Five-minute Mysteries 3. Ken Weber

smile – no frown either – no body language. Doesn’t even look at me, and says, “I’m the Veritan.”

      The others don’t react. There’s a pause again, and now the drinks come. Just as the waiter starts to set them down, the guy – he’s across from me – says his bit. But I don’t hear him ’cause the waiter drops the tray! All I hear is “I’m the ...” So now I figure I’m in a fix, but then the other woman turns to me. She’s actually quite friendly. Smiles a bit, not like the other two. Touches my arm just a little, like she’s sorry about what happened with the tray.

      And she says, “I’m the Veritan. Perry just told you that he is, but you shouldn’t believe him.” And she points to the first one. “Her either,” she says.

      And then just like that, they all get up and leave. Did I tell you this was weird or what?

      By the way, even though I scored in the initiation – it really wasn’t all that hard to pick the one Veritan – I never did join the Society. It’s a nice place and all. That lounge was something. But the annual fee is fifteen hundred bucks! In my business I get to hear liars every day. For nothing!

      ?

      Who is the one Veritan, and how did the narrator make his selection?

      Solution

      

11

Taking Over the Thomas Case

      The words of the chief prosecutor were scarcely five minutes old when Kirsten Oullette heard the promised tap on her door.

      “I’ll send up one of the paralegals with the Thomas case,” he’d said. “This kid Loy has been helping Harry on it.”

      That was after a lame apology for dumping her into the stream so quickly. “I know you’re brand new,” he’d put it, “but with Harry’s coronary you’re the only assistant DA with space for his cases. You should be able to get up to speed without too much problem. Only Thomas that’s urgent. Harry’s had two continuances already on that one. If we ask for another, it’ll get tossed for sure, so ... We’ll get you help if we can, but for now we’re just going to have to make do.”

      A second, more insistent knock brought Kirsten back to the present and she called to her visitor to come in.

      “Peter Loy from downstairs, Ms. Oullette.” He pronounced it oo-lit, leaning hard on the first syllable. Normally Kirsten made people rehearse the French pronunciation until they got it right, but she decided this wasn’t the time.

      “CP said to bring you the Thomas material?” He stood hesitantly just inside the door. “And go over it with you? If you want?”

      Kirsten’s first thought was “he’s even greener than I am,” but she was still stinging from the chief prosecutor’s unconscious insult about making do and was determined to work with what she was given without asking for help.

      “Sit down,” she said. “Yes, go over everything. From the beginning.”

      Grateful to be given some purpose, Peter Loy quickly settled himself and then pulled a large brown envelope from the stack he’d been carrying. It was full of photographs. “These are CS shots of the vic,” he said. “Thought that would be a good place to start.”

      “C ... S ...?” Kirsten wrinkled her nose.

      “Crime scene.”

      “Oh.”

      If Loy sensed her unfamiliarity, he didn’t show it. “Now, here’s the vic as he was found,” he said as he put a photograph on the table. “Name’s Velasquez, Martin Velasquez. Forty-two-year-old white male. Married, no children. Currency trader.”