Dead Politician Society

Chapter 57: Annabel

Utopia Girl: Guess who.

Annabel switched on her bedside light and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

Death Reporter: If I guessed who, I’d have to go to the cops.

Utopia Girl: Did you watch the show from your living room?

Annabel glanced at her blinds. She’d shut them in fear a few hours earlier. Could she peel them back again to look outside?

Death Reporter: What show?

Utopia Girl: The one I told you to watch this afternoon. Look south.

She swung her legs out of bed, stuck her feet into her bunny rabbit slippers. She moved to her window and opened the blinds a crack.

Death Reporter: Looking south. Seeing nothing.

Utopia Girl: Never mind. Ambulances must be gone by now.

Death Reporter: Ambulances? Plural? More than one victim tonight?

Utopia Girl: Watch the news.

Annabel grabbed her TV remote. She planned to find a 24-hour news channel but it turned out not to be necessary. Every channel was running a similar loop: Images of John Alton being carried out of the St. Lawrence Hall on a stretcher. Words ticked by at the bottom of the screen announcing one more politician who collapsed at a function. She stopped on a random channel and listened to the announcer’s even voice: “…speculated to have died in the ambulance…” She flipped to another channel: “…pronounced dead at St. Mike’s Hospital…” And on others: “…fourth in an extremely rapid series of deaths…must be foul play…who might be next?…how will we protect our politicians?”

Death Reporter: Were you there when he died?

Utopia Girl: I was there when he collapsed. Wasn’t long after I watched you shut your blinds in panic.

Slowly, Annabel opened her bedroom door to the rest of her apartment. It looked okay—the same as she’d left it. She checked the front door: locked and bolted.

She put the kettle on. Okay, so she’d messed up. She had to turn this around—somehow—so she was helping the investigation. All she needed was one clear clue that she could take to the police.

Death Reporter: Why do you message me? What’s in this for you?

Utopia Girl: You don’t remember starting this? God, you’re so weak. I should have gone with Penny.

Death Reporter: So she was your other offer.

Utopia Girl: Didn’t I already say that? After you showed her my first email, she suggested I send further correspondence directly to her. Her words: “Once the police give it their okay, I plan to personally write an article about you and your case. Annabel Davis, while competent at the obituary desk, will never be a star reporter and should have no further access to you. She poses a security risk that could compromise our exclusive. She’s also not especially talented. You and I, however, could tell a very interesting story together.”

Death Reporter: You’re lying.

Utopia Girl: You wish I was.