Ignorance is Bliss: Another swordfish sandwich

Senator Bliss at lunch...

“It looks like the jogger killed your wife,” Dornan told Martin over yet another in an endless series of swordfish sandwiches.

“What’s your point?” was Martin’s response. He enjoyed swordfish as much as the next fellow, but Martin was becoming annoyed with the Detective’s puerile eating habits.

“It looks like the jogger killed your wife,” Dornan repeated, assuming that the Senator hadn’t heard him.

“I need to tell you something before the waiter comes back,” Martin told him in a hushed conspiratorial tone, which caused the Detective to lean in closer. “First, don’t talk with your mouth full and, second, the word like isn’t used when a subject and verb are to follow. You should have said it looks as though the jogger killed your wife, which still doesn’t make any sense.”

Dornan was getting to the end of his rope with Martin’s didactical manner, though he wouldn’t have used didactical to describe it.

“You don’t seem to appreciate what’s happening here,” the Detective replied managing to restrain some of his anger. “You have been a person of interest, if not the prime suspect, in what has all the earmarks of a homicide case and I’ve just gotten you off the hook by hanging it on an anonymous jogger. How much more sense does it have to make?”

“To tell you the truth, it may not have to make any sense at all. I have no idea what’s happened to my wife and, as far as I can tell, you haven’t either. It’s all very speculative and if you have any experience with women whatsoever, you would realize the futility of any attempt to understand what they’ll do or when they’ll do it.”

“But, she’s been gone for…”

“Detective,” Martin interrupted him. “I think you’re taking this a little too seriously. If I’d killed my wife, I think I would know it, don’t you agree?”

Dornan was about to launch into a tirade, but remembered that his mouth was full.

“I think everything happens for a reason, like that affair with the Boat People. You should look at this as a sign that you have been put in the right place at the right time.” Pleased with himself, Martin sat back and savored his wine.

“The right place and the right time for what?” Dornan whined. As usual, Martin’s non sequitur progression caused the Detective to lose his train of thought.

"I’m not going to answer that question,” Martin intoned as he signaled the waiter for the check. “Instead, I’m going to let you think on it and I have every confidence you will stumble upon the correct answer without any guidance from me.” It was Martin’s way of ending an encounter that had far exceeded its purpose and time limit.
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