The Final Case

Paul stared at the book. This was an anomaly. He knew this case. He knew why this woman had killed herself and he knew that there was nothing more to be done or said, nothing more to be investigated. But he felt this nagging at the back of his mind, and he couldn't help but think that this book had something to do with it. 

Paul was a detective. He was good at what he did. He had seen cases like this before. This one seemed no different from the others. Woman: Cathy Jordan, killed herself by a gun to the head, a recently purchased Walther P99. Interesting choice. Reason; presumably because of the car accident four years ago which she caused, and which took the life of the only other person in the car: her twin brother Christopher Jordan. 

This was not unprecedented. People killed themselves all the time, especially people who had lost someone recently, and even more so those who had caused the death of that someone. And yet he could not stop thinking about this book, his own personal anomaly. 

He looked around. He was standing outside on the driveway of Ms. Jordan's home, and there were several people gathered. A young cop came up to him (was it Cole?) with witness statements, all saying that the neighbors simply heard a gunshot. Nothing more. There was a boy walking away with his parents, a couple driving in their car (Carl's Custards painted on the side of the vehicle, as well as a telephone number, address and "We Do It Best!").  A woman in jogging attire and a man he recognized as a teacher from his sons' school, standing with his arms around his wife. All these people, and no one knew anything that could possibly be helpful to him. He went back inside. 

The woman, Cathy, had shot herself in bed, the TV still on with the volume turned up. There were receipts on the counter in the kitchen, one of which was for the gun, bought with cash three weeks ago. There were no dishes in the sink and the house was relatively clean. Nothing out of the ordinary. But still this book... 

The book Paul held in his hand was titled "Oh, The Places You'll Go," by Dr. Seuss. Any other detective would assume that someone had given this to Cathy for a graduation present, but Paul thought slightly differently. His last name was Seuss. He could not help but wonder if this was actually the scene of a homicide, that the murderer killed Cathy and knew that Paul would be the detective on the case. And for some reason, the name Chris Jordan seemed familiar to him. He could not remember ever having met someone named Chris Jordan. Still...

That night, on that case, was the night Paul Seuss decided he was done. Over the next few months he took on fewer and fewer cases. He knew, by that one book, he was getting too paranoid. A normal suicide was always just that. The presence of a book by an author who shared his name did not make it a homicide, and there was simply no reason to think that it wasn't just the years of death and destruction wearing on his conscience which made him so suspicious. He had to stop. 

So he did. He went home and worked on paper work for the police department on his own time. He took care of his mother, and talked to his brothers and sisters. He made love to his wife and gave extra cash to his son, and he began to lead a relatively happy life. 

And in twenty years, when his brother would ask him if he remembered a man named Christopher Jordan, and his ever having mentioned him, he would say no. He would go home, and he would take out a Dr. Seuss book titled "Oh, The Places You'll Go," and in the darkness of the basement of his suburban home, he would repeat, no. For Sealy's sake, he did not remember that man.