The Sergeant's deadline is tonight. An offer to get in contact with people you know, yet also a threat. Given how fed up he was, it's unlikely he's joking about the kind of cruelty he's willing to go through for the sake of getting what he wants.
That's why it may not be so surprising that, early in Friday morning, there's this air of tension, despite the bright sun in the sky. It doesn't help that a firetruck and a couple patrolcars race through the streets, passing in front of the motel and going west. The reason why is clear after a single glance:
There's a thick column of black smoke emanating from somewhere inside the Junkyard.
[he just scowls for a moment, before turning away and leaving, wrapping his arms around his stomach. this was a bit too much. he needs to get some fresh air.
he can't believe they're expected to solve this crime themselves. just what kind of sadist is that Sergeant?!]
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he can't believe they're expected to solve this crime themselves. just what kind of sadist is that Sergeant?!]
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...
To investigating, then. There's nothing else to be done about this now.]