When Myra arrived at the police station her current state of dress had brought some alarm to the group of officiers that were manning the main entrance. A soaked and naked woman wrapped in a police blanket wasn't exactly a positive image for her to protray, but at this moment she was completely focused on her task. Getting real clothes would have to wait. "I need to speak with a detective please." She had told the front desk sergeant who was staring at her with a bit of a dumbfounded expression.<br/><br/>"Are you sure you don't need medical attention miss..?" The sergeant replied.<br/><br/>"No, Myra Sanders is my name and I do not need medical attention. I need to speak with a dedective." She insisted. Turns out, however, when you come into the police station like she had the boys in blue don't respond exactly how you want them to. She was lead around the front desk, down a hall and to a mirrored interogation room. The only thing in the room, besides the walls of mirrors, was a metal table with two chairs on either side. The table was bolted to the floor and had a metal ring in the center where they could tether cuffed individuals. Luckily they didn't try to cuff her and moments after she had been left in the room a grey haired woman brought her a pair of black pants and a white shirt for her to slip on instead of only wearing a blanket. "Thank you. Are you the detective?" Myra asked politely.<br/><br/>"No, Miss Sanders. The detective is currently preoccupied but will be with you shortly. If you could please dress and have a seat he will be with you shortly." The woman replied and waited for Sandra to dress then took the wet blanket out of the room.<br/><br/>Hours passed and occasionally an officer would come in to ask her some repetitive questions. "What her name was, where she lived, why she needed to speak with the detective and several other questions that only began to frustrate her immensley. Eventually after the fifth officer Myra refused to answer the same questions over and over again and demanded to speak with a detective or police chief.<br/><br/>Frustrated she sat on the cold hard chair on the far side of the table from the door. Watching she saw a new face enter the room, dripping wet and walkig with the support of a cane. He looked less than enthused but when she saw the shining gold badge of FBI she gave a warm smile and leaned forward in her chair to become a bit more engaging. "Mr. Dodson. If I tell you where I was you wouldn't believe me. I'm sure you've already looked at my file. Some of your boys aren't so sly when they carry folders with my name on it reading 'deceased'. So let me just ask you this. Has there been any progress on solving my supposed murder?"