Connections

The bedsit was a mess. An unmade bed took up one wall, its stained bedclothes lay rumpled on the floor; the sink in the kitchenette was filled with food-encrusted crockery; a dark stain marked where on the carpet a body had been until recently. Detective Sergeant Villeneuve knelt down and gently pressed a finger on the stain. It was sticky to the touch.

"So," the detective remarked. "This is where the deceased was found?"

The constable nodded. "Yes, sir. slashed his own throat."

Villeneuve stood up. "Is that the knife?"

"Sir." The uniformed officer passed the detective a plastic bag containing a paring knife with a black handle. Villeneuve peered at the rusty stain that marred the blade.

"He must have been very determined if he killed himself with this." Villeneuve passed the knife back to the constable, then nodded at the wall opposite the bed. "What's all this about?"

"That?" The constable shrugged. "Just a mess. That's all."

The wall was covered with a patchwork collage of newspaper clippings and photographs. Words had been underlined or highlighted in garish neon; random figures had been circled in red ink; a spiderweb of coloured threads and push-pins created connections between the disparate elements. A pile of papers, each one covered in handwritten notes, had been left on the top of a nearby mirrorless dressing table.

Villeneuve picked up one of the sheets of paper and squinted at the multicoloured scrawl, trying to decipher it. "Hmm."

"Sorry? Sir?" The constable interjected.

"I was just thinking," the detective began. "There is something about all this." He waved the sheet of paper at the collection of photographs snd clippings. "It looks like the deceased was trying to make sense of something. I would like to know what."

The uniformed officer shrugged. "I have no idea, sir. If you want my opinion?"

"Please."

"I think he was just some crackpot that finally broke and killed himself."

"Perhaps." Villeneuve glared at the constable. "Perhaps not." Then he turned to face the wall, trying to make sense of it.


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