by Adam J Watts
‘With the greatest respect professor, not everything you see can be explained in black and white. Solving crimes
goes above and beyond establishing how a victim was killed.’
‘Exactly,’ beamed a smug Eddie. ‘It is as my learned friend just said, Doyle; given the appropriate knowledge, I would gladly trade places with your good self.’
The old physician recognised that the battle was lost and retreated gracefully.
‘Very well gentlemen, you will have my report by the end of the day. Cause of death: Slow and methodical stab wounds. Totalling thirteen.’
With that, the Doctor gathered up his belongings and headed for the door. Unfortunately for him, his exit was far from graceful, as he tripped and stumbled on the felled bookcase lain across the door jamb.
‘First impressions?' enquired the Detective.
‘God – or in this case, the Devil – is in the details,’
replied the newspaper mogul.
Ed nodded. ‘Agreed. So what do you see?'
He had never fully understood how or why, but certain things stood out to Seb. Items or occurrences that most other people might miss appeared to be dancing before his eyes.
‘I don’t think the message is here,’ he mused.
‘How do you mean?'
Slowly Seb ascended to an upright position and edged backwards. He needed to see the bigger picture, a technique his uncle had taught him in far more pleasant circumstances.
Observing the living room reminded him of that day at the gallery. Of course he was much younger with the smell of damp replaced by the scent of old paintings, but generally the ‘work’ he saw was the same.
The killer was reaching out. He or she – although from the victim’s injuries a man was more likely – wanted to send a message. For every action there is a reaction and for every crime there is a motive.
‘I think I’ve got something,’ Seb proclaimed from the back of the room.
Quickly Ed rose from the victim’s side and came to stand beside his colleague.
‘Go on…’
‘A few things are imperative here.’
‘Like the use of the pen and the letter opener you mean?’
Seb's smile was miniscule, but he was impressed nevertheless.
‘Exactly. What do they say to you?'
Ed unconsciously scratched the back of his neck, a tendency he had when mulling things over.
‘Obviously our killer has a message he wants us to hear. My guess would be that the crime is one driven by passion or revenge.’
Seb nodded.
‘That’s my feeling too, but there are more clues than just the writing implements.’
Now it was Ed’s turn to look helplessly impressed.
‘And what would they be?' he enquired playfully.
‘It’s a lot more gratifying if I give you a starting point and you fill in the blanks.’
With this Seb could not help smiling and half expected the reaction his comment provoked.
‘The Art Of Detection by Samuel Beasley.’
The sarcasm was plain to hear and truthfully quite amusing.
‘If you like,’ laughed Seb, ‘Seriously though, let’s start with the circle of blood around the body. Any thoughts about that?’
Ed groaned.
‘It’s too early for this. I’d just put it down to artistic license,’ he said with a smirk.
‘You’re not wrong. The gesture is very theatrical, but unfortunately for you everything in this room is here for a reason.’
Ed moved in for a closer look at the blood pattern.
‘Well it’s clearly been manufactured to look this way. I’d say painted onto the floor using some kind of brush?'
‘Agreed, but what does it symbolise and where is the brush now?'
Seb appeared genuinely puzzled by the latter, but quietly confident of the former.
‘Nobody has reported finding a blood-soaked paint brush at the scene, or in the house for that matter,’ Ed paused for thought, ‘As for the circle, I’m afraid you might have to give me that one.’
Not wanting to push his luck too far or embarrass his associate, Seb coughed up his theory in one big splutter.
‘The circle surrounds and contains the body and as such I believe the killer is drawing attention to the self-centred nature of the victim.’
Ed’s gaze flitted between the body and that of Seb’s blank expression.
‘And you get all that from a circle of blood?’ Ed joked.
‘Yes, but there’s more.’
‘Never doubted it for a second.’
Seb pointed towards the entrance to the living room.
‘What about the bookshelf behind us?’
‘What about it?’
Seb turned to face it before continuing with his train of thought.
‘In my opinion, this was not just knocked over as the perpetrator fled the scene.’
‘No. The rest of the evidence is far too meticulous; it doesn’t fit the killer’s profile. He is calm and collected as he enacts his revenge.’
Seb returned to face Ed, his head shaking.
‘We can only assume these crimes are acts of revenge. Revenge states that the criminal in question has a prior knowledge of the victim. For example a friend, a family member, a colleague…’
‘And you don’t believe he knew this poor bastard?’
‘No’
Seb turned to face the fallen bookcase once more, before continuing.
‘Despite our gut instinct I seriously doubt he knew the victim on a personal level. The crime is passionate, but distanced.’
‘Duly noted. Now you were saying about the bookcase?'
‘Yes, the bookcase is more significant than we could have first imagined and I’m sorely disappointed that the doctor had the misfortune of kicking it as he left.’
‘I don’t suppose it helped.’ Ed grumbled.
‘No, but thankfully it doesn’t interfere with the overall message.’
Standing side by side, Ed leaned forward to examine the contents of the shelf.
‘As you can see, the books are few and far between and of a very limited literary range. Notice anything odd?'
‘In what; the way they fell or the subject matter?' Ed chuckled.
‘The subject matter.’ Seb replied flatly.
After taking a moment to read the spines of the books Ed provided his feedback.
‘I can’t say I’ve met many God-fearing fishermen, especially ones with literature of this nature.’
‘My thoughts exactly. How and where does a Bible fit into the life of a drinking, fishing, sportmad, middle-aged man?'
Picking up the relatively new book of psalms, Ed became aware of a bookmark.
‘You’ve spotted it then?’ Seb’s voice adopted a slightly patronising tone.
‘Okay Sherlock, we’re not all as eagle-eyed as yourself. What say we take a look?'
Ed’s fingers flicked back the pages until his thumb came to rest against the page with the bookmark.
The pair of investigators leaned in for a closer look at the section circled in red ink.
Now concerning the things whereof you wrote to me: It is good for a man not to touch a woman.
‘Interesting. What chapter and verse is the quote from? It could be important.’
‘Corinthians 7:1-40.’
‘We’ll have to review the case notes and see if we missed any more subtly placed Bibles at the other crime scenes.’
‘So we now have a motive?'
‘I believe so,’ Seb replied, ‘I think our killer is providing his own form of retribution for the victims of domestic violence.’
All at once Ed felt sick and he decided to move back towards the body in case the colour had tellingly drained from his face.
‘Have you found something else?' Seb called out from the other side of the room.
‘No. Just taking a final look.’
‘Oh ok, but I’ve just had a another idea.
’
‘Sounds ominous.’ Ed ventured, trying not to sound too distracted.
‘Yes, the use of the animal heart.’
‘Didn’t have the means or the tools to take out and stab the victim’s own heart?'
Seb stroked the five o’clock shadow on his face.
‘I’m sure if he had wanted to, he could have found a way. No, the use of the pig’s heart is important to him.’
Ed stopped to look at the organ on the mantelpiece.
‘Because this fellow on the floor is the proverbial pig?'
‘My thoughts exactly.’
On their way out of the building Ed told Connor to ensure the photographer had all the photos he needed and then to proceed with the clean-up operation.
As they headed back to the car, Ed turned to his partner.
‘We did well in there.’
‘I’ll reserve judgement on that until we have our killer in irons.’
Slowly Ed reached inside his jacket and retrieved the notepad.
Seb knew all too well the next thing on the agenda: interview the neighbours.
At that moment Ed stole a brief glance at himself in the rear view mirror. He wished he hadn’t, as he was disgusted by the husk of a man staring back at him. Maybe this was God’s way of telling him it was time to change. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for him after all.
Solving this case might just be the catalyst to free him of his own vices.
Chapter Four:
Deceptive Facade ~ Winter 1938
'Glad you could make it my boy,' Gerald exclaimed in a seemingly genuine manner.
'What can I say? You're a good salesman,' Seb replied across the foyer.
The old man smiled and signalled for his new recruit to ignore the receptionist and simply follow him over to the elevator.
Once inside the lift, Seb struck up the conversation again.
'So what are we doing in an office block?'
'Appearances can be deceptive Samuel,' Gerald replied with a twinkle in his aged eye.
Seb's attention was attracted to the console in the lift. Upon it there appeared the usual series of buttons for the user to interact with and ultimately select their destination.
Sir Stratton however, elected to press three buttons simultaneously.
Suddenly the lift lurched into action and they were travelling down the shaft.
'Interesting,' Seb mused aloud.
'Isn't it,' Gerald returned with a smile.
'You said you had a proposition for me Mr. Stratton.’
'That is correct, Samuel. I would like you to come and work for us.’
Seb raised an eyebrow.
'And who exactly is us?'
Gerald eyed Seb intently before re-engaging the discussion.
'How about you tell me your ideas? You must have some.’
There was nothing to lose when it came to hypothesising about Mr Stratton and his associates, so Seb decided to humour the old man.
'Well, from your appearance and the way you carry yourself I would say you are a military man.’
Gerald proffered a simple nod, surpassed by an expression of encouragement.
'The overbearingly boring exterior and similarly distasteful decor of the building we are in also tells me we are inside something of a Russian doll.’
Sir Stratton could not help smiling at this latest comment, but there was no time for his own witty remarks, as the elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open.
Peering around the corner of the shaft, Seb experienced a gratifying feeling of "I told you so." If all be it an earth-shattering one.
'Welcome to the Firm, my boy.’
The view was one of great magnitude. Men and women of varying ages, heights and dispositions scurried around what could only be described as some kind of command centre.
As much as he tried to hide it, the awe was evident in Seb's eyes.
'Impressive, isn't it?' Gerald suggested with a chuckle.
'I won't argue with that,' Seb replied.
The pair progressed through several corridors and endured more than a few disapproving looks, before arriving at the old man's chosen destination.
'This is my office' he announced, with a sense of pride resonating through his vocal chords, 'Make yourself at home.’
Compared to the clinical appearance outside, the interior of Gerald's office was personal and welcoming.
'Drink? Cigar?' The old man enquired.
'No, thank you Mr. Stratton. I'd prefer to keep a clear head and the smoke plays havoc with my sinuses.’
A slightly bemused Gerald nodded in acknowledgement before placing one of Havanna's finest between his lips.
Despite telling himself not to, Seb threw the military man a questioning look.
'So Samuel, do you like what you see?'
Seb paused for thought before opening his mouth. He did not like to speak until he had all the facts formulated appropriately.
'You have an impressive set-up here Gerald, that is undeniable. The thing I am struggling to comprehend is how I fit into the equation.’
For a brief second Gerald Stratton appeared apprehensive, almost ill-at-ease with something. This was however, fleeting and disappeared no sooner than his brow had begun to furrow.
'As I am sure you are aware Samuel, what the government says and what the government does are two entirely different things.’
The aging army man leaned forward on his desk, in an attempt to heighten the importance of what was about to be said.
'Often there is a need for discretion. Something I am sure you can associate with.’
A smirk played across Gerald's face, before he picked up the monologue once more.
'Not all of our country's revenue is garnered from reputable sources my boy.’
Seb looked sceptical.
'You brought me to London to talk about underhand transactions? I'll ask you to remember my chosen profession.’
