Free Mind of the Phoenix by Jamie McLachlan

at the station.”
    He doesn’t elaborate, but I suspect that the detective ordered the constable to return to the station after the bathroom incident. Was it for my sake or for Constable Bradford’s? As I settle into the motor vehicle, I realize that I have once again missed the opportunity to have breakfast. I sigh despairingly, knowing that my pleas would be lost on the detective. He glances sideways at me as if he knows my thoughts.
    “We have an appointment with Mr. Darwitt’s wife in an hour and a half from now,” he says. “There’s a café not far from where she lives that I thought we could stop at first to have breakfast.”
    I glance at him, surprised. “That’s very kind of you, detective. Why the sudden nicety?”
    “Don’t think it’s a favour to you, Del Mar, because it’s not.”
    I smile, because I know it is. He had purposely come to the hotel early so that he could sit with me during breakfast. What I don’t know is if he did so because I had shown my displeasure of being left alone at the hotel for hours yesterday in his office, or because he himself wanted the company. Whose loneliness did he intend to pacify, mine or his own?
    We drive further into the north district along Glover’s Drive and reach the café shortly. The detective takes a seat at the far end near a window, away from the other customers who are crowding at the front. The other patrons unabashedly examine us, for we look quite the peculiar pair. They have either assumed that I am one of the Elite’s blockers, or that Mr. Edwards is my master. My short hair still produces shocked stares everywhere I go, but today I’m not the sole recipient of curious gazes. The detective’s pants have a splatter of wet spots from when he dunked my head into the tub, but he cares neither about the state of his suit nor the looks he receives. He has removed his coat and hat, his cane resting against the window, and has acquired a newspaper from the empty table behind us.
    “Will Constable Bradford be meeting us at Mrs. Darwitt’s house?”
    There’s a moment of silence before he says, “No.”
    His face is hidden behind the newspaper, so I can’t examine his reaction. “Oh, the Chief trusts me with just you then?”
    “No, I have arranged for another constable to meet us at Mrs. Darwitt’s estate,” he tells me, but that’s a lie. He lowers the newspaper to look at me, and the light streaming through the window makes his eyes a luminescent green. “I didn’t realize you were so interested in Constable Bradford. Should I have him meet us instead? Perhaps I should even allow you two some privacy afterwards?”
    “That’s quite all right. In fact, I’d rather not see him at all from now on.”
    “Good, then we’re in agreement,” he says, snapping the newspaper back in front of his face.
    A server comes at that moment to take our order, and we both order coffee with eggs, bacon, and toast. When the server leaves, Keenan resumes reading the newspaper, which annoys me. He’s still irritated by the scene he walked into earlier, but I don’t know which person he’s more annoyed with. He had assumed that I was trying to seduce the constable in some scheme to escape, and that the constable’s life was in possible danger. But the moment I informed him that Constable Bradford had insisted on joining me in the bathroom, he was no longer convinced that the constable was entirely the victim. He’s clearly bothered by the possibility that the constable had intended to take advantage of me.
    “So, does Mrs. Darwitt know that her husband was under persuasion?” I ask. “Or does she still believe he committed suicide?”
    He folds the newspaper and puts it back on the table behind us. The server has come back to pour us coffee, and the detective remains silent until the server leaves. He then sips his coffee black, while I pour sugar and cream into my cup and wait for his response.
    “She hasn’t been informed, and the Chief and I