believe that it actually belonged to his father, but after thoroughly examining it, he does.

"Mr. Emerson."

Detective O'Neil watches Malcolm, expecting some response or change in body language, but Malcolm rarely moved a muscle. His father was murdered in cold blood and Malcolm had no way to escape their questions. After all, he was a likely suspect.

"I have no clue why he wrote that down,” said Malcolm.

He knows that he's not helping himself, but unless they charge him with something, they can't keep him here for long. It's just the matter of time before they either have to let him leave or charge him. And based on the lack of evidence, Malcolm knows it's only a matter of time.

"Mr. Emerson, now is the time to stop playing these games," Officer Perry said, trying to bite his tongue.

From behind Officer Perry and Detective O'Neil, comes a sharp tap on the glass.

"Get comfortable, Mr. Emerson," said Detective O'Neil.

After gathering everything, O'Neil leaves Malcolm alone in the interrogation room. He has no doubt that they're watching him from the other side of the one way glass.

If someone had told Malcolm last week that he would be sitting inside a police station, handcuffed to the table, he'd probably chalk it up to being nonsense.

"Either charge me with something or let me leave," Malcolm says directly to the camera.

After a few minutes, he can hear movement from out in the hallway and the door opens.

Another officer, one who Malcolm doesn't recognize walks into the room. The door squeals once again as it shuts behind him.

"You're free to go, Mr. Emerson, but stay in the area."

Free from the handcuffs, Malcolm rubs his wrist and exits the police station. He can feel the glares coming from Detective O'Neil and Officer Perry in the back of his head.

It's been two weeks since Malcolm stepped foot outside the police station. Two weeks since his life spiraled into madness.

Silently, he thanks the skies for the downpour and tightens the hood of his jacket. The rain has made him less suspicious to any potential police officer or concerned citizen he crosses paths with, but in order to avoid further suspicion Malcolm keeps his head raised, and his gaze locked on the world in front of him. He hopes that this will make anyone potentially watching the cameras he passes not give him a second thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm sees something from across the street that causes him to stop dead in his tracks.

Across the street plastered all over the news stand are pictures of his face. His heart drops upon reading that there's a reward up in regards to information leading to his arrest and that the reward's been increased from $5,000 to $10,000 thousand. Malcolm knows deep down that the wanted poster is plastered over every news station, billboard, and wall. He keeps walking in the same direction he was going, but after seeing a cop car pass slowly drive past him, he ducks down a crowded alleyway.

The words echo in his head as he tries to keep his composure.

First Degree Murder.

Malcolm thinks back to the envelope. That's what started all of this.

For a second, Malcolm forgets all about the envelope he has hidden inside his jacket, but the burning sensation against his side reminds him of it. The same morning that he decided to go on the run Malcolm opened his front door to another envelope.

Another photograph was inside and along with it, was a large sum of cash. Malcolm was in horror upon counting all of it and seeing the note that had settled in the bottom of the envelope.

"Here’s $20,000 for you to come after me. I look forward to the chase.-LT."

Malcolm retreats back into his hotel room, looking around at his surroundings before shutting the door. Moments later, he’s at the window, looking around for any police officers who followed him or any concerned citizens pointing in his direction.

Ever since Malcolm made the decision to go on the run, he hasn’t stayed in the same place for more than a single night and until yesterday, has only traveled in the dead of night.

Yesterday was a mistake. I could've gotten caught.

Backing away from the window, Malcolm lays down on the cheap hotel room bed and stares at the ceiling.

I had no choice. I had to get out of there. The police were hanging around.

Malcolm lays down on the bed and turns over on his side, eyes locking with his backpack.

I might've led them here. I need to rest for a few hours and take off once it's dark.

Malcolm wasn't sure what to expect when he first opened the envelope. The sight of the money caught him off guard and it took him a few days to look back inside. His stomach churned upon seeing it and despite every ounce of his body screaming to get rid of it, he kept it.

Unfolding the photograph, Malcolm stares in disbelief. Whoever is framing him for the murder of his father took a photograph of the autopsy report, and mailed it to him.

The thing that caught his attention was what the corner wrote down.

“Extracted from the victim’s mouth was a large clump of hair. Further examination is needed to determine whether or not it belongs to the victim.”

When Malcolm first saw it, he didn’t notice the writing on the back of the photograph.

Written in black ink are the letters: LT

Malcolm crumbles the photograph in flusteration and sits there, stewing in his emotions.

Needing a distraction from his thoughts, Malcolm turns on the dust covered tv and flips through the channels, till he’s caught in his tracks by one and has to change it back.

"Police in Madison, Wisconsin held yet another press conference in regards to the capture of this man, Malcolm Emerson. Emerson is being charged with First Degree Murder. Police say that they have connected Emerson to the scene of the crime using DNA evidence. The reward has been increased from $10,000 to $15,000 for any information leading to Emerson's arrest. Police also said that if you come across Emerson to remain cautious, as there's a chance he is armed."

Malcolm’s photograph, the same one used on the posters, is plastered on the television screen as the news report talks.

Malcolm’s entire body now feels heavy and he’s unable to move. For a second, he doesn’t register the sound of footsteps from outside his hotel room. Malcolm's head snaps over when he hears a sudden sharp knock on the door.

Every single part of his body is on edge, like an animal that knows a predator is near.

"This is the police! Come out with your hands up! Malcolm, we have you surrounded!"

"The FBI says to be on the lookout for this man, Malcolm Emerson. One week ago police in Madison, Wisconsin found Emerson hiding out in this hotel, but despite heavy police presence Emerson was able to evade capture. Malcolm Emerson is wanted for the First Degree Murder of his father Gavin Emerson. According to police, Emerson's body was found in his home two months ago and after a series of tests, it was determined that the DNA recovered from the scene belongs to Malcolm Emerson. Emerson is considered armed and dangerous. The question on everyone's minds is how exactly Emerson was able to evade police custody."

Malcolm drums his fingers against the table, staring at the photograph of his father and several coworkers. The one standing right beside his father has always stood out, but Malcolm can't recall who he is. Looking back at the photograph of the autopsy report, Malcolm has a thought.

No, it's possible.

Turning his attention back to the list of his father's known associates, Malcolm notices one name that stands out.

Lieutenant Kevin O'Neil.

Where have I heard that name before?

"Detective O'Neil! How did Emerson escape custody? Was the building not fully surrounded?"

O'Neil.

LT.

Malcolm sits in his chair, thinking back to the interrogation and his father's words.

"Someday, Malcolm, I'll be killed for the secrets that I possess."