Issue No. 2 in the Whodunnit series. Colonel Herbert has been found dead in his study. Use your inner sleuth to establish who the murderer was from the case notes compiled.
When Colonel Herbert was found dead in his study one morning with a knife through his neck, suspicion fell on members of the household. There were no signs of forced entry anywhere in the building, and no public impropriety on the Colonel’s part to make enemies. As police scrutiny intensified, the Colonel’s sister Vivienne consulted her friend, Mary Miller, who had an almost obsessive interest in mystery stories and made a hobby of deduction.
“The thing is, my dear,” Vivienne said, “the police are quite right to be looking at the household. William was a pillar of the community, but in private he was positively beastly. We were all terrified of him, and he would fly into the most violent rage over the tiniest thing. He saw off every suitor I ever had, even one or two I was quite fond of. If the culprit isn’t found, I fear that I might end up spending my twilight years in prison.”
It was therefore agreed that Miss Miller should talk to the entire household, one at a time, about the fatal evening.
“We’ll have to start with you, Vivienne,” Mary said.
“Me?” Vivienne looked shocked.
“Who else?”
“Of course,” she sighed.
“Wonderful. Please do have a seat. Tea? No? Very well. So, what transpired?”
“Well, you know most of it. My brother was in his study on Monday night, taking care of some paperwork. I left him to it, and went to bed at around ten o’clock. Sophia, the maid, went into the study to tidy a little after seven the following morning. That’s when she discovered the body. She shrieked persistently enough to wake the whole place up. The police said that he must have died before midnight.”
Recommended reading by the site author: Peter Robinson’s new book, ‘When The Music’s Over’. The new DCI Banks novel.
Next came the maid, Sophie. “It was horrible, ma’am. The Colonel was still in his study when I went up before eleven. I could see the light under his door. Miss Herbert was already asleep, I could hear her, on account of my room being below hers. Next morning, I got up at the usual time, five-thirty, did the fires, cleaned the kitchen floor, and started on the rounds. I opened the study door and there he was, dead as a fish. I slammed the door shut and screamed my head off. I couldn’t bring myself to go into the room. Mr Hunt was the first to get to me.”
Hunt was the family butler. “I returned from seeing Cook home at nine forty-five that evening. Miss Herbert went to bed shortly afterwards, and the maid wasn’t much later. I went to my bed after she’d retired. I looked in on the Colonel before doing so, to ensure he had no further needs for the evening. I was breakfasting the following morning when I heard the screams. I discovered the maid in considerable distress outside the study. Cook arrived a moment behind me, so while she consoled the girl, I opened the door to investigate. I understood her distress as soon as I put the light on. Colonel Herbert was quite dead, having vented a lot of blood. The carpet is completely ruined, I’m sad to say.”
The cook, Mrs Palletier, seemed unbothered by events. “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, but womankind is safer without that man walking this earth, let me tell you. I heard Sophie’s screams and made my way to the Colonel’s study. Hunt flicked the lights on, and I heard him gasp a little. The old man was dead as a doorjamb. Personally, I reckon the gardener did him in.”
The gardener, Lou Dotson, was curt about the whole affair. “I was home on Monday, with my wife. When I came in Tuesday, the old buzzard was already dead. I need to get back to the roses.”
With everyone interviewed, Mary called Vivienne back in. She hugged her friend and said, “Good news. I know who killed him.”
Who is the murderer, and what tipped Miss Miller off?
In the case of the Stolen Statuette, Oliver is sure that Bill is responsible for stealing the statuette. But how can he be sure that he knows for certain?
Anthony Long looked decidedly out of sorts. He was unusually pale, with dark smudges under his eyes, and his customary brisk gait had given way to a sullen slouch. Watching him approach, Oliver quickly decided to change plans and suggest a coffee shop, rather than the game he had obtained tickets for.
“You look dreadful,” Oliver said, by way of greeting.
Anthony nodded. “Two hours sleep. Maybe less.”
“Coffee?”
“You’re a life-saver.”
Ten minutes later, the men were seated at a quiet table in the corner of a café. As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Anthony leaned forward. “I’m in a bit of a bind,” he said, quietly. “I could do with some advice, Olly.”
“You know I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Thanks. I had a break-in at the house yesterday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oliver said. “Did they take anything of value?”
Anthony nodded glumly. “Well, yes. The thief broke a window in the dining room and made off with a rather precious gold statuette from the hall. But that’s not the problem. I was attending a meeting in town yesterday. Mrs Chambers, my housekeeper, had the afternoon off. My brother Bill – he’s been staying for a few days – was there, but he says he didn’t hear anything.”
Oliver arched an eyebrow at Anthony’s curious phrasing. “He says?”
“He’s even wilder than ever, Olly. I get the impression that he’s only here because someone is trying to collect on a debt. I don’t see why a thief would know to go straight for the statuette, ignoring some other nice pieces in the dining room. Bill suggested that the gardener’s new lad might have seen something. Maybe he’s right. But I can’t help worrying that he might have taken it himself. If he has, the last thing I want to do is involve the police. Bill’s a damn fool, but he is my brother. If it’s not him, though, I’m risking repeat attacks, and I won’t be able to claim for the loss.”
“I understand completely,” said Oliver, nodding. “Why don’t you show me the scene?”
Unleash your inner sleuth with a series of short case whodunnits. Throughout 2017 and 2018.
A little while later, the men were round the back of the house. The broken window was a gaping mess. The flowerbed beneath showed signs of trampling. Oliver approached it carefully. There were several large footprints dug deep into the ground, with glass and shrubbery crushed into the soil in a pattern of sole that strongly suggested a work-boot of some kind. The prints were not visible on the grass of the lawn.
“Size ten, I’d say,” said Oliver.
Anthony nodded. “Yes. Bill’s a size seven, before you ask.”
“Good, good. How about indoors?”
They went into the house, and Anthony led Oliver to the dining room. “The thief opened the window through the hole, then climbed in,” Anthony said. “I’ve had the room left alone, in case the police need to see it. There’s still a bit of mud on the sill of the broken window.”
Oliver knelt down by the window and ran his hands over the carpet slowly. “There might be a little mud here, too.” He straightened up, and put a sympathetic hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Let it drop, Tony. I’m afraid it was clearly your brother.”
– The two shiny gold ingots that Rodney and Carla withdrew from the bank’s safe
ONE
CARLA MET RODNEY while she was doing a postgraduate degree at Cornell University. She was studying the formation of atolls around the Pacific Rim, and he was doing research for a doctorate in geology. They had met at a Christmas party that her professor was giving at the end of term. Carla had been bored and was about to leave when she saw Rodney walk in. He had a confident air about him and she felt a strong, overpowering attraction. She threw her coat across the arm of a sofa and went to get a beer out of the fridge.
Rodney was very friendly when she introduced herself and soon they were talking in an excited manner about their respective studies and degrees. Carla told Rodney about her interest in the circular reefs formed by sunken volcanoes, and Rodney told her about his passion for what he called “the cooling rock”. He told her about a grant he was applying for which would allow him to complete his thesis in Tahiti.
“Tahit!” Carla exclaimed. “It’s a dream of mine to go to Tahiti. It’s a hot spot for atolls because of all the volcanic activity on the islands.”
“If I get this grant,” Rodney said, fuelled by alcohol and inspired by a growing sense of curiosity about the woman he was speaking to, “I’ll take you with me.”
“Is that a promise?” Carla asked.
Rodney put a hand over his heart and raised two fingers. “Scout’s honour,” he said, then bent down and kissed her on the forehead.
TWO
EIGHT MONTHS LATER, Carla and Rodney were married; and in the Autumn of that year, they moved to Tahiti.
Carla and Rodney rented a small, secluded bungalow tucked away in the jungle at the foot of an extinct volcano. They would set out in the morning to climb to the top and gather lava samples, then Carla would lay out a lunch of sandwiches and fruit salad. On one of their excursions, they discovered a deep gorge with a river flowing through it not far from the house. They came across an old tattered rope bridge suspended eighty feet above the raging water.
“This must be the bridge the old man was telling me about,” Rodney said.
“Oh, let’s cross it,” Carla pleaded.
“I can’t,” Rodney said. “I’m too heavy. Apparently the bridge can only hold a maximum of 125 lbs.”
“I don’t weigh that much,” Carla said and stepped out onto the bridge.
“Please come back, Carla,” Rodney pleaded. “You’re making me nervous.”
THREE
ONE DAY, a parcel arrived in the mail. It contained a letter from a solicitor informing Rodney that his father was dead. Carla was shocked.
“You told me your father died eight years ago,” Carla said to Rodney.
“In a manner of speaking, he did,” Rodney replied. “We fell out over money, which was typical because my father is a miser.”
“Was a miser,” Carla corrected him.
“We could have been very rich,” Rodney said.
“What do you mean?”
“My parents had a lot of money,” he explained. “When my mother died, I became the sole inheritor of my father’s wealth. I was nineteen and in my first year at college. I was already studying geology. My father wanted me to give up my studies and work as an apprentice is his textiles factory. He wanted to pass on the business, but I refused. I had no interest in textiles, or working for my father for that matter. Things escalated, and we came to blows. That was the last time I saw him. The papers came later, but he legally disowned me.”
“I can’t believe you never mentioned this to me,” Carla said and sat down. “Is that all the letter says?”
“No,” Rodney said. “There’s a receipt from the bank and a key. Something’s been transferred to a safety deposit box here, but it doesn’t say what it is.”
FOUR
THAT AFTERNOON, Carla and Rodney went down to the bank and handed the slip to a teller. She escorted them into a safe and withdrew a long shallow box and handed it to Rodney. It was very heavy. Rodney looked at the bank teller and she excused herself so they could be in private. Rodney placed the box on a shelf and inserted the key. He opened the lid and his eyes grew wide in amazement.
“What is it?” Carla asked.
Rodney withdrew two shiny gold ingots from the box and held them up for her to see. He turned them over in his hands. On the bottom was etched the weight of each bar of gold. They weighed nine pounds each.
Carla put the ingots into her bag. They thanked the bank teller and drove to their favourite restaurant. Rodney ordered a bottle of champagne and placed the two ingots on the table where he could get a better look at them. When the waiter glanced at the gleaming bars on the table, Rodney grabbed him by the arm and said, “God, man. It’s pure gold.”
The waiter was stunned. He asked if he could hold one, then he called the bartender over. Soon everybody at the restaurant had got up to take a look. Carla had never seen so many greedy eyes. She started to feel penned in by the crowd, unable to breathe. She wriggled out of her seat and pushed her way out of the circle of people that had gathered at their table. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. This was bad news; she wished the letter had never arrived.
That night, Rodney and Carla had a fight. Rodney didn’t feel like sleeping so he took the car and drove down to the ocean to walk along the beach. He was ashamed of his reaction to the gold, and the sea had always had a calming effect on him. He promised to take the ingots back to the bank the very next morning and sell them. He decided to donate half the money to an environmental charity, and to put the rest into a separate account for when he and Carla had children.
Back at the bungalow Carla paced the porch waiting for Rodney to return. It had started to rain and Carla held her hand out to catch the cool drops in her palm. She felt nervous being left alone with the gold ingots and waited impatiently for her husband to come home.
While Carla was out on the front porch, two men broke into the house. They had heard about the gold from a friend who had been at the restaurant earlier that evening. They had been watching the house and seen the car speed down the driveway and figured that nobody was home. Carla jumped when she heard their voices, then crouched down under the living room window. She heard a man say, “Where do you think they put it?”
“How am I supposed to know?” another man answered.
“Try the bathroom,” the first man said. “I’ll check the bedroom.”
Carla wanted to jump off the porch and run away, but then she remembered what Rodney had said earlier that evening. For the last year Carla had been wanting to get pregnant, but Rodney always said they couldn’t afford a baby. That night, he had agreed that now was a good time. Carla knew that the only reason he had said this was because of the gold, and she had become mad at him for being so materialistic. But now she understood why it was so important to him; the money would allow them to start a family. Suddenly the gold became very important to her too.
Carla crept back inside the bungalow and down the hall towards the kitchen. She had put the gold ingots back inside her bag after Rodney had stormed out, and left it on the kitchen table. Carla seized her bag and ran back down the hall towards the front door. As she passed the doorway to her bedroom, one of the robbers looked up and saw her.
“It’s her!” he yelled. “Don’t let her get away!”
Carla burst through the front door and out into the dark night. She could hear the robbers close on her heels, yelling and stumbling through the undergrowth. She found herself running down the path towards the gorge and could hear the flowing river in the distance ahead of her. She needed a way to elude the robbers and thought of the old rope bridge that crossed the chasm. She remembered that the bridge could only withstand a maximum of 125 lbs. She had weighed herself recently and knew that she weighed 110 lbs.
When Carla got to the bridge, she stopped. The robbers were quickly gaining on her. She took her shoes off, then rummaged through her bag and withdrew the two gold ingots. She knew they weighed 9 lbs each. She didn’t want to part with them but she couldn’t carry both bars across at the same time or the bridge would break. She realised that she didn’t have enough time to make two trips, and she couldn’t throw the bars because the ravine was too wide. Carla held her breath and listened to the river roaring eighty feet below.
She looked back towards the jungle. She could just see the two men emerging from the trees. Suddenly she had an idea; it was easy after all. She was going to escape.
How did Carla manage to cross the gorge with both gold ingots?
Arts, reviews & current affairs 