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I stepped over to a convenient corner and flipped through my notebook. It was all there, I just had to make sense of it all. Who had motive? Who had means? Was I going to get paid on time? All the important questions that go into being a gumshoe.
I tapped a few places and listened to the pen play back the interviews. Then a few more. Something was just on the tip of my brain, but I couldn't get it. I tapped and listened once more to a particluar place.
Then, I had it! These looneys thought they were clever, but clever doesn't buy the milk. I turned to Zippy and said, "Get them all back here, kiddo. I've got a denoument to present."
Zippy went back to the Red Button and gave it a smack. The walls did their unfolding and re-folding bit and all the Moderators were once again sitting in the same spot. Except for Netseeker, of course, who was busy typing up his confessions in a corner.
I tossed around a few ways fo getting things going and decided the classic approach is always calssic for a reason.
"I suppose you wonder why I've called you all here..." I started. Then came a chorus of interruptions that made me think I was in a town hall meeting with a bunch of Teabaggers.
"To tell us who the killer is, duh!"
"Could you hold on to this electric cord for a moment?"
"A denoument is the end stage of a story in which all is revealed. Classically it starts with the phrase, 'I suppose you wonder why I called you all here,' or a variant thereof (citation needed.)"
"I think we should let the man speak, don't you?"
"Who swiped my spray can?"
"God, I could use a nap!"
"Did anyone see my spleen go bouncing by?"
"I think that you shall find that the alleged perpetrator was, indeed one of us, but your mere guesses will fall far short."
"Anyone want to buy a T-shirt with 'Lobster Rocks!' on it?"
"String! String! Gimme the string!"
"I did it. Here is my confession, neatly typewritten in single space on twelve pages, done with my usual teutonic efficiency."
"QUIET!" I screamed. This bunch had finally gotten on my last nerve and I didn't see that I had any replacements coming in tomorrow's mail. They all stopped babbling and looked at me.
"Didn't need to shout," muttered Nekokami.
I glared at her and she shut up. "Now, before I begin, would anyone care to confess? No, not you, Netseeker."
Apparently no one cared to do so. Not surprising. Crooks always think they're getting away with it right up to the point where the nice fellows with the blue shirts slap on the cuffs.
"Okay, we'll do it the hard way, then. First, you have the murder. Straightforward enough, the stiff is just lying there. Easy enough to observe, even for intellectually challenged PI's
"Second, you have the murder weapon lying next to the stiff, but it's clean. I had some trouble with that until I found out that there are temporal fluxes here. No problem then. Our chronic insomniac and helpful room cleaner stumbled across it when she was sleep walking and out of temporal synch. That explains the lack of blood on the crow bar.
"Third, why was there a crow bar in the room to begin with? Well, we have to look to the stiff for the answer there. He was the type who like having the new toys, but felt that he should get them free. He was prying the case off the wall to snitch one when the murderer caught him.
"Fourth, there is the electric blue string that's lying all around. Settle down, Verencat!) That had me going for a while, but then I found out about The String Theory. And a bunch of other Theories. Just a red herring.
Fifth, there was the fact that all of you were here, but no one saw the murder happen. How could I explain that? Were you all in it together?"
I looked around at the motley crew of moderators and paused for effect
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