“What can I do for you, Miranda?” Tom asked, not even bothering to look up from the box of “You’re Never Alone” material he was searching through for some clue.
“Um. I had a dream.”
He did look up at that, flabbergasted. “What?”
“I remembered something while I was dreaming. A speech Mike wrote but that he couldn’t deliver because of his anxiety. So, I gave it. I got a copy of it out of MY boxes in the attic. See?” She stepped forward, pointing to the important part.
“It’s a nice metaphor,” Tom said, reading it.
“Yeah, I thought so, too. Except…”
“Except?” Tom asked.
“Mike was on the autism spectrum, Tom. He didn’t use metaphors.” Miranda explained, her voice cracking.
“Well. Damn,” he responded, looking back at the quote. “Where’s that box marked ‘Wayne Carver’?”
He set the speech down and looked for the box among the stack of boxes Dan had brought down to him. He picked up his phone and called the Batavia police as he looked.
“Hey. Good afternoon. – This is Special Agent Tom Mathews. – Yeah. – Messenger over everything you have on a suicide in 2006. Wayne Carver. – Yep. – Of course, it’s relevant.” He hung up, finding the box.
He pulled off the lid. On top was a scrapbook. He flipped through the book. “Wow. How’d your brother get photos of evidence?”
“I…I didn’t know he did. I have no idea.”