Dead Politician Society

Chapter 35: Clare

“Another murder.” Clare focused her gaze into her paper coffee cup. Murky brown liquid looked back at her. Of course another politician was dead. She hadn’t found the killer, solved the case, and proven herself a brilliant undercover cop yet. Clare snorted at the memory of her own naivety, when she’d thought the task would be that simple. Had it only been three days?

“Ruiz wasn’t as famous,” Cloutier said, like this was a relief. “Your average guy on the street couldn’t have told you his name.”

“Meaning you? I’d heard of him.”

“Congratulations. Had you heard of him last week?”

“No,” Clare admitted.

“You want to read this, or not?”

Clare was tempted to say Not. But avoiding the killer’s email wouldn’t make the murder not true. With shaking hands, she took the third obituary from Cloutier.

Manuel Ruiz: April 25, 1966-September 9, 2010

We are pleased to announce our third step toward a political utopia for the real world. While delivering a patronizing speech about the benefits of big government to control (okay, he said “protect”) its population, Manuel Ruiz dropped dead, facilitated by—you guessed it—that poison that prefers to remain anonymous.

Ruiz was responsible for the law that bans pit bulls from the city limits. He implemented the city-wide smoking ban. Did he suggest a tax credit for the bars and restaurants who closed because their sales plummeted overnight—or for those businesses who stayed alive but struggle to pay rent now that business has been cut in half because smokers drink at home now? Nope. Nor did he think about the dog breeders who were forced out of business, or anyone else his overparenting style of government has put out in the cold.

What was next on Ruiz’ agenda? Last night he spoke about laws to control what pregnant women are allowed to put into their bodies. No drinking, no smoking, at the penalty of having Children’s Aid take their babies from them at birth for non-compliance. Worse: some people liked the idea.

You’re welcome.

This has been a message from the Society for Political Utopia.

Clare looked up. “It’s looking more like the whole group could have done this, right?”

Cloutier grunted into his coffee.

“Come on,” she said. “You won’t acknowledge that it’s possible?”

“Sure, it’s possible. Until we have a convicted man in jail, Bigfoot could have come down from his mountain to do these politicians in.”

“Meaning you think I’m crazy for even thinking it could be the group.”

“Meaning confirm the identities of the group members, and we might find ourselves closer to the truth.”

“Is Susannah Steinberg alibied for any of the murders?” Clare asked.

“Only last night’s. By her girlfriend. A night at the movies.”

The coffee shop was crowded. Clare glanced around anxiously. They were nowhere near campus, but she worried she might be recognized. She leaned forward. “Is Laura Pritchard still a suspect? Because I have another theory.”

Cloutier’s eyebrows lifted. He moved his right hand in a quick circle, inviting Clare to speak.

“What if they’re a team? Laura and Susannah. They started with Hayden, then to deflect attention from Laura, they started picking off the others. People they were happy to see go—but would be unlikely to be traced back to them?”