A New Beginning

Chapter 52: A New Development

Chapter 52: A New Development

The private investigator sits at his desk, twirling a nickel with his thick left fingers, a glass of whiskey in his right hand. He waits as the clock in his office ticks away the seconds... the minutes... the hours... he's waiting...waiting for the just the right moment. It's after 7 o'clock in the evening, but the streets are quite lively, many people going to Times Square for the 4th of July fireworks or to bars to toast the evening. This PI, however, had other plans.

The lights outside his office go out, indicating the last of the PIs are going to the bar for a drink or home to their wives and families, but he is not. He's waiting. He has some work to do.

He's been biding his time over the past couple of days, going through the employee files, looking for someone... he came across the file he was looking for, under the recently hired section and under sketch artist.

J. Dawson

Now, of course, this could mean nothing... Jack and Dawson were very common names and it could be a mere coincidence. For all this investigator knew, J. Dawson was a middle-aged man, with horn-rimmed glasses and beard, who's been married for twelve years, with two children and have nothing to do with the case. Still, ever since his encounter with the two young blonde men on the street, his mind has been reeling in suspicion and thought, like a well-oiled machine. The gears in his head had not stopped whirring, not even for a moment. He knew that Mr. Hockley and Mrs. DeWitt Bukater were getting anxious and he was a man who would get the job done. He worked what he earned, no matter what the consequence.

Once the sounds of the last private investigator leaving his office, locking it up tight and then his footsteps fading down the stairs, the PI makes his move. He downs the rest of his whiskey and expertly flips the nickel into the glass. He stands up with the employee folder and reaches for his coat by the door. He shuts the door and locks it with his keys. He goes to the end of the hall and takes the stairs to the floor below him, where the more "main" law activities went on. Where officers hired by the city conversed and conducted investigations on the streets of New York. Those who did not have a private practice. There are interrogation rooms, a photo dark room, a fingerprint facility, a barracks for the officers on the night shift and the sketch artist studio.

The PI walks to the end of the hallway, to the room where this J. Dawson most likely works. The door is unlocked with one of his keys; any detectives or investigators had access to the entire station, no matter what.

The room was musty, the shades were drawn and the place was a mess. It definitely looked like an artist's studio; piles of paper were stacked high on the desk and on chairs, the wastebasket filled with a dozen more crumpled sheets. Pencils of all shapes, sizes, and colours were in a coffee cup on the desk and beside an artist's easel. There was an ashtray with some cigarette butts in it and a chair placed in front of the desk for witnesses to sit. The shades were drawn on the windows and the PI noticed that the entire office had a small layer of dust on it. The man moves carefully to the desk. He begins rummaging through the papers, looking for any important evidence that would be of interest to him. When that is fruitless, he goes for the desk drawers.

When opening the second drawer, the investigator sees a face staring up at him. He's almost surprised for a moment, but not the way one might expect.

The picture looking up at him had high cheekbones, green eyes, demure lips and curly red hair. The man has seen this picture before, on that is hanging on his wall, one that looked like a younger, much calmer version of the anxious woman in a large hat and carrying a handkerchief, weeping in his office upstairs.

The PI smiles inwardly and removes the picture from the drawer. He looks the sheet up and down thoroughly, not wanting to jump to any irrational conclusions.