Serious detective work

<snip>
Only McJohn was left in the room with him. Seymour shot him an are-
you-a-murderer? glance.
"So... where were you on the night of the crime?"
McJohn rolled his eyes and walked out.
</snip>
McJohn didn't stop walking until he reached the counter inside
Parrott's Bar, where he took one look at the new decor, then doubled
his drink order.
Three GlenGanymedes later, he sidled up to Wildflower, who had fallen
asleep at a table with twenty or so empty glasses on it. McJohn
thought about it for a minute, then ruled her out as a suspect. At
least for now. Then he settled back down at the bar, drank four more
GlenGanymedes, and walked, or rather, staggered out.
His next stop was the drive room, where he staggered up to Rio Lomaz
and examined her very closely until she noticed him.
"What are you doing?"
"I bet *you* did it" he declared.
"Did what?"
"Murdered Jasmine Starbolt. You did it with your little hatchet!"
"Yep," she said sarcastically "I sure did it! You soused me out
quickly, didn't you?"
"Ah HA!" he cried out in triumph, at which point he slumped over
against a console. One of the other bridge crewmen took it upon
himself to drag/carry McJohn to one of the lifts and deposit him
inside.
Once in the lift, McJohn punched a few buttons at random and
eventually arrived at security. He walked up to Phil and looked down
at him.
"Any news, oh detective-inspector sandbox?"
"Nothing you need to hear Mister Stinkypants."
"I resent that!"
"You resemble that!"
"I know you are, but what am I?" McJohn shouted.
"A poopy head!"
"I KNOW YOU ARE, BUT WHAT AM I?!"
They continued in this vein for quite some time.
<Tag!>