A locator. The end of 2023. Drought in the westies, parched streams, iron earth. The woman still planting, demanding the ground respond... The collie still panting, still chasing long balls. Otherwise, "no news" as we say, circling up at the beginning of rock steady boxing class, if nothings happened since last we gathered, two days ago. Or in this context, the last 2 years and some.
Actually, there was something... A few weeks ago Doug Clark died, of natural causes. He'd tried to reach me for months but the phone connection broke each time. He had told me last spring that he'd been ill. Covid for one. And then the other day a call from Q, a gruff voice I didn't recognize. "Doug died last night, he told me to call and let you know." Who that man was I don't know.
So the mystery will remain unsolved. I had imagined I would have had a last chance to get the truth, that Carol and Jack did the murders, but not Doug. He always, always insisted on his innocence, which a criminal psychologist told me once was highly unusual. In the end, I don't think he did the killings. All the best evidence suggested he wasn't the one, his abuse of Shannon, the 12 year old girl in the drama, notwithstanding, and of course his outrageous personality.... The problem is I gave up on it finally. I lost the drive to solve it and I wonder about that. And what about the murder of Marina H. Also, never solved. Something forever too cold to touch.
I need to straighten out these narratives, close the pantry of horrors. I know that.
