CARL and Peter had got into Cannon that Saturday morning, and were on the rooftop of Marcuz’s department.
The same ground where Lucius Barnabas had died.
The two men had joined the throng of media people entering the school that morning. So they got to smuggle themselves in.
There on the rooftop, Carl and Peter took on a casual air to avoid drawing attention.
They chatted like friends and laughed freely. As though that ground wasn’t the murder spot.
They were looking for clues about Lucius’s death. They doubted the credibility of his autopsy which Cannon lawyers had tendered in court.
It had nullified the young man’s statement which previously levied psychomicide attempts against Cannon.
Now they felt pretty sure that the witness’s death wasn’t a reckless one. They felt it was homicide and Cannon was the murderer.
They had come on Cannon’s ground to dig that out.
But Cannon had seen its first rain as an isle on the Caribbean Sea. So every remaining print of identity there should have been washed off.
Yet only one thing lay there pregnant with stories. And Peter called his friend’s attention now.
“Hey, look at this bike!”
It was Marcuz’s bicycle thrown somewhere on the ground.
“What’s it with it?” Carl didn’t catch the interest.
Peter strode toward it, talking. “It seems to be in good shape. So why will the owner leave it here?
“See, it’s got cobwebs all over it. It means it must’ve been here for months.”
Peter was by the steel ride, bowing down to examine it.
Carl felt to caution him.
“I guess we’re trespassing right now. The owner must have left it there.”
“No Carl, I know what I’m seeing.” Peter beckoned to him, “Come, have a look.”
Carl walked over and Peter gave him a pair of gloves, then he also shod his hands.
Peter stood up the cycle, drove its wheels to test it, and found it working well.
“You know what I’m thinking?” he asked.
“First drop your voice, Peter.”
“I’m almost whispering already, man. Don’t be scared, huh?”
“I ain’t scared, no. But put down that thing too, and we can talk.”
“You’re really scared, man! D’ you think I’ll keep the bike all day. I’m dropping it now, of course.”
“That’s better.”
“Look, your friend’s a lawyer – a practicing one. So you’re safe.”
Peter turned around to put the bicycle down. He laid it on its last spot.
“So what d’ you feel about this,” Carl asked as the man returned.
Peter was fast to answer. “I’m thinking this bike owner isn’t so well off.
“You see, the bike is good and functional. So if the owner isn’t dead, he probably abandoned it.”
Carl picked it up.
“Then if he really did, it means it’s no antique to the guy. It’s his ride.”
“Yes that’s my point,” said Peter.
“Still if it is that person’s ride,” he went on, “it’s not so logical that he’ll leave the utility stuff to waste on government property.”
Carl countered.
“But that equipment, too, is also wasting there on government property!”
It was the equipment covered by the sheet of canvas. And this time, it was partly covered.
Peter smiled, “That’s broken. Then it’s government stuff also!”
He turned to Carl.
“Look, we’re talking of a struggling person who left his functional bike out here in nature!
“It means, he must have left the thing because he’s got no choice!”
“You’re right,” said Carl. “I read the police report and no bicycle was mentioned there.
“I learnt Lucius had a small car which he left downstairs that day.”
The lawyer picked up.
“That tells you the bike boy is third-party, man! We might be talking of a new witness, you know!”
“Okay, so what do we do now?”
“We search out the bike owner and find out what led him to abandon.”
“Is that even possible? It’s not like bicycles have plate numbers to track down!
“How do we get him when mist and rain must have erased fingerprints.”
“We will get the boy, Carl! We must get him.”
The biomedical engineer was lost for words. He just stood watching Peter.
Now his attorney on the psychomicide case wasn’t the only one searching for the bike owner...
And Carl wasn’t the sole person asking his question.
For there was a third one desperately in search of Marcuz.
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