The Impossible Murderer

by Allison Osborne

  “You?” Mr. Richardson said.

  Irene came up behind him. “Joe is a veterinarian, and you can thank him for most of the legwork in this case.”

  “Oh heavens, Doctor,” Mr. Richardson slapped Joe on the back. “I thought you were a human doctor. I’d have spoken differently to you had I known you were a horse man!”

  “I tend to all animals,” Joe chuckled. “But that is much appreciated. Maximus should be just fine, if not a little spooked. Clean him up, tend to his wounds, and he’ll be back to competing in no time.”

  Mr. Richardson snapped his fingers at Young George.

  “Get this horse bathed, immediately,” he ordered, then urged Joe and Irene toward the house. “It’s time for an explanation of what my staff have been up to behind my back.”

  * * * * *

  Ten minutes later, in the large sitting room, Irene stood at the fireplace with the proudest look on her face.

  Joe knew she loved showing off her skills, and the past two cases had been tainted with such a dreary outcome that she couldn’t revel in the solved case as much as she wanted to. This case had more murders than the past two, but the result had been, in Joe’s opinion, the kind you wanted for a homicide case. Suspects in custody and a missing horse brought home safe.

  Mr. Richardson sat in his large armchair, throwing glares at Margaret and Anthony, who were both handcuffed on the couch. Mrs. Richardson sat on the opposite couch, maid by her side, both looking as confused as one another at the entire situation.

  Joe stood off to the side with Lestrade, beside the large recording device Lestrade had brought with him.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Lestrade said to Irene, and he flipped a switch on the machine. It hummed and two large wheels turned, the track picking up any sound it heard.

  “Sometime in the past week,” Irene began. “Margaret and dear departed Phillip formed a plan to steal Maximus and Musgrave, one at a time, presumably thinking they could do a better job training and competing them than Mr. Richardson could, or to breed them out and raise offspring hoping for a champion.”

  Mr. Richardson’s face reddened with rage and he turned to Margaret.

  “Is this true?”

  “Please, Mr. Richardson,” Lestrade said. “We will hear Miss Holmes’s statement first, then I will ask questions.”

  “It is true,” Irene said. “Margaret said it herself. She knew horses and could’ve done a better job with all the horses you own, Mr. Richardson. I’ve seen her flash of boldness, and wouldn’t put it past someone with that much tenacity to create such a spirited plan. Now, they couldn’t steal the horses themselves, that would have raised immediate suspicion and they would have both been arrested. They instead hired someone to steal both horses. So far, not a terrible plan. Phillip would leave the far door open, the one you need a key to access, and the one facing away from the house. The hired thief would enter, secure the horse, and exit, taking the horse to be stored somewhere until Phillip and Margaret could get away. This provided both of them with an alibi and if the thief were caught, they could attempt some deniability. That plan, though, went horribly wrong.”

  “I’ll say,” Mr. Richardson said, still fuming.

  “The man you found trampled on your stable floor,” Irene continued. “Wasn’t provided enough information to do his job and had no idea that Maximus and Musgrave resent each other to the point of fighting.”

  “It was clear to us,” Joe added, seeing his chance to flex a bit of his own knowledge. “The moment that we witnessed Young George attempt to put Musgrave into Maximus’s box and nearly got trampled himself. I can’t imagine how riled up the stallions would’ve been in the middle of the night with a stranger in their stables. It’s a wonder Maximus didn’t do more damage.”

  “As soon as he walked past Musgrave,” Irene said, continuing the narrative. “The two went at each other. The thief, attempting to keep the horses silent and calm, was knocked over and crushed under the Maximus’s hooves. At this point, Phillip, who’d been keeping an eye on the stables to make sure the plan didn’t go awry, heard the commotion. He ran into the stables and saw the dead man, and the horses fighting over the box door. Unfortunately, the young groom heard the commotion, as well, and when he came to investigate, he startled Maximus and the horse kicked, killing the boy.”

  Joe kept an eye on everyone’s faces. Mr. Richardson looked stunned and Margaret looked guilty and mad all at once. Anthony had a look of disappointment and frustration on his face like he wasn’t meant to be in cuffs, and Joe couldn’t wait until Irene got to his part of the narrative. It would wipe the smug look right off of his face.

  “In a panic,” Irene went on. “And now with two bodies at his feet, Phillip took Maximus out of the far door and hastily tied him to the fence post. That is how he injured his hand, as evident by the blood I observed on the post. He also tried to wash away the blood trail on the stable floor, but failed to scrub between the floorboards. Now, what does he do with the bodies? There is no time to hide them before the morning light. This is when poor Snowball comes into play. Phillip never liked him, he so much as admitted that to us. He thought keeping the horse was too expensive. So, he attempted to pin the murders on the horse by smearing blood all over Snowball. A dumb solution if you ask me as Snowball has shown no signs of aggression and is a wholly sound and gentle horse as examined by Doctor Watson.

  “Phillip then went to retrieve Maximus to presumably put him back in his box, when he noticed that Maximus had fled, snapping the rope and running into the night. The rope is still hanging out on that fence post. Phillip, in a panic, rushed back into the stables and out of habit shut and locked the door. He changed his boots, as they were covered in blood, opting for a brand-new pair. He then hurried back to Margaret to tell her about the botched plan. She was angry for several reasons for she had a plan further beyond the one she made with her husband. Once the horses were safely stabled in hiding, she and Anthony would meet up, either killing or leaving Phillip and starting new with Musgrave and Maximus.”

  Both Margaret and Anthony stumbled over their words, but Anthony came out on top.

  “Untrue,” he barked. “I had no part in this. You can’t possibly prove that's what I intended to do.”

  “Can’t I?” Irene said. “Are you, or are you not, having an affair with Margaret?”

  “Preposterous,” he said, neck muscles taut and twinging.

  “Is it?” Irene smirked. “Then explain why you came rushing over insisting on knowing the details of this case, and how you keep looking at Margaret in very suggestive ways, keeping a close watch on her bottom any time she walks anywhere.”

  Gasps flew around the room and Lestrade leaned forward to Irene.

  “May I remind you that you are being recorded, Miss Holmes,” he whispered, pointed tone to his voice.

  “I am well aware, thank you, Detective Inspector,” she said. “Don’t worry, Anthony, you feature more a little later in this story. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. With their plan gone awry, Margaret had to think quick. In truth, you didn’t want either Phillip or Anthony, did you, Margaret? But with your injury, you needed a rider who could work with the horses, and Anthony was easier to manipulate than your husband because of his elevated ego and his sub-par intelligence.”

  Joe followed Irene’s eyes. She looked directly at Margaret as if waiting for a confession. Just as Lestrade was about to step in to presumably urge the interview along, Margaret spoke.

  “My husband wasn’t the same after the war,” she said. “Came at everything with so much aggression and that wouldn’t do for Musgrave and it was wearing thin on Maximus. Dressage is a delicate sport that requires a gentle but firm hand, and that gentleness had been taken from Phillip. I loved him, and still do, but I needed to think of my own future.”

  Anthony looked completely insulted and stared at her.

  “With Scotland Yard now investigating,” Irene continued. “You and Phillip had to form a cover story
and seek an alibi even more so. Which you both had done very well, using the same phrase and wording when describing why Snowball would commit murder.”

  Joe had his notebook at the ready and flipped to the phrase, silently congratulating himself for having the insight to write the words down at the time.

  “'Triggered outrage',” he read aloud. “Problem was, there was nothing to be triggered in Snowball. You’d have been better off trying to pin the deaths on Musgrave.”

  “Then they would’ve taken him to slaughter,” Margaret snapped.

  “Ruining your plan even more,” Irene said. “Your husband also gave a different account of your nightly routine. A simple error and thus the reason I interviewed you separately. So, now, Margaret, you had several problems. We were prodding into the investigation and asking all the right questions, your husband was still in the picture, and Maximus was missing. How to complete your plan now? You still wanted Phillip out of the way, and you still had Musgrave and hoped you would find Maximus eventually.

  “This is where you shine, Anthony. While Phillip was in his room changing for dinner, Margaret let you in, and together you knocked him out, as per the cut on his head, and strung him from the ceiling, staging the room to look like a suicide.”

  “How could you know that?” Anthony demanded. “I was nowhere near that room. This is ludicrous and completely false.”

  Joe flipped a few pages in his notebook. “Big loops.”

  Everyone turned to him, including Irene. She smiled, encouraging him to continue. He straightened his shoulders, very aware that he was being recorded and tried to speak as clearly as he could.

  “Miss Holmes used cocoa powder and cornstarch,” he explained. “She found several prints on the chair, and the window ledge, that matched Anthony’s.”

  “You never took my prints,” Anthony scoffed.

  Joe felt a little smugness rise in him and instantly felt the addiction Irene must feel when she laid out all her observations to people.

  “Miss Holmes got a good look at them,” Joe said. “When you insulted me and she so easily subdued you.”

  Anthony rose to his feet, face red, staring at Joe. Irene stepped in front of him, grabbing a fire poker from beside her, aiming the pointy end at Anthony.

  “Sit down,” she commanded. “Or I shall subdue you again.”

  Lestrade stepped in, hands raised in an attempt to calm the situation. He gave Anthony a small push and the man sat back down.

  Lestrade gave a pointed look to Irene and grabbed the poker.

  “The man is cuffed,” he said. “Also, what would you even do with this?”

  Joe swallowed a chuckle, remembering the last time she’d wielded such a simple tool. Irene smoothed her shirt and continued her narrative.

  “Your precious hounds, Mr. Richardson,” she said. “Were a vital key. They stayed quiet during what should’ve been a chair falling over during the proclaimed suicide of Phillip. If they had heard that chair fall, they would’ve let us know, just like the time right before dinner, when Anthony snuck back out of the room and Margaret shut the window behind him. Also, it wasn’t just your fingerprints that gave you away, Anthony. You had oak leaves on your boots, which can only be found at the back of the house, beside the lattice going right to Phillip’s bedroom. You also looked extremely guilty when we found Phillip. You were prepared to murder him, but not prepared to see him a few hours after his death, and what his body would look like as death set in. Your face is turning green even as we speak of it. Again, you thought you were in the clear. With Phillip out of the way, you could even blame the murders on him if you figured out how. But Doctor Watson and I were there investigating, then came DI Lestrade, and this suicide was looking more like a murder. I had all this figured out, and the only piece missing was Maximus. Where had he gone?

  “Simple explanation for that. He did what any scared and confused animal would do. He ran and kept running until something stopped him. Easy deduction, once I saw the cut barbed wire fence. He’d caught himself in it and was rescued by a neighbour. And now we come back to you, Margaret. I observed the packed bag you had in your closet, and when I saw it missing when we returned here earlier today, I knew you’d said to hell with them all and decided to try and make it on your own with Musgrave. We caught you, and I think you know the rest.”

  Anthony started to talk, but Lestrade shushed him.

  “I suggest you do not speak,” he said. “Should you further incriminate yourself. You can give me your statements in reaction to Miss Holmes’s evidence down at Scotland Yard.”

  Mr. Richardson stood and clapped his hands, applauding.

  “Well done,” he said, eyes wide with shock and amazement. “I am impressed, young lady. I am angry as all get out, but how you put that all together and found my horse. Outstanding.”

  “Simple observations,” she said, then put her hand on Joe's shoulder. “And a lot of aid from my colleague.”

  She threw a soft smile at Joe and his cheeks warmed at the gesture.

  * * * * *

  He and Irene went to their rooms to gather their bags, both eager to go back to London. As they packed, the dogs howled, meaning Lestrade’s back-up was here to collect Anthony and Margaret. As Joe shoved a pair of trousers in his bag, he shook his head at the bloodshed that was spilled over the selfishness of people. Hadn’t everyone had enough fighting during the war?

  Unfortunately, the ones who would suffer most from this crime were Musgrave and Maximus. Suddenly, they would have a different trainer. Perhaps a better one, but with so much confusion, it would take a while for them to trust again. Snowball would be just fine, so long as the bed-and-breakfast was up and running again and he had the attention and love he deserved.

  Joe zipped his bag up and a sudden wave of emotion rolled over him, bringing tears to his eyes. He sunk down onto the bed and blew out a heavy breath. He’d made it through this entire case and didn’t break down or have an episode. He’d told enough of his story to Irene to write a novel, but he’d survived through it. He secretly wished that he had someone to celebrate this victory with him, then remembered that Irene knew about his episodes and would perhaps understand his elation.

  But he’d bother her about that another day, once they were settled back at Baker Street. He threw his bag over his shoulder and went to the car, stifling several yawns on the way.

  Chapter IX

  A Place on the Mantle

  Irene stroked Snowball’s nose and the horse closed his eyes. She gave a wave to Eddy as he drove away, following the bus escorting Margaret and Anthony to Scotland Yard. The rain held off so far, and a bit of sun teased them behind a cloud. Irene knew by the heavy air that settled around them that the rain would start up again in a few hours. Hopefully, by then, they'd be back at Baker Street with a cup of tea.

  Joe came up to her and patted Snowball’s neck.

  “The bags are packed,” he said. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Irene handed Snowball’s rope to Ronald, the young man all too happy to be back. He led Snowball away and Irene swore there was a pep to the horse's step, as if the animal knew he was cleared of murder. Mr. and Mrs. Richardson came down the front steps and met Irene and Joe in the courtyard.

  “I can’t say this is the exact outcome I wanted,” Mr. Richardson said with a heavy sigh. “But my horses are safe and I can’t thank you both enough.”

  He handed Irene an envelope with their payment and she tucked it into her purse.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’ll take some getting used to,” Mrs. Richardson said. “Not having Phillip or Margaret around.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s dead,” Mr. Richardson muttered.

  He held out his hand and Irene shook it, then he turned to Joe.

  “If you and the Mrs. ever want to get away again, Doctor Holmes, you have free lodging here. And I promise no murders.”

  He gave a laugh, but Irene noticed the exhaustion in
his eyes.

  Once Mr. Richardson sat down and thought about the past few days, Irene knew that his laughter would cease, and he would truly realize he had no staff, and someone he probably thought of as a friend had been murdered.

  She inched toward the Vauxhall and realized Joe hadn’t attempted to correct Mr. Richardson on his last name. Poor Joe had tried several times over the past few days, and Irene thought Mr. Richardson would finally take note when she said Joe’s name and title when giving her statement in the sitting room earlier. Perhaps Joe simply gave up, or maybe he was just too tired. Irene didn’t care in the least and apparently, Joe was caring less and less as well.

  * * * * *

  The road back to London seemed rather long. Irene had been driving for about an hour and was ready to take a bath at Baker Street and wash the smell of horse out of her hair. Admittedly, the smell didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. Sometimes, it even smelled like her father’s farm which, given her past reactions, should’ve made her angry or resentful, but it triggered nothing except a small smile. Perhaps she was getting better.

  Joe let out a long, deep breath and shifted in the passenger seat. He’d closed his eyes as soon as they’d driven away from the farm and was asleep quickly. Irene couldn’t blame him one bit. When he told her his story at the small pond, remembering all those memories seemed to physically exhaust him. She hadn’t even known how to react, but hugging his arm always calmed him in his most panicked state, so that’s what she did. She’d wanted more time with him at that pond, longing to give him her full attention, and she’d tried her best, but as soon as she saw the logs and barbed wire, her mind instantly went back to the case.

  Now that the case was over though, Joe’s story stuck with her. He never mentioned what drove him to join the war in the first place. If he had been veterinarian, with a practice in London, why leave? Did something happen at his practice that made him want to help with the war efforts?

  Irene knew how much some people loved their pets, and that had only increased as the depression had fallen away and people were able to afford animals again.