Category Archives: Drama

Arts, Drama

DCI Darvel investigates: The Miser

WHODUNNIT DRAMA

Whodunnit

. General synopsis of case –

WALKING briskly through the park, DCI Darvel took a long draw on his pipe and tried to clear his mind. Fact: Karson Meyers was dead and, apparently, almost completely unlamented. Fact: Meyers had been stabbed through the throat with a poker snatched from beside the fire in his sitting room. Fact: Time of death looked to be somewhere between 7pm and 11pm. Fact: The maid had caught sight of Meyers lying on the floor in a pool of blood shortly before breakfast and raised the alarm. Fact: She told a few curious enquirers that the murder weapon had been a poker before Darvel had a chance to ask her to stop. Fact: Half a dozen people had motive to want the old miser dead, the opportunity to have done it, and a reasonable if flimsy alibi. Fact: Having interviewed all six, he didn’t seem to be any closer to identifying a suspect.

SCENE

SUCH A STATE OF AFFAIRS irked the proud Darvel. Puffing on his pipe, he reflected on the various interviews he had conducted in trying to bring this case to a close.

Michael Knight was a lumber distributor, and one of Meyers’ most vocal creditors. The two had been doing business for several years, but Meyers now owed him a substantial sum of money. According to Knight, Meyers had steadfastly refused to settle the debt. “I’m not surprised someone did him in,” Knight had said. “He was infuriating. It wasn’t me, though. I was at home with my wife all evening. Besides, I don’t hold out hope of getting any money out of his estate. Unfortunately, he owed me the money personally, rather than through his firm.”

Susan Hugo was Meyers’ long-estranged daughter, his only child. She was having a difficult time of it financially, and might possibly have hoped that she would be the main beneficiary of whatever her father had to leave. “I’d love to feel sad that he’s dead,” she had said. “One ought to feel sad when one’s father dies. But the truth is that he was never pleasant to me or my mother. I haven’t been alone in a room with him since mother died, and that was fifteen years ago. But being murdered with a poker, that’s horrible. I suppose I feel a bit sad about that. My husband, Paul, is sick at the moment. I was looking after him. I understand that you have to ask. He’ll confirm my alibi.”

Ian Goddard, one of Meyers’ managers, was unusually forthright in his interview. “I’m absolutely delighted that the old son of a bitch is dead. He was a coward, a bully and a skinflint, and he made my life miserable. Maybe now we’ll have a chance of getting the business back onto a firm footing. I thought about killing him myself, you know. Repeatedly. But he wasn’t worth it. I was playing bridge last night, with three friends. I can even give you a run-down of how the hands played out, if you want.”

Evan Patterson was the other manager. He seemed more reflective than bitter about the victim. “It’s difficult to think of him as dead, let alone stabbed. He was such a dominating presence. He only had to walk into a room, and it seemed as though all the air vanished. We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but God help me, I won’t miss him. The firm won’t miss him, either. I suppose we’ll have to put out some regretful-sounding statement and have an official day of mourning or something. I had dinner with my brother last night.”

Emma Moss was Meyers’ housekeeper. Her interview was short and to the point. “Heard he was dead.” Pressed on her whereabouts for the evening in question, she grudgingly added “Home, of course, with my family.”

Jerrold Stanton was Meyers’ butler. “I never had an employer like Mr Meyers. Oh, my. What a broken man. I tried to leave, six years ago, as soon as a I realised exactly what sort of person he was. He made it clear that if I did, he’d accuse me of theft and bribe the judge to send me to prison. I never dared even hint of leaving again. It’s been hard, but I kept my head down, and did as I was told. It’s time for a new chapter in my life. I was at the bar last night, having a beer or two.”

Darvel suddenly stopped dead. “Stupid of me,” he said. “Stupid!” he immediately turned on his heel and hurried back towards the station.

Who is the killer, and how does DCI Darvel know?

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Arts, Drama

Inspector Parnacki investigates: ‘Deadly Rendezvous’

WHODUNNIT DRAMA

Crime Scene

Using your detective and sleuth skills and being in the shoes of Inspector Parnacki solve this mystery of the murder of Angela Voss in Tate’s Wine Bar.

The murder of Angela Voss – in the middle of Tate’s Wine Bar no less – set all the gossip sheets buzzing. When the newspapers learned that “Paddington” Parnacki was leading the investigation, the story became frontpage news.

The facts, such as they were, seemed broadly unpromising at first glance. Mrs Voss had met a pair of friends at the venue, Elizabeth Hansen and Sophia Rosenthal. Voss and Hansen had shared a pitcher of a light wine cocktail, while Rosenthal had opted for coffee. The ladies had consumed nothing else. Ninety minute later, Voss was dead, apparently poisoned.

While everything was being tested, Inspector Parnacki conducted interviews, starting with the waiter who had served the three women.

Michael Johnson was a tall, pleasant-seeking man in his late twenties. He was clearly nervous, and kept rubbing the palms of his hands on the sides of his shirt.

“You waited on Mrs Voss and her friends, I believe,” Parnacki began.

“Yes, sir,” Johnson said. He paused, then blurted out, “Am I going to prison?”

The police officer raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you murdered Mrs Voss?”

“No! Uh, that is, no, sir. Not on purpose. But I served their drinks, didn’t I? So . . . I killed her.”

Parnacki attempted to calm him. “Even if that’s true, merely serving the drink would make you no more responsible than the tray you were carrying. Unless, of course, you knew the drink was poisoned.”

Johnson sagged with relief. “Oh, thank heaven.” He wiped the corners of his eyes. “So, how can I help?”

Parnacki smiled encouragingly. “You are familiar with the three ladies, I take it?”

“Yes. They’re regular customers. Were regular customers, I suppose.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, I took the ladies’ coats and scarves, and seated them at their usual table, by the fire. Mrs Rosenthal ordered a coffee with cream, and Mrs Hansen asked for a jug of the iced wine cup to share with Mrs Voss. I took the order to the bar, and went to attend to some other regulars, the Timothys, who’d indicated that they wanted me. By the time I’d taken their order, the ladies’ drinks were ready. I took them over to their table, along with a pair of wine glasses. I set the drinks on the table, poured for Mrs Voss and Mrs Hansen, then I left them to it. Mrs Hansen seemed thirsty. Mrs Rosenthal asked for a little honey, which I fetched. That was it, until . . .”

“Until?”

Johnson swallowed nervously. “It was a bit over an hour. Mrs Voss got to her feet in some distress. She called for cold water. Before I could fetch it, she’d gone into a coughing fit. Then she fell over and went into convulsions, and died shortly afterwards. Her friends were distraught.”

“Was it usual for Mrs Rosenthal to order coffee?”

“Quite usual, yes. She never drinks any alcohol, at least not that I have ever seen.”

“I see. And did the barman start with Tate’s within the last month?”

“Why yes, actually. This is his second week. Do you want me to fetch him? I’m sure he’s here.”

“Not just yet, Mr Johnson. I may have some further questions soon.”

As Inspector Parnacki left the troubled waiter, an officer approached. “Reports, sir, just in.” Parnacki took the papers with a nod of thanks, and glanced through them. The contents of the table were listed as one pitcher, quarter-full; one glass, half-full; one glass, full; one coffee pot, empty; one cream salver, empty; one honey dish, two-thirds full; and one coffee cup, empty. The pitcher and both glasses were laden with arsenic.

Nodding to himself, Parnacki looked up at the officer. “We need to focus our attention on Elizabeth Hansen,” he said. “Have her brought in for questioning.”

Why does Parnacki suspect Hansen?

Solution DR2

. Recommended crime fiction reading:

Banks and Annie confront two impossible deaths but this is Robinson at his prolific and vintage best. Careless Love is a fast paced and ingenious story.

 

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Arts, Drama, Screenplay

Body of Evidence: No Day At The Beach

SERIES: CRIME FILE INVESTIGATIONS

. Intro & Preamble Note: ‘Body of Evidence’ – includes cast and personnel list/glossary of terms

A series of crime scenes that will require the reader to apply their forensic skills in solving the mysteries.

Burton read the print-out from the gas chromatograph/mass spectrometer and nodded. The two samples he had submitted to the machine for analysis were from the steering wheel and driver’s seat of Charlotte Haney’s car. What was left it, anyway. A 250-foot fall into a ravine full of boulders tends to do more than scuff the bumper.

As he expected, the samples were identical, with high amounts of zinc oxide and titanium dioxide. Burton made his way back to the interview room and entered to find Detective Frank Gibson questioning Ted Haney, Charlotte’s husband and the only witness to the accident. Gibson was a bully and had a reputation for getting confessions before the crime lab could even sweep the scene. He claimed it saved him paperwork. Burton didn’t particularly like his methods, but he saw their usefulness in some situations. Burton had a bit of a reputation himself; something to do with not liking bullies and lazy detectives.

“I already told you,” Ted spluttered. “She got into the car to get the camera, and it started rolling. She was leaning in through the door of the backseat, so she couldn’t tell the car was moving, and – ”

“At what point did you start to push the car?” Detective Gibson interrupted. “Or did you just knock her unconscious and take your time rolling it over the cliff?”

“Hold on there, Detective,” Burton said. “Mr Haney is a witness, not a suspect. If he becomes a suspect, we have to bring in the really bright light and crank the thermostat up to 110 degrees. You know that. Look at him, he’s already sweating.”

“What’s your problem, Burton? Did you run out of pink outline chalk or something?” Gibson said with a sneer.

“Don’t worry,” Burton said as he sat down. “I finished your hopscotch squares first.”

Before Gibson could think of a retort, Burton handed Haney a paper towel, then took it back when the man had finished wiping his face and hands. He leaned back and put it in the rubbish bin, but not in the rubbish bag. Instead, he placed it in an evidence bag he had taped to the inside rim before Haney had entered the room. He closed the evidence bag, and handed them to Gibson.

“Here, Frank. You always talk about how you want to clean up this town. Start with this room.” Gibson looked as though he’d rather put the bag over Burton’s head, but he snatched it away and slammed the door.

“Mr Haney, you said that you and your wife spent the morning and early afternoon at the beach, then stopped on the way home to take some pictures from the lookout. Charlotte drove the entire time?”

“That’s right,” Haney said. His reddish face indicated to Burton that Haney wasn’t too concerned about getting sunburned. He recounted the entire story, obviously shaken by the event and needing to talk it through.

As he listened, Burton peered into his file at the accident photographs, careful to keep them out of Haney’s view. Charlotte’s body, also tanned and sunburned, was damaged beyond recognition. However, with Ted at the scene as the accident occurred, no body identification was necessary. After 15 minutes, Gibson returned and stood behind Haney. He had a print-out in his hand, the results of the crime lab analysis of the paper towels. Gibson gave Burton a slight shake of his head. There was no zinc oxide or titanium dioxide on the paper towel Haney used.

Burton closed the file folder. “OK, Mr Haney, I just have one more question. Where is Charlotte now, and why does she want us to think she’s dead?”

How did Burton know?

Solution No Day At The Beach.

CI2

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