Mystery: The Isherwood Case Files (Mystery, Suspense, Crime, Murder, Detectives, Fiction, Unsolved Mysteries, Mysteries, Thriller, Intense, Drama)

by Johnny Scotland

  Sure, he had been impressive in his first case, but that may just have been luck. For the time being, he would need to prove himself and they were willing to play along to the advice of the Chief and see if their new powers of observation were useful. At the end of the day, there was not much point in holding a grudge against the guy. He was pleasant. He wasn't as bad as they had first expected and one thing that held him up in their esteem was that he wasn't self-righteous and didn't attempt to belittle them. Between them, there was actually the possibility that new tactics could be useful and that the department could indeed get a better record of catching the perpetrators. That's what police work was all about.

  “So Isherwood, you are going to lead us?” joked Detective Robert Garcia. He was a good humored cop and liked Isherwood, or what little he had seen of him so far.

  “Once more into the breach, my friends.” said Isherwood as the detectives followed him toward the street outside.

  Chapter 2 – Murder with a Sharp Instrument

  “Don't waste your words on those who deserve your silence. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is say nothing at all.”

  Mandy Hale

  The apartment where Isaac Howard lay dead was dark and dingy. As the detectives arrived and sealed off the scene, the neighbors made their usual appearances in the corridor outside the door. They were always curious, always wanting to know the misfortunes of others, though never really that available when others needed help. It was a sad irony of life that Isherwood had noticed in the past. Had someone taken the time to be with his friend, James Elliott would never have been killed. He swallowed and thought that he should have done more. It was a haunting thought that speared him into action each time that someone was killed. James Elliott would never be dead in his mind. This was his way of keeping his memory alive.

  “So what have we got?” he asked Robert and Charley, both of whom had been assigned to this case. Isherwood knew he was to touch nothing, but he was to observe and listen to the detectives while they did their detective work.

  “Killed with a sharp instrument to the neck.” said Charley, not wishing to touch the corpse as the coroner would no doubt want to discern the exact cause. He recognized a puncture to the aorta and he could see the congealed blood around the base of the chair and across the top of the desk where the victim's head lay against piles of paper.

  “So what weapon was used and where do we go from here?” asked Isherwood.

  “I've got no idea of what weapon at the moment.” said Robert, “but there's obviously going to be a clue on the guy's computer. What we need to know is who he is, what his normal activity were, and try to find some kind of motive for the crime.” he continued.

  “There may be prints and they'll be worthwhile investigating and we could ask the neighbors about the guy.”

  “What about the room?” asked Isherwood. “What do you notice that is particular about the room?”

  Both detectives looked around the room and there was little that told them much about the guy. They intimated as much. “Average guy, cheap apartment.” they said, although Isherwood had noticed something they hadn't. “Keep looking. There is something particular about this guy which may help us.”

  They searched through the apartment. There were books, all by one author, and that was put into the notes. It's rare that someone only reads one particular writer and the shelf was filled to brimming with books by the guy. There were reams of paper, neatly stacked into piles on the floor and although these seemed random in appearance, upon closer inspection, each was a manuscript and the pages appeared in correct numerical order. The kitchen was spotless, and there was a certain neatness about the guy that they couldn't help but notice. Even the cans in the cupboards were stacked in order. Both Robert and Charley noticed this, much to the pleasure of Isherwood. They were beginning to see a fuller picture than before, but had not quite nailed it yet.

  “You are on the right track.” he said as they looked around them, baffled about what it was that he saw that had not been obvious to them. Something within this room was going to give an answer of some kind, though they were not sure where to look. Noticing them lost for ideas, Isherwood interjected. “The writing instruments.” he said, and even with that clue, there was little recognition for what was amiss. “The guy is respectful of his writing tools. Look how they are stored.”

  Among all the pens and pencils contained in a neat box was one item that stood out from the rest. Isherwood had seen it straight away because he had a penchant for good quality writing materials, though the others had missed it. In the middle of one pot was a scalpel upside down. Robert was the first to notice it and moved his hand toward it as if to grab it from the rack.

  “Prints!” shouted Isherwood and Robert backed off. As he carefully moved the item from the rack, bloodstains were revealed. This indeed had been the murder weapon and it was bagged quickly to ensure that all prints could be taken. The coroner's office staff arrived, as the detectives left to begin their interviews, in an attempt to find a motive.

  Chapter 3 – Investigation of Personal Details

  “Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”

  Andre Malraux

  The personal details of someone's life are always baffling. There are details that they would prefer to have remained hidden under the carpet. The shame, the guilt, the bad parts about their lives are all turned over in the same way as their merits. Isherwood knew this from the death of James. They had dug through all the bad things and these were the items that hit the newspapers. He would do all that he could to protect people from the ravages of the newspaper's bloodhounds. There were already mutterings of press in this particular case, and there had been three calls this morning. Who was this guy in relation to the world? It was obvious that he was indeed somebody. That was for the investigators to discover.

  “We know that the man is a writer. We also know he has an obsession for Martin Taylor books as the shelves are filled with them. Now, all we have to do is leave the forensics team to see what they can pick up and take this computer back to the office to see what we can find out from it.” said Robert.

  “Have forensics finished with it yet?” asked Isherwood.

  “I doubt that. They're a bit slow off the mark this morning.”

  He approached the forensics guys and asked them, and surprisingly they had taken three sets of prints from the keyboard and the computer was ready to be taken away.

  Upon examination of the contents, there was surprisingly little of any value, although Isherwood could see that there was something decidedly wrong with the picture. “What's wrong with this?” he asked the others. They looked puzzled but came up with no answers.

  “Okay.” said Isherwood. “This guy has been in touch with Martin Taylor every day for the past year and then suddenly two weeks ago all correspondence stopped. Don't you find that strange?”

  “Loads of people stop writing.” said Charley.

  “Yes, but it appears our friend has been ghostwriting for Martin Taylor and there is absolutely no note anywhere of what he was currently working on.”

  “Why is that strange?” asked Robert.

  “Ghostwriters always have something on the go. Otherwise they don't earn anything. I bet if we turn up all the deleted emails, we will see the full picture.”

  In the deleted emails, there was indeed another picture. Isaac Howard was working on a book called “The Emporium Mystery” and had been passing emails backward and forward between himself and Martin Taylor for the past six months, but the interesting thing was that all of the emails related to this particular book had been deleted. It was as if the work he had done counted for nothing. Everything, even the manuscript had been deleted and among the manuscripts on the floor of the apartment, which they had taken note of, “The Emporium Mystery” was nowhere to be seen.

  “We need to interview Martin Taylor.” said Isherwood. “This may give us some answers. Did you interview the n
eighbors?”

  “The neighbors say the man was a recluse and hardly saw anyone. They did notice a rather large car pull up several times in the last week, though. A blue Daimler.”

  “That's interesting. I wonder if this belongs to Martin Taylor.” said Isherwood.

  Talking to the guy on the phone, he seemed a little distant and uninterested. Isherwood wondered if people all become like that and whether he would disappear into obscurity in the same way one day. Grabbing his coat and hat, he asked the others to follow. “We need to interview Taylor” he said, “and there's no time like the present.”

  On arriving at the home of Martin Taylor, there was an impressive driveway. The ghostwriter had been working for him for some time, and Taylor had reaped the benefits, while Isaac, his ghostwriter lived in abject poverty. It seemed wrong that one man should reap the benefits of another person's work. As they rang the doorbell, the maid ushered them into the drawing room.

  “Mr. Taylor will be with you soon.” she said.

  “Remember” said Isherwood, looking at the others. “Hone your instincts.” He had already noticed the blue Daimler parked further up the driveway so it was fairly obvious that there had been a visit to Isaac in the last week or so of his life. Could this man be the murderer? As he entered the room, Isherwood was absolutely certain that this man was not the culprit. His aging appearance, nearing retirement, made Isherwood think of how the man had somehow found a way to make a name for himself in the world of literature.

  “I understand that you have visited Isaac Howard in the last week.” said Charley.

  “I am afraid I don't know where you get your information.” said Taylor. “I have never met the man.”

  That seemed like a very cold reply. “Isaac Howard was found dead in his apartment earlier today.” Charley explained and Isherwood noticed that the man's face was clearly shocked by the news. This wasn't pretense at all. In fact, he had to take a seat. Charley, in the meantime, was not as sensitive as Isherwood. “I believe you had a mutual agreement with Isaac Howard and are the only one who stands to gain from his death.” said Charley.

  Isherwood let him run the inquiry, though he knew that Charley had it wrong. The man had clearly been stunned by the news and was running the idea back and forth through his head trying to come up with possible clues as to who could have killed his ghostwriter.

  “How do I benefit?” shouted Taylor. “The man is a genius. He writes all of my novels and I get paid a handsome sum for them. The guy has an astounding grasp of what the readers want.”

  “Then explain to me why the last manuscript appears to have been stolen.” said Charley.

  Taylor sank into his chair in disbelief. Who would have done that? Why would they have done it? As he sat there in a state of confusion, he thought over all the people that could have gained by the loss of that manuscript. None struck him that would even make murder feasible. Taylor's wife, Yvonne, approached the room while they were talking. Calm as a breeze, she offered them a drink, though was heading for the drinks cabinet.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked.

  Obliging them with a cup of coffee, she asked her husband if he needed her help. His dismissal of her was fairly abrupt. As she left the room, they continued to discuss the death and the impact it would have on Taylor. “Don't you understand, without Isaac, I am nothing.” he said, holding his hand against his forehead. “I wrote one book many years ago because I lost everything I had. It was my way to try and make up to Yvonne for my own stupidity.” he said. “I failed in banking. I failed in writing, and the only option I had came to me when it was suggested by a friend that I take on a ghostwriter. Now he has gone, my career is finally at an end.”

  “Can you tell me who this would impact the most?”

  “Financially” he said “It will influence Yvonne and I, although we have enough royalties from the other books not to be too concerned about that. I can't think of anyone else it would affect.” he said.

  “Yvonne had a career once, and it was the least I could do to make it up to her by finding a niche where I could supply regular income. That niche was my books, but without Isaac, there are no more books.”

  “Why would someone have stolen the last manuscript?” asked Robert.

  “To discredit me?” queried Taylor.

  As they left that day, there was quiet banter among the detectives and Isherwood about knowing who the murderer was. “It's obvious that he has something to hide.” said Charley, though Robert didn't agree. It was amusing for Isherwood to notice how they bounced ideas off each other. Perhaps that was their undoing. Single mindedness had shown him exactly who the murderer was and now all he had to do was to find the connections that were obviously there somewhere. His conclusions differed from those of his fellow detectives, although he knew himself to be right.

  Chapter 4 – A Question of Elimination

  “Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is the noble art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of non-essentials.”

  Lin Yutang

  Back at the homicide squad H.Q., the crime board was beginning to show details. There was a picture of the deceased and his links to other people. One of the links went to the name of another tenant who had visited him the day before he was killed. He had noticed that the guy was busy trying to meet a deadline and didn't have much time to talk. There was the connection with the manuscripts which had led them to meeting Martin Taylor, the writer, who had been visibly shocked by the death. The missing files from the computer had been another clue, as had the scalpel.

  “What are we missing?” inquired Isherwood.

  “Nothing that I can see.” said Charley grabbing a cup of coffee.

  “Then you need to look closer.” said Isherwood. “We need the prints from the computer. Can you see if they are ready yet. I believe they will show us our murderer.”

  Charley rang the prints department and they had extracted three sets of prints and had found the owners of two of them. One was a known criminal though worked on computers, so it wasn't that surprising that he may have had access to the computer at one time. He was a petty theft and since there was no real theft making it look like a burglary, apart from the manuscript, it was unlikely to be him. The other set belonged to the dead man. The third set were the mystery and were not on file.

  “So we have to find out who those prints belong to.” said Robert.

  Isherwood produced something from his pocket. It was a teaspoon that he had particularly asked Yvonne Taylor to pass to him on the day they visited Martin Taylor.

  “You can't be serious.” joked Robert.

  “Indeed I am. Can you get them to run prints on this please.”

  He handed the spoon very carefully to Robert who ran it down to the lab for analysis.

  “I think you are seeing something that no one else is seeing.” said Robert. “Explain to me.”

  “Let's just wait for the results first.” said Isherwood.

  When the prints came back, there was a confirmation of what Isherwood had suspected. The prints on the spoon were the same as the unidentified prints which were found on the computer that morning.

  “So how did you know?” asked Charley, and Robert was close behind him. They wanted to know how this man's mind worked because he always seemed to come to all of the right conclusions when they were lost for answers.

  As they sat down, Isherwood stood at the board. “We have eliminated the neighbors. We have eliminated the other prints on the computer, a petty thief is unlikely to be involved. Yes, of course, we can chase that up, but I think it would be fruitless and a waste of time.”

  He looked directly at them as he spoke. He seemed to have caught the attention of the whole squad who were eager to learn how he did things.

  “When we visited Martin Taylor, there was some interesting interaction there that you may not have noticed. The car is obviously driven by both of them. There was on
ly one car in the driveway and it was the vehicle that the neighbors saw at the apartment several times. If Martin Taylor has never met his ghostwriter, then someone else went there instead. Since his wife is the only other person who drives that car, that makes that an obvious answer, but why?”

  “That's crazy.” said Charley, trying to imagine this woman inflicting a wound such had killed the victim.

  “She wasn't strong enough to kill him.”

  “Does it take strength or does it take expertise?” asked Isherwood.

  “Upon looking around the room at Martin Taylor's house, what was apparent was the number of medical qualifications on the wall which relate to Mrs. Taylor. She used to be a surgeon. I am not sure what ended her career, but she may have been envious of her husband's success in the light of her own failure.”

  “That's a bit far out isn't it?” said Charley. “Isn't that grasping in the dark.”

  “Detective work is grasping in the dark most of the time Charley. We grasp at what we have and we see beyond the surface situation. I think that Mrs. Taylor was the murderer, and we have sufficient links now to make an arrest. Now that the prints have been confirmed. Yvonne Taylor is clearly in the frame.”