It was getting late. Mack had to get home soon enough.
They had asked him to look up more on the small bottle they had given him, which was still inside the ziplock that frequently hounded his table. It didn't make sense at first - why would the killer have that useless thing inside? What was the purpose, really?
But then, it clicked. A simple snap in his head. Of course.
He analyzed it, looked for pictures and took measurements - everything that he could to identify the object. It was a small bottle, obviously. But what was it for? Why was it there, what would it hold?
His first thought was poison, but he discarded that. There were no traces, no scents, nothing. So he searched deeper, did a little digging and noticed the lightest traces of whatever-the-hell-it-was on the surface. The American put on his gloves and touched it, attempted to scratch it off, even.
And indeed, it scratched off. He realized what it was - paper.
Freaking paper.
It all made sense.
"A. I'm going back home for the night."
"That's fine. Did you find out what it was?"
"Of course I did. Could have taken me ten minutes, but I only got it now."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"It's a fucking medicine bottle."
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