The Impossible Murderer

by Allison Osborne

  With great effort, Irene flung the front doors of the house open dramatically and walked into the foyer. The dogs barked and circled her, but she walked right through them to the large sitting room, with determined steps.

  Eddy stood at the fireplace, still conducting his interviews while Mr. Richardson sat in a large chair and Anthony on the couch. They all looked up at Irene, startled at her entrance.

  She pointed at Anthony. “DI Lestrade, arrest this man for murder. If Phillip was still alive, you’d arrest him for the same.”

  Anthony stood, face instantly red. “Wait just a damn minute. Murder? I did no such thing.”

  Eddy immediately stepped forward, grasping Anthony’s shoulder. “Sit down and hear her out, or I will cuff you right now.”

  Mr. Richardson stood up and faced Anthony. “You dirty bast–”

  “It was not just him.” Irene cut him off. “It seems everyone was in cahoots against you, Mr. Richardson, and each other. Now, where is Margaret?”

  Mr. Richardson didn’t answer, just blinked at her with the shocked expression she relished whenever she told people some startling truth.

  “She is laying down,” Eddy said.

  “Where?”

  “In her room,” Mr. Richardson said.

  “Curious,” Irene mused darkly. “She is napping in the same room where her husband died not twenty-four hours ago?”

  Eddy figured it out before Anthony or Mr. Richardson, and he cussed.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered Anthony, then looked at Mr. Richardson. “Either of you.”

  Irene pivoted and marched up the stairs, keeping ahead of Eddy. She reached the bedroom and flung the door open.

  “She’s gone,” Eddy gasped.

  The closet door was wide open, and the bag Irene spied earlier was missing. She went to the window and looked out, hoping to spot Margaret hurrying across the side lawn. No sign, but she did notice something curious.

  A single black horse grazing alone in the paddock.

  Musgrave, the red horse that put up a fight in the stables, was absent.

  Irene turned and rushed out of the room.

  “Get some handcuffs on Anthony,” she shouted back to Eddy. “Call Scotland Yard and tell them to send constables, then get in your car and follow us.”

  She spun to him at the top of the stairs. “Oh, and tell Scotland Yard to bring back Ronald. That boy is as innocent as his horse.”

  She bounded down the stairs, pulling the car keys from her pocket, as Joe stepped out from the sitting room.

  “Come, Joe!” She hollered.

  He followed her out the front door right to the Vauxhall. They both climbed in and she started the engine.

  She drove the car out of the laneway and zoomed down the road.

  “You think she ran?” Joe asked, breathless from all the commotion.

  “That bag in her closet is gone, and a horse is missing,” Irene said. “I think running is exactly what she did.”

  Within minutes of driving, Irene rounded a bend in the road and they came upon Margaret. She galloped on Musgrave, dress flying behind her, bag flapping on the back of the saddle. The horse wasn’t cooperating in the slightest. He tossed his head and kicked out a couple of times and Margaret struggled to ride, bouncing all over the horse’s back.

  Irene roared the car past them, startling the horse. He bucked, but Margaret stayed on. Irene slowed the car and drove at an angle, cutting them off. She braked as Margaret rode up to them. Musgrave’s only choice was to stop or leap off the road into the weeds, so he skidded to a halt and threw his head, rearing up.

  Margaret tumbled off and fell to the ground, bag falling with her. Irene cut the engine and leapt out of the car, Joe right behind her.

  “Grab that horse,” she yelled to Joe, before heading right for Margaret.

  To her credit, Margaret scrambled to her feet and attempted to run, but Irene was faster. She grabbed Margaret’s arm and twisted in the same move she’d used on Anthony. Margaret cried out and dropped easily to her knees.

  Joe struggled with Musgrave, the horse rearing again and whinnying so loud it would have been heard right across the fields.

  Margaret pulled against Irene

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  “I can’t,” Irene said. “You are under arrest for murder, Mrs. Greenly.”

  “Murder?” She exclaimed in a very convincing tone. “What on God’s earth are you talking about? I didn’t commit any murders!”

  Irene crouched, speaking into Margaret’s ear for added dramatic effect. “Then why did you run?”

  Margaret’s cuss words were drowned out by Eddy’s police car pulling up behind them. He stepped out of the car and saw Joe struggling with the horse.

  “You alright?” he called. Joe threw him a thumbs up and continued to dance with the horse, mumbling soothing words.

  Eddy cuffed Margaret and stood her up.

  “You have no idea what it’s like,” Margaret hissed to Irene. “I was smarter than both of them. I could’ve done great things with those horses, but they never listened, ever.”

  “Such is the lot of being a woman sometimes.” Irene picked up Margaret’s bag. “You have to accept that, then find men who are willing to listen, and befriend those instead. Or you need to outsmart them. Which you did, and you might have still, but you did not outsmart me.”

  Eddy ushered her into the car, shutting the door. He then returned to Irene to collect Margaret’s bag before tossing it over his shoulder.

  “That was impressive,” he said to her.

  “That was dangerous,” Joe snapped over the hood of the Vauxhall. “A horse is not a car you can run off the road.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “And I apologize, but he appears to be fine.”

  Musgrave snorted and danced around Joe, sniffing his hair. Joe stroked the horse's neck and tried to stay reserved, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “We’re still missing a horse,” Eddy said.

  “No, we’re not.” Irene clapped her hands together. “Joe, are you able to ride him?”

  He patted Musgrave’s nose and nodded. “I believe so.”

  “Margaret said a gentle hand with him,” Irene reminded him. “And I cannot think of a more gentle person. Ride him to that small farm we observed from the top of the hill. You’ll get there faster by going straight across the field as I go around on the road. You shall find Maximus there. But do not accuse the farm owners, because I do not think they know what sort of crime has been committed.”

  Joe lengthened the stirrups, tightened the saddle, then climbed up on the horse. Musgrave pawed the ground under him and Joe bent to the horse’s ear, stroking his neck.

  “It’s alright, Musgrave,” he cooed. “It’s alright.”

  He slowly urged the horse into a trot and began across the field.

  “I’m going to meet him there, and bring back the missing horse,” Irene told Eddy. “We will meet you all in the house and I shall lay out this entire case.”

  “I look forward to your explanation.” Eddy peered down at her, impressed smile on his face. “I had pegged that Anthony perhaps had a hand in Phillip’s death, as the whole suicide was suspicious, and I suspected Margaret of something, but how Phillip fits into the whole mystery is something I haven’t yet solved.”

  Irene let a small smile move across her lips. Eddy was smart and good at his job, but she always relished when she could get the better of him. One could say that she had an unfair advantage, being at the crime scene for an entire day before he arrived, but really she knew it wasn’t all her. She was used to giving up the credit for cases when she wanted to remain anonymous, but she always made sure Eddy and Thom knew just who was solving all their investigations. This time, however, she had to give credit where it was due.

  “I wouldn’t have figured it out without Joe,” she admitted. “Well, perhaps I would have, but it would’ve taken me much longer, and more deaths might ha
ve occurred.”

  “He’s proving to be quite the asset to you,” Eddy said. “Isn’t he? And perhaps, a good friend and decent flatmate?”

  “All of the above,” she replied, then a thought occurred to her and she had to know if Eddy had observed Joe’s secret. “Did you know he was a veterinarian?”

  She phrased the question, and the inflexion in her voice, as if she knew all along, and expected Eddy to be as surprised as she originally was.

  “Of course,” he spoke as if it were so obvious. “Or I assumed, rather. All you had to do was look at his textbooks, or how he interacts with animals. He’d go out of his way to avoid a human and do just the same to meet an animal. Why?”

  Irene shrugged, trying her best to stay nonchalant about the entire affair.

  “He just never mentioned it to me.” She kept her face emotionless and spoke as casual as she could. “I thought maybe other people didn’t pick up on that fact.”

  She stared across the field, watching Joe and Musgrave ride up the far hill, feeling Eddy’s eyes on her. From her peripherals, she saw a grin stretch across his face.

  “You had no idea,” he said, then laughed. “You, in all your deductions and wisdom and smugness, had no idea he was a vet, did you? When did you figure it out? Or did he have to come out and tell you?”

  She smacked his shoulder. “I just solved a triple homicide for you.”

  He shrugged. “You admitted that the veterinarian did most of the work.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Take your prisoner and go.”

  He chuckled again and went back to his car. Irene climbed into her own automobile and headed toward the small fog-laden farm where Maximus was waiting.

  Chapter VIII

  The Missing Horse and an Explanation

  Mr. and Mrs. Murphy owned the small farm across the backfield of the Richardson estate, and they were both surprised to see Joe ride up on a half-wild red stallion. They stood in their garden, watching as Joe slowed Musgrave to a trot, then yanked the reins, attempting to halt the horse before he ran right through the house.

  He dismounted Musgrave, out of breath from controlling the horse all across the backfield. In his opinion, the horse should’ve been a racer, not used for dressage.

  Mr. Murphy, ageing and slow, greeted Joe with a smile and whistled at Musgrave.

  “He’s a beauty,” Mr. Murphy remarked. “Bit of a wild one, though. What can I do for you, son?”

  “I’m Doctor Joe Watson,” he said. “I came from the Richardson farm, across your field there. I believe you have their missing horse.”

  Mrs. Murphy gasped and grabbed her husbands arm. “Oh, we are terribly sorry. We figured a horse like that belonged to them, but the rain came on, and the trailer to take him home was stuck in the stables.”

  “It’s quite alright, ma’am.” Joe offered a reassuring wave of his hand. “No harm done. We are grateful you found him. May I see him?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Murphy said. “Tie that one up to that post and follow me.”

  Joe secured Musgrave to a post beside a small goat pen and followed Mr. Murphy. The farm was small and worn, with goats, a few chickens and two dairy cows. Precisely the type of farm a couple living out their old age would own.

  “Right through here.” Mr. Murphy led Joe into a small, two-box stable and through to a paddock.

  A large dark horse stood against the back fence, ears perked up at the two men. He gave a soft nicker when they entered through the gate.

  “He seems trained enough,” Mr. Murphy said. “But he’s ornery. Part thoroughbred or something, I’m not too sure. I saw him up on that hill, and my wife and I struggled to get most of the barbed wire off him, then we brought him in. I assumed he was from the Richardson farm, or perhaps the one farther down the field, and that someone would come looking for him. Once the rain let up, we were going to try and drive him around in an attempt to return him. But he isn’t the friendliest and would only let me near him for a short bit at a time.”

  Mr. Murphy left the paddock, standing on the other side of the fence, watching Joe with interest. Joe slowly crossed the paddock toward Maximus, carefully placing one foot gently in front of the other.

  “He’s a champion dressage stallion,” Joe said.

  “I’ll be damned,” Mr. Murphy said. “I thought those competition horses would be friendlier and wouldn’t be wandering the hills alone.”

  Joe made it a few feet away from Maximus. The horse was covered in mud and dried blood, turning his grey coat to a dark red-brown. The smells of Maximus's adventure reached Joe's nose and he frowned. The poor beast needed a proper bath.

  Maximus nickered before throwing his head back and letting out a loud whinny.

  From the other side of the stables, Musgrave answered.

  Joe cooed and whispered to Maximus, trying to soothe him. A rope halter was tied around his face, and a bit of snapped rope dangled down to his chest. Joe reached out and grabbed it, tugging gently. The poor horse looked exhausted and in pain.

  Joe walked back to the small stables, Maximus in tow. They reached the end of the paddock and Maximus pulled back, but Joe was quick to turn around and soothe him.

  He didn’t put up much of a fight after that, and Joe managed to lead him into the stables. He secured him with a few ties and started his examination.

  Everything came so easy and routine to Joe that until he consciously thought about it, he forgot that this may have triggered panic. He’d gone out to so many small farms and examined so many large animals, that this was the most comfortable he’d felt in years, certainly since the war had started. He still didn’t know if he wanted to go back to a veterinarian practice, or how his mind would even take that, but right now he was content and fully confident in his ability to finish this particular task.

  Maximus's muscles twitched under Joe's fingers as he ran his hands over the cuts and scrapes, bits of dried dirt flaking off and falling to the stable floor.

  Mr. Murphy approached him but kept a cautious distance away.

  “I managed to get all the barbed wire off of him,” he said. “But it was too dark to do anything else. So, I brought him here. He’s not cut up too bad, is he?”

  Joe hadn’t examined all the wounds on Maximus yet, but most of them seemed superficial.

  “He seems to be alright,” he said. “I just need him in good enough shape to get him back home.”

  “Use our trailer,” Mr. Murphy said. “Fits one horse. It’s not too pretty, but it’ll do to get him home.”

  Mrs. Murphy entered the stables, Irene on her heels.

  “This woman said there is a whole police investigation happening,” she said. “Oh, I hope we’re not in trouble. We just didn’t know what to do with this horse. We called a vet to come see him, but he couldn’t come out until tomorrow. Oh, we are so sorry.”

  “It’s quite alright,” Joe reassured the old couple again. “Everything is all sorted, and you are not in trouble.”

  Mr. Murphy took his wife’s shoulders, gently leading her away.

  “Come, Deidre. Let them finish their work,” he said, then called back to Joe. “You let us know as soon as you want that horse moved, and we’ll get him in the trailer for you.”

  “Thank you,” Joe said.

  They left the stables and Irene approached Joe.

  “How is he, Doctor?” she asked, eyeing the scared horse.

  “He needs a good clean up,” Joe said. “And a good rest.”

  Joe ran his hands down Maximus’s leg and lifted his hoof. The horse gave some resistance, huffing and snorting, but Joe held steady, and gently pinched Maximus's tendon until the horse bent his leg.

  Irene grabbed a hoof pick from a pile of tools in the corner and handed it to Joe.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You’d make a fine assistant.”

  She laughed. “I am perfectly content solving mysteries, thank you very much.”

  Joe scraped Maxi
mus’s hoof and came out with mud, fresh and old. He smeared it on the stable floor, revealing dark streaks.

  “Ah, ha!” Irene crouched and poked through the dirt. “Blood. Dried, flaky, but a substantial amount.”

  Her exclamation startled Maximus and he snorted. Joe brushed away some dust and peeled some caked mud off of the horse's chest.

  “The cuts on his chest and forelegs are consistent with a fight over a box door,” he said. “The exact same as Musgrave. You’ve caused a lot of chaos, sir.”

  He patted the horse’s neck. Maximus's grey fur looked magnificent, even under all the filth. Joe could only imagine the beauty of him dancing in the ring, cleaned up and tacked in the finest saddle and bridle.

  “Let’s return him.” Irene reached out to pet Maximus, but the horse snorted and she withdrew her hand. “This case is over, and it looks like it’s going to rain again.”

  * * * * *

  Joe rode ahead on Musgrave, back to the Richardson farm. Irene drove in her automobile, and Mr. Murphy offered to drive Maximus in his trailer.

  Joe arrived before either of them and made sure Musgrave was watered and let loose in a paddock, far away from where they would unload Maximus.

  Irene pulled in first, parking up by Lestrade’s police car, while Mr. Murphy rolled in behind her, old truck coughing and sputtering as it came to a stop.

  Mr. Richardson hurried right to the trailer with such an exuberant look on his face, Joe thought he might cry tears of joy. He flung the trailer door open and beckoned his horse. Maximus backed out and reared at the commotion but was quick to settle once he took in his surroundings. His hooves on the cobblestones instantly transported Joe back to London and the sound of the city, and for a brief moment, he was ready to end this case and get back to Baker Street and the familiarity of his home.

  Mr. Richardson shook Mr. Murphy’s hand and thanked him, then the old farmer left, driving his noisy truck back to his farm.

  Mr. Richardson walked Maximus to the stables and Joe followed.

  “He needs a good scrub,” Joe said. “And proper vet care. I don’t have any supplies with me, or I’d tend to him myself.”