He waited for the rain to stop before deciding if he would go. It wasn't that the rain was the issue, it was just another excuse to keep from deciding what was rather obvious. He leaned against the lamppost, it's gas hissing in concert with the steaming drops landing on the hot top, it's light muted by the afternoon’s amorphous sun. For a moment he allowed the water dripping from the rim of his hat to distract him, anything to keep from making a decision.
Without really coming to it he decided, at once picking himself off the lamppost, pulling his coat closer, and starting off down the street in a manner of someone who knew where they were going and what they were going to do when they got there. This was all the more curious because he knew neither, but he was going with determination. It was as if free will was a myth, he was acting without consciousness.
Markesh had told him it would be like this, acting on instinct, not letting his mind intervene in what had to be done, lest the awkwardness of it all give him reason to hesitate. It would make him a better man, saner at least, if he did not dwell on it. It was telling that this was what he was thinking of instead of planning what would happen shortly. He wasn't focused at all, but he was locked in, unvaryingly.
As he came up on the brownstone he could see cops milling about smartly outside, one tapping another on his badge with his nightstick, no laughter, but smiling at some quip. This was no place for laughter, even black humor was unwelcome here. It was already too dark, too soon, and even that smile had come grudgingly. They saw him coming, a nightstick to the brim in salute and a nod, parting to let him pass with respect. He could see Markesh through the doorway, and knew for certain this was something heinous if the Chief Inspector came out in the rain.
Markesh nodded as he crossed the door, shaking the rain off his back, removed his hat and proffered his hand as he was introduced.
"Lord Eland, this is my colleague, Inspector Captain Estrand," then turning to him, "John, Lord Eland, First Lord of the Admiralty." John shook the man’s hand, noting a sense of resignation in the older man’s grip. Lord Eland pressed his lips together, released his grip and stepped wordlessly away, furthering John’s sense the man was emotionally wilted.
"The dead man is his wife."
Markesh had John’s full attention.
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