Chief Inspector Derek Gruesome had arrived from New Scotland Yard to question the distinguished guests. He was pleased to meet his old friend and former colleague Lord Mars-Wrigley who had come to London to hand some artifacts from his long and glorious career over to the Crime Museum.
“Just the odd assortment of murder weapons,” he murmured modestly. “Hatchets, butcher´s knives, ropes, and several blunt instruments, of course. Bludgeons, pokers, granite paperweights …”
“The bellboy must have forgotten the shoes what with all the commotion.” Sir Gruesome had had enough of murder weapons for one morning. He nudged the pretty, red shoes with the toe of his own brown Hush Puppies. “I am sure the old gal would have hated the sight of a pair of unpolished shoes.” He squinted short-sightedly and bent down to take a closer look, wondering how they could still be so wet.
Lord Mars-Wrigley paled visibly.
“But you must have known the victim, of course.” Sir Gruesome studied his colleague thoughtfully. “Ms Olivia Cadbury-Flake, headmistress of your local girls´ school. Did you know she led a double life, by the way? In her spare time, she worked as a car park attendant. Actually she took part in their annual convention here last night.”
Lord Mars-Wrigley shook his head in disbelief. “So Ms Crazy and those catty … eh Miss Penderghast and Mrs McVities... They are all car park attendants? So they were here to participate in that Car Park Attendants convention? But that…”
Again Sir Gruesome had to interrupt the old man. “You haven´t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary, old chap? No, I´m sure you slept through it all after your exciting banquet at the museum.” He guffawed heartily. “We really must have a wee drop of something in the bar later, dear chap.”
Sir Gruesome raised his hand in what was probably meant as some kind of parting shot and rushed off to question hundreds of car park attendants, many of them agitated women. He felt a twinge of unease. Had he just missed something?
A week later
“I´m tremendously sorry to have to tell you that you are arrested on suspicion of murder, m´lord.” Visibly uncomfortable, Sir Gruesome cleared his throat while he crossed the threshold of Lord Mars-Wrigley´s beautiful country house. “It´s really too bad, old chum, but you know, Gung Ho and all that. Did the blasted woman try to blackmail you? Was that it?”
“No, not really. She caught me red-handed, of course. Or red-shod, to be exact. She was gloating when she told me she would turn me in. Told me how much she loved reporting delinquents. The self-righteous little bitch. Said she loved doing good little deeds. A car park attendant indeed! I just couldn´t bear it.” Lord Mars-Wrigley lowered his snow-white hair in shame. “But those shoes … I was so envious of the person who could put her feet into those feminine and attractive shoes. I just had to put them on.” Once he had started, the words just poured out of him. “But first I ran into that wretched Selina Crazy-woman and had to cajole her down to the bar. Hours later I stole upstairs again, more than half-drunk, I am afraid, and when I finally managed to send the old bird off to bed, it was very late. I was feeling a bit groggy by then so I slipped into Ms Cadbury-Flake´s room with the shoes instead of my own. So silly of me. Of course I woke her up. Scared the scarecrow a bit, I dare say.” He laughed excitedly, beginning to enjoy his own confession.
“But I kept my sagacious old head calm and told her we must be able to sort things out somehow. I offered her a sip of one of my very best specimen, a vintage hipflask which belonged to Jack the Hipper himself. Strychnine, will you believe it? At first she protested a bit, but I…” He made a suggestive movement with his hand, and Gruesome remembered the bruises around Ms Cadbury-Flake´s mouth.
“And later I even remembered to switch the shoes again.” The murderer sent Sir Gruesome a proud smile before he sagged a little in his worn, old armchair.
“Hrmph, I suppose I could turn my back for a sec if you´d prefer the honourable way out.” With an exaggerated movement of his head, Sir Gruesome squinted meaningfully towards the first floor window.
“Oh no, I suffer from the most dreadful fear of heights, and unfortunately I just ran out of poison. How did your folks get on to me, by the way? I am absolutely certain I didn´t leave any fingerprints in her room. “
“Of course you didn´t.” Gruesome hesitated. No need to tell the old buffer that the technicians had had a field day. Saliva, hair, regular pools of blood … you name it. But not a single fingerprint. “You left a little toe, though – one of those you cut off to be able to squeeze into her dainty little shoes.”
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About the author:
Dorte Hummelshøj Jakobsen was born in Denmark in 1961. She works as a teacher of English, but in her spare time she reads, writes and reviews crime fiction.
One of her stories appeared in "Discount Noir", a collection of flash fiction stories, in 2010 (editors Steve Weddle & Patricia Abbott).
DJ´s Krimiblog
Candied Crime Page 4