Dedicated Witness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic


“Mrs. Walcott, you’ve seen this man - and woman?”  The detective questioned seated across from her. She examined the photo and shifted dismayed in the chair.

“Yes, three days ago. I distinctly remember him - them because…” her voice muted and eyes arched regretfully.

“Because what Mrs. Walcott?”

“It’s Brigitte.” She sighed wistfully to change her name, her mind - her life.

He offered a cigarette.

“No thanks, I quitted January 1st, 1944 - my new year’s resolution of three years.”

“Go on Ms. Brigitte…”

“I already told you everything. Can I leave now?” She gestured to leave; his eyes disapproved.  

 “Only if you’re not withholding evidence; that would be obstruction of justice.”

“For crying out loud, I’m volunteering my assistance.”

“We appreciate that, but you’re now involved, Brigitte.” Her frown denounced his assertions.

“How? I was just a passerby.”

“You’re the only person with interest who has claimed to witness someone with her, Ms. Walcott. They found her by the Westside Highway near -”

Brigitte studied the photo and shuffled upset, “Yes, that’s the bright coat she wore at the station.”

Detective McCauley offered, “Take us from the top again and you can leave. Paint me a picture.”

She exhaled, “I was heading to my aunt in Philadelphia for the weekend.” He nudged, she smiled, “My aunt lives in Somerton, just north of -”

“I know where it is, go on…” He interrupted.

“I recognized him immediately.” The detective cringed,

“Brigitte,” he critiqued, “it’s Penn Station - you just happened to focus on this man, this one stranger?”

“Yes, it was odd that he - this gentleman was openly sociably conversing with an elderly lady in the concourse. They were not related - women’s intuition. They stood oddly exposed in the light as if on display as everyone rushed.”

“That’s not odd Brigitte.”

“Oh yes, it is when he’s the spitting image of your husband - my estranged husband.”  Brigitte puffed vengefully, “Of six months. He had his silly empty briefcase…and dunce drooped shoulders, yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Detective, I specifically walked close. He couldn’t see me. I had to confirm if it was Robert. From my position, he stood lazy just like my husband.”

“Was it him?”

Brigitte smiled doubtfully, “Could be…” Annoyance grazed McCauley’s face.

Brigitte confirmed, “The lady advised him as she wrote presumably for him. I didn’t understand what she said as he stood stoic waiting with his fedora cocked low, just like Robert. I couldn’t conspicuously eavesdrop, so I kept on walking... behind his back.”

“Brigitte, was it Robert? Was it your husband Mrs. Walcott?”

“Robert wouldn’t hurt elderly women so gruesomely - only if…” Her voice hushed to a quiver and eyes welled.

McCauley tensed, “Only if what Ms. Walcott?”

“He didn’t take it.”

“Take what, Brigitte?”

“His medication…” Her eyes rolled protectively fearful - angry.

“It wasn’t him! Why you keep digging?” Her face flushed scared.

He leaned forcefully, “Brigitte, where is your husband? We know you know…” 


Submitted: May 08, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Ghoud-Boo-Ks. All rights reserved.

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