Highly Suspect.

“I’m here to investigate the murder of your brother, Mr. Michael Brooke.” Edith Brook's reaction was less than devastated, at least, compared to her sister’s. She lit a cigarette nonchalantly and replied,

“To be honest, he had it coming to him, not by my hand, but…” She tapped her cigarette off into a tray, avoiding my eyes completely,

“Goodwin, Miles Goodwin was so angry with my conniving little brother for interfering with his marriage, I could’ve told you months ago, something was bound to happen between them sooner or later.” She was now hidden by a cloud of smoke…

“Would you happen to be able to think on another person who could’ve done this?” I tried to sound sympathetic, I apparently overdid it and she clammed up on me and my bothersome questions immediately.

I’ve never been ushered out of an interview with so much cold force.

I climbed into my car once again and after checking Goodwin’s list, headed back toward Kingsley Ave. to call on a Miss. Helena Darning, a past girlfriend of Michael Brooke’s with a bruised heart; he had apparently forgotten her altogether sometimes and more recently, sent her warnings not to come to him again for attention.  How Goodwin could’ve known about how intricate a relationship Brooke had with this woman, baffled me, but by the time I got to number 34 Finchley House, I understood that it was not so hard to get details out of Miss. Darning…

“Oh, yes, my darling Michael, he was so…” she stoked her little arrogant chin in reflection,

“So devilishly deceitful and unfeeling, he pushed me once, he pushed me” she then went on to prod me roughly in the chest and continued,

“Just like that. He was a bad boy, and now I know I should’ve never gone out with him. Anyway, you came for more contacts related to this tragedy, I suppose,” she looked at me with a wide eyed expression that confused me so badly for a second, that I stumbled over my words.

“I-I, uh, yes, how- you’ve  been through this before?”

“Oh no, I just have an overwhelming passion for those mysteries on TV nowadays… and now I know how realistic they are!” she giggled with a squeaky tone that suddenly set my teeth on edge.  

She wrote down two contacts in my notepad and signed with a poorly drawn heart and her own name, as if she were autographing something for me. I thanked her, but carefully, making sure not make myself sound too ridiculous and then hastened to my vehicle before she could draw me back with her ever flowing conversation.