What did you think about the last chapter? Was it good for you? Did you need a cigarette after? I'm teasing, a little. This chapter gets us back onto the case. Some new information comes from a surprising place. Let's have a look.
I hope you like the chapter. Drop me a line if you want. I'd be pleased to hear from you!
NOTE: Check out my other stories in the Sci-fi / Fantasy Section Crown Vic to a Parallel World From Whence I Came Stolen Love
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Wasted Life a Law Edwards Mystery by Sam Stefanik
24 A New Day and the Same Mystery
I woke early, very early. The hour was too early for me to be awake, especially with as late as I was up the night before. I thought about trying to go back to sleep, but my mind churned with the case. I knew sleep would be impossible.
Even though my mind was occupied with thoughts of Preston Arlott and the mystery of his last days, I wasn't too distracted to notice how good it felt to wake up with Walt. I felt fantastic to be warm and comfortable next to him.
The negative voice in my head reprimanded me for finding pleasure in Walt's presence. Thoughts like that are no good to either of us.' It reminded me. You don't get to have this.'
I got carefully out of bed, so I wouldn't disturb Walt, and I pulled my robe over my nakedness. I got the blueprints and other papers from my wardrobe and crept into the office to work. I laid the folded prints on the corner of my desk and lit a cigar to stimulate my brain. I smoked steadily while I had a second look at Preston Arlott's effects.
I assumed all the clues were there, but I couldn't see which one was important. I tried to go methodically about my task. I reread letters, flipped through the blue books, read well-wishes scrawled in year books. I went through all the material over and over again. I even jotted down the timeline of Preston's movements, as near as we knew them. Nothing new made itself known to me. There were no revelations, no lightning bolts of understanding, just the persistent fog of stupidity.
I guessed that Walt had said good morning' several times before I heard him. The good morning' that made it into my consciousness sounded a little exasperated. "Good morning." I muttered in response without bothering to look up.
"What are you doing?" Walt asked.
I waved an impatient hand and the nub of a smoked-out cigar at all the miscellanea on my desk. "I'm trying to figure out who killed this kid. A first I thought the bookies did it. The kid had a system for predicting horse race winners, so I figured he ran afoul of the gamblers or the mob. Trouble is, it looks like he never got a chance to use it, the system I mean.
"I know I'm missing something. People get struck by lightning for no reason. People don't get murdered in hotels and posed to look like they committed suicide for no reason. Something he did, someone he crossed, something he saw led to his death. Something changed in this kid's life, and he acted in some way that got him killed. I just can't see it."
Walt didn't say anything when I finished my monologue. I looked up to see that he was dressed the way he had been the night before, in his blue pajamas and blue bathrobe. I saw by the pensive expression on his face that Walt didn't really want an explanation of my thoughts on the case. He wanted my attention. The question he'd asked had been an inanity he used to get it. I dropped the remainder of my cigar on top of the overflowing tray and asked Walt what he wanted.
Walt asked a bold question almost without preamble. "I was thinking about the two men you told me about. How long did you know them?"
I didn't know where Walt intended to go with his question. I didn't want to start the day with a discussion about Peter and David. I was stirred up enough without digging around in my past. Under normal circumstances, I would have refused to answer. Still, Walt had done something for me. He'd done a big thing. He'd soothed me when I was feeling very low. What's more, I knew that he only wanted to help, even if the subject hurt.
I answered his question. "I knew Peter about four months. We met on the boat to England, and we were assigned to the same unit for training and battle. I knew David about two weeks."
Walt's eyes narrowed when I said `two weeks' but he didn't say anything about the short duration. Instead, he asked a follow-up question. "How long ago?"
"I knew Peter in 1918, and David in August of 1929."
Walt did some math in his head. "So, twenty-six and fifteen years ago?"
"Yeah."
Walt paused and rocked on his heels. I guessed he was getting ready to say something he thought would make me angry. That's pretty close to what he did. "I'm going to ask you two questions and I don't want you to answer them now. Actually, I don't ever need the answers, but I want you to think about them and answer them for yourself. The first is, did you really love either of them, or was it something else? The second is, did either of them love you back? Just think about it. That's all. I won't say another word."
My mind rose in violent protest to what I thought Walt had suggested. Of course, I loved them.' I argued in my head. I still love them. They're the only two people I ever loved. Maybe they didn't love me or couldn't love me, but that wasn't their fault. David was willing to try. That means something.'
I found that I was very upset with Walt for questioning my relationships from the past. I felt like he'd done it just to torture me. I felt like he could have picked almost any other time for his rhetorical question. I was already lost and depressed about Preston and the case. The last thing I needed was more bullshit to cloud my brain.
I tried to set aside the torment of Walt's question. I tried to put my attention on the case where it belonged, but I couldn't do it. All I could think about was the past. Just when I thought I was as distracted as I could get, Walt decided to make his interruption worse by chatting me up.
"What did you mean when you said, `something changed?'" He asked to return to what I'd said before he ruined my ability to concentrate.
I explained as a way to put my mind back on the case. "Preston was scraping along, trying to get money together, then something changed, his urgency went up. I don't know what changed."
"The money for his degree?" Walt asked to clarify.
"Yeah."
"Well, it's May." He said like I was supposed to understand what that meant.
I didn't, so I asked. "Alright, Walt, I'll bite. It's May, so what?"
"At the end of the month, a new crop of college students will graduate. Every year that goes by from when Preston got out of school to when he can start working in his field, makes him less valuable to employers because his education isn't fresh anymore. That's why I spent three years in that little diner in Passyunk. That's why I'm working in a cafeteria now.
"When the war is over, and the good hotels and restaurants start doing real business again, I can get a job in one of them because I can show I spent every year since college in the kitchen. If I drove a truck for those years, no one would give me a chance."
That made sense and it fit with everything else that we knew. Preston's money troubles became acute because he hoped to cash in on his education and beat the wave of new graduates. Walt's revelation didn't give me any new angles on the case, but it helped me understand Preston's motivation.
I rolled that idea over in my head to see if I could open a new line of reasoning based on the date. Walt fidgeted in the silence. He unfolded the blueprints to look inside them. "What are these?" He asked seemingly for the sole purpose of interrupting me again.
"Plans, ah, prints...drawings I guess."
"Drawings of what?"
"Drawings of a ship."
"LAW!" Walt yelped his frustration at my lack of detail.
I glared up at him and explained. "Blueprints, plans to build a ship."
"Why do you have them?"
"Preston took them from work."
"Why?" Walt persisted.
"I don't know." I answered honestly.
"Did you look through them?"
"No. I wouldn't know what I'm looking at."
Walt lifted the pages and examined them carefully.
I was pleased that he was interested in the blueprints. There was a good pile of them. I figured there were enough pages to keep Walt occupied and quiet for a while. I was wrong.
"There's writing on these," he announced, "circles and question marks and exclamation points. What does that mean?"
I slapped the top of my desk to vent my frustration at Walt's endless interruptions. He seemed to be dead set on making sure that I didn't get anything done. I shoved out of the chair to see what he was talking about.
Walt pointed to several sets of markings that were done in what looked like a dark charcoal pencil. Things were circled and there were question marks and exclamation points next to the circles. I couldn't tell if the writing was Preston's. The question marks looked like the ones from his letters, but there wasn't enough other writing to be sure. Still, I assumed it meant something. The little I knew about blueprints told me they were costly to reproduce. I assumed someone wouldn't scribble on them for no reason.
"You might be onto something." I said as I peered where Walt pointed.
"Who would know how to read these?" He asked.
"Bea might. She'll be here in," I checked my wristwatch that I hadn't removed before bed, "about an hour."
Just as I made my observation about the time, both of our heads were turned by a small sound from the front of the office. I looked and saw Bea at the door. Having tried it and found it locked she shielded her vision from the sun and peered through the shimmering glass.
I looked at my watch again, pressed it to my ear, and swore. "Or, she might be here right now because I'm guessing it's 8 o'clock and my watch stopped."