I wished for chains that would keep me from getting up, but lay there unshackled. I used will power instead. I lay there thinking about the case that was getting the best of me. Friday night I felt that we had a minimum number of suspects, but no way to determine which one was guilty. By Saturday night I had progressed to the place where I had lots of suspects and no way to determine which one was guilty. That wasn’t the type of progress I wanted to make. Why had I never gotten a case where the victim had been riddled with bullet holes while the culprit stood over the victim with a smoking gun in his hand? Not only do my murderers seem to like poison, but just as soon as I eliminate some of the suspects because they weren’t at the scene, I get someone who decides to experiment with a slow-acting poison, which builds my suspect list to anyone who had ever met the victim. Worse than that, God torments me by showing me all kinds of footprints and tire tracks to show that someone was somewhere, but neither he nor she could have been where they needed to be at the right time for me to solve the case quickly.
