William Greene

I sulked in front of the window, watching as the constable approached. He smiled curtly to the maid, who held the door open for him. I closed the drapes and wandered to my chair, drinking sullenly from a small flask I fancied in my house coat. The library was my favorite room in the house, I liked the books, but mostly the warm fireplace where I would nestle with a drink and read all night. I hadn’t read in quite some time though, and noted thick dust on my books where the maid had neglected to clean.

I waited for only a moment before a tap at the door brought the maid forth wearing a worried expression. “The good constable is here to see you, sir.”
“The ‘good’ constable is here?” I spat “Thank god, I thought they might send Dennis.” Behind her a gruff looking man of about forty stood, a couple days stubble coated his cheeks, and he held his hat to his chest with both hands.

“I’m afraid we must talk, William.” Dennis said, slowly crossing the threshold of the door. I waved the maid off.

“I’m afraid of talking as well. Let’s not then?”

“Your wife is dead, William. You absolutely refuse to speak to the law. That’s not just strange, that’s suspicious.”

I glared at the wall in front of me, not bothering to look to him as I spoke. I hadn’t known Dennis before the incident, but now he’d made himself a regular guest in my library, showing up nearly every day.“You think I killed her then?”

He shrugged. “Your father’s wife was murdered. Your grandfather’s wife was murdered. Your wife was murdered. If you ask me, murder runs in the family. Odd, isn’t it?”
“All victims, no villains, constable. What do you do, I wonder, when you aren’t harassing innocent people?”
“What do you do when you aren’t murdering loved ones?” I didn’t reply, and for a moment there was silence. He, standing still with his hat cradled to his chest and I looking at the floor, occasionally drinking from my flask. “I’m taking you in.” He said finally.
“On what proof!” I cried, jumping up so fast that my flask fell over and spilled on the floorboards. The old maid rushed in, carrying a rag to mop at the mess.

“If you’ve any decency left in you, you’ll come with me. We’ll get this sorted out. Find the killer, whoever that may be.”

“Ah.” I laughed. What an absolutely incompetent imbecile. “You aren’t taking me in. You’re asking me to go. I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t kill my wife, and I think it’s time you left.” I could see the flames again building in his eyes, but I stood tall to show him I wouldn’t be bullied into submission. After a moment he turned without a word and traced back down the hall. I watched him leave from my window, clambering into the coach he arrived in. “Dolores.” I called, listening for the maids hurried steps. “Pack my bags, would you?”