25. A Brave New World

“My husband was murdered.”

The detective appeared unfocused, capable of looking anywhere but into my eyes.

“Yes, Junia. I understand that is the statement you’ve given the department.” He cleared his throat to continue. “But they are still closing the investigation. My superiors feel there is insufficient evidence to keep the case open. But if you would like any resources to assist you in processing this loss you have suffered, we’re more than happy t—.”

“I buried my husband this morning.” I interrupted.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m aware.”

“He was murdered for our research. Those bastards Westing and Ettson, they killed him. And they’ll kill me, too, now that…now that I’m alone.”

Tears streaked my face, clearing thin paths in the soot and dirt left on my cheeks from my time in the workshop that afternoon. The detective may have assumed I was a grieving wife but the loss of my husband was not why I was crying. Nor was I afraid.

This was rage.

“Junia, I know you’re hurt. Confused, hell, even scared, but I—“

“You are a coward, sir.” I accused.

“I…beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. And if you aren’t a coward, then you are bought and paid for. Your pantomime of empathy is wasted on me and I would like you to leave my home.”

“Junia, how dare you? Arthur was like a brother to me. If I could—“

“DON’T,” I bellowed. “You don’t get to speak his name. Leave! I’ll handle this myself…the way I should have from the beginning. I warned him and now it’s too late for Arthur. I will not make the same mistake.”

The detective stood taller and his wounded visage faded.

“You can leave, Junia. You can run and let them have whatever it is they want. Nothing here can be worth your life!”

I leveled him a look of disgust. “You could never understand, with your simple needs, the applications of what Arthur and I have built here, what we have discovered. Gods, I’d even venture to say you don’t deserve it, seeing as how you’re so content to take the scraps of your steam and carbon masters. No. There is only one answer and it is my duty to see it done. Now, leave. I have work to do.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

“I owe you nothing. So with all due respect, kindly fuck off.”

He tipped his hat and turned, walking out of my workshop and probably heading back to my husband’s killers to tell them I wasn’t intimidated. I had been prepared to show him the glowing blue orb in my palm, proof that the energy my husband and I had discovered was real. It was everywhere around us and in us. With the right equipment, families could wire their homes and end their reliance on non-renewable, filthy energy sources. The ones owned by Westing and Ettson. I was grateful for hesitating. He might have killed me right then and there and taken it to them. At least now I had time to make my move. But I wouldn’t be able to do it alone. I’d need someone who can dig.

And help me move a body.