The Widower Murders

Chapter 4 - Change

It took all of forty-one minutes to walk from Michigan Avenue to Cross Street.  Along the way I found myself fascinated with many of the scenic changes.  When I'd left, the Ann Arbor Transit Authority's bus terminal sat on Ferris next to the post office.  Now located two blocks north on Pearl, I wondered how the City's Planning and Development Department had received approval to zone the area for such a project.  Building the transit station and Eastern Michigan University's downtown business satellite had been visions of my father's.  The reason they'd never come to fruition were because of overzealous council members, individuals who had sought to devalue my family's property holdings within the community.  Given the fact the Prices were no longer a market competitor, it was obvious the same rival developers had capitalized immensely on our inattentiveness.

"No.  Impossible.  Not you, too," I complained, as I finally made my way to where Theo's once operated.  "The Wurst Bar?  What the...  What happened to Theo's?" I heard myself question the red arrowed sign bearing the name of the newly constructed storefront.  Seemed as with many of the other landmarks I retained memories of, Theo's had gone the way of at least half a dozen absent the Cross Street business district.  The magnitude of what had transpired reeked of conspiracy.  Everywhere I looked my family's presence had been purposely removed.  From economic stimulation to charitable donations, the Prices had contributed to the community generously.  To publicly deny all the work they'd done was nothing less than a slap in the face—my face.  Angry and unable to stomach another insult, I turned and decided it was time I forged my way home.  On time and in the distance, Jarvis parked next to the water tower.  After rendezvousing with him, a sense of calmness came over me.  The symbolism of the Cross Street water tower my great-grandfather had financed and donated to the city reminded me that despite nearly twenty years locked away in The Valley, neither man nor time could rob me of my rightful heritage.  Adrian and Hannah Price were my parents.  I was their only child and sole heir.  And though some may have preferred the Prices be forgotten, responsibility of the family name and legacy now rest with me.

Jarvis stood with the back door of the car opened greeting me with a smile.  "Was the walk everything you'd hoped, sir?"

Lost in thought I strolled passed him and climbed inside. "You have no idea."

Blocks later, as we drove west on Washtenaw Avenue and the water tower was still visible in the skyline behind us, Jarvis peered into the rear view mirror.  "Home, Master Fence?  Or will you be beginning now?"

Week after week, year after year, Jarvis had visited me at The Valley.  My only connection with the outside world, as I became older he kept me abreast of what was happening with my family's assets as well around Ypsilanti.  After my birth, Jarvis was hired to care for me when my mother exhibited signs of a psychological disorder.  He'd literally been with me for as long as I could remember.  He was the one person who despite my institutionalization never questioned my account of what had happened to my father.  When everyone else thought I was a stark raving lunatic, that I was lying, Jarvis let it be known that he believed me.  Which was why the day The Valley released me I'd told him would be the day I set out in search of my father's killer.  No longer an adolescent and considered cured of my own so called mental illness, I now had insight and my family's fortune at my disposal.  Both of which I planned to use to my advantage.  Ignoring Jarvis' remark I waved for him to continue on, the disconnection with the day and years of suppressed anger resurfacing.  The photographs of my father's murder were brutal, horrific, and I'd never forgotten them.  Shown to me during an interrogation, they were the reality that as we sped along, equally reminded me that the crime scene, and address of the person initially blamed for killing my father, were one and the same.  Home.