An Unsuspected Development

by Rachel Contopoulos

He was walking steadily around the block once every ten minutes or so. His trench coat flapped violently in the wind. Muttering angrily to himself, he looked up again and saw a tall, slender, hooded figure heading towards him.

“John?” she asked in a strong, confident voice.

“Please call me Dennin.”

“But John, I’d prefer to be on a first name basis. It’s more personal.”

“It’s Dennin,” he corrected firmly. “Shall we?” He motioned to the nearby steps.

“How do you know I live here?” Her eyes narrowed.

“I have my ways. Look, you’re late, and I would much rather be elsewhere at eleven at night so either let me in, or let me leave.”

She rolled her eyes and went to unlock the heavy door. Following her up the brick steps, Dennin glanced in each direction checking for passersby. No one was in sight. Two street lamps glowed dully twenty and thirty-five yards away, and the park across the street was quiet and empty. Reaching the last of the six stairs to the front door, Dennin frowned. He preferred odd numbers. Even gave the false sense of balance and perfection.

“You can take a seat in the living room,” she indicated a door down the hall, “and I’ll be back with some coffee.”

“Black,” Dennin said as he strode towards the door.

“Sorry?”         

“I take my coffee black.”

She rolled her eyes again and turned into the kitchen.

Dennin sat on the black leather couch which faced the fireplace at a slight angle. Removing his hat, he shook out his short, dark brown hair, but left his coat on.

The woman entered shortly, carrying two steaming cups on a tray. She sat herself in an armchair across the coffee table so that she was face to face with Dennin. She was no longer wearing a hood and her fiery red hair hung down her back. Her face was thin and pretty, she had a light layer of eyeliner and a hint of lip gloss. Dennin guessed mid to late twenties. She had taken her jacket off and was wearing a deep blue tank top over a pair of tight, dark jeans with black high heel boots. The faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered on her.

“My friend Melissa recommended you.”

“That’s great. But I don’t know anyone named Melissa.”

“You worked for her about a year ago. I’m Jane by the way.”

“I don’t really do names.”

“Aren’t you a charmer?” Jane said sarcastically.

“Look, let’s get down to business. Why am I here?”

“My brother, Sean, was killed in his house two days ago.”

“Aren’t the police looking into it?”

She hesitated. “I don’t trust them. I think they would suspect I was involved.”

“Were you?”
            “No!” she flushed red. “If you’re not going to trust me, maybe I’m just wasting my time. Getting my hopes up.”

Dennin ignored her. “Then what would make you a suspect?”

Jane looked him straight in the eyes. “I was there when he died.”

Her green eyes blazed with intensity as they met his deep brown ones, and though it rarely happened, Dennin was thrown off for a moment. The sincerity with which she said it was unusual for your everyday liar.

“Why were you there?” he asked, recovering quickly.

“I was just stopping by to visit. I always try to at some point during the week.”

“Describe what happened.”

“I went in the back door; he leaves a key under the mat for me, which puts me straight into the kitchen. But I usually have to go find him because he spends a lot of time in the darkroom…”

“The darkroom?”

“He’s a photographer. He had the darkroom built in a few years back after he finished college.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Georgetown, you know, in D.C. Later he moved here to New York, but he still traveled a lot for work.”

“He’s your younger brother.” It was a statement.

“What makes you think that?” Jane asked.

“You sound protective of him. It’s in your voice.”

“Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “But I guess I didn’t do that well enough.”

“What happened when you got inside?”

There was a moment of silence which she gazed off, remembering.

“The lights were all out, which made me a little nervous since he would normally leave the light on for me. I moved quietly into the hallway and called his name a few times. Then I heard a noise from around the corner, which is where the darkroom is. I walked over, opened the door and…and…I saw him. On the ground.” She fell silent and her lips trembled as she fought to compose herself. “I ran over to him and grabbed him. He was still warm, but not breathing.” She paused again. “I want you to find out why he was killed.”

“Okay,” Dennin said, standing up and putting his hat back on. He slipped a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I’ll meet you at your brother’s house tomorrow at noon.”

Jane, startled by the abruptness of his departure, glanced quickly down at the card. “This is useless. It only has your name, no number.”

“You won’t need my number. Just take the card. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, here, wait.” Jane stood up and fumbled with her purse on the ground. “Let me write down the address.”

“Not necessary. Goodnight.” And with that, he turned and left the room.

Jane followed him and locked the door wondering how that asshole could possibly be a brilliant detective.

Dennin was pacing again. Apparently that woman could never be on time. At quarter past twelve, a small green car pulled up across the street and her flame red hair emerged. He glared at her.

“I know, I know. Sorry I’m late,” Jane said pulling out a key and unlocking the door.

Dennin scowled. “Is everything exactly as it was?”

“Yeah, I think so. I haven’t been back since…you know.”

“So you didn’t move the body?”
            Jane flinched at the word. “No. Melissa said I should leave everything in place.”

“Good.”

She was leading him towards the back of the house. They turned a corner and Jane stopped short.

“That’s the darkroom,” she said pointing at the closed door ahead of them.

Dennin took a few steps forward. “Will you be joining me?” he asked.

“I don’t think I can go back in there,” she said quietly.

“Fine. I’ll be out in a bit.”

As he closed the door behind him, Dennin paused for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The red filtered lights were dim, but the room itself was pretty big. It was about fifteen yards long and ten wide. Multiple enlargers lined the walls on each side, there were two cupboards in the back, and the center held a large wash bin and four trays of chemicals. Dennin moved a step forward and his shoe squeaked and slid on the linoleum. The floor was wet. Water, or some sort of liquid, was splashed everywhere and had formed puddles in the dents where the floor was uneven.

The body was face down a few yards from the central wash bin. Sean had been wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, a silver watch and Adidas shoes. Dennin leaned down to get a closer look. Sean’s nose was crooked, probably broken, and there were traces of dried blood on his face and in his hair. Purple bruises lined the sides of his neck, and small cuts ran up and down his arms. His hair, violently red like his sister’s, was sticking up at odd angles and was covered in a white powdery residue which was also present on his face. Chemicals.

The small amount of blood on Sean surprised Dennin because looking around the room, he noticed dark stains on the walls and floor, just not as much on the body. Dennin stood up and peaked into the wash bin. The water was murky and as it swirled around, he saw hair floating in it. Moving around the body, Dennin followed the trail of blood to the back of the room. The line of blood from Sean ended at the second to last enlarger on the right hand side. Dennin reached out to cotton swab a blood sample and his coat caught on one of the enlarger knobs. With a muffled grinding sound, the station began to push inwards.

Dennin watched it shift. “Interesting.”

He stood facing a small, cramped room which was illuminated by a bright florescent light hanging from the ceiling. Stacks of papers covered a cheap wooden desk in the corner and maps of various countries and cities lined the walls. Sighing, Dennin forced himself to turn away from his discovery as he went to find Jane.

“Jane?” he called as he stepped into the hallway. “Jane?”

Getting no response, he turned the corner and peaked into the kitchen. “Jane?”

She was sitting on the ground with tears running down her cheeks. After a moment, she blew her nose in a nearby dishtowel and looked up. Her eyes were red and glassy, but somehow she managed to look attractive anyway.

“You remembered my name,” she mumbled.

“Lucky guess. Look, I know you don’t want to go in there, but there’s something you need to see.”

“I don’t want to s-see anything in th-that darkroom again,” she managed to choke out.

“This is important. And you won’t need to look at your brother.”

Wiping her eyes and standing up reluctantly, Jane followed Dennin back to the darkroom. She cringed as they entered and stared pointedly at the wall until they were well past Sean’s body.

“Did you know about this?” Dennin pointed at the brightly lit room.

“No.” Jane stared at it in confusion. “It’s a mess.”

“That’s because someone’s already been there. We need to go through this stuff and find out what your brother really did for a living. Because I don’t think this is normal for most photographers.”

Dennin walked over to the desk and began opening drawers while Jane stood watching silently.

“Are you British?” he asked suddenly.

“No. I’m Irish.”

“Russian?”

“No.”

“South African?”

“No. Why?”

Dennin held up a handful of small navy blue books. “Your brother has a lot of passports.”

“What?” Jane stepped over and began rifling through them.

“He was doing work for the government.”

“How do you know?”

“It makes sense. You said he went to Georgetown, right in D.C., so he probably interned or was recruited while he was there. There’s no other way he could have all of these.” Dennin continued leafing through papers. “It’s going to be hard to find the information we need in all of this, so start looking.”

After half an hour, Jane straightened up clutching a thin, black briefcase.

“I found this behind the filing cabinet,” she explained, handing it to Dennin.

He popped the clasps and slowly lifted the lid. The inside was lined with thick foam which protected the small screwdrivers, pliers, and batteries that filled the indents.

“Something’s missing.” Jane pointed at the long, empty gap in the foam.

“I’ll be back.” Dennin walked out of the room and crouched down by the body. He carefully removed the victim’s silver watch and returned to Jane. He held out his hand.

“Screwdriver.”

Jane pulled one out of the briefcase for him and Dennin went to work dissembling the watch.

“What are you doing?”

“Just wait. Pliers.”

She handed those to him too. There was a faint click and he triumphantly held up a glass container. It was filled with clear liquid.

“What is it?”Jane asked, gazing at it with interest.

“Research.” Dennin slipped it into a Ziploc bag and put it gently in his pocket. “All of the papers I’ve found have graphs and charts on them. Data. So your brother was some sort of scientist or researcher for the government. What we found here is probably his most valuable work.”

“Why do you say that?”

Dennin sighed. “Clearly he was hiding it from his boss.”

Jane paused to consider that. “What is it?” she asked again.

Dennin crossed the room and held up two large, detailed diagrams.

“These are guns,” Dennin stated.

Jane frowned at him. “Obviously. And obviously that little container is not a gun.”

“I’m not finished. I’ve never heard of either of these two guns which means they are restricted for government use only.”

“And why does Sean have the designs?”

“Because,” Dennin explained, “your brother invents weapons.”

Jane scrutinized him. “So that vial is dangerous and you’re just going to carry it around in your pocket?”

“Seems perfectly safe to me. Now, we need to find out why your brother was killed. And as much as I love this room, I’d prefer to bring some papers to the living room and read there.”

Arms piled high with potential clues, they made their way to the front of the house. Having settled down, Dennin began reading the top sheet on his stack. It was a report about some new type of bullet for the U.S. Military. Dennin put it down and looked up to find Jane surveying him.

“Yes?” he asked in a falsely polite tone.

“How was Sean killed?”

He studied her for a moment. She was biting her lower lip, but her eyes were calm and clear. “Why do you want to know?”

“I just…I need to.”

“Fine. There’s blood from that secret room to his body, so I’ve concluded that the fight started in there. Given the mess, I would say Sean walked in on someone going through his stuff. They fought. The other man must have had a knife because there are cuts on Sean’s arms. But there’s a lot of blood in there, so I’d say Sean did a fair amount of damage himself. Each side of his neck had bruising, so the attacker must have tried to strangle him. I might have guessed that was the cause of death, but Sean’s nose is broken and there is white powder on his face and hair. A broken nose bleeds, yet there is hardly any blood on his face, so it had to have been washed off. I am then left to assume that Sean was drowned in the photography chemicals because as he lay on the floor, the chemicals would have dried and the developer could then leave behind the traces of white powder that I found.”

Mouth open, Jane stared at him, partially in awe, and partially horrified.

“You asked.”

Rearranging her face into a composed mask, Jane picked up a paper and began reading.

As a second hour passed in almost complete silence, Dennin stood up and stretched.

“I’m going home to finish this,” he announced.

Jane yawned. “Okay, me too.”

Gathering as many papers as they could carry, they walked to the front door.

“I’ll be in touch,” Dennin said, starting down the street.

Jane crossed the road to her car. As she pulled out of her parking space, she checked her rear-view mirror for Dennin, but he had already disappeared.

Sitting at home on his black-and-white striped couch, Dennin sipped a beer and stared into space. He was missing something. Letting the image of the darkroom fill his mind, he tried to figure out what key point he had brushed over. Sean worked for the government, researching and developing new weaponry. He posed as a photographer and used his darkroom to hide his data and discoveries. Something happened and he was killed, ironically drowned in his own chemistry. His own chemistry. Dennin sat up straighter. Since the moment he had discovered the concealed room, he had assumed Sean’s photographer identity was just a cover. But he had real chemicals set up, so he had to have negatives or prints somewhere. Dennin’s thoughts raced around before settling on an image of the cupboards in the back of the darkroom.

Jumping up, he snatched up the phone and dialed. The phone rang seven times before a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Jane, it’s Dennin. We need to go to your brother’s house again. Now.”

“Wha-Why? Now? How did you get my number? Dennin! It’s fucking two-thirty in the morning!”

Dennin smiled into the phone. “Just get there. You have twenty minutes. And it would be remarkable if you would be on time for once.”

“I hate you,” she said, and hung up.

She arrived twenty minutes late, which Dennin figured was more to make a point than because she actually needed the time.

“Jane, how nice of you to come,” he said pleasantly.

Jane didn’t smile and Dennin noticed circles under her eyes.

“This better be good,” she said, flatly.

Dennin walked quickly to the darkroom, calling over his shoulder, “I assume you don’t want to join me so I’ll see you in a bit.”

It was clean. No body. No blood. Dennin had called in a favor to get it all cleaned up, but he was nonetheless surprised by how quickly it had been taken care of. Shifting back to the matter at hand, he opened the cupboard door. A single strip of negatives hung from clips at the top. Dennin grabbed it and left to show Jane.

She was curled up on the couch sleeping. Not bothering to be gentle, he prodded her awake. Disoriented, she sat up slowly.

“Look at these.” He held out the negatives.

“What’d you have?”

“Negatives.”

“I was looking for something a little more helpful than that.”

Dennin frowned. “I can’t see them very well, but the pictures must relate to his work since they’re the only ones he has.”

Jane squinted at the small panels. “We could put them in an enlarger so we can see them more clearly,” she suggested, “but you should do that. I don’t want to-”

“It’s fine,” Dennin said grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards the darkroom. “It’s been cleaned.”

“But…what? How?”

“A friend.”

“But…Sean? I mean, I’m arranging a service…”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll have the body back by then.”

“Okay. I guess. That’s weird, you know.”

They had reached an enlarger.

“Alright, let’s have a look.”

Taking charge, Jane gently guided the strip of negatives into a negative carrier which she then put in the enlarger. She flipped a switch and the black and white image appeared on the station. Focusing it, she squinted and tilted her head.

“I don’t even know what that is.”

            Dennin leaned in. “It’s a contained explosion. And a very powerful one. See those bold lines?” he indicated the bottom of the picture. “This test was run on a metal table, and it still did damage. Okay, next one.”

Jane shifted the slides and a beautiful building appeared.

“Oh! Buckingham Palace,” she exclaimed. “I was just in England last summer.”

“I know.”

“I feel like that’s an invasion of privacy, but I’m sure you don’t care.” She changed the negative again.

“Windsor Castle, also in England. I didn’t even know Sean had been there.”

            “You didn’t know a lot of things. Next.”

            Jane glared, but reached out once more.

            “You know this one right?”

            “Of course. That’s The Palace of Westminster. That’s where the House of Lords and the House of Commons meet,” she answered.

            “Well done. Now, we need to find out what England has to do with all of this. Back outside. We’re looking through papers again.”

            Jane groaned.

“Pull out everything that mentions Britain, England, or London, anything like that.”

            At the end of an hour, they had found a total of five relevant papers.

            “I have the layouts for all three buildings we saw in the photos,” Jane volunteered.

            “And these sheets compare the value of the dollar to the Pound.”

            Jane joined him to look.

            “Wow, the dollar really sucks right now,” she commented. “It’s just lovely that we’re still in a recession.”

            Dennin stared at her.

            “What? I was joking.”

            “I know. And I just realized what this is all about.” He carefully extracted the vial from his pocket. “We have this,” he began, “you brother’s murder, pictures of England, and a picture of an explosion. Your brother researches weapons.” He shook the vial in front of her face. “This is the weapon. And also the thing he was hiding, so for some reason he didn’t trust the government with this kind of power. Why? Well, his boss must have asked him to develop a new kind of bomb because this liquid explodes. He was a smart kid, clearly, and did some research on his own. What did the U.S. want this bomb for? To destroy Britain. Which would effectively reestablish the United States as one of the strongest countries.”

“How would attacking Britain accomplish that? War doesn’t sound very profitable to me.”

“Because, Britain would never expect an assault from its friend and ally the U.S.A., so their leaders would then suspect the Middle East. Europe is so connected that the Pound and Euro would lose value together due to the war effort, and the dollar would once again be worth something.”

            Jane paused for a second. “That’s ridiculous.”

            “I know. But there’s no other explanation. Sean was protecting Britain from a terrorist attack by our government with a weapon he designed.”

            “And someone found out and had him killed?”

            “Yes. His boss probably didn’t appreciate him refusing to explain how he made the liquid.”

            “But then, what now? We have the only sample, not the government, so Britain is safe.”

            “If only. Scientists record experiments, trials and errors. What papers are missing?”

            “The ones about the liquid,” Jane gasped.

            “I think it’s safe to assume the U.S. is now in possession of a very destructive bomb.”

            “Then we have to tell someone!”

            “I think the only people with enough influence to stop this already work for the government.”

            “We can stop them!” The instant the words were out of her mouth, Jane realized just how ridiculous they sounded. She looked at Dennin, waiting to be told how stupid she was.     

            Instead, he smiled. “Now you’re thinking.”

            They had talked it over all night. Dennin had connections and they were going to need to use all of them.

            “I’m just not sure I feel comfortable bombing a government building.”

            “You said it yourself. We need to stop them, and this is the only way,” Dennin insisted. “All I need from you is permission to use the vial. It was your brother’s property, and now it’s yours.”

            Jane sighed. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

            “Not if you care about the world.”

            “That’s a wonderful way to put it,” she said sarcastically.

            “It’s true. Okay, we have the location of their headquarters from that letter in Sean’s desk. I have the bomb material,” he patted his pocket lightly, “and now, I have to go.”

            “Good luck.”

            “We’ll need it.”

“How will I know if we’re successful?”

“Read the paper. You’ll figure it out.” Dennin turned and walked to the door.

            “Wait.” Jane walked over to him and kissed him hard on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

            Dennin pulled away, straightening his coat. “I expect my payment by the end of the week,” he said as he walked down the steps.

            Jane watched him go, and when she caught a brief glimpse of his face, she was sure she saw a flicker of a smile.

            Jane sat at her sunlit kitchen table, slowly poring over that morning’s paper just as she had every day since Dennin left. A small title in the corner of the third page caught her attention and she began to read.

Practice Makes Mistakes

Yesterday an uninhabited island off the coast of Hawaii erupted in flames. Islanders heard a deafening noise, looked up, and saw smoke. The police were called and went to investigate. The military was running a drill and testing new weaponry; that it’s nothing to worry about. But this brings up the question of safety and regulation…

Jane put the article down and sighed in relief, letting a grin spread across her face. She had to hand it to Dennin, he was good.