Steven Irish sat on the narrow bed in the room he had at Open Spaces and stared at the object in his hand.
The schedule called for him to be on a trek through the woods that surrounded the lake and river with a group of students, but with the death of Graham that morning all activities had been cancelled.
Being at a loose end was the last thing he needed just then, it left him with too much time to think, and thinking had never been his strong suit. Not that he tended to do any better when he acted on instinct, doing that had left him with his current troubles, and an inability to decide what he should do about them.
Doing nothing seemed like the most sensible course of action, after all, he wasn’t suspected of anything, and if he did something he might just change that, but that still
