Phantom [h.s]

Forty one

"What about Max? Didn't you see how weird he was acting when you questioned?"

"We have no proof."

"Then find it. What kind of detective would you be if you just gave up on this again?"

Whitmore's stare shifts to a glare. "And you think you're a better one? This case is going nowhere, it has been for weeks. We may have little snippets of leads that we could follow, but they're all loose ends or dead ends. I hate to do this, kid, but it's really looking the way of another cold case."

"Why don't you talk to Clyde and Nora again? They could know something else-"

Whitmore shakes her head slowly.

I exhale sharply. "Unbelievable. This is unbelievable."

"Besides, it's not my decision," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not my own boss. The attorney general has the final say. And it's not looking good."

I nod. "Okay. Fine." I stand, pulling my bag over my shoulder. Whitmore watches me with a frown as I walk out of her office without another word.

When I get home, I sit on my bed and mull everything over. If the case gets closed, what happens? How could they close it? Sure, there are loose ends now, but there's got to be something missing. What am I missing?

I think of my research on PPD. Who has it? Max? Ava? Did Harry have it?

When I think it over, it could make sense. He was suspicious, he held grudges, he was irritable-he exhibited a lot of the symptoms when he was alive from what I've seen, so was it him?

That wouldn't make sense, though. If he was the one with PPD, why would he be killed rather than given help? If Max had it written on his note, he must know who has it. But if he killed Harry, why wouldn't he try to help his best friend?

No, it wasn't Harry that had PPD. It must have been the murderer, whoever they are.

I begin to think that maybe Whitmore is right. This might end the way it started-a cold case.

There's got to be something I'm missing.

The light drizzle that had been sliding down the window panes has come to a stop and I take the opportunity of the clear sky to climb onto the roof. Harry is already there, standing and looking off into the direction of the clearing.

You can clearly tell where the clearing was, because it's a charred, sad looking part of the forest. It's nearly hard to look at.

"They're gonna close the case again, aren't they."

I look at him. "How'd you know about that?"

He shrugs. "Lucky guess."

"I don't get it," I say. "I feel like we're getting so close to finding the killer, I..."

"It's no use. The law enforcement in this town is shit. Nothing's going to come of the case. I just know it."

"Are you really giving up?"

"I'm not," he says. "They are. Are you?"

"No. I'm figuring this out."

Harry nods, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask him.

"Everything," he says, reaching out and wrapping an arm around my waist. "Everything and nothing."

"That's very cryptic of you to answer," I say.

He half smiles. "Now I'm thinking about you."

"That was a less cryptic answer," I say, nodding and smiling. The two of us smile at each other for a moment before gazing out on the forest, trying to look anywhere but the painful pile of ash that is now the clearing.