I stood and looked around my Victrola to see Quinn standing at the steps, pointing to the Kinetoscope that Max and I had moved that afternoon. “It’s an Edison Kinetoscope.”
“What’s that?”
“Old movie viewer, before they perfected projectors.” I stepped around a few tables and hiked up the steps. I moved to open the cabinet door in order to show her the guts of the machine, but it was wide-open. “Oh boy….”
“What’s wrong?”
I glanced at her. “Well, uh—it came with a movie. Someone tried to steal it this morning, actually.”
“What?”
I nodded and pointed to my office door. “But I locked—fuck.”
Quinn narrowed her eyes and glanced toward her left.
The office door was ajar.
I stepped close and pushed it open with my knuckles. The entire room was torn apart.
THREE WISEMonkeys.
That’s what we looked like, standing around the office doorway. Quinn was pinching the bridge of her nose, gaze cast to the floor. Calvin had his fist resting against his mouth. One arm was crossed over my front and the other rested against the side of my face.
“So you had a movie made by Thomas Edison?” Quinn asked.
“W. K. L. Dickson, actually. But he worked for Edison,” I replied.
“And at the end of the film was a murder?”
“That’s right.”
Quinn raised her head and looked across Calvin to me. “And it wasn’t amoviemurder?”
I jutted a thumb at Calvin. “He saw it.”
She turned her gaze to him. “You did?”
Calvin nodded. “Yesterday. Seb called me to come look at it.” He crossed his arms, still staring at the mess in my office. “It was authentic, but what can we do about a death that happened over a century ago? It’s tragic, but we have dangerous criminals roaming New York in the now. I told Seb there was nothing to be done.”
“Perhaps it implicates someone,” I said, mostly to myself. I glanced to my left when I felt eyes on me—Calvin and Quinn both staring. “What?”
“You think there’s a supercentenarian running around this city, trying to cover up a murder they were guilty of in the nineteenth century?” Quinn remarked.
“Of course not,” I replied. “The film itself is just over 120 years old, and I’d give the killer’s age at least an additional twenty. The verified oldest human only reached 122 years.”
An awkward silence settled around us.
Calvin finally asked, “And who was that, baby?”
“Jeanne Calment,” I quickly answered, letting out a held breath. “Thank you for asking.”
Calvin nodded.
“What I meant was… maybe someone alive today wants to protect the killer’s identity,” I suggested. “Forsomereason.”
Quinn didn’t look impressed. “Or maybe it’s just worth money. How much, do you think?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t knoweverything,” I told her. “Personally, I think the historical value outweighs the monetary, but I’d have to do a bit more research.”
