Super Short Stories

by Stan Mason

  ‘The body’s gone and the aircraft’s on private land.’

  ‘Was the dead pilot strapped into the pilot’s seat?’

  ‘What a stupid question!’ snapped the Chief Inspector. He was dead. If he hadn’t been strapped in, he would have gone through the windscreen when he crashed.’

  Hutchins pointed to one of the photographs. ‘This print shows he wasn’t strapped in.’

  Malford gave him a filthy look. ‘All right, he wasn’t! What difference does it make? He was dead!’

  ‘Did you examine the metal racking in the fuselage... at the rear of the aircraft?’

  ‘There’s miles of racking in that old crate,’ complained the senior police officer. ‘You’d need two men armed with oxy-acetylene burners a month to get through it. It’s not on! I can’t be responsible for that kind of expenditure of public money!’

  ‘Did you search the area around the ‘plane for a weapon?’

  ‘Why should I do that? Look, let me tell you the solicitor is the main suspect. There are four main features in this case. One. He wasn’t shot through the windscreen. Two. He was going to jump and blow up the plane, that’s why the bomb was there. And three. He put the plane on automatic pilot.’

  ‘What’s the fourth feature?’ asked Hutchins.

  Malford appeared flummoxed. ‘Ah... well... I’m keeping that one to myself for the moment.’

  ‘How could he jump?’ ventured Grimes. ‘He wasn’t wearing a parachute.’

  ‘Well how should I know? I wasn’t up there with him!’ fired the Chief Inspector. ‘You’re the police team with the task of finding the clues!’

  Hutchins tried to advance the case. ‘The wire attached to the bomb was only a foot long... held fast by a metal staple to the fuselage. It wasn’t connected to anything and it didn’t lead anywhere.’

  ‘It was attached to the lower part of the door,’ added Grimes. ‘The pilot wouldn’t have noticed it when he entered.’

  Malford looked fiercely at Rivers. ‘You see what we’re up against!’ He beat the photographs on the Incident Board with his baton like a maniac. ‘This... and this... and this... and this!’ There was silence as everyone stared at him and he realised he was making an exhibition of himself. ‘Clues! That’s what we want. Clues!’

  After leaving the Police Station, Rivers went to Grenville Manor and borrowed Maurice’s study to interview members of the family. No sooner had he sat down behind the desk than there was a knock on the door and Sheila entered.

  ‘I understand you want to see me.’

  He pointed to a chair in which she sat down. ‘I shan’t keep you very long. Are you a close family? Eager to be in each other’s company. The kind of brothers and sisters who meet each other regularly?’

  ‘Hardly,’ she replied curtly. ‘None of us get on. I didn’t care much for George. He was arrogant. Pompous. A bully when he was young. Certainly not the kind of brother I wanted. All he cared about was his precious aeroplane.’

  ‘It’s been rumoured you spend a lot of money on clothes.’

  ‘And cosmetics and perfume, and charities, and lots of other things. I’m a socialite, Mr. Rivers. I mix with lots of people on a high social level.’

  ‘An expensive life-style. Do you have financial problems?’

  ‘None whatsoever. My husband owns three hotels. Our twin sons are at university, but in a year’s time they’ll graduate and those expenses will vanish. Then we’ll have even more money. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wondered whether you were relying on your father’s Will to bail you out of trouble.’

  ‘How dare you!’ she exclaimed appearing shocked to the core. ‘What kind of a person do you take me for? I’d like to believe he’ll leave me something. But that’s beside the point!’

  ‘What do you know about aeroplanes?’

  ‘Probably as much as you know about cosmetics.’

  ‘You could have paid someone to plant the bomb on the plane.’

  ‘Mr. Rivers... I disliked George... I’ll admit that freely... Heaven knows I did... but I had no reason to kill him. If father left me nothing in his Will, the quality of my life would remain the same. But there’s one important fact you seem to have forgotten. Father’s still alive. He may live for another five years for all we know.’

  An instrument on the desk buzzed but Rivers didn’t move. ‘Would you mind answering that please?’ he asked her.

  Sheila looked at it strangely. ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘Just press the button to make contact.’

  ‘Which button?’

  The detective looked at her face and smiled. ‘Never mind. You can go. Would you send in Victoria?’

  Sheila appeared confused, then she shrugged and left. Rivers stared at the intercom thoughtfully until Victoria entered and sat opposite him.

  ‘Please don’t feel offended by my questions,’ he began. ‘I’m here to investigate your brother’s death. The family owes you a great deal, doesn’t it?

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well... you looked after your father all these years, during his many illnesses. You kept the house. No one else helped you. Not George... or Maurice... and especially not Sheila.

  ‘Being here at Grenville Manor suited me.’

  ‘It also held you back. Few friends. Few suitors.’

  ‘My choice, Mr. Rivers. I prefer it that way.’

  ‘But for all your hard work you deserve to be rewarded in your father’s Will. If George inherited Greville Manor and decided to sell it, you’d be without a home... after all you’ve done.’

  ‘Only the solicitor, Mr. Felton, knows the contents of the Will.’

  ‘But if George met with a fatal accident... your chances of staying here would be much greater.’

  ‘I’m not certain I’d want to stay after father died. Too many memories.’

  ‘Do you have a lover?’

  ‘What kind of question is that?’

  ‘With the Will in mind, he might have persuaded you it was in your best interests for George to die.’

  ‘Do I look like I have a lover? Look at my face... my clothes!’

  The instrument on the desk buzzed but Rivers didn’t move. ‘Would you answer that please?’ he asked.

  Victoria stared at it blankly. ‘What do I have to do?’

  Rivers examined her face in detail. ‘All right, Victoria,’ he said eventually. ‘You can go. Please ask Maurice to come in?’

  The younger brother arrived shortly. ‘I understand you’re in deep financial trouble,’ began the detective.

  ‘Who told you that?’ demanded Maurice defensively.

  ‘I’m a detective, Maurice. You’re in way over your head.’

  ‘A run of bad luck, that’s all.’

  ‘Covering twenty years? Come off it! The demise of your elder brother has worked wonders for you. In wealthy families, the eldest son gets the lion’s share. Now George is gone, you’re the eldest.’

  ‘Are you implying I killed my own brother? Father may have left the estate to charity for all I know.’

  ‘But your creditors... the members of the betting fraternity... think otherwise, don’t they? They’re holding off until you get your share of the Will... the lion’s share.’

  ‘The trend of this conversation is insulting, Mr. Rivers.’

  ‘Come on, Maurice! We’re men of the world. How did you kill him?’

  The other man stood up and turned to leave. ‘I refuse to listen to you any further! You seem intent on getting a confession from me. I won’t have it!’

  ‘Well if you didn’t kill him, who did?’

  ‘How should I know? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It appears you’re one of those people determined to get a confession out of so
meone... anyone... so that you can close the files on the case.’

  ‘I’m working on it, Maurice, you can be sure of it.’ The instrument on the desk buzzed and Rivers nodded. ‘Go ahead!’ Maurice pressed the appropriate button and spoke into the microphone. ‘You know how to work this machine?’

  ‘Of course. I used to contact George on it whenever I needed to talk to him.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Rivers. ‘Well thank you for your help. Would you send in Mr. Felton, the family solicitor, please.’

  Maurice left the room and Felton entered nervously.

  ‘I hope this isn’t going to take long,’ he said unhappily. ‘I’ve a heap of work to deal with back at the office.’

  ‘I’ve only two questions to ask you. To which member of the family did you divulge the contents of Mr. Grenville’s Will?’

  ‘I resent that allegation.’

  ‘We’re not in a court of law now, Mr. Felton. One of them knows what’s in the Will. Which one?’

  ‘It was my choice for a specific reason... which has nothing to do with George’s death.’ There was a long pause and then he conceded. ‘I told Victoria.’

  ‘Why did you tell her?’

  ‘She looked after the old man for years, regardless of her own needs. There was never any gratitude. I thought it only fair to explain the contents of the Will to her. You see, George would get Grenville Manor. He might decide to sell the place. I had to warn her of the danger. This is her home. She’s lived here all her life. But if you think she killed George for that reason, you’re on the wrong track. She’s good and gentle.’

  ‘Why, Mr. Felton,’ laughed Rivers. ‘You’re in love with her.

  The solicitor shifted uncomfortably. ‘What’s the second question?’

  ‘Did you ever contact George by means of this machine?’

  Felton glanced at the instrument. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever been in this study. Horace usually takes me into the lounge. I’ve never used a machine of this kind. Is it important?’

  ‘Are you married, Mr. Felton?’

  ‘No I’m not. That’s a third question, Mr. Rivers. I wonder what it has to do with your enquiries?’

  ‘Before you go, let me suggest you tell Victoria how you feel about her. That’s unless I discover she murdered her brother.’

  Rivers spent the night at Grenville Manor to continue his enquiries. He was asleep in bed when the shrill ring of the telephone broke into his dreams.

  ‘The hay-stack’s burning,’ yelled a voice over the line. ‘Looks like someone’s set fire to the ‘plane!’

  The detective leaped out of bed and dressed quickly to drive to the scene. Who would want to set fire to the aeroplane? It didn’t make sense! Why set it on fire after the police and forensic scientists had examined it? Only one answer sufficed... there was something in the aircraft they hadn’t found!

  ‘The murderer came back to destroy all the evidence,’ commented Chief Inspector Malford in the darkness.

  ‘He came back for the gun that killed George and put the aircraft to the torch,’ stated Rivers. ‘There was something more to be found on the aircraft.’ Malford stared at him bleakly and then slunk away as Rivers climbed into his car to spend the rest of the night there. At first light, he was awakened by a cock crowing. He alighted from the car, stretched himself before going over to the burned-out wreckage and started a systematic search.

  In the Incident Room at the Police Station, a tired Chief Inspector faced his team.

  ‘Suicide is out,’ began Hutchins. ‘We didn’t find the gun.’

  ‘Forensic examined the ‘plane for fingerprints, the bomb, and all that,’ stated Grimes, ‘but there’s all that metal racking in the fuselage.’

  ‘We’ve a dead man, a bomb, and an aeroplane on automatic pilot with no fuel,’ Malford picked up his baton. ‘Let’s reconstruct the crime.’

  ‘Three thousand feet up in the air?’ choked Grimes.

  ‘Exactly! All the more reason to go up there to find out. How many volunteers do I have?’ There was the sound of shuffling feet and everyone tried to look invisible. ‘Come on! I need one volunteer.’

  ‘None of us has a pilot’s licence,’ admitted Hutchins. ‘We can’t fly.’

  ‘Then it’s up to me,’ declared Malford dourly. ‘I’ve had three flying lessons.’

  At Greville Manor, Rivers invited everyone into Maurice’s study with the exception of Dr. Parker who was left to look after his patient. ‘George couldn’t have committed suicide without a gun,’ he began. ‘Someone killed him. No weapon was found... not even in the wreckage after the plane was set on fire. The features of this case are... no bullet-hole in the windscreen... the plane was on automatic pilot... a bomb was fixed to the door, with a short wire stapled to the fuselage... and there was masses of metal racking to the rear of the fuselage. How could George have been shot in the forehead? And then there are the four of you. Three who may inherit from a Will, and a solicitor who told Victoria it’s contents.’

  Sheila almost bounced out of her seat. ‘He told her what?’

  Felton was equally as angry. ‘That information was given to you in strict confidence,!’ he bleated.

  ‘A man’s been murdered, Felton. This isn’t a High School play. I’m not pulling any punches!’

  At that moment, the sound of an aircraft could be heard. Maurice rose quickly and went to the window.

  A brief smile crossed the detective’s face. ‘That’s not George’s ghost come back to haunt you. It’s Chief Inspector Malford reconstructing the crime.’ He turned on the instrument on the desk.

  Malford’s voice could be heard singing. ‘He flies through the air with the greatest of ease, that daring young man on the flying trapeze... ! Rivers turned the machine off.

  ‘Where were we? Ah, yes! Four suspects who would do far better from the Will if George passed on very swiftly. Felton was the one with the information. Sheila claims she’s affluent, but are her husband’s hotels really doing as well as she suggests? If not, she has a strong motive. Victoria. Poor dutiful Victoria. Why should George get the Manor and sell it from under her? This was her birthplace... her home. She, too, had a very good reason for disposing of George. And there’s Maurice. What can we say about him? A gambler. There’s little else to say really. O.K., let’s return to the scene of the crime. George was flying his plane. How did he get shot in the forehead? Well, in the complex of metal racking at the rear of the plane, someone fixed... or arranged to be fixed... a gun on a supporting rest. It was aimed at the back of the head of the pilot! Attached to it was a detonator connected to the bomb fixed to the door. When the gun was fired, it was designed to detonate the bomb on the door blasting it open. In that way, it would appear that someone else was on the plane with George. Everyone would think the murderer shot him in the back of the head and then jumped out. Inevitably, the plane would crash and burst into flames. Nothing would be left except the wreckage... minus the missing door.’

  ‘But he was shot through the forehead not at the back of the head,’ cut in Maurice.

  ‘Yes, he was. You see, the plan went terribly wrong. The key is the fact that the ‘plane was on automatic pilot. George put it on automatic pilot and left his seat for a moment. The murderer contacted him on the intercom a few seconds before three o’clock to make certain George was in the pilot’s seat... because the gun was set to go off on a timer at precisely three o’clock. George turned to answer the caller, but was standing up, facing the other way at the time... not sitting in the pilot’s seat. He was facing the barrel of the gun! Consequently, he was shot in the forehead and not in the back of the head. He reeled back and fell into the pilot’s seat... thus creating the mystery. You see, had be been flying the plane, he would have strapped himself in by his seat-belt, but he wasn’t.

  ‘How come the police
didn’t find the gun?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘As I said, the plan went terribly wrong. The gun was hidden, resting on a support ledge inside the complex of metal racking. But when it fired, the force was too strong for the support on which it rested. It came off the support and flew back into the rear of the aircraft to become lost in the mass of metal racking. The wire leading from the detonator snapped and so the bomb fixed to the door failed to go off. Instead of crashing and bursting into flames, so that no evidence would be found, the ‘plane continued flying on automatic pilot until it ran out of fuel, ending-up in the hay-rick.

  Victoria shifted in her seat. ‘It might well be none of us was involved in George’s death. There may be other people with a grudge against him.’

  ‘But why should anyone want to set the aircraft on fire after the police had examined it?’ inquired Rivers. ‘The murderer knew exactly where to retrieve the gun in that metal racking. It wouldn’t be difficult to find the gun and remove it, but it wasn’t possible to do anything with the support. It must have been firmly wedged. A sharp-eyed sleuth might realise it had held the murder weapon... so the aircraft was set on fire. I conclude the murderer still has the gun.’ He opened the drawers of the desk until he came to one which was locked. ‘Would you mind opening this one, Maurice?’

  The man hesitated for a moment and then placed the key on the desk. Rivers opened the drawer and brought out a gun. ‘Do I need forensic to check that this fired the fatal bullet?’

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Maurice.

  ‘Once a gambler, always a gambler,’ replied the detective. ‘You owe so much money. Your creditors were willing to wait until your father died. But he hung on for a long time and the interest on your debts kept mounting. With George out of the way you were home and dry.’

  ‘Maurice!’ cried Sheila. ‘How could you do a such a thing?’

  He smiled sadly and shrugged. ‘I was a dead man with him alive... I’m dead now he’s gone.’

  At that moment, Dr. Parker knocked and entered. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings, but I’m afraid to say your father has passed away.’