I do not own The Office: U.S. version.

I do not strangle.

The Scranton Strangler

Exonerated, Sort Of

And now it's hours later and . . .

"Alright, Halpert."

. . . just like that . . .

"You're free to go."

. . . it's suddenly over.

And Jim is caught unawares.

"Wha- Oh, really?"

The officer nods as he unlocks the cell.

"What- what happened? Oh my god, did they find someone else strangled?"

The door creaks open, then closed again as Jim skirts through, eyes wide, mind caught between relief and dread.

Oh my god, I can't celebrate if I'm free because someone else died while I was in here!

Pam was right, I never should have-

"No. Dwight retracted his statement."

And Jim stops.

"What?"

The officer catches a quick glance at his watch, clearly ready to move on from his Shruted day.

"Dwight retracted his statement. Said you and Mrs. Halpert were staying at Shrute Farms on the night of one of the stranglings. Said he forgot."

And without much further ado, the taxed trio make their quick exit through the sheriff's department and out the front doors.

Jailbird Jim clinging gratefully close to the woman he loves.

"When we stayed at Shrute Farms, that was years before the stranglings started."

Whose murmured whisper matches his.

"I know that and you know that."

As they escape out into the parking lot.

He's parked right beside their mini-van, the stalker.

Not the Scranton Strangler.

"Come on, man, what the hell-"

Dwight.

"Hello, Jim. Pam. Baby."

"CeeC-"

"What did you think you were doing, Dwight?"

In the face of Jim Halpert's mild-mannered ire, Dwight K. Shrute is completely unaffected.

"Merely my job as a responsible citizen. Much more than you two, at any rate."

Methodically taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his pocket handkerchief as he speaks.

"What are you talking about, Dwight?"

And he frowns in derision at the Not Scranton Strangler and Not Brainwashed Accomplice.

"People have lost their lives to this person. He's killed people. And instead of doing your civic duty, you two detracted time and resources from local law enforcement-"

"That was you, Dwight. We were just goofing off-"

"-and generally just made a mockery of the whole situation."

"Dwight-"

"You know, I'm disappointed with the two of you. You've always proven yourselves to be sociopathic ne'er do wells. Even you, Pam, once Jim started becoming a bad influence on you. You used to be so innocent. But this is a new low for both of you."

And despite his roiling of stomach of emotions regarding Dwight K. Shrute at that moment, Jim finds himself feeling crushed, flattened.

Skewered.

In a tiny voice, face flushed with humiliation, Pam manages to speak.

"How did you figure out that it wasn't Jim?"

Dwight shrugs.

"Jim is many things. A prankster, a laze about, a second-rate paper salesman-"

"Hey-"

"But he's not a killer. He has no true homicidal tendencies. And he would never really do anything to threaten the safety and wellbeing of his family. He loves you too much."

Dwight shrugs again.

"And your husband has girly little weak hands."

Jim furrows his brow.

"Hey-"

Dwight ignores this outburst.

"He couldn't strangle a pencil."

And Pam almost grins.

"I have to open the pickle jars at home."

"Pam!"

Dwight hands over a thick brown manila folder.

"Oh and here's the dossier I compiled on him in the last several weeks, Pam."

And Pam is aghast.

"When did you-"

Jim for a different reason.

"How did you get my social security number?"

And Pam's disbelief begins shifting into burgeoning awe.

"Wow, Dwight, this is very through-"

"Pam!"