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My Mistress Annica Reisende was crowing with delight. Our first paying customer had just left the office and left us with a problem as well as a hundred quid retainer and seventy notes a day plus expenses. I just hope Mistress Annica wasn’t going to solve this one too quickly. Our office was tatty and the money in my account cried out of loneliness. Annica had no bank account, it was a bit embarrassing trying to explain away a date of birth a thousand years old.
Mistress Annica’s real surname was Aachenstracht but I suggested she changed it because it sounded as though she was clearing her throat and Reisende (German for ‘traveller’) gave her an air of mystery. It also meant that the sign-writer didn’t charge us as much. Well, okay, she hynotised him and he didn’t charge us anything but it’s the principle of the thing.
I was sitting in the outer office with the roomy dimensions of a broom cupboard when the client, James Hamilton, exited our establishment. She called me in and smiled,
“The game’s afoot, Johann. It’s a classic – a locked room murder. Door locked and bolted on the inside, windows protected by a sophisticated alarm system. Hamilton’s brother, Arthur, lying dead on the floor.”
Annica, as you may have surmised, was a Sherlock Holmes fanatic, she even added Sir Arthur to her collection of undead celebrities. One quick bite, a perfunctory slurp and the deed was done. Bram Stoker, Edgar Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, figured amongst her favourite names to drop when we visited the ‘Alucard’ night-club, frequented by the local vampire community and home to the most rabid snobbery I had ever encountered. I was a blood type AB negative servant which made Mistress Annica one of the top ten ranking blood-suckers.
“How was he killed?” I asked
“Poison, arsenic - I believe.”
“In his drink?”
“Yes, he was in his bedroom at the time. But he had just taken a sealed bottle of Scotch whiskey into the room. He then locked the door before opening the bottle.”
“How do we know that for certain?”
“His brother told me.”
“Hmmph. You believe him then?”
“Oh yes, I made sure of that.”
“Mistress!”
“Oh stop it Johann. He was type A, not a bad vintage actually, but I only used my powers to confirm that he told the truth.”
She eyed my throat speculatively,
“I think this is another three bite problem.”
I turned to run, heard,
“Johann, kommen sie hier.” and the next thing I remember is watching her delicately dab blood, my blood, from her lips with toilet paper. I rubbed my neck sullenly,
“I wish you’d use the bottled stuff now and then.”
“But draught blood is much tastier.”
“And you solved the mystery?”
“No – this is a real puzzler, Johann. I need to visit the crime scene.”
“Which the police will have sealed off.”
She waved a long, thin hand,
“Have faith in my concealment abilities. It’s elemental my dear chap.”
I groaned at the misused cliché but, nevertheless, Annica did have quite a knack for disguising herself and me, incidentally without changing our physical appearance. The only change would take place in the minds of others.
We arrived at the Hamilton residence on the outskirts of Hanley as dusk gathered. My Mistress introduced us to the constable guarding the door as DCI Rice and DC Smith. Why I couldn’t be a sergeant, god only knows. It was a three bedroomed detached bungalow easily worth half a million with its extensive grounds. As we examined the murder scene, I mentioned this as a possible motive
“Yes Johann, that’s commendable reasoning. Property and money go to James Hamilton as the only surviving relative of Arthur. There are only two flaws. I have already questioned him under hypnosis and he was dining with the Chief Constable at the time of the murder. He also denies murdering his brother.”
“Oh.”
Hamilton’s bedroom was tastefully furnished with a walk-in closet, writing table complete with pc, a chest of drawers, chair and a bedside table. The bed was a four drawer divan with no head board.
I asked,
“How do we know the poison wasn’t already in the glass before Hamilton even entered the room?”
“Because he kept it locked in his bedside table drawer and the only key was on a chain around his neck.”
“Blimey, a bit paranoid wasn’t he?”
“Indubitably, my dear Johann. Which makes this case all the more challenging.”
I went over to the bedside table, the glass and bottle had been removed by now but I could see a ring mark where Hamilton had set his glass down on its pine surface. Close to the ring there were tiny discolourations. He must have set his glass down hard and made the drink splash out I decided.
“I say, Johann, look at this.” I shook my head, she was starting to lose herself in the part, but I went over to her anyway. She was currently on her hands and knees examining the carpet by the writing desk.
“These dents in the pile indicate that Hamilton always placed his chair at exactly the same point.”
“So?”
“So, we can deduce that he was a man of almost obsessively regular habits. Observe his closet, even his suits are arranged in order of shade - light to dark. Therefore, anybody who knew of this trait might use it to their advantage.”
I switched on his computer,
“I wonder if he kept a diary, Mistress.”
“Why?”
“Because my guess is that he would write in it every night at exactly the same time and his back would be to the bedside table and his whiskey glass.”
“Which means at that time, his killer would be able to drop a lethal dose of arsenic into his glass unobserved.”
“Only question remaining is how did the intruder enter and exit the room?”
“Erm, is it possible to train insects?”
“No.”
“Just a thought.”
“And evidence of an untrained mind. Logic, Johann, we must apply logic.”
So apply it we did, with great enthusiasm and little luck. Arthur Hamilton was extremely paranoid and his room was locked, bolted, alarmed and sealed tighter than a drum. Or was it? My eyes kept drifting back to the closet. Easily large enough to conceal somebody, but how did they go from the closet to the glass and back again without being noticed?
“Ah, you’re wondering about the closet too, my dear chap.” Annica said. I nodded and she shook her head. She walked over to it and opened its doors, they creaked.
“But do not despair, Johann. After all, when every other possibility has been eliminated, whatever remains…”
I waved a hand,
“Yeah, yeah, whatever remains, no matter how improbable is invariably the truth.”
“Therefore, somebody was in here with him and he didn’t see them.”
“How?”
“How did we arrive here?”
“By taxi.”
“No, here, in this room.”
Then it struck me, nobody could have been here, nobody human that is. I groaned,
“Oh good, another bloody vampire.”
“That’s right Johann, another bloody vampire.”
But this confirmation came from the doorway where a woman stood. Jet black hair to her waist, pale features and stunning blue eyes.
Annica hissed,
“Janis – I thought you were dead.”
“Wrong my dear sister, just ahem, inconvenienced, as you might say.”
“Johann, I’d like you to meet my sister Janis.”
I started to speak and Annica interrupted,
“That’s enough. Janis, why did you kill Hamilton?”
“To make sure the property goes to his brother - my fiancé. After a couple of years, it will be proven that he murdered Arthur Hamilton and James will kill himself to avoid the public scandal.”
“Leaving you, the poor grief-stricken widow to inherit the lot.” snapped my Mistress.
“I suppose you’re perfect, miss goody two fangs. What about that time in Romania?”
“Well, at least I’m not a devious bitch.”
“No, you’re a scheming bitch.”
“I don’t know how you dare…….”
I left them to it. Hell of a family reunion really, but at least we’d solved the case. There was a pub close to the place and I was famished as well as thirsty. The landlord of the “Rising Sun” greeted me,
“Evening sir. Looks like you’ve had an ‘ard day.”
“It was murder,” I assured him, “Sheer bloody murder.”
the end
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In five hundred years time, most of us will be forgotten dust. But Hitler will still be remembered, God loves irony.
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