World of Trouble (The Last Policeman Book, #3)

by Ben H. Winters

Nothing we ever did mattered one way or another. This event has always been in the cards for man’s planet, for the whole scope of our history, coming regardless of what we did or didn’t do.

It’s not just a person’s present that dies when they die, when they are murdered or drowned or a giant rock falls on their head. It’s the past, too, all the memories that belonged only to them, the things they thought and never said. And all those possible futures, all the ways that life might have turned out. Past and future and present all burn up together like a bundle of sticks.

“Acceptance of loss is not a destination—it’s a journey.”

I am a question mark aimed at an answer.

But everybody does everything for a reason. That’s lesson number one of police work; it’s lesson number one of life.

This is a solvable case. It’s a crackable case. I have to crack it.

Almost always, things are exactly as they appear. People are continually looking at the painful or boring parts of life with the half-hidden expectation that there is more going on beneath the surface, some deeper meaning that will eventually be unveiled; we’re waiting for the saving grace, the shocking reveal. But almost always things just are what they are, almost always there’s no glittering ore hidden under the dirt.

Vengeance is the cheapest of motivations, it’s a tin star on a shabby coat. I want answers is all that I want.