There was a deeply wrong detail at the core of a secret’s conception most people had, and that was the reason why most killers got caught. Ask them and they’ll deny, but each of them was convinced a secret was something to tell as soon as possible to as much people as possible.
Oscar, who knew the secret of keeping secrets, was not to tell anything to anyone.
They’d be a couple of hard weeks for the boys. Or maybe three, or four. Commotion, thrill, some negative exposure. No one would have looked where they should. A case to be solved only by another former genius boy, maybe, and anyway only by a long series of complex and improbable conjectures.
Oscar would have kept his secret for himself. To know what others did not, smile unnoticed as the slow and strange relief wave spread over the office after the enquiries, maybe tell the newspapers, someday, at eighty or ninety, when law wouldn’t have known what to do with him anymore…
… or maybe not. |
