Murder in New Eden

by Charles C. Cole

Chapter 33: Conclusion

Parts 1, 2, and 3
appear in this issue.

conclusion

New Eden police headquarters is the little-school-that-could, nothing fancy but lots of team spirit. Today it’s hosting the First Annual Community Invitational Half-Marathon. At the front of the pack, Cody and his men relish the long-missed rush of tapping into physical endurance. High-school boys and their fathers, along with able male police officers rumble by in a field of loose gray sweats, heading for another lap around Millennial Park. Hot dogs and ice cream are free to all finishers.

Behind his closed office door, in a crisp uniform, Police Chief Leo Schiavelli observes the event with swelling pride. Feeling a slight tickle under his nose, he smooths down his handlebar moustache with a thoughtful index finger. Lois enters with fresh coffee, sans knocking, of course.

“Lois!”

Before he can reprimand her for a clear lapse in secretarial etiquette, Lois raps belatedly with her free hand on the inside of the door. “You’ve got company! Do you want me to bring your coffee back after they’ve gone?”

“What does Lois think?” he asks.

Lois sets down the coffee and attempts to leave, but is met by impatient incoming traffic: Mayor Brandt and reinstated Director of Communications Toby Pelkey. At last, she finds her opening, waves over her head without turning around, and closes the door.

“Gentlemen,” says Schiavelli, “how can I help you? You’ll forgive me if I don’t sit just now.”

“If you stand, we’ll stand,” says Pelkey, as if it were a challenge accepted.

While Brandt wanders to the “wall of ancestors” to refresh his history, Pelkey, with his thighs an immeasurable distance from the chief’s recently returned stapler, begins. “The mayor would like to know if you’ve heard any residual rumblings from our friends downstairs.”

“Missing the old haunts, are you, Toby?” teases the chief in a chummy confidential stage-whisper.

“I did my time, thank you,” comes the cold response.

Schiavelli speaks directly to Pelkey. “You can tell the mayor that I have heard no complaints, but it gives me great pleasure to report that Misters Warden and Boyer have taken a shine to the hard labor and narrow corridors and the humidity. Apparently, they spent some time aboard a nuclear-powered submarine in a previous life. I offered some high school graduates to swell their ranks, but the grizzled veterans weren’t up for maintaining the heart of New Eden and babysitting the next generation. I’m hoping they’ll come around.”

“Good.”

“Anything else? Fresh coffee? A tour of the cryogenics chamber?” He points at the gaping hole in the floor where his chair usually sits.

“God in heaven!” exclaims Pelkey. “Is that safe?”

“Wayne’s made it her personal mission to reverse-engineer the technology. It’s a little inconvenient, but she’s earned a little play time. Maybe she’ll find the mythical holding cells for our future violent offenders.”

Pelkey would rather not think of future violent offenders and responds as if he’s just had hot soup splashed in his face but is too stubbornly stoic to complain about it.

“Is there anything else? Would Mayor Brandt like another apology?”

Brandt clears his throat to speak. “I was just noticing,” he says, turning to Schiavelli, “everyone has more medals than you. That must weigh on you terribly.”

“It’s all in the family,” says Schiavelli, but clearly the mayor has succeeded with a well-placed jab. Now, he’s even.

“Well, I don’t believe in medals when handshakes will do,” says Brandt.

“Quite so.”

“One more thing: I’m having a gathering of New Eden’s best and brightest over to my place tonight. We’re going to drill down into your idea of finding a hospitable planet. I don’t see it, but it’ll give people something to get excited about, for those who need more than the same idyllic paradise, day in and day out. You’re welcome to join us, since it was your idea.”

“While I appreciate the offer,” the chief begins, “I have a previous commitment. Wayne wants me to watch her kittens while she and Nakamura and Cody and Petrillo attend a concert on the promenade.”

“All night?” ask Pelkey.

The chief shrugs helplessly. Brandt, who has not yet warmed to casual chitchat, nods toward the door. Pelkey catches the signal and they make their leave.

“There wouldn’t be swimming at this event, would there?” asks Schiavelli, knowing full well the answer but acting innocent, coy.

Brandt stops dead, nearly causing a collision for Pelkey, and cranes his neck around. “The pool is closed indefinitely,” he says, and exits, Pelkey following closely. Schiavelli smiles with satisfaction at another well-placed jab.