Everyone, Alders included, stared at him blankly.
Felix tapped his foot against the ground with impatience.
“I see I will have to spell this out for you. We have been thinking about this whole case incorrectly, right from the very beginning. In the scenario I have laid out for you, you imagine that either Mr. Hamilton killed Adriana or someone else killed Adriana and then Mr. Hamilton to silence him. Neither is correct.”
“The man most responsible for Adriana’s death is not in this room. He has been dead for a long time. We will never know his identity, I don’t think. A hundred years ago, for reasons we will similarly never know, a soldier placed a loaded rifle on a stand facing out of the armory and into the bunker’s antechamber. He fastened it securely to the stand, then left it there. Perhaps the 1918 Earthquake started and he was forced to evacuate without the weapon. At some point, the spring became dislodged from its position. The role of the spring is, as I said, to cushion the firing pin. When the firing pin strikes the back of the cartridge in the firing chamber, the rifle fires. While the spring is in the chamber, this can only happen if the trigger is pulled. Without it, however, the pin becomes loose and it might strike the rear of the cartridge on its own. It would take quite a lot of force to do this. Something would have to cause violent shaking. The demolition of a nearby building, for example...”
Jack had gone even whiter. All the blood seemed to have drained out of his face.
“You’re saying that Addy was killed-”
“By an accident. A misfire. There was no one behind the trigger. I said that perhaps I should start to believe in bad luck. She was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
To Felix’s side, Alders’ jaw had dropped open. Six disbelieving faces directed incredulous expressions at Felix.
“Hold on,” Peter interjected cautiously. “You can’t know there wasn’t a killer. You can still fire the rifle by pulling the trigger even though it’s missing the spring.”
“I am quite sure I am correct in this,” Felix answered with conviction. “And once we know that Adriana was killed by no one, that she died an accidental death, the second crime becomes easy to solve. I said it was a question of expectations - of who knew what, and what they expected other people to have done. Well, someone expected that Mr. Hamilton had killed Adriana and killed him in retaliation. You all have motives for this crime as well - Jack, you were her brother, Davey, you loved her, Peter, perhaps you felt like a brother to her as well. Vicky, you always hated Mr. Hamilton and probably relished an excuse to attack him. Mrs. Hamilton, Vicky might have planted the suggestion in your mind that he was being unfaithful to you. If he was a murderer as well, maybe you would not have hesitated to kill him. These, I think you will find, are much more convincing motives than those I previously assigned you. One of you acted on them. To find out which of you is the murderer, we simply have to determine who decided Mr. Hamilton was a killer.”
Felix turned almost casually to face Jack Kettering.
“It was you, Jack. You took the picture of Mr. Hamilton going into the construction site, in disguise, which must have seemed suspicious to you. Vicky planted the seeds of doubt in your mind when she told you that your sister was blackmailing Mr. Hamilton. You didn’t want to believe your sister could do something of that evil nature, but then we - the authorities - asked you if your sister had been showing any unusual spending habits recently. You thought perhaps she had been acting strangely, withdrawn, melancholy. Perhaps Davey told you about seeing the man in the luminous jacket, and you knew, you were sure, that Will Hamilton must have killed your sister. But you were wrong.”
“It wasn’t me,” Jack said, though he did not meet Felix’s eyes.
“It was you. You used your connections from your time working at the chop shop to obtain a stolen vehicle that could not be traced back to you. You drove to the bunker and removed a different rifle, which you used to shoot Hamilton while we interrogated Davey. It all fits you. It was you.”
Suddenly, in one lightening movement, Jack darted out of his chair and grabbed the rifle leaning against the wall. Looks of horror filled the room as everyone remembered the weapon had been loaded.
“Calm down everyone,” Felix said, loudly but unconcernedly. “Nothing to be worried about.”
“How do you know, huh?” Jack demanded, as he pointed the rifle at Felix. “How do you know that Hamilton didn’t kill her? How do you know that I wasn’t right to kill him? I was right! He was a murderer!”
“He wasn’t,” replied Felix, with every appearance of indifference. “You killed an innocent man.”
Jack pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He stared down at the weapon in disbelief, then pulled the trigger several more times. The weapon remained inexplicably quiet. Felix marched up to him and tugged it gently out of his hands.
“The reason I know,” Felix explained softly, “is because this weapon cannot be made to fire correctly. Among other problems, the mechanism that connects the trigger to the firing pin has been broken. It cannot be fired by pulling the trigger. It can only misfire. And that is how I know that no one killed your sister. No case of mistaken identity, no murder by Mr. or Mrs. Hamilton or Davey or Peter or Vicky or anyone else. I said repeatedly that there is no such thing as death by nostalgia. I am now humbled to say that I am wrong. Adriana Kettering wanted to remember the good times she spent in her youth, with her friends and her family and her lover. She returned to the building for one final walk into the past - and she died a tragic and accidental death, struck by a bullet fired out of history, as her old home and memories were destroyed around her. Death by nostalgia.”
He watched in silence as Jack Kettering was handcuffed and led away.
“What will happen to him?” Mrs. Hamilton asked, somewhat timidly.
“I would like to think the court will be lenient with him, but I very much doubt that. I think Jack will spend the rest of his life in prison.”
Felix stood quite as still as he had on the previous day, as he did when he waited for the murder to be discovered. He hardly noticed as the remaining suspects filed out and Alders returned.
“Well done,” Alders said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I may have been wrong about you. I doubt I would have ever worked that out myself - if only because I don’t think I would have read the ballistics report.”
Felix was about to reply when a booming voice from behind them cut him off.
“I understand congratulations are in order, Detective Alders!”
Both men turned to see Chief Breckinridge standing there, his mustache wobbling importantly.
“You cleared that case in record time,” the Chief continued. “Excellent work. I can only hope that this will be the last of the murders we’ll see on 20th street. I’m very glad indeed to know that those troublesome projects are finally gone.”
“Are you?” Felix asked suddenly. “In many places, the projects are plagued by much worse than what they are in our city - they are places of genuine squalor, crime, and misery. Certainly, ours had their share of the same - but they also produced good people, ambitious people - doctors, teachers, and even soldiers who laid down their lives in the line. I think we should consider it a matter of civic pride that someone like Adriana Kettering looked back on her time in our projects with affection, and I’m not sure it’s such a good thing that they’re gone. If I’ve seen the worst of what the projects had to offer in our suspects today, then I think they were a success worth keeping.”
“Of course you would,” Breckinridge sneered. “You’re a criminal yourself, aren’t you? Well, I’m keeping an eye on you, Felix Green. One of these days I’ll catch you in the act and put you behind bars in a heartbeat, because you’re nothing more than a rotten thief.”
For several seconds, Felix just looked at Breckinridge. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out some documents, thrusting them at the Chief. He stared at them, but did not take them. T
he papers looked vaguely familiar to Alders, but he could not place them.
“What’s that?” Breckinridge asked, eyeing the documents curiously.
“A list of investors in the late Will Hamilton’s plan to redevelop the 20th street projects,” Felix answered calmly. “That’s your name on the list, isn’t it, Breckinridge?”
The color rose in Breckinridge’s cheeks.
“What of it? I can invest my money how I like, can’t I?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. But you, Chief Breckinridge, have been hard at work making the case to the public that the projects should be demolished. You claimed that the projects were a source of crime, didn’t you? But your real interest in seeing them destroyed was financial. You were part of the plan to profit from the purchase and redevelopment of the neighborhood. Judging from your commitment to the idea, you stood to make a fortune - but you lied to the public to do it. That’s corruption, isn’t it?”
“You’ve obtained this document illegally,” said Breckinridge, the color draining from his face as quickly as it had risen.
“The reason you wanted as few eyes and as little media scrutiny as possible was that you were afraid someone would discover you were an investor. And now someone has. I have the proof right here.”
“You stole that document from a crime scene. You’re a thief!”
“No, Breckinridge. You’re more a thief than I’ll ever be.”
Alders was staring from Felix to Breckinridge to the document and back again. He felt the anger that had building and building over the past two days was bursting forth.
“That’s why you only wanted me working on the case!” Alders shouted, loudly enough that he drew stares from around the station. “The more people you assigned, the more likely they were to find out about this.”
Breckinridge whirled on him. “Don’t you raise your voice to me, Alders-”
“Is that why I just had to charge that poor boy with murder? He got his hands on that rifle because we didn’t have the manpower to secure the crime scene, and you’re telling me it’s because you didn’t want us to find out about your - your wheeling and dealing-”
“It’s your own fault you didn’t secure the crime scene properly-”
Breckinridge and Alders had both gone shades of crimson, but Alders was shouting more loudly. “No. You listen here, ‘Chief.’ I’m through. I’m not staying on any force you’re in charge of, and no one with any sense will either. I hope they destroy you over this. Here’s my badge.”
Alders slapped his badge and gun down on the counter, then turned to walk out.
“Alders!” Breckinridge called. “Alders!”
But Alders did not look back.
“Say,” he said to Felix as the pair walked out the door of the station. “Do you think you have an opening at this detective agency of yours?”
“I have a feeling I could make one,” said Felix with half a smirk. “Here’s your cell phone back, by the way.”
Alders looked at the phone in Felix’s outstretched hand, then broke into a grin.
“Nah. You keep it.”
(Finis.)
Message to the Reader
Dear reader,
Death by Nostalgia is the first book in the Felix Green series, and the first mystery novel I ever published. It was a tremendous leap of faith for me and I’m glad that it’s found an audience. Thank you for taking a chance on an independent author. I understand that there are a great many books all over the world available to you, and I’m delighted that you chose mine. The next book in the Felix Green mystery series is Murder on Wheels.
If you enjoyed Death by Nostalgia, I’d very much appreciate it if you rated and reviewed this book or shared it with your friends. I rely on writing for my income, and I have struggled to get the word out about my novels. Just a little help from you could mean worlds to me. Since reviews are my only potential source of feedback, I also find them invaluable for my future writing.
I have written a number of mystery novels featuring Felix Green and Sam Alders, as well as books in other genres. They are all available on Amazon, and you can find them by searching my name.
Best,
--Andrew Stanek
PS: If you want to join my mailing list, go to http://eepurl.com/bhTc9H. I send out notices about my writing and sometimes give out good stuff, like free books and advance copies of my new novels to people on the list. I won’t send you spam. You can contact me at [email protected] if you just want to talk to me about something.
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