Brick of Watts

“This would appear,” said Detective Anton, “to be an accidental death.”

He pointed to the scene in front of them.

“The camper spills his water bottle,” Detective Anton went on, “creating a small puddle. He thinks nothing of it. Then, later, when carrying some wood over to put it on the fire, he slips in the mud of his own making, falls, and strikes his head on the stone there. Lights out.”

“I agree,” said Ian Walter Wattbricks.

The detective was taken aback. “You agree that this is an accidental death?”

“No,” said Wattbricks. “I agree that it appears to be one. And yet, study the stone. Do you notice anything odd?”

Detective Anton sighed. “Wattbricks, do we have to play this game? Just tell, won’t you?”

“It’s quite simple, really.” Wattbricks knelt next to the sharp rock. “Here. The indentation in the earth. It extends several inches beyond the stone. Which means it has been moved into the exact position wherein it would be believable, given the location of the puddle and the man’s stature, that he would fall into it. Had it remained where it had been originally, the poor fellow would’ve hit packed dirt. Hardly a pillow, but not a death sentence either.”

Detective Anton stood staring a moment, his mouth agape, before regaining his composure. “Right. So, are you saying that the stone was placed just so to kill the man, or moved afterwards to make the death seem more plausible?”

“That’s a bit above my pay grade, detective,” said Wattbricks. “After all, I’m just a consultant.”

The detective took out his phone. “I’ll call forensics. Either way, we’re treating this as a homicide.”

Wattbricks smiled to himself, satisfied. He was starting to feel quite at home around these ghastly scenes. And to think, just a month ago, he’d been nothing more than a kerning expert who’d bumbled his way into a crime scene and used his understanding of how to line things up just right to solve the mystery.

“Dammit,” the detective said, having retrieved his phone from his pocket. “It’s dead. And nowhere to charge it up here. I’ll have to trudge down to the trailhead and plug it in in the cruiser.”

“Sir,” called Deputy Banks, from inside the tent, “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Detective Anton and Wattbricks huddled in the flap. “What is it, Deputy?”

“It’s some sort of electric box, sir,” said Deputy Banks. “But… well… there’s just one thing that’s a bit strange…”

“It’s got my name on it,” Wattbricks muttered.

Of course, this was the next logical step in his ascension. Ian Walter Wattbricks had a nemesis. And quite a skilled one too. The electronic box he’d created looked slick. But what could it be? Would it play a message? Would it open to reveal a riddle? Would it–

“Ah, there we go,” Detective Anton said, plugging in his phone. “That should do it. Pretty neat little power station, don’t you think? And look over there. It has a solar panel for recharging away from all outlets. It’s funny, Wattbricks, I never really considered how your name is a combination of ‘watt’ and ‘bricks,’ as in blocks of power. Funny, huh?”

“Very,” said Wattbricks, trying to hide his disappointment.