After he left me there
It was a few short steps to reach the telephone;
A negligible effort to dial three digits;
But a monumental one to speak the words.
And so I reported the end of my life.
14 -- The Boston Connection
Minx Lowry shredded the plastic lid from her coffee cup.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “If Robbie was focused on this woman – this writer – then he would fly off to hear her speak. He’s done that sort of thing before.”
“We confirmed Leda Maguire was in Boston the day after Robert… died.” Inspector Jack Brown opted against using the harsher word, murdered.
Minx was a person of interest, but Jack no longer took her seriously as a suspect. She was younger than her brother had been, twenty-seven, and good-looking. Unpretentious, despite her wealth and education.
It wasn’t her looks, though, that convinced Jack of her innocence. It was the way she did her best to restrain her grief, not leaning on her personal sense of loss and outrage.
In Jack’s experience, strong emotions could be worn as a mask. It was much more difficult to keep them in check, to understate one’s feelings.
Jack had already ascertained from the victim’s friends and family that Minx was close to her brother. She was the one who’d arranged for him to have his own modest apartment, away from the scrutiny of well meaning relatives. She’d checked up on him, ensuring he was caring for himself.
More than that, she’d made him a welcome part of her own life – introduced him to her friends, met him for dinner every Thursday.
A lesser woman would be overcome, but not Minx. She told Jack what she could in a clear voice, determined to help him find her brother’s killer.
After she left, he carried his notepad into the main office. The desk sergeant, Matt Cummings, looked up from his video game and minimized the screen on his computer.
“Any news on the Boston connection?” Jack said.
“Oh, yeah. You’re gonna love this, Jack.” Cummings paused for effect, the corners of his mouth twitching. He waited for a prompt from the Inspector. When it didn’t come, he continued.
“I called the University where Maguire gave her presentation. Tried to reach the Professor who hired her: lady by the name of Rhonda Copps. Strange coincidence, though. Seems the professor passed away yesterday. A sudden death.”
‘Sudden death’ was slang for murder or suicide, any death other than one from natural causes.
“Accident?” Jack asked.
“They haven’t called it yet, officially. Unofficially, my contact says it’s an ‘apparent suicide’, more likely a mystery. It was an overdose of morphine.”
Jack tucked his notebook into his jacket pocket.
“Is your guy reliable?”
“Good as gold.”
Another mystery, Jack thought. Was it even possible? Coincidences were rare in his line of work. If it was foul play, it was the second murder in the past few weeks that could be directly linked to the author Leda Maguire.
“Ok,” he said, “let’s call it a ‘mystery’. Call your Boston guy and tell him about our victim. Then get his boss on the line for me. I’m overdue for a field trip.”
_______________________________
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK, FOR VOLUME 14 OF "TWO GOOD HANDS", a Leda And Strachan mystery!
Copyright belongs to Donna Carrick. No part of this story may be reproduced without the written consent of the author.
The Penny Dreadful is a group of Serial Authors who came together through Twitter to present you with weekly installment of their stories. Hope you enjoy!
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