Play@YSDC

“Very well, if you’re sure. We’ll make it quick, George is waiting for you”.

The guard leads them to an interview room where Clancy and Atkinson sit waiting. The air is thick with cigarette smoke. Clancy indicates the chairs opposite with a wave of the hand.

“We’re satisfied that you had nothing to do with the crime Ms. Carmichael. That’s been demonstrated now. But you may have known about it.”

“You’re accusing my client of conspiracy Detective” states Petersen forcefully. “You’d better have evidence to back that up, or we walk out right now”.

Clancy raises his hands in a conciliatory motion. “Well, our chief suspect is still Norman Owens. How well do you know him, Ms. Carmichael?”

The thick smoke scratches Isadora's throat and makes her eyes water.

"Not too well. We were brought in by a common acquaintance from the University to work for Mr. Jordan."

Clancy continues. “And what was the nature of this work? We know you were looking at the history of the property in Copps Hill Terrace. What were you trying to find out?”

"Yes, we were researching the history of the house. I think it's safe to say that we had to look into certain rumors?"

She looks at Petersen, hoping that the lawyer will support her angle.

"But I'm afraid I can't give you more information, as sensitive business matters of Mr. Jordan are concerned, so you have to ask it from him. I'm sure he would be happy to clear up the matter."

“Well, as the owner of the property, Jordan stands to benefit from the insurance. Naturally we spoke to him. But he had an alibi, and he told us about you two, and of the err… ideas you have about the house.”

Clancy stubs out his cigarette. “He seems pretty sincere though. He didn’t appear to be dismayed that the house had gone. As no-one was hurt, and luckily no other properties were damaged, there wouldn’t be too much of a problem. But then your friend goes and disappears.”

“Why would he burn the house? Come on Ms. Carmichael, we all know he must have done it.”

Clancy looks up from where he is smushing his butt into nothingness in the ashtray. He suddenly looks, well, almost cheerful.

“Yes, several of us are familiar with the reputation of that house”. He shrugs his shoulders. “And now it’s gone”.

He stands up. “I think we’ve finished here, Ms. Carmichael. There is a warrant out for Mr. Owens though, and we will be requesting the help of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to locate him. Please let us know if you hear from him.”

He walks to the door. “Do us all a favour though – stay out of the North End.”

Atkinson also rises. He however, does not look cheerful. He says nothing, but again gives Isadora that long, measured look.

Isadora says goodbye and, supported by Mr. Petersen, leaves the stench of the station. On the ride home she thinks about Norman Owens: she believes that the explorer will find a way to avoid the police, Royal Mounted and North End Afoot. Besides, he clearly prefers the wilderness to the city. He did what had to be done, with the minimal possible threat to the lives of everybody.

As she reaches into her purse to find a handkerchief, Isadora is surprised to feel a folded slip of paper. She draws it out, and opens it.

Evil Scientist,I think we can end there....for now?

Isadora stares at the sinister symbol for a second, then puts it back into her purse.

Their car slowly disappears into the thick Boston fog.