💾 Archived View for cosmic.voyage › Cilix › 16_prime_suspect.txt captured on 2023-09-28 at 16:01:50.

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⬅️ Previous capture (2022-01-08)

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We got away with it. Or so I thought.

The problem was that the category "we" got a lot more complicated
after that.  Maybe it's better to say /you/ got away with it.  Was
that your plan all along, Judy?

It turns out I wasn't quite at the bottom of the police inspector's
list.  I was second-to-last.  He was leaving the prime suspect of
his investigation until the end.  You, Judy, you were his prime
suspect.  He told me as much after we finished talking.  He told me
he would go visit you the next morning, just to tie up loose ends.
I figured I better get to you first.  I waited for a couple of
hours after he left, then I headed straight for your place.

I don't know why I felt the need to run to you.  I knew you would
be fine with the inspector, if my story could hold up so easily, I
was sure yours could too.  I sensed some kind of danger, though.
So I went running.  I was right, you were in trouble.

When I got to your house, with that familiar smell of honeysuckles
choking me, the inspector was already there.  Guess his interview
with you couldn't wait after all.  He wasn't alone.  He had some
kind of crew with him.  They didn't look like police officers.
They were lounging around on your front porch, smoking cigarettes
and laughing about something.

He was surprised to see me.  I knew right away I had made the wrong
move.  I could see my story unravelling in that strange look he was
giving me.

"Good evening, Mr. Jules. Is there anything I can help you with?"

I froze.  I didn't know what to say.  I tried to make up some story
that I was just passing and spotted him from a distance.  I
pretended I didn't know whose house this was.  I could see he
didn't buy it, but he played along anyway.

"Well, Mr. Jules, this is the home of Judy Walsh, the widow of the
recently deceased Walsh that we spoke about just this afternoon."

"Oh, I see", was all I could muster.  I was looking at my feet,
looking at the other men looking at me, looking at the greenhouse,
where the honeysuckles were devouring carbon-dioxide, spewing
oxygen and thickening the air, looking anywhere that wasn't the
inspectors gaze.

"Would you like to see her?" he asked me, with a slight grin.