Saturday, December 21, 2013

Zebulon - Day 207 - Historical Fiction

The policemen came into the living room from the stairway and began asking questions. 

"Who found the body? When did each of you last see her alive? Did you touch anything? What can you tell me about her. What was her name? Do you know the name of any of her living relatives? Telephone numbers to contact? Addresses?" 

We answered each question as truthfully as we could. I told them about seeing the newspaper in the trash, with the mutilated photograph. 

"What newspaper? Dex, go up and get it; bring it down."

Apparently, they had paid no attention to it; simply disregarding it as unimportant. After all, it was only a newspaper.

That little bit of information had the detective looking at me more closely. 

"Say, you look kinda familiar. Didn't I see you at the station house the other day? That red hair of yours is not easy to forget."

I smiled in return. "Yes, I was in there asking about Sgt. Finley. I want to find him and talk to him. I have a lot to thank him for."

"That's right! Now, I remember. You're the kid that used to hang around the station back a decade or so ago, aren't you? Your father... he was murdered, right? O' something."

"Yes, O'Halloran was his name. Did you ever discover who murdered him?"

"Sorry, kid...I can't answer that one for ya. Been too many crimes committed since then to keep 'em all straight. If ya find Finley, though, he can probably tell ya."

By this time, the other detective had come downstairs with the newspaper, saying, "Look at this. Here's the photo and article, but I don't get it. Why off yourself over an announcement and a photo? It don't make sense."

Mrs. Walsh explained it to them, and I showed them the Walsh's newspaper. 

"Well, ain't that somethin'? Killin' yerself over a old flame. Don't hardly make sense. You'd think she'd got over that a long time ago."

I could see this fellow had the sensitivity of a barn door. I thought about explaining it to him, then realized I would no doubt be wasting my breath, so I didn't even try. 

While we were talking with them the coroner came and soon was downstairs, pronouncing the death as a suicide. Men came and took her away. It was over as far as anything we could do. The policemen left as well.

The children left the room to get ready for church, and I was left alone with Sam and Mrs. Walsh. 

"Wonder what they will do with her body? No one to claim it, and we can't afford to bury her." 

"Most likely will be given to a medical school to study and then buried after they have finished, I guess," replied Sam. 

(To be continued)



2 comments:

Delores said...

"the sensitivity of a batn door" now THERE'S a turn of phrase for you. Really paints a picture.

Grammy said...

Thanks. I absolutely love similes!