Chemist v. Chief of Police

There's been a murder reported, announces the Chief of Police.

The Chemist fidgets with a daisy he's set in the button hole of his lapel. He plucks the daisy's petals one by one.

Have you been party to anything out of the ordinary? the Chief asks. Over the past few days?

The Chemist shakes his head. He takes the daisy from his lapel, rips it into shreds and lets it fall.

No, huh? says the Chief.

No, says the Chemist.

Damn, he spits. I'm not having much luck with this case. Especially with the deputy's time taken up organizing a militia to guard the silos at the grain coop. Nothing's breaking.

The Chemist asks if anyone's given a description of the murderer.

The Chief describes the suspect thusly: A drifter. Tall, lanky, filthy. Patchy beard, slope-shouldered, insolent regard of outsiders. Autodidact, crafty, aloof.

Pepple, in earshot of the above description, quits his work, gently drops his shovel and slinks back to the hideous shanty.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.