Martine shuddered, and Hedi changed the subject. What was it like to live in America? she wanted to know, and whether it might be a good change for, say, a waitress from Switzerland. You know, just asking.
The sun was still hot. Children splashed in the water, shouting, jumping from a raft. At first, nobody noticed that Mr. Zoggan, farther out in the lake, was fighting for his life. And by the time somebody out on the raft called for help, it was too late.
Martine sprinted into the water; it splashed, icy cold, around her thighs. She threw herself in, swam out into the lake, leaving herself no time to think, no time to be afraid. Zoggan was thrashing and treading water farther out, near the raft, but still far from the middle of the lake. Martine had almost reached him when she heard him call out, one last time. Then he went under. Fast and suddenly. As if somebody had pulled him down. She dove under. He was gone. She had on her goggles, but the water was murky and she couldn't see anything, not even air bubbles. She dove again and again, but there was just no sign of him. She simply couldn't find him. Neither could the divers from the rescue team who fished her out of the lake, coughing and blue with the cold. They dove for hours. Nothing. As if he'd never existed. Nothing remained but the Cat in the Hat top hat, which drifted, listing to one side, in the water.
"Let go," he'd screamed. "Let me go!"
In Schwyzerdütsch.
The rumors about Mrs. Zoggan were all true, as it turned out. She worked for the district attorney's office. She'd spent nine years as a nun, and after leaving the convent she'd gone to the police academy and had then become one of the first female cops on the vice squad in San Francisco. She never said whether she'd met her husband during a raid. Just that the handcuffs she always had in her pockets were a personal memento.
Handcuffs, thought Martine.
Copyright © 2012 by Milena Moser; translation Copyright © 2012 by Mary Tannert
DEPARTMENT OF FIRST STORIES
DEPARTMENT OF FIRST STORIES
DIAL COUNTRY CODE 91 + M FOR MURDER
by Stewart Brown
Stewart Brown is a software developer who worked in tech support for a call center for several years. But it wasn't so much his work in that field as his experience as a customer waiting on hold for...
PASSPORT TO CRIME
REVIEWS
REVIEWS
DEPARTMENT OF FIRST STORIES
DIAL COUNTRY CODE 91 + M FOR MURDER
by Stewart Brown
Stewart Brown is a software developer who worked in tech support for a call center for several years. But it wasn't so much his work in that field as his experience as a customer waiting on hold for tech support that inspired this story. The author lives in Arvada, Colorado with his wife and nine-year-old son. He tells EQMM that he's been writing short stories off and on since childhood. This is his first paid professional publication.
Welcome to the Spade Detective Agency. If your life is in immediate danger, please hang up and call the local authorities. For English, please stay on the line. Para el español, por favor, pulse uno. Press 2 if you would like to hear about our weekly crime-buster specials. Press 3 if you are calling about an existing investigation. Press 4 to start a new investigation. Press 5 . . ."
[beep]
"You have selected 'new investigation.' Press 1 if the crime involves blackmail or extortion. Press 2 if the crime involves kidnapping. Press 3 if the crime involves treason. Press 4 if the crime involves murder. Press . . ."
[beep]
"You have selected 'murder.' Press 1 if the victim was a business associate or colleague. Press 2 if the victim was a spouse or loved one. Press 3 if . . ."
[beep]
"You have selected 'spouse or loved one.' Press 1 if the victim was poisoned. Press 2 if the victim was stabbed. Press 3 if the victim was shot. Press 4 if the victim blew up when he started his car. Press 5 for all other modes of death."
[beep]
"You have selected 'other.' Please hold while I transfer you to one of our highly qualified private detectives."
"All of our detectives are currently solving crimes. Your wait time is approximately five minutes."
[hold music]
"It's murder by numbers 1,2,3 . . . It's as easy to learn as your A, B, C."
[45 minutes later]
"Thank you for calling the Spade Detective Agency. This is Hamish. Would you like to hear about our weekly crime-buster specials?"
"Um, no. I would like to speak to a detective."
"My name is Hamish. I am a detective. How may I help you?"
"Well, I, uh. I think my husband may have been murdered and I would like to hire a detective to investigate."
"Thank you, madam. What is your name?"
"Nancy."
"Thank you, madam. What is your husband's name?"
"Marlowe. Marlowe Drew."
"Is your husband deceased?"
"Uh, yeah. That is why I'm calling."
"Thank you, madam. Please tell me about your husband's death."
"First of all, you can call me Nancy. And you don't have to keep thanking me."
"Thank you, mada—, I am very sorry, Miss Nancy. Please tell me about your husband's death."
"Well, about three weeks ago he was rock climbing with some friends. They were in a very remote part of the Rockies when the rope that tied Marley to his climbing partner broke and he fell. But the weird part is that no one actually saw him fall. And the climbing rope was new. They don't just break. I think someone might have cut it."
"Please tell me, did your husband have access to dead bodies?"
"What? Of course not! Why would he?"
"It is my belief that your husband faked his own death."
"That's ridiculous. Look, I don't have time for this. I just want to set up an appointment to meet with a detective. Can you do that or not?"
"I am sorry, Miss Nancy, that is not how the Spade Detective Agency works. We only do remote investigations over the phone."
"You mean they outsourced their detectives?"
"Well, from my perspective we 'in-sourced.'"
"No, I need someone who knows what they are doing, to . . . to . . . I don't know . . . look for clues . . . interrogate witnesses . . . whatever private detectives do."
"Miss Nancy, I assure you I know what I am doing. I have a certificate in Murder Investigation from the New Delhi School for Detective Studies. Perhaps you've heard of the school? It is the fourth-highest ranked detective school in all of New Delhi. Besides, hiring someone will cost you many thousands of dollars. And we are having a special this week which makes murder investigations very reasonable."
"So, how does this work?"
"I will walk you through troubleshooting your husband's death, then I will use my superior powers of deduction to solve the murder. And if I fail, your next murder investigation is free. Would you like to continue this investigation?"
"I guess it's worth a shot."
"Now, did your husband have access to dead bodies?"
"No, of course he didn't."
"Was there an autopsy? Did you identify the body yourself?"
"No, they weren't able to recover him. My poor Marley is still out there. I just pray that someday we'll be able to bury him next to his mother."
"Not likely, madam. By now the wildlife has probably devoured his carcass. You'll be lucky if they find even small bones, let alone enough to bury in your family plot."
[sob]
"Oh no . . . I am very sorry, Miss Nancy. I am quite sure Mr. Drew was a great and generous man and will prosper in whatever afterlife you believe in.
"So, the first question in a murder investigation is: Who stood to gain from Marlowe's death? Did he have any enemies? Maybe a business partner?"
"No. He worked for himself, selling insurance."
"What about his mistress? Could a secret lover have killed him?"
"Certainly not! Marley was a wonderful husband. He never so much as looked at another woman."
"How dare you! You have no idea how much that man loved me."
[slightly muffled:]
"No, I'm going to have to skip lunch today. . . . I've got another clueless wife with a dead husband. . . . It is unbelievable. Third one this week."
"What?"
"Oh, uh, sorry. I was . . . just discussing your case with another detective. What were we talking about?"
"We were talking about how much my husband loved me!"
"Oh yes, I am sure you are a very nice person. What about your finances? Do you owe anyone money?"
"I don't think so. Marley paid all of the bills. As far as I know, we were never late."
"Do you know where he kept his financial records? I would like to verify that he was not hiding anything from you."
"Let me check his desk. I'm going to put you on speaker. Hold on a sec.
"Okay, I found our mortgage statements. Oh my gosh . . . we were three months late. This can't be right."
"What about your checking and credit-card accounts? Do you see them in his desk?"
"Um . . . yes, here they are. It says our checking is overdrawn . . . and these credit-card bills say we owe thirty-one thousand, four hundred fifteen dollars and ninety-two cents. This can't be right."
"So, your husband was a deadbeat."
"He was no such thing."
"Is it possible your husband owed money to the mob? Did you ever hear him talk about guys with names like 'Fat Paulie,' 'Machine Gun Kelly,' 'Toucan Sam,' or 'Tony the Tiger'?"
"No, never."
"What about street gangs? Is there a chance he was a pimp or a drug kingpin?"
"WHAT?!?"
"Never mind. Let's move on. Keep looking through his desk. Is there anything else unusual?"
[long pause]
"I found an envelope full of receipts. Let's see, flowers . . . motel rooms . . . jewelry? He never gave me these things. . . . Oh my gosh!"
"What? What did you find?"
"I found a receipt for a watch. It had a custom engraving on it. It says: 'For my dearest Aggie.' Oh Marley, how could you do this to me?"
"I knew it! Three murdered husbands this week and every one was carrying on a torrid extramarital affair."
[sob]
"Do you know who this Aggie is that your husband was having sex with?"
"She's . . . she's . . ."
[sob sob]
"She's Agatha Hardy. Marley's best friend is Joe and Agatha is his wife."
"Is she the vengeful type? Would she kill Marlowe if she couldn't have him to herself?"
"How should I know? Oh my gosh! I just realized something . . ."
"What? What is it?"
"Joe was Marley's climbing parter! Maybe he found out about the affair and killed Marley."
"Oh! Aaaahhh . . . aaaargh!"
[incoherent screams of pain]
[sound of phone crashing from desk]
"Hello? Hamish? Are you there?"
"I am here. Sorry about that. I spilled coffee on myself. Now . . . where were we?
"Ah yes, you were telling me that Joe was climbing with Marlowe when he died. Using my superior powers of deduction, I deduce that Joe found out about the affair and, in a fit of rage, cut the rope while Marlowe dangled precariously from a cliff, sending him tumbling down the mountain, where he was probably consumed by crocodiles or whatever type of wildlife resides in your region of America."
"Um . . . okay. I think you might be on to something."
"Well, I think we can wrap up this case. . . ."
[dog barking]
"Scooby, shut up. Hamish, can you hold on for a sec? Someone is coming up to my door.
"Oh my gosh! I can't tell who it is, but it looks like they're trying to unlock the door . . . he's . . . whoever it is, is coming into the house! I can hear him downstairs. He's yelling, 'I did it. I got away with it.' It must be Joe. He killed my Marley and now he's coming after me! What do I do? Help me, Hamish! What should I do?"
"Um . . . You know, madam, I mean Miss Nancy, I really am not sure. Let me put you on hold and get a senior detective."
"No! Don't . . ."
[hold music]
"Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand?"
"Hello, Miss Nancy? Thank you for holding. I have Missmarple on the line with us. He is one of our most experienced detectives."
"Hello, madam. How are you?"
"I can hear Joe downstairs. He's looking for me. He's going to kill me."
"Thank you, madam. There is no need to panic. Do you have a gun readily available?"
"No. We don't have any guns."
"Thank you, madam. What about a large stabbing instrument? Like a machete or an axe?"
"Not in my husband's study. Oh my gosh! He's calling my name. He is definitely looking for me."
"Do you have a cricket wicket?"
"A what?"
"I think Missmarple means a baseball bat."
"Oh yes, thank you, Hamish. I forgot we are talking to America. Do you have a baseball bat?"
"No. I don't have anything like that. . . . Oh my gosh! I think he's coming up the stairs."
"Look around the room. Is there a large blunt object you could strike him with?"
"Marley's trophy. He won 'Salesman of the Year' last year."
"Well, a trophy is not going to be much of a match if he has a gun, but I guess it will have to do. Stand behind the door. When he comes into the room, come out and hit him from behind. We're on speakerphone so we'll be right here if you need anything."
"Okay. I'll try."
"So, Hamish, have you had lunch yet?"
"No, I've been stuck on this call all afternoon. It's been a crazy day."
"I know what you mean. By the way, madam, be sure to hit him as hard as you can. If you don't knock him out on the first hit, he'll probably shoot you or something.
"After we have finished this investigation, do you want to go get some lunch?"
"Yes, that is a very good idea. I'm starving. . . ."
[thunk]
"I did it! I did it! I got him."
"Miss Nancy? Is that you, or is that Joe?"
"It's me, Miss Nancy. I did exactly what you said. He came into the room yelling for me and I stepped out behind him and really let him have it."
"Is he knocked out?"
"Yes! He isn't moving . . . in fact . . . he's not breathing."
"Is it Joe? Were you right?"
"Let me see . . . Oh my gosh! It's . . . it's . . . Marley!"
"Wait a minute, Hamish, I thought you said Marley was the deceased husband?"
"He is now."
"You know, Missmarple, I told her at the beginning that Marlowe probably faked his own death, but she didn't believe me."
"Don't get me started on that one. Our customers call us up, wanting us to solve their crimes, but then they don't even listen to us."
"I . . . I can't believe it. I killed my poor Marley. Oh no. He had two train tickets. He wasn't going to kill me, he was going to take me away somewhere."
"Just as you suspected: an insurance scam. Good job, Hamish."
"You know, Missmarple, Miss Nancy really is better off now."
"What do you mean, Hamish?"
"She will get a small fortune from the insurance company, and her cheating husband is dead. Since the authorities think he died in the mountains, all she has to do is dispose of the body. She is much better off now than she was before."
"That is a good point, Hamish."
"Thank you, Missmarple. Miss Nancy? Are you still there?"
"Yes, I . . . I'm still here."
"Thank you for calling the Spade Detective Agency. Please stay on the line while I transfer you to our Customer Satisfaction group, where you will be asked to take a short survey."
[hold music]
Copyright © 2012 by Stewart Brown
REVIEWS
REVIEWS
THE JURY BOX
by Steve
Steinbock
A thousand books pass through The Jury Box every year. Of those, only a handful are chosen for review each month. I was asked how I select the books I review. Like any other mystery fan, I pick books...
BLOG BYTES
by Bill Crider
Andrew Nette lives Down Under. He's one of the editors of the Crime Factory webzine and the blogger who produces Pulp Curry (www.pulpcurry.com), a "blog dedicated to crime fiction and film from all...
DEPARTMENT OF FIRST STORIES
INFORMATION
Next Article
REVIEWS
THE JURY BOX
by Steve Steinbock
A thousand books pass through The Jury Box every year. Of those, only a handful are chosen for review each month. I was asked how I select the books I review. Like any other mystery fan, I pick books that grab my attention. I look for themes among the books. And I try to seek variety.
The question that inevitably comes next is, how can I evaluate "fluffy" mysteries alongside "serious" crime fiction? Easy. I judge each book on its own merits. A novel featuring a crime-solving canine chef might be likely to have less literary merit than an epic coming-of-age novel with a serial killer or a work of historical noir. But I'd rather read well-written "fluff" that keeps its promise to the reader than a mediocre or pretentious version of either of the latter.
Every book is a promise made by the author to the reader. It's a promise that the book is the author's sincere attempt to tell a good story with integrity and skill. As individual readers, we may choose cozies or noir, historical or contemporary, humorous or starkly serious. It's the mission of The Jury Box to place as many titles as possible before you under the wide umbrella of "mystery fiction" and let you choose. It's also my goal to give my readers honest evaluations of the books I review. I've been finding that my star ratings have been sliding upward. I find myself less inclined to finish an average or below average book, so I'm less likely to review two- or three-star books. A three-star book is a solid novel that keeps its promise, while a four-star book exceeds it. A five-star book, of which I include two this month, takes me completely by surprise and raises the literary experience. With that in mind, this month we look at a very wide variety of titles, running the gamut of crime fiction.
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 12/01/12 Page 18
