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Authors: MK Alexander
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“And these circular marks?”
“A cane maybe,” Durbin said. “Found at both scenes.”
“Well, if it is a cane, the perpetrator didn’t rely on it to stand. It’s too shallow. He didn’t lean on it with any amount of force or weight….” Inspector Fynn speculated out loud and it was hard to disagree with that conclusion. “I would very much like to visit the latest crime scene.”
“Not much left of it, I’m afraid. Pretty much rained all night,” Durbin said.
“And what are these white structures scattered along the sand?” the inspector asked, pointing to the photo again.
“Lifeguard chairs.”
“How tall are they?”
“Hmm, I dunno, maybe six, seven feet off the ground.”
“Interesting… I would like to see the bodies, if possible… and especially any personal effects.”
Detective Durbin nodded. “We don’t have an official coroner’s office. They’re over at Willard’s, the local funeral parlor. I can take you over later if you’d like.”
“Well gentlemen, if there’s nothing else?” Arantez said in his official voice, trying to wrap things up.
“Another request, if I may,” Fynn asked. “I would like to study your missing persons reports.”
“Sure, it’s all on the computer. Detective Durbin can help you.”
“Ah, but no, not recent reports. I would like to see the old records. Missing persons from long ago, thirty years or more.”
“That’s an odd request.”
“Indulge me, please.”
“Well, we’ll have to get you over to Fairhaven, the county seat. That’s were the archives would be.”
“Perhaps Mr Jardel could drive me?”
Me? I thought so loud, I was afraid I had actually said it. Durbin and Arantez readily agreed to the idea. I was suddenly appointed Chief Inspector Fynn’s goodwill ambassador and chauffeur.
chapter 6
sixteen south
“Ah, this is very familiar to me. I almost feel like I’m home.”
Inspector Fynn was talking about my car, a 2002 Saab. She was getting a little long around the tooth for sure, and a bit cantankerous. But when she was running right, she could really haul ass, and was built like a tank, solid and safe. I felt good about driving probably one of the last true hatchbacks on the road. I felt bad about driving a car from a company that was now defunct. Especially when it came to repairs. A couple of months ago, I pulled into Matt’s Motors for my yearly inspection and had a rear brake light out. Just replace the bulb, right? No such luck. There was a short somewhere, or something, and it cost me four hundred and fifty dollars to fix.
“Do people still drive Saabs in Europe?” I asked idly.
“But of course… well, perhaps less nowadays. Especially in Sweden. Volvos mostly, I should think.”
“What do the police drive?”
“Opels and Volkswagons, I’d say. No Saabs.”
“Do you carry a gun?” I’m not sure why I asked that, just making conversation, I guess.
“A Walther? No, not usually. I rarely have the occasion to shoot anyone.”
“So... what’s it like being a chief inspector living in the Netherlands?”
“Quite pleasant.”
“That’s Holland, right?”
“Amsterdam is part of it, yes.”
“That makes you Dutch?”
“I suppose it does. But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
“The entire nation is called the Netherlands, yet it is divided into regions; and culture to a lesser extent. Holland is one of those regions.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“The Netherlands is a kingdom... there are Catholics to the south and Protestants to the north… ha, and nowadays so many immigrants…” his voice trailed off.
“Not Belgium?”
“No, not Belgium,” he said and then fell into silence for a time. “How long is this drive to Fairhaven?”
“Depends on traffic, forty-five minutes, an hour. I’ve made it in less. It all depends on sixteen.”
“Sixteen?”
“Route sixteen— it’s the only road out of town.” I turned off at
“A cane maybe,” Durbin said. “Found at both scenes.”
“Well, if it is a cane, the perpetrator didn’t rely on it to stand. It’s too shallow. He didn’t lean on it with any amount of force or weight….” Inspector Fynn speculated out loud and it was hard to disagree with that conclusion. “I would very much like to visit the latest crime scene.”
“Not much left of it, I’m afraid. Pretty much rained all night,” Durbin said.
“And what are these white structures scattered along the sand?” the inspector asked, pointing to the photo again.
“Lifeguard chairs.”
“How tall are they?”
“Hmm, I dunno, maybe six, seven feet off the ground.”
“Interesting… I would like to see the bodies, if possible… and especially any personal effects.”
Detective Durbin nodded. “We don’t have an official coroner’s office. They’re over at Willard’s, the local funeral parlor. I can take you over later if you’d like.”
“Well gentlemen, if there’s nothing else?” Arantez said in his official voice, trying to wrap things up.
“Another request, if I may,” Fynn asked. “I would like to study your missing persons reports.”
“Sure, it’s all on the computer. Detective Durbin can help you.”
“Ah, but no, not recent reports. I would like to see the old records. Missing persons from long ago, thirty years or more.”
“That’s an odd request.”
“Indulge me, please.”
“Well, we’ll have to get you over to Fairhaven, the county seat. That’s were the archives would be.”
“Perhaps Mr Jardel could drive me?”
Me? I thought so loud, I was afraid I had actually said it. Durbin and Arantez readily agreed to the idea. I was suddenly appointed Chief Inspector Fynn’s goodwill ambassador and chauffeur.
chapter 6
sixteen south
“Ah, this is very familiar to me. I almost feel like I’m home.”
Inspector Fynn was talking about my car, a 2002 Saab. She was getting a little long around the tooth for sure, and a bit cantankerous. But when she was running right, she could really haul ass, and was built like a tank, solid and safe. I felt good about driving probably one of the last true hatchbacks on the road. I felt bad about driving a car from a company that was now defunct. Especially when it came to repairs. A couple of months ago, I pulled into Matt’s Motors for my yearly inspection and had a rear brake light out. Just replace the bulb, right? No such luck. There was a short somewhere, or something, and it cost me four hundred and fifty dollars to fix.
“Do people still drive Saabs in Europe?” I asked idly.
“But of course… well, perhaps less nowadays. Especially in Sweden. Volvos mostly, I should think.”
“What do the police drive?”
“Opels and Volkswagons, I’d say. No Saabs.”
“Do you carry a gun?” I’m not sure why I asked that, just making conversation, I guess.
“A Walther? No, not usually. I rarely have the occasion to shoot anyone.”
“So... what’s it like being a chief inspector living in the Netherlands?”
“Quite pleasant.”
“That’s Holland, right?”
“Amsterdam is part of it, yes.”
“That makes you Dutch?”
“I suppose it does. But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
“The entire nation is called the Netherlands, yet it is divided into regions; and culture to a lesser extent. Holland is one of those regions.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“The Netherlands is a kingdom... there are Catholics to the south and Protestants to the north… ha, and nowadays so many immigrants…” his voice trailed off.
“Not Belgium?”
“No, not Belgium,” he said and then fell into silence for a time. “How long is this drive to Fairhaven?”
“Depends on traffic, forty-five minutes, an hour. I’ve made it in less. It all depends on sixteen.”
“Sixteen?”
“Route sixteen— it’s the only road out of town.” I turned off at
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