Tag Archives: Whodunnit

Arts, Drama

Whodunnit: Harvey’s Mistake

LATERAL THINKING DRAMA

– Use your crime-solving skills to solve who murdered Leonard Harvey in this whodunnit conunundrum

THERE was a good reason, Inspector Denton thought, why most wills remained confidential. Leonard Harvey had called his family together to inform them of changes he was considering to his last will of testament. Specifically, he informed each of them of how much they were due to receive under the current will, and then gave them until the following morning to justify that amount. If he didn’t like their answer, he would leave their portion to a local charity which looked after homeless cats.

He was dead within ninety minutes, from a potent cocktail of poisons.

The bereaved were still in varying degrees of shock the following morning. Denton’s first interviewee was Harvey’s business partner, Peter Fulton. A few years younger than Harvey, he had come along to the family meeting at Harvey’s express request.

“I tried to talk Len out of it,” Fulton told Denton sadly. “But he was determined to put them on the spot. I can’t help thinking that if I’d done more . . . But Len wanted to see their faces, you see. They didn’t know that there was no way to pass the test. He’d already decided to give it all to the cats no matter what. He just wanted to watch them squirm and try to justify themselves, and then rip up the old will in their faces. An unworthy urge perhaps, but he’s paid a very high price for it now. He was a good friend to me, and I’ll miss him. I stayed at the house until the end of the meeting, but I left immediately afterwards, and went straight to my club. I was there until midnight. Just all a bit too much for me.”

Sheila Harvey was Len’s third wife. Some thirty years his junior, she had taken the events of the previous evening particularly hard. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “I loved Len. Why would he do something like this to me? Was it all some sort of peculiar ruse? What will happen to me now?”

Inspector Denton gradually managed to help her understand that he himself had no answers to any such questions and brought her back to the details of the evening.

“I had no idea what the meeting was about,” she said. “Then he dropped his bombshell, and left us to it. I don’t think I moved from my seat for so much as a moment until David came shouting that Len was dead. That was a little after nine. Gail, the maid, was there in case we needed anything, and she stayed with me. The others were in and out, apart from Mr Fulton, who was gone almost before Len finished. David kept me company for a while. He’s very kind.”

David Harvey was Len’s son by his first wife. Just a few years younger than Sheila, he lived in lavish apartments in the city. “Do? I suppose you could say that I’m an art appreciator, Inspector. I have a passion for beauty. Yes, I was taken aback by father’s declaration. He was an odd bird, though, always given to whimsy and calculated cruelty. A bit like those damned cats, I suppose. I significantly doubt that any answer I could produce would have been sufficient for the old coot – except that one, perhaps. Hm? Maybe a little worried, I suppose, yes. I’ll probably have to talk to a pal and get set up in business of some sort. A bother. After father’s speech, Clare and I went into the billiards room. We had a bit of a catch-up. The butler was there, I think. Anyway, she wanted to get a snack from the kitchen, so I came back to the library to see how poor Sheila was doing. She’s rather lovely, don’t you think? Like a porcelain angel. I sat with her for a while, but she was quite out of it. When I went looking for father, I found him quite dead.”

Clare Davidson was David’s full sister. Two years younger than her brother, she was married to the son of a local papermill baron. “He was a nasty old fool,” she said. “I never liked him, and I most certainly won’t miss him. I’m glad he’s dead, in fact. The only time he paid attention to me was when he had just inflicted some emotional hurt or other. It’s a shame, though – I was looking forward to telling him that I neither needed nor wanted his money, his time, nor anything else to do with him. Once he’d finished his juvenile stunt and doddered off, I had a bit of a chinwag with David, in the billiards room. Then I popped down to the kitchen and shared a couple of glasses of sherry with Mrs Beechwood, the cook. She’s always been the sanest person in this dashed madhouse.”

Afterwards, Inspector Denton went to stroll around the ornamental rose garden, so that he could smoke a pipe and ponder the specifics of the case.

He had been there about ten minutes when an officer bustled up with a report. Analysis suggested that Harvey had ingested the poison some three hours before his death.

Denton immediately brightened: “That clears it all up nicely,” he said.

Who does Denton suspect of being the murderer?

Tip: Timing

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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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