“Well, Joe, when I reached for a book and scooped up nothing but air, I became alarmed and suspected that something might be wrong. I tried again, and noticed my hand traveled right through the books. Next, all of me traveled right through the couch, and I couldn’t pick up the cushions. And as far as knowing that I had been murdered? Well, the bullet hole in my head seemed to suggest it.”
“So, you could see yourself?”
“I could see my body on the floor. I—the spirit or soul that is me—my essence—leaned over my twisted body and didn’t really feel like crawling back in there, what with the blood pouring from that painful looking hole and everything.”
The detective nodded. “Understandable.”
Nathan piped up. “Good move. You probably would have been a vegetable, slumped over in a wheelchair, unable to feed yourself or wipe your own butt.”
“Yeah, thanks, man. I really needed that image.”
“So, who discovered your body?” the detective continued.
“The police.”
“How long did it take them to show up?”
“I don’t see the relevance to this case.”
He shrugged, again. “No relevance. I was just curious.”
“Great. I finally get a detective to take me seriously, and he wants to know how Boston’s finest were performing in the sixties?”Geez. Take a couple of deep breaths. Don’t piss off the guy who’s being paid to help you.
Morgaine took the deep breaths for him and he continued.
“So, what have you done so far to catch my killers?”
“Catch them? This happened fifty years ago. I’d probably have to dig them up if I wanted to cuff ’em and bring them in. In case you didn’t know what a cold case is, it’s when the trail has gone cold, and this is the coldest case I’ve ever worked on.”
It was all Chad could do to hold his temper.Damn, I wish someone had a bong going. I’d float around in the smoke and hope for a contact high.
Morgaine took another deep breath and Chad said, “Look, you asked for leads. Don’t you want to know about the article I was writing?”
“Sure, I was getting to that.”
“Yeah, after you racked up an extra hour to charge Mr. Baseball.”
Jason raised one eyebrow.
Joe cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “So, what was the article about?”
“Like I said, a conspiracy. A big one. The Kennedy assassinations.”
“Yeah? You know who killed JFK?”
I’m not falling for that one again. “Hey, I had a source. I already told baseball-boy all about it. Didn’t he give you any information before now?”
“Yes. But I wanted to hear it from you.”
“Fine. His name was Spider. We met in a parking garage downtown next to the X-rated movie theatre.”
The detective nodded. “I remember the place. It’s a damn shame they tore it down. Nowadays, perverts without the internet are out of luck.”
Oh, the things I could say to that…
“So, do you have any other name for him besides ‘Spider?’ I doubt I’d find him in the nineteen-sixties Boston area phone books under that name.”
“No, but much later, a dude who looked like an older version of him claimed to have the same knowledge. His name was Dean Warner. The FBI negated his claims.”
