Thursday 29 December 2011

The Interrogation Game

Instructions
- read the notes about the murder case below and interrogate the suspect
- choose from a selection of responses; go to the appropriate number written beside the question
- try to break the suspect and get the truth!


Case Notes
- at 0628 this morning, the police were called to the scene of a crime in King Henry's Park
- an unnamed rambler had discovered the body of a young man, Drew Layman, among some bushes. He had been killed by an overdose of morphine injected into his right arm
- preliminary tests show that he had been knocked unconscious by some blunt object to the back of the head minutes before his death
- Drew Layman was a newspaper reporter for Daily News, and was currently working on a project surrounding a drug ring known as the Tuuns. He had no family apart from a sister living in Hong Kong, and was a loner, unpopular at his work
- you are now interviewing his ex-girlfriend Sara Nate, who is rumoured to be involved with a member of the Tuuns and who had a significant motive to kill him. A witness claims to have seen someone matching her description walking quickly from King Henry Park at 10.30pm. It is your job to find out the truth.
- the only news made available to the public was that a Drew Layman, 35, a journalist, had died of an overdose of morphine at 10pm yesterday evening.


Start of Interrogation:


(1) "I hope you won't keep me long, Detective. I have a lot of work to do."

- Where do you work? Go to (2)
- I'll get straight down to it, then. Where were you at 10 pm last night? Go to (3)
- Do you know Drew Layman? Go to (4)
- So do I. I'll keep you here as long as need be. Go to (5)




(2) "I work at Carli's Cafe on Minder Road, near King Henry's Park. I'm also studying for my A Levels at night school. So you see detective, I don't have a lot of spare time. You're barking up the wrong tree - I'm innocent here."

- Innocent? Of what? I didn't accuse you of anything. Go to (6)
- Where were you at 10 pm last night? Go to (3)
- Do you know Drew Layman? Go to (4)




(3) "I was at home. Asleep."

- Is there anyone who can verify that? Go to (7)
- Do you know Drew Layman? Go to (4)
- Whereabouts do you live? Go to (8)




(4) "Of course I know Drew Layman. He used to be my boyfriend. But we split up... about a month ago. I haven't seen him since."

- Why did you split up? Go to (9)
- Are you sure you haven't seen him since last month? Go to (10)
- He was found dead last night after an overdose of morphine. Go to (11)
- So you're not in a relationship? Go to (12)




(5) "If it's going to be long, I think I'll exercise my right to have a lawyer present."

When Sara's lawyer arrives, he insists that Sara does not have to answer any questions unless you have cause to arrest her. As you have not collected enough evidence to arrest her yet, you are forced to let her leave.




(6) "I don't trust the police. You brought me in here because you think I committed some sort of crime. I'm innocent, detective. I can't help you."

- You're not under arrest, I just need you to answer some questions. Go to (13)
- I don't believe you are innocent! Go to (14)




(7) "No. I live alone. And I didn't have any visitors last night, if that's what you're suggesting. I left my work at half past nine, someone there will verify that."

- So you're not in a relationship? Go to (12)
- Where do you work? Go to (2)
- Someone said they saw you near King Henry's Park at around 10.30 pm. Are you saying that this wasn't the case? Go to (15)




(8) "A few miles out of town. I got the bus home when I left work."

- Where do you work? Go to (2)
- Can anyone verify your alibi? Go to (7)
- Do you still have your bus ticket? Go to (16)




(9) "That's a very personal question." You wait for an answer. "He was a lying, cheating, violent toerag who deserved everything that was coming to him."

- Sounds like you have a pretty good motive for murder. Go to (17)
- If he was violent, why didn't you go to the police? Go to (18)
- And yet you went out with him for a year and a half... Go to (19)




(10) "Of course I haven't seen him. Do you think I'd lie to you? To be honest, I didn't want to go anywhere near him... he scared me. He was often abusive during our relationship and I just wanted to get away from him."

- If he was violent, why didn't you go to the police? Go to (18)
- I think you're lying to me right now. Go to (20)
- Where were you at 10 pm last night? Go to (3)




(11) "I know. I read it in the papers... such a dreadful case! Do you have any leads yet, detective?"

- Do you know have any ideas as to what might have happened? Go to (21)
- Where were you last night at 10 pm? Go to (3)
- Leads? What makes you think I'm investigating this case? Go to (22)




(12) "Are you asking, detective?"

- Yes, I'm asking. And waiting for an answer. Go to (23)
- Not in the way you mean. Only someone said that you were seen near King Henry's Park at around 10.30 pm. Are you saying that this wasn't the case? Go to (15)




(13) "Well, hurry up and ask them, or I'm leaving."

- You can't leave until I've finished with my questioning, Miss Nate. Go to (24)
- Where were you at 10 pm last night? Go to (3)
- I can't guarantee this won't take a while, Miss Nate. Go to (5)




(14) "If you have enough evidence to arrest me, do it. If not, I'm leaving."

You can do nothing as Sara gets up and leaves. As she walks out, you notice she gets into a car driven by a tall bald man with tattoos marking him out as a member of the Tuun gang. You curse, realizing how close you got.




(15) "They must have been mistaken. I took the bus home and was home by ten o'clock. Maybe they got the time wrong... I was around there at 9.30, when I left work. Or it might not have been me. It gets dark early at this time of year."

- Do you still have your bus ticket? Go to (16)
- Don't lie to me! Go to (25)




(16) "Let me see... nope. I must have thrown it away. What? It's not a crime to throw away a used bus ticket, is it, detective?"

- No. But murder is. And since you no longer have an alibi, Miss Nate, I arrest you for the murder of Drew Layman! Go to (26)
- Do you know Drew Layman? Go to (4)




(17) "Murder? You're accusing me of murdering him?"

- Exactly. Thank you for summarising. Go to (27)
- I'm just speculating, Miss Nate. Go to (28)




(18) "Because I was scared, that's why. Drew may be a loner, but he has powerful friends. Well, not friends... but people who owe him. Big time. And when they find out I've been talking to the police... what with him being dead and all... I'm going to need police protection."

- Dead? How did you know he was dead? Go to (29)
- But you still went out with him for a year and a half. Go to (19)
- I can't offer you police protection until you give me some more useful evidence. Go to (30)




(19) "Drew was so very sweet... he took me in. I was lonely and he was so kind to me. But then he turned violent, and I was scared of leaving him. At first it was just little things, but they escalated... once he threatened me with a gun. I was so scared, I'd had enough. I ran away... changed my numbers, moved house... tried to stay away from him. I won't lie to you, detective... his death has released me from a great fear."

- Why didn't you go to the police? Go to (18)
- How did you know he was dead? Go to (29)
- Where did he get a gun from? Go to (30)




(20) "If you think I'm lying, prove it. Arrest me... when you have the evidence. For now, I'm leaving."

You can do nothing as Sara gets up and leaves. As she walks out, you notice she gets into a car driven by a tall bald man with tattoos marking him out as a member of the Tuun gang. You curse, realizing how close you got.




(21) "Drew did a lot of drugs... I suppose he must have taken an overdose."

- Where did he get his drugs from? Go to (31)
- Had he taken an overdose before? Go to (32)




(22) "Aren't you investigating his murder, detective? That's what I had assumed... I hope you've got someone looking into the matter."

- How did you know that Drew was murdered? Go to (33)
- Yes, I am. And I'm investigating now. I'm investigating you. Go to (27)




(23) "I'm currently... involved. With a friend of Drew's. He looked after me... whenever Drew got violent. I can't see what bearing this has on the case, detective."

- If Drew was violent, why didn't you go to the police? Go to (18)
- I need a name, Miss Nate. Go to (34)




(24) "If you have enough evidence to arrest me, do it. If not, I'm leaving."

You can do nothing as Sara gets up and leaves. As she walks out, you notice she gets into a car driven by a tall bald man with tattoos marking him out as a member of the Tuun gang. You curse, realizing how close you got.




(25) "If you think I'm lying, prove it. Arrest me... when you have the evidence. For now, I'm leaving."

You can do nothing as Sara gets up and leaves. As she walks out, you notice she gets into a car driven by a tall bald man with tattoos marking him out as a member of the Tuun gang. You curse, realizing how close you got.




(26) "Don't be ridiculous. You don't have any evidence. I'm calling my lawyer."

When Sara's lawyer arrives, he insists that Sara does not have to answer any questions unless you have cause to arrest her. As you have not collected enough evidence to arrest her yet, you are forced to let her leave.




(27) "I'm no murderer. Don't be ridiculous. You don't have any evidence. I'm calling my lawyer."

When Sara's lawyer arrives, he insists that Sara does not have to answer any questions unless you have cause to arrest her. As you have not collected enough evidence to arrest her yet, you are forced to let her leave.




(28) "Hmm. Well, get on with it, then."

- If he was violent, why didn't you go to the police? Go to (18)
- If he was violent, why did you go out with him for a year and a half... Go to (19)




(29) "I read about it in the paper of course. Do you have any leads yet, detective?"


- Do you know have any ideas as to what might have happened? Go to (21)
- Where were you last night at 10 pm? Go to (3)
- Leads? What makes you think I'm investigating this case? Go to (22)




(30) "His dealer provided him with whatever he needed. He took a lot of drugs. Say he owed Gre- I mean, his dealer, a lot of money. His dealer might have given him too much, so he took an overdose. Come to think of it, he had access to morphine, so he could have killed Drew easily."

- I need a name, Miss Nate. Go to (34)
- How did you know he died from morphine? Go to (29)
- Do you think it was murder, then? Go to (22)




(31) "His dealer provided him with whatever he needed. He took a lot of drugs. Say he owed Gre- I mean, his dealer, a lot of money. His dealer might have given him too much, so he took an overdose. Come to think of it, he had access to morphine, so he could have killed Drew easily."

- I need a name, Miss Nate. Go to (34)
- How did you know he died from morphine? Go to (29)
- Do you think it was murder, then? Go to (22)




(32) "He had taken an overdose once or twice before. It was only a matter of time before he killed himself, everyone knew it."

- Where did he get his drugs from? Go to (30)
- Everyone? Who's everyone? Go to (35)




(33) "I read about it in the papers, of course. Are you stupid?"

- The police control what information goes to the media, and at no point did any newspaper mention the possibility of Drew being murdered. An innocent person might assume he took an overdose, or an accident... not murder. Go to (36)
- Where were you last night at 10 pm? Go to (3)
- Do you think it was the first time Drew had taken morphine? Go to (32)




(34) "I can't give you a name. Why do you think Drew was killed? I need protection!"

- How did you know Drew was murdered? Go to (33)
- I can't promise protection. Go to (37)
- All right. We'll give you protection... provided we get names. Go to (38)




(35) "Drew's... friends. His dealer. Everyone."

- "Who was his dealer?" Go to (34)
- Where did he get his drugs from? Go to (30)




(36) "Okay, fine. You win. I'll tell you what happened."

"I didn't go straight home after work. I went to the park to meet Greg. My boyfriend. Only he didn't turn up. I hung around there for half an hour, but, you know, it's not safe there for a girl on her own. So I started to go, but at about ten past ten, he turned up. He was all in a panic, pushed me into his car and drove me home. Said he'd been waiting around for me when he'd seen Drew lying in the bushes, blood pouring from his head. He didn't think, he just ran, cos he thought I'd be suspected. Please, don't hurt me... I had nothing to do with this, honest!"

Well done! You have successfully proved that Sara had something to do with the murder. You can complete the storyline in Part Two - still to come!




(37) "No protection - no names. I'm outta here."

You can do nothing as Sara gets up and leaves. As she walks out, you notice she gets into a car driven by a tall bald man with tattoos marking him out as a member of the Tuun gang. You curse, realizing how close you got.




(38) "You're going to promise me protection from these killers for the rest of my life? I don't think you can keep that promise, detective. I'll be killed just like Drew if they ever see me again.

- Maybe I can't promise protection. But we'll do our best. Go to (37)
- How did you know Drew was murdered? Go to (33)

----THE END----

Did you enjoy this new type of mystery? Please leave your feedback - I'd love to know!

Sunday 25 December 2011

Best Mystery Games

Happy Christmas everyone!

As a little holiday present, I thought I'd give you a list of my favorite detective and mystery games to occupy yourself with over the Christmas period. Enjoy, and don't forget to eat lots of mince pies!

(10) Sleuth


In Sleuth you, as a private investigator, are assigned a murder case to solve, and must find the murderer by proving everyone else's alibi false. A fun murder mystery game, but involves a (free) signup, and the game does get a little repetitive after a while.

http://www.playsleuth.com/

(9) Detective Wombat


A fun point and click adventure game; not the great story-line but I enjoyed playing it. You play as an art detective trying to find a forger.

http://www.shegame.com/view/9264/Inspector-Wombat

(8) Nick Bounty


The two parts of the Nick Bounty adventure are both amusing and light-hearted; not too challenging but requires a little bit of thought.

http://www.otterarchives.com/cotc.html
http://www.otterarchives.com/bounty2/bounty2.html

(7) Detective Grimoire


This is a fun little interactive murder mystery game with a nice script and fun characters. It's not a particularly challenging game, but good fun all the same. Rumour has it that a Detective Grimoire 2 is not too far away, so keep your eyes peeled!

http://armorgames.com/play/200/detective-grimoire

(6) Popcorn, Soda... Murder?


One of the best amateur detective stories I've played! This text-based murder mystery game is quite a challenge, but really enjoyable. If you ever get stuck, there's a walk-through available on Youtube - but do your best without help first!

http://www.choiceofgames.com/user-contributed/popcorn-soda-murder/

(5) Daily Witness


Daily Witness has a great storyline with two very believable detectives (almost as good as Carlton and River!). The game itself isn't particularly exciting, but definitely worth playing anyway for the cool script. One of my favourites, but I couldn't put it any higher as the game itself isn't brilliant.

http://www.agame.com/game/daily-witness.html
http://www.agame.com/game/daily-witness-2.html


(4) Stickville Murder Mysteries


I admit to being skeptical of this at first, as it consists of stick men. Admittedly, the graphics are pretty poor, but the mysteries are great and it involves a nice bit of a challenge. Plus, there are five different cases, to keep you occupied for ages.

http://www.normandcompany.com/STICKMAN/

(3) Jack French


I've enjoyed the Jack French series a lot - it's challenging enough to be exciting, but not so difficult to be getting stuck every two minutes. They also include some nice graphics and I enjoy the storylines. Not suitable for younger players, though.

http://johnnybdesign.com/paradise.html
http://johnnybdesign.com/doctor.html
http://johnnybdesign.com/7dwarfs.html

(2) Ambition


This is a great interactive murder mystery where you work through several stages, both before and after the crime. You work through as different characters making decisions, from the victim trying to escape, to the detective solving the case, to the lawyer defending an innocent victim. There are ten excellent episodes to this interactive drama, the only flaw being that to find out the ending, you have to pay to find out the ending (which I have no intention of doing!). Nevertheless, it's a fun game, so enjoy.

http://www.zapdramatic.com/dramas.htm

(1) Fugitive Hunter


And in first place...

Despite not being a murder mystery as such, I can't recommend this game highly enough. It has a very realistic  feel, allowing you to play detective. Read the rules carefully first, and work through this with notebook and pencil in hand! There are plenty of mysteries for you to have a crack at, and hints in case you get stuck.

http://www.fugitivehunter.com/

Have fun playing all these games this winter: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all!

Saturday 17 December 2011

Driving Death

The paramedics, having cut away a large section of the wrecked car door, pulled the distraught girl out of the driver's seat. Despite a two-inch long cut on her forehead that was bleeding freely, she was otherwise uninjured.

"Lydia," she sobbed, as they prepared to stitch her cut, "Let me see Lydia!"

A paramedic with a short grey beard touched her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Kara," he said, "Lydia's dead."

"No!" She shoved him away violently. "No, no, no, she can't be, she can't be!"

Another paramedic brought an oxygen canister forward and placed the mask over Kara's mouth and nose. After a few deep breaths, she began to calm down.

"My name is Max," said the grey-haired paramedic. "We've called the police and they're on their way. But we need to ask you, how much can you remember about before the crash?"

Kara took another deep gulp of air and removed the mask. "We were driving back from the auditions," she recalled. "We rounded the corner and the sun was low in the sky so it dazzled me."

She gestured back towards the town, and Max squinted against the sharp orange rays of the setting sun, silhouetting the city skyscrapers against the sky.

"I squinted and couldn't control the car properly. I felt a bang, and suddenly we were off the road. Then - I don't remember anything, until you started cutting me from the car."

Max nodded reassuringly. "Was that your car?" he asked her, looking at the smoking wreck.

Kara shook her head. "Mine and Lydia's shared. We took it in turns - she drove us in, and I drove back. We were so happy - we'd each got a part in this pantomime, she was the lead and I was her understudy. We have ourselves a flat in the next village along. Best friends, ever since primary school..." she trailed off, another tear snaking down her face.

Max patted her hand, comforting yet somehow unconvincing, and rose to talk to the police who had just arrived on the scene.

"I think you need to question Kara further," he said slowly to one of the men in uniform. "Something tells me this wasn't an accident."

How did he know?

Answer (highlight to read): Kara said she was driving from town to her flat in a village when she was blinded by the sun. However, the setting sun would have been behind her, as Max saw it against the city.

Sunday 11 December 2011

The Assassin

Apologies, yet again, for the lack of posts. Here is the latest one - one of my favourites - which is only semi-fictional!

Professor Whyte sat back in his leather armchair and poured himself a glass of wine. He swirled it gently around the glass, absorbing its fine fragrance, before taking his first sip. Perfect.

He opened his eyes and sighed at the state of the room. Stacks of papers filled his office, leaving only a small track of clear floor space to which led from the door to his desk, and the metal safe at the back of the room was almost obscured. He really would have to do something about it soon. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed another sip of his wine.

An almost inaudible squeak made them snap open again in confusion. He glanced at his watch - a quarter past one in the morning. Probably someone returning from a late night, he thought to himself, shutting his eyes again. Nothing unusual.

It wasn't until he felt a cold draft from the opened window that he decided to investigate. Rising, his eyebrows creasing into a single line over his forehead, he pulled the black figure from his window-frame into his room. Calmly, he shut the door, and pulled off the man's balaclava.

"Well, young sir, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

The man straightened up, a terrible scowl on his features, and raised a gun to waist height. "I've come to kill you, Whyte," he growled.

"Of course. Whereabouts would you like me?" replied the elderly professor.

"Eh?"

"To make your alibi look strong. So the police aren't going to catch you."

The face relapsed back into a scowl. "The police'll never catch me!"

"Excellent." Whyte eased himself back into his chair. "Then we have something to celebrate."

The assassin looked confused. "Huh? I'm going to kill you!"

"Oh, I know," replied Whyte. "Have a drink with me?"

"Come again?"

"A drink. With me." Whyte poured out another glass of the excellent claret. "I highly recommend it."

"Oh." The assassin peeled off his thick black gloves and took the slender stem of the wine glass, draining it in one.

Whyte smiled to himself, knowing now that the assassin would not kill him.

How come?

Answer (highlight to read): Whyte took the assassin's wine glass and placed it in his safe, knowing that should the assassin kill him, the police break open the safe and find his fingerprints. To retain his freedom the assassin was forced to leave Whyte unharmed.

Sunday 13 November 2011

A Selection of Mini Mysteries goes technical!

Another greeting to you all! :)


Apologies, as usual, for the lack of posts in the last week or so. Honestly, I will write something soon - I've just been overwhelmed by work and university applications etc. Luckily, they're all sorted now so I'll get back to the keyboard soon, I promise!


Just to say that those of you who have now upgraded to cool smartphones, you can now get here with our new mini-mysteries bar code. Put it on your facebook, website, whatever, and see how many hits we get!


Scan this!


Enjoy, and thanks once again for reading!
~ Tiula

Thursday 27 October 2011

Murder Mystery Parties!

Hi again! :)


I know that a lot of people, especially with Hallowe'en coming up, like murder mystery parties. You can generally buy them on the internet for a range of prices from £5 - £50.


I love writing mysteries (as I'm sure you've guessed by now!) and so if you're interested, I am happy to write you a personalized mystery party absolutely FREE. I can't guarantee I'll be able to do with with everyone who asks - my free time is pretty limited at the moment - but I'll do my best.


If you are interested, please comment below and I'll get in touch. I will need to know your email address, the number of people at your party, the boy/girl balance and the age group. You should also mention if you have any topic preferences.


~ Tiula

Friday 21 October 2011

The Vegas Victim

"What a waste," sighed River, as she glanced down at the woman lying on the floor. She couldn't have been more than mid-thirties, but her life had already ended. Tenderly, she knelt beside the body and brushed the short blonde hair away from the tired face.

A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "Her name's Kathy Carey, according to her driving license. She came here with a friend, who said she was playing the tables for most of the evening. She won a bit but mainly made heavy losses, and ended up borrowing quite a lot from a loan shark. She lost everything in a few hours, gave her friend the slip, and before you know it..."

John mimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. River shuddered.

"So, suicide, then?" Carlton commented. He was sitting on the bench designed for the pathologist and swinging his legs back and forth.

"Hmm," said John, noncommittally. Carlton's eyes met River's over the body, and they both smiled.

"Not a suicide?" they said in unison.

John leaned back. "I didn't say that," he began. "It's just... well. Something doesn't add up." He leaned forward again and pointed to the gun that was clutched in the dead woman's hand. "This gun is held in the right hand... but the bullet wound is on the left side of the forehead."

"So it was murder?" Carlton breathed.

John gave a slow nod. "Don't quote me on it. Suicide is still possible. Only... a bit less likely."

Carlton's face cracked into a wide grin. "Excellent. Let's get started."

The pair found it easy to track down Kathy's friend Freya, who was sitting in a corner of the garden sniffling, staring at her friend's body. She had a scarf tightly wrapped around her naked arms, which had raised goosebumps from the cold.

"I can't believe it," she stammered. "Poor Kathy."

"You can help her by telling us as much as you can about the evening," River said kindly.

"We arrived at about half eight. We had a couple of drinks and then played blackjack for a while. Kathy and I did okay at first, but then I wanted to stop and she wanted to continue. She kept on playing - blackjack, roulette, the slot machines, everything - and kept on losing. Soon she was broke, and borrowing everything I had too. I tried to persuade her to come home, I'd pay for her taxi and everything. But she got chatting with a guy who offered to lend her some money. He looked pretty serious - I tried to tell her not to - but she was convinced she'd win it back straight away. When she didn't... she started crying and getting panicky. She said she was going to the bathroom, but - she must have come out here." Freya began to cry again.

"When you say 'we'..." began Carlton.

"Me, Kathy, and Ben, her boyfriend," said Freya. "Ben's gone in to the bar."

Ben didn't have much to say other than corroborating Freya's story. "I guess Kathy just couldn't take losing so much," he muttered, biting his lip to stop the grief showing on his face. He swirled his cocktail glass once before draining the contents and placing it beside the three empty glasses that stood already on the bar. Clearly he was planning to drown his sorrows tonight.

He took out another small pile of cash, bound in the way winnings always were, extracted a twenty and pushed it across the bar. "Same again," he grunted.

River watched as he sipped at another glass. "She lost a lot?"

"More than she had," nodded Ben. "And more than she knew she could pay back."

"Whom did she owe?" asked Carlton.

"She called him Gold, but I don't think it was his real name. He had half a dozen gold teeth and had some serious gold jewellery."

"You didn't stop her trying to borrow money?" asked River, skeptically.

Ben slammed down his glass. "Of course I did!" His eyes, red with alcohol and tears, glared at her from under thick brows. "I didn't want her getting involved with him. But she insisted, she wouldn't stop..." Tears leaked from under his lids; he sat back down, back to the world. Silently, the pair left him to it.

Gold was not difficult to spot. In a corner of the room, two heavily built men in black stood either side of a squat dark-skinned man, matching the description. A gold ring twinkled on his left little finger, and it did not escape Carlton's notice that he wore a gun holster on his hip.

An empty gun holster.

Quickly, he pulled River back into the crowd.

"We can't go and talk to him, he'll guess we're cops and we won't get out of here," he muttered in River's ear. "He's probably got wind that we're here already, so we can't send you in as bait or anything."

"Just as well, because I am not bait," she hissed back. "But isn't it obvious? Haven't we got our guy?"

Carlton shook his head. "In a law court, he'd just claim that the casino bans firearms and so left it outside, or that Kathy stole it from him herself. No, we're going to need more evidence."

River chuckled. "Okay. Then that's what we're going to get."

Answer (highlight to read): Kathy had no money and had resorted to borrowing from a potentially deadly and armed loan shark. What kind of boyfriend lets her do that without lending her any of his big stash? Ben is the killer - he stole Gold's gun and shot Kathy.

Saturday 15 October 2011

The Fast Food Robbery

Carlton took no notice of the delivery boy’s obvious distress as he shivered from cold and shock in his flimsy uniform. “Go over what happened again,” he ordered.

Robbie nodded. “We’d received a big order for a party, so I loaded up the van and set off. As soon as I arrived, I knocked, delivered the fast food and received the payment of £572.50 in cash. It was a lot of money, so I counted it quickly and wanted to get back to the store as soon as possible.”

“And then?” Carlton pressed, his pen hovering over the notebook.

Robbie nervously looked up at the police detective, who loomed almost a foot above him. “Well, I was opening the van door when a man jumped out from behind the bushes with a gun. He waved it in my face and demanded that I give him the money. I was so scared I just handed it straight over. Then he demanded the van keys, got in and drove off.”

Carlton had finished noting down the boy’s story. “Would you be able to describe him to a police sketch artist?”

Regretfully, he shook his head. “He was wearing a mask. I only knew he was above average height, fairly heavily built, with a couple of days of stubble and dark hair. Sorry I can’t be more accurate.”

“Hey, sir!” A uniform came running over, sweat running down his pink face. He paused in front of Carlton, breathing heavily as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

Carlton sighed. “Spit it out, Brent, for god’s sake.”

“We’ve – we’ve found the van, sir. It was – dumped only a few streets away.”

Carlton’s eyes lit up. “Show me,” he commanded, and whirled round to Robbie. “Can you come with us to identify it?”

The van had been clumsily driven into a ditch and dumped there at a precarious angle, its rear wheels sticking out into the road. Carlton ducked easily under the police tape surrounding it and greeted the officers who were swabbing it for prints.

“That’s the van, alright,” said Robbie, nervously. “I know the number plate.”

Carlton nodded. “What are you guys getting?”

A blond uniform emerged from the boot. “Where’s River?” was his first question.

“On holiday in Seville,” Carlton answered curtly. “Now answer my question, Curtis.”

Good-humouredly, Curtis grinned. “Okay. We’ve only got one set of prints here, and my guess is that they match yours, Robbie.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope. Looks like your man was wearing gloves.”

Carlton shrugged. “It was a bit of a long shot. Let’s have a look inside.”

He opened the door and got in the driver’s seat, and then swore sharply as he tried to squeeze his long legs in.  After sliding back the seat, he examined the glove compartment, panniers and seat wells, all of which were empty.

“I think our bird has flown,” muttered Curtis, as Carlton emerged from the van.

Carlton gave his curious half-smile, the kind he always did when he knew something others did not.

“What?” Curtis demanded, and Carlton’s smile broadened.

“I think if we search hard enough, we’ll find our guy,” he commented.

Who is the thief, and where should they look?

Answer (highlight to read): If there really was an “above average height” villain, why did Carlton struggle to get in the car? It must have been driven by someone shorter – i.e. Robbie. He was making up the story of thief and stole the money himself.

Sunday 2 October 2011

The Three Red Heads

"Thank you, guys, thank you!" Danny struck a chord on his guitar, and the screaming crowd quietened a fraction. "You guys mean so much to us, thank you for coming tonight. I'm afraid that was our last song, we're going to have to leave you now. So, let's hear it for our band members one last time, I give you... Harry!"

Harry gave the crowd a dramatic drum roll and a twinkle of a smile as the crowd roared.

"Lucy!" cried Danny again, and Lucy waved and winked at the audience. "And me, Danny!" he finished, as the crowd screamed. "Okay, folks, thank you once again, this is the Three Red Heads saying goodnight!"

They headed offstage as quickly as they could, hoping to beat the crowd out of there. Danny slung his guitar over his shoulder - he was never parted from it, even for a second - and the other two followed him out of the club.

The streets were already lined with people, mainly teenagers, waving pieces of paper and shouting their names. Danny, his arm protectively around Lucy's waist, made his way down the row, signing as he went. Harry was less lucky - his round baby-face and russet-red hair made him a target for girls, one of whom literally threw herself at him from the crowd. Apologizing and flushing pink, he was saved by a security guard, who quickly bundled him into the taxi with the others.

Lucy laughed. "Survived, Harry?"

He gave her a sheepish grin, pulling off his gloves to reveal hands blossoming with bruises above the knuckles. "Just about."

Danny slicked back his shoulder-length bright red hair into a ponytail. "That was the maddest gig we've ever done, for sure," he nodded, as Lucy snuggled into his arm.

The taxi ride was short, and it wasn't long before they reached their hotel, and were hurried up to their room by back stairs to avoid the fans waiting for them at the door. Joking and bickering, they walked in, slightly later than their published end time.

The smiles drained from their faces.

"What the hell was all that about?" Jen was sitting in her usual chair in the middle of the room, glaring at them. She rose, and ran a hand through her hair as she always did when she was mad. "That was a shambles," she began again, her voice dangerously low. "Sit down."

Obediently, they sat.

"Ten minutes it took you from the end of your last song to leaving the stage. Ten minutes of thank yous and goodbyes and I love yous. You're supposed to be wrapping up the show quickly, not getting into bed with the fans! And then there was Harry at the end - what the hell? You know you're supposed to walk with your guard to avoid exactly that sort of thing happening. If you think that fame will cut you any slack from me, you've got another think coming."

They sat in shocked silence for a moment. "It was a great gig," Danny said, slowly. "We did good."

"I don't give a damn how good you are!" Jen screamed. "No-one cares! It's your public image!"

Danny jumped up. "No, Jen! It's us! We did good tonight! And what did we get from you? Not a single thanks or congratulations - just criticism, criticism, criticism! Don't forget that it's us who hired you, so as you'd help us! We're adults and perfectly capable of looking after ourselves!"

"How dare you?" hissed Jen. "After all I've done for this band -"

"No. We made this band what it was. And don't you forget it!" Shaking with anger, he ran from the room and slammed the door.

"Danny!" cried three voices, simultaneously - Jen furiously, Lucy and Harry pleadingly.

Lucy rose to follow him, but Harry held her back. "I'd better go. He listens to me." At her nod, he followed him out.

"Damn him," cursed Jen. "This'll be all over the press tomorrow, and it'll all be his fault."

"Don't you speak about him like that!" Lucy jumped up. "I'm not saying he was right to yell at you, he wasn't. But at the same time, he's right. We are adults, Jen. I appreciate that you've done loads to help us get here -"

"Help you? I flaming pushed you!"

"- but we made the music. We gave an amazing show tonight. There's no need to berate us like that."

Jen silently turned to Harry, who had just slipped back into the room. "You turning traitor too?"

Harry flushed a deep red. He was useless at arguments. "You've done so much for us, Jen," he began, quietly. "But, um, I still think they have a point. You see -"

Jen didn't let him finish. "I've given my life for this band," she said, perilously quiet. "All my money went on you. Everything. Tours, gigs, the lot. Not just money - my time, too. I've traveled everywhere with you guys. Made this band from a school disaster to world-famous in just four years. And this is how you repay me."

"Not like that, Jen," pleaded Lucy. "We still want you around, you've done so much for us."

"We don't all get what we want!" she screamed. Heading to the table, she drank the remainder of her cocktail in one go, before stalking out of the room.

Lucy sat down, heavily. "Oh my god," she breathed.

Harry looked over at her, wanting to say something comforting. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay once they've both cooled down," he promised. "You know what their tempers are like."

She smiled at him. "I hope you're right, but I doubt Danny will have her back any more. He's been thinking of letting her go for ages. She's not really one of us any more."

Harry chuckled. "Redhead by name, but not by nature. Bit like Danny, really."

Lucy laughed out loud at that, and then glanced down at Harry's hand, which was still resting on her shoulder. She discovered that she did not really want it to move.

"Sorry," he muttered, and slid it away, but not before his eyes had brushed hers.

A scream broke into their silence, and Jen stumbled back against the door. "I - oh my god -" she slurred incoherently, her breath coming in panicky gasps. "It's Danny - he's -"

But Lucy had already flown out of the door and into Danny's room. "He's dead!" came her horrified sob.

Harry bolted after her. "Dead? Oh my god -" He stared down at Danny's body, slumped over the bed. A pillow, now tossed aside, was stained with his stage make-up, which had been held over his mouth and nose. A yellowish bruise on his right arm indicated a serious struggle.

"What's going on?" Jen pushed the hotel manager out of the room and locked the door, but not before he'd had a glimpse of Danny, with Harry holding the now hysterical Lucy in his arms. "What? Let me in!"

Who killed Danny? Jen, Harry, Lucy, or an enraged fan?

Answer (highlight to read): Harry killed him. The fact that the bruise on Danny's arm was yellow indicates that it was from an old fight. Harry has bruises on his arm consistent with a fight a few days ago. The two boys have been fighting over Lucy for longer than that, and Harry took advantage of the argument to kill him.

Sunday 11 September 2011

The Fight

Click! Click! Click!

Each time the swords touched, a tiny metallic noise sounded, barely audible over the panting and groans of the dozen or so other men in the room, working out with equal effort at weights, treadmills or pulleys.

But none, like Carlton, were fighting for their lives.

A grimace was frozen on both men's faces, their teeth bared in feral smiles. The foils clicked again, and Carlton stumbled on the shiny floor, nearly losing his balance.

His partner's smile widened a fraction and he struck again with his foil; Carlton only just managed to block the blow in time. The rest of the gym worked on, oblivious to the fact that two men were fighting with murderous intent in the centre of the room.

How had it managed to come to this? he wondered, as he dodged another blow. He thought his way back to when it had all started, when he and River had begun work on the smuggling ring that seemed to be behind the recent credit card thefts in south London. They had traced a set of notes back to a bank withdrawal in London, and had then placed surveillance on the man who withdrew it. Sure enough, it wasn't long until the big fish started coming in.

Carlton had tracked one of the leaders, a man known as Baxter, across town and into a gym, via a quick stop for petrol and a sandwich on the way. He had left a small deposit box in the changing room - Carlton had managed to snatch some photos of it before following him upstairs - and headed into the main gym. It was there that everything had gone wrong.

"Morning," he had addressed Carlton, who had nodded in reply. "You're the police officer who's been following me, aren't you?"

Addressed so bluntly, Carlton had not thought it clever to lie. "Yes," he admitted.

"So, who's your backup, then?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Come on, policemen never track someone without a backup. Who's yours?"

Not wanting to incriminate River, Carlton lied easily. "Eh, things went wrong, and I messed up a bit. I'm on my own here."

"Ri-ight." Baxter looked suspicious. "Nothing to do with the hot chick outside, is it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You deaf or something? The cute girl loitering outside. Slim build, black hair? You know her, right?"

Baxter could see that Carlton had no difficulty recognizing River from the description, but the conversation did not continue. Both men feigned exercising, warming up and stretching out their legs. Then Baxter grinned, and glanced down at the long black bag he had been carrying.

"You ever fenced?"

"Once or twice," Carlton allowed, omitting the fact that he had been the under 21 fencing champion at university. "Not much in the last few years or so."

"Okay." He unzipped the bag and pulled out two high quality fencing foils. "Here's the deal. I win, and you call off all your little friends on me, including the girl. You win, and you get me."

Carlton's lips twitched. "I don't make deals with criminals."

Baxter gave a short, sharp laugh. "Oh, come on. You know you won't get me any other way. Besides, I don't need to ask you nicely."

He drew one of the swords from the bag, ignoring the baseball cap, receipts and tissues that spilled out as he did so. Slowly, he ran his hand along the blade. Carlton's eyes widened as it reached the tip, for unlike competition foils, the tip was not rounded, but sharp enough to tear through clothing  and flesh.

He smiled a little wider and took up a position. "En garde!"

Realising that he had no choice, Carlton pulled out the other blade and took up a stance, balancing his weight equally on either foot.

**

His half hour was more than up, but still River did not enter the gym. She knew the trouble she would be in if she blew his cover in the middle of an operation. On the other hand, if he needed help... she found it hard to imagine Carlton in a situation where he needed her help, but she supposed it was theoretically possible.

After pacing for another ten minutes, she made up her mind. She headed into the reception area and followed the signs to the men's gym, pretending to be lost when someone told her she was in the wrong place. When she reached the room, she opened the door a fraction and glanced in.

She barely noticed anyone in the room but the two men circling one another in the middle, and it was clear that she was not the only one, as they had gathered a little audience of about half a dozen men who were standing around watching them. Never having picked up a foil in her life, River had no idea that the blades were dangerous, assuming that they were blunted for training purposes.

It was not until Carlton missed Baxter's stroke, and the blade slid easily through his shirt and skin, that she suddenly realised what was going on.

**

The blood blossomed on his shirt, but the adrenalin pumping through his veins meant that he barely noticed the pain. It only maddened him, like a red flag in front of a bull.

With a terrifying face, he fought his corner, using his height advantage and longer arm reach to beat Baxter away from him and further towards the centre of the room. His attacks came faster than they ever had before, and Baxter was barely managing to block them all. He struck Baxter's arm once, though the blow was barely more than a scratch, and swung once at his neck, causing his partner to duck under it in surprise. With a final strike, he hit Baxter squarely in the ribs, who gasped, slipping down onto the floor. The foil fell from his hand with an unnoticed clatter.

For a square minute the two men stared each other out, both panting heavily. Then Carlton smiled, dropped his foil, and extended his hand to help Baxter up. "Good fight," he smiled.

Baxter ignored the hand, getting to his feet by holding onto the wall, and charged head first at Carlton. But his increased strength by the adrenalin rush gained from fighting and winning meant he brushed him aside easily.

"I won, Baxter. Now, time to keep your end of the deal."

Baxter spat in Carlton's general direction. "I remember no deal and you have nothing on me."

"Oh, for -" He was interrupted by River's entrance. "What are you doing here?"

"You were late and I was worried," she said simply, trying not to let on how attractive she thought he looked sword fighting in shirt-sleeves. "Are you hurt?"

He shrugged. "Could be worse."

River rolled her eyes at his show of bravado, but knew better than to try to help him. "So what happens now?"

"Depends if we can get this worthless excuse of a man to be a sportsman, but I doubt it. He's going to disappear into the sunset, and I'll end up with a scar and a bill for overtime."

River's eyes landed on something in the room. "Wait. I think we might have something here."

What had River spotted?

Answer (highlight to read): It was the receipt Baxter received when filling up his car with petrol, which fell out of the bag when he drew his blade. The last few digits of a credit card will be on the receipt, which, if they match a stolen card, could be used as evidence to arrest him.

Tuesday 30 August 2011

Saturday 6 August 2011

The Man in Room 16

Lily looked around her new flat with an air of apprehension. It was a lot smaller than her last one, and had an odd smell, a bit like rust. Still, times changed. And after the loss of her job, she counted herself lucky that she had managed find herself a flat that she could afford at all.

Her landlord shuffled up behind her. A crumbling old man, his face was kindly yet weathered, and a thick accent that hailed, so Lily thought, from eastern Europe. He was smiling now, having tucked the best part of Lily's savings account into his shabby jacket. "You want me to show you around?"

She shook her head, a lump in her throat. "No. Thank you," she added, "But I'll be alright. Thank you," she repeated, wondering why she was thanking him.

"Very good." He creaked his way out.

She blinked back the tears that pricked the back of her eyes and took a look around the place. There was one main room, containing a squishy armchair, a sofa-bed with a torn cushion, and a rather grand wardrobe. On the other side of the room was a kitchenette section, with a cupboard and gas cooker. A small bathroom on one side held the bare minimum: a tiny shower, toilet and sink.

Although the flat itself was minimalistic, Lily was pleased to discover that whoever had owned the flat before her had left plenty behind. She found selection of plates, a cup and saucer and a coffee machine - and, wrapped in a napkin, there was solid silver fork and spoon.

"Mr Poloski?"

The door creaked - a shuffling of footsteps - "What is it?"

"Whoever was here before me left a lot of stuff here. Do you suppose he wants it back?"

"Don't suppose so," he mumbled, picking his front teeth. "He left in a bit of a hurry. I couldn't contact him, so I re-let the room. Guess you can keep it now."

Lily smiled. Every cloud, I guess, she thought to herself. Her mind wandered to the grand wardrobe - had he left anything good in there that she might be able to sell? She strode over and pulled the door.

With a deafening snap, the door fell off its hinges and hung sadly to one side. And slowly, a hand became visible, through the multiple hangers and thick layers of clothing. An arm attatched to the hand. And then a shoulder.

And then the whole body of a young man slithered out and onto the floor.

Lily did not scream - she was not that sort of girl - but she did jump back in alarm, stumbling and having to support herself on the counter. When she had righted herself, she peered closer, seeing a gleam of a silver knife-hilt in thrust deep into the man's shirt. The smell of rust increased, and Lily stiffened when she realised that this was probably the source of the smell she had noted when she had come in.

Mr Poloski did not seem very disturbed. "Shall I, um, call the police?"

"Yes," snapped Lily. "I think that would be a good idea." Then something occurred to her. "Who has keys to this room?"

"Only me and the tenant," said Mr Poloski. "Tenants are not allowed to have new keys cut." Then his eyes brightened, and he smiled. "I bet it was that cleaning lady. She had a frightful argument with him the other day."

"Cleaning people have keys too?"

"Oh no. I let them in."

Lily bit her lip, musing. "Yes, go and call the police," she said, and then added under her breath. "I think they'll be ready to fill a jail cell. And I think I'll find myself somewhere else to sleep tonight."

Answer (highlight to read): Someone must have returned the keys to Mr Poloski before he was able to rent the apartment to another tenant. If Mr Poloski was not the killer, how did he know to get the keys?

Thursday 28 July 2011

Hampton Court Riddle

The workmen hauled the heavy oak trunk up into my room and pushed it against the wall.

"There you are, Miss Anne," one of them said in his heavy accent.

I turned towards the window so that they wouldn't see my annoyed wince. The name sounded so English now, so dull. As if to remind me of the fact, a few dribbles of rain began to sneak down the leaded window, as though the sky were crying.

"Thank you," I mumbled, and slipped a coin into his hand. As soon as they were gone, I lifted the lid on the trunk and rummaged through the clothes, looking for something I could change into from my uncomfortable riding habit. I traced the inscription lightly with my fingers: Ann Bullen 1525.

"Mistress Anne?" I turned to see a girl, a year or so older than myself, standing in the doorway with a steaming jug of water. She was not pretty - her eyes were set too close together and her mouth too wide for true beauty - but with her pale skin and startlingly red hair, she was certainly striking.

She indicated the jug awkwardly, with a nervous smile. "I brought some hot water if you want to wash."

I nodded, removing my gloves and travelling cloak and throwing them on the bed. "Yes. Thank you. And I will need to change out of these clothes for dinner." Speaking English felt unnatural, even though it was my native tongue.

The girl put the jug down on the table and came to help me unlace my bodice. "The master told me that he would be dining in his private rooms tonight. Would you like some food brought up from the kitchens, miss?"

"What? I'm not dining with father?"

"No, miss." I sighed. I ought to have known. Still, at least it meant that after tonight's tiring ride I would have the evening to myself. On the other hand, the food brought to me would likely be the servants' dinners; the good food would go to my father. I bit my lip to stop the tears, wishing I were still in France.

The next morning the girl woke me at dawn, awkwardly clearing her throat. "Mistress Anne?"

I quickly got dressed and headed down to see what was for breakfast. My father was already up; I heard his voice shouting at someone in the kitchen. As he turned, he saw me, and I ducked into a low curtsey.

"Father."

"Good, Anne, you're ready." He kissed the top of my head lightly. "We must be going."

"I haven't yet broken my fast, sir."

"Oh, for -" He turned back to the kitchen. "For god's sake, give the girl something to eat and let's be off!"

We rode to London in silence, stopping our journey only once to dine on some bread and cheese. My father seemed pleasantly surprised that I could keep a fast pace with him, and we reached Hampton Court before nightfall. He was clearly in a hurry to get in, throwing the reins at a groom and giving me swift directions to my sister's rooms before making his way up another set of stairs.

"Anne!"

I had barely opened the door before I was engulfed in a huge hug. "Let me breathe, Mary," I insisted, pulling back to look at my sister.

In the years since I had last seen her, she had changed. She had grown into a beautiful young lady of sixteen years, with a full, beautiful figure. Her long blonde hair was held off a pretty, pink and white face by a hood embroidered with gold. I caught a glimpse of a petite, darker skinned girl next to her with raven black hair, tired and dishevelled from hours on the road, and bit my lip. The comparison was not flattering. I felt a contrary surge of jealousy and pride at my beautiful older sister.

"Anne, you have grown so much! I must tell you about everything. But first, you must get changed. The king is to hold a masque tonight and I asked the queen if you may be one of the Ladies. Your gown is on the bed."

"What? Tonight? Mary, I'm tired, I -" But I broke off when I saw the gown. It was floor length, in white satin, embroidered with gold designs and the word Perseverance was picked out at the bottom. I looked at Mary and saw her in an identical gown, with the word Kindness.

"Perseverance? Really? What did I do to get that role?"

Mary chuckled. "Sorry. It was the only one left - we didn't know if you'd be back on time. Here, let me help you."

As she struggled to get me into the complicated costume, her wrist, as it was surely meant to, brushed across my forehead. It scratched a little, and I looked up to see a diamond bracelet glittering there. I doubted if her husband could afford such a gift.

I gave a little gasp, and Mary smiled. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Who -"

"The king," she said, with a satisfied sigh. "He has been courting me."

"Mary, you're a silly flirt," I said primly. "Don't you realise, this was exactly why you got sent home from France? It would be different if he were looking for a queen - but you're both married, for god's sake!"

She shrugged. "It didn't seem to bother him when Elizabeth Blount caught his eye. You're just jealous, Anne, because I have a husband and a king dancing for my attention, and you have neither."

I restrained another gasp. That was a low blow indeed. I sucked in my lips to prevent the sweep of envy showing in my face. I thought of the words I had scribbled in my diary this morning: Le temps viendra. The time will come. I repeated them over and over to myself.

Mary took that moment to step back. "There. You look beautiful, Anne." She pecked my cheek. "Hurry. We must be down in a minute."

I took my fan and hurried to join the line. I led the way, followed by the Queen Mary of France, then the tallest girl Jane Parker, and finally my sister Mary. I headed into the great hall and lined up along one wall: I stood on the furthest right and my sister on the far left. And in front of each of us stood a knight, who held out a gift. I was handed a perfect rose, the the Queen Mary next to me a golden ring, Jane Parker a white dove in a golden cage, and finally my sister was offered a beautiful pearl.

And suddenly, there was a sound of trumpets, and a herald proclaimed:

Each one of these beautiful ladies four,
Sees a knight who declares his passionate amour,
As proof of his love, he hands her a gift,
But cheeky young Cupid decided to them mix.
Each man holds a gift, as well you know.
Yet none holds the one that he wishes to show.
The pearl does not belong to the girl on the right,
Nor is the rose given to the tallest in height.
The one who has captured the heart of the king
Is the one who should own the golden ring.
But who can tell me - which lady love
Is the one who should receive the beautiful dove?


My mind worked for a few seconds, and then I smiled. Took a tiny step forward. I curtseyed to the king, my eyes never leaving his face.

"Your Grace." I let my French accent bleed heavily into the words, rolling my rs faintly. "I believe I have the solution."

Answer (highlight to read): At the king's nod I continued. "Your Grace has said that the lady who has captured your heart has won the golden ring. This can only refer to my sister. The tallest in height - my friend Jane Parker here - is said not to have the rose, nor the dove she was offered, meaning that she must receive the beautiful pearl. I am the furthest on the right, Your Grace, and naturally I do not own this fine rose, which must go to your sister, Queen Mary. And so, Your Grace - I am the lady who receives the white dove."

Monday 18 July 2011

Changes to the site

Hi everyone, me again!


Just a quick word about some updates to the sites. You can enter your email in the box on the right and receive updates about the site - whenever I blog post, you will get informed. Neither I nor Blogspot will ever use your email for junk mail or malware, nor will we pass it on to other sites (in fact I cannot even see your email, so it's very safe).


Please keep on voting - button on the left - to bump this blog up the popularity list. The Writer Award hasn't got long to go now, and voting is really simple, just click - no sign ups, no fuss. There's still the usual poll, but it's over on the right now, so easier to see and vote on.

Thanks for your time, keep on reading and enjoying!!!
~ Tiula

Monday 11 July 2011

Lost in Translation

...and we're back to old-school again. Thanks for humouring me.


Mattie's face was as white as a sheet as she accepted the steaming cup of tea from the police officer with shaking hands.

"Thanks," she murmured, before taking a sip. It was too hot and scorched her tongue, but helped her back to the present.

"How are you feeling?" the police officer asked, kindly.

Mattie took another sip before answering. "A bit better, thank you," she replied. "It was just a bit of a shock."

River sat down next to her. "Of course it was," she said soothingly. "I know it's difficult for you, but we're going to have to ask you some questions about what happened."

Mattie had been expecting this. "I never even knew the man," she replied hastily. "I'd never seen him before! I didn't hurt him!"

"We know you didn't." River patted her arm. "We just need to know as much as possible so we can find the people who did."

"Well..." Mattie drank some more tea. "I don't know much. I was just passing when I heard a scream and a thud. I pushed the door - it was open - and saw him lying there on the floor, his head... all bloody."

She hurriedly drained her mug. "He was still alive, so I quickly called for an ambulance, but it was too late. He just turned over and said something, and then stretched out his hand to me and tapped the floor, and then collapsed. He didn't move after that."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know... I couldn't hear. I think I heard something about a key, but I'm not sure."

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" River asked, taking Mattie's tea from her. Behind her, an argument had broken out between the pathologist and her partner, Carlton.

"You mean, I came down here for nothing?" he was saying furiously.

"Not nothing," Sarah was pleading, but he was having none of it.

"The hell," he cursed, and turned away.

River's curious tilt of her head was more than a question, to which Sarah replied. "I can't find any reason to suspect foul play. The mat at the top of the stairs was loose, he appears to have tripped over it."

"Not pushed?"

"Not if your little witness over there is telling the truth. There would have been no time for any murderer to get away."

"Then what am I even doing here?" asked Carlton tersely.

"Because of who he was, not what happened to him," replied Sarah. She dug into the man's pockets and pulled out a driving license and handed it to him.

"Jose Huertas," he read, in a bad Spanish accent. "Never heard of him."

"AKA Jon Lopez."

"Lopez?" he shot back. "The Jon Lopez? As in, the jewel thief? Never caught?"

"Uh-huh," smiled Sarah. "I've just been speaking to his brother, Diego, over there. He claims that his brother had had a change of heart after his mother recovered from a bad illness last year, and wanted to make amends. He was about to turn himself in when -"

But she was talking to thin air. Carlton himself had vanished, and was talking to Diego.

Attempting to, would have perhaps been a better term, for Diego's English was limited and Carlton's Spanish was worse.

"Your brother - hermano - he was going to go to the police?" he was asking.

"I think - I not quite understand - yes, he find police?" Carlton sighed in exasperation, wondering how he could ever get this line of questioning finished.

Suddenly, his second attempt was interrupted by a flow of fluent Spanish over his right shoulder. He turned to see River, rapidly translating his question for him. Diego's eyes lit up, and he responded in the same tongue. River asked another question - shorter, this time - and was responded with a single, despondent word.

"Translation?" asked Carlton, with a scowl. He hated feeling inferior.

"Diego says his brother was planning to go to the police with everything he stole when he tripped down the stairs, but he doesn't know where his treasure was hidden."

"And how -"

"Four months in Seville on my gap year," replied River, with a smile.

"And how does this help us in any way, shape or form?"

"It means," replied River, "That this time I can tell you where the treasure was hidden."

Answer (highlight to read): The clue is in Lopez's dying words. He did not say "a key", he said "aqui", the Spanish for "here". He tapped the floor, buried under which was his stack of treasure.

Tuesday 28 June 2011

The Suspects

This is not going to be so much of a mystery, but more a series of different interviews. I have been studying methods of police interrogation and wanted to give Carlton and River a chance. There is a mystery part to it, as one of the suspects is guilty, but it's more of a 'case study' style piece.


I hope you enjoy it!


Carlton and River looked through the one way mirrors into the four suspect rooms. In one, a rich teenage posh-boy swung back on his chair, his immaculate designer trainers resting on the table. In the next one along, a shabby homeless man sat hunched on his chair, his bloodshot eyes glancing into the corners. In the final room, a young girl was waiting in a nervous silence, her mother beside her.

A couple of the junior officers were standing watching the more experienced couple. "Why are they watching?" the shorter one whispered.

"Profiling," the other whispered back. "They can't just go in there and get a statement. People automatically don't want to talk to the police, and with if they ask for a lawyer, they'll belt right up. Those two have to find the best way to make them sing."

At that moment, Carlton and River moved towards the third room, where the girl with blonde pigtails was waiting with her mother.

**

"Hello, Melissa," smiled River, amicably. "Do you understand why you're here?"

The girl nodded solemnly. "They said I had to tell you about this morning."

"That's right," replied River, with another smile. Melissa gave a tentative smile back, comforted slightly, but glanced uneasily at Carlton, who had sat down opposite her, his face less than friendly.

"Don't mind him," River said. "Can you tell us about what you saw this morning?"

With another nervous glance at Carlton, Melissa began. "I was walking to my school this morning when I heard a yell. I went to see, and someone shoved me out of the way and ran. I went down the road and saw a woman lying there. She was crying, her ankle was broken. She said someone had grabbed her purse."

River nodded encouragingly. "This man who ran past you - what did he look like?"

Melissa looked more nervous now. "I - I don't really remember much." She looked away, at the floor.

"Melissa, lying to the police is a serious offence." Carlton spoke for the first time, gravely.

"I'm - I'm not lying!" Her voice became panicky. River placed a restraining hand on Carlton, who shook it off.

"It's okay, Melissa," she said, "Don't worry, he means well. We just need to know as much as possible."

"Well, he wore a blue jumper," she began, "And he was quite tall. That's all I remember... I didn't see much of him. Please, you must believe me. I didn't mean to lie, I just -"

"It's okay, Melissa," said River. "You're not in any trouble. In fact, unless you can tell us more, you can go."

**

"Two accounts of pick-pocketing, one of being drunk and disorderly, and now you're found with a woman's purse stuffed in your jacket pocket," he snapped. "It's not looking good for you, is it, Mr Piper?"

"I found the purse," Mr Piper, the homeless man, mumbled. "I didn't steal it."

"Really," Carlton drawled sarcastically. "You were seen to be in the area at the time the purse was stolen. Then the purse turns up in your hands."

The man shrugged, clearly not bothering with a defence. Carlton leaned forward. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe you did steal it. I think someone else did, and you stole it from them."

"Luckily for you," he continued, "The criminal we're looking for is to be charged with assault, as well as robbery. So here's the deal: you give me the information I need, and I give you immunity."

"That's not from chicken pox, either," added River, when Piper looked confused. "It means we drop your charges if you help us out."

"Of course, if you don't," said Carlton, "We can add mugging to your list of crimes and you're looking at a nice little stint behind bars. What do you say?"

The man frowned, and looked between the two. Tempted. Finally he grinned, showing a cave of yellowing teeth, and gabbled his information quickly. "There's a load of kids in the area. Got a kinda competition running. Who steals the most wins. I dunno who they are, but I'd have a bet at one of them."

**

Striding with a sure step into the interrogation room, Carlton knocked the feet of the teenager onto the floor, making his chair fall forward with a bang.

"You have the right to remain silent, so shut the hell up," he snapped, kicking the door shut behind him.

A smile spread across the face of the boy. "I never knew cops really said that," he grinned.

Carlton gave him his ferocious glare, and the boy's smile melted away. "Don't even think about any smart talk with me, Tyler" he growled. "Turn up, shut up, and sit up or I'll knock the wind out of your sails with a couple of nights behind bars before talking to you again."

Tyler sat up a little at this, and touched his hair self-consciously. "Okay."

"A witness claimed you ran into her from a place where a mugging took place. Care to explain?"

"I ain't talking to no-one without a lawyer," said Tyler.

Carlton sighed and leaned back. "Okay. Fine. We can do that. But I'm warning you, call your lawyer and he will take half an hour to arrive before I can ask you any more questions. And that will make be a rather annoyed guy. And trust me, you do not want to be the guy who makes me annoyed."

Tyler was visibly shaken by this, but he didn't move. "My dad says, don't talk to cops without a lawyer," he repeated, rather nervously.

"Fine. I ask the questions, and you can answer or not as you like. Choose to answer with a lawyer, and you can do that. But I'm warning you, that's not going to make me any happier."

Tyler nervously nodded. "Okay, I guess."

"We have a witness who states you ran into her near an assault and robbery which took place on the other side of town. Care to explain?"

"Yeah. I was walking along and suddenly this weird creep of a guy grabs this woman and shoves her on the ground. She starts screaming and crying and he grabs her purse from her hands. I yell for him to stop, and start chasing after him, but he had a head start. I collided with this kid on the next street, but kept on running after him. But I couldn't catch him."

**

Is someone lying? If so, who?
Answer: It is highly unlikely that Tyler, an young, fit teenager, would be unable to catch up with a street homeless man like Piper, especially with his bloodshot eyes, indicating that he probably had been drinking. It is Tyler that Carlton and River need to re-interrogate.

Sunday 26 June 2011

The Kidnapping

Mr Dryden had always thought himself a strong man. But the fact that he was well over six foot and capable of lifting a heavy oak table without breaking a sweat did not stop the tears that leaked out from under his eyes. The uniforms looked at each other rather pathetically, unsure about what they could do to help him.

To their relief, the two detectives came back into the room before they needed to say anything. Mr Dryden looked up eagerly at them, but the man shook his head.

"No trace of them, I'm afraid, sir," said Carlton, and Mr Dryden sat down heavily. "But we'll keep looking until we find him, I promise."

He nodded, as though trying to convince himself. Carlton and River sat down opposite him.

"Is there anything else you remember about last night? Anything at all that might help us?" asked Carlton, his pen already poised above his notebook.

"What more is there to say? I just heard this noise in the middle of the night, a sort of banging. I was half asleep at the time, so I thought it was the dog. But then a few minutes later I heard this cry, so I got up to see what the problem was. I thought perhaps Louis had fallen out of bed, or something. Then I saw that the window was open in the living room, and when I looked out, someone was outside, holding - holding my son."

Another sob threatened to escape him, but he took a deep breath. "I shouted something, I can't even remember what. They had a car waiting. Dark blue... a Ford I think. Whoever it was quickly bundled him into the car and drove off. I tried to get out of the window to follow him, but I couldn't - I was too big."

He looked down at his thick, muscled arms and legs, as if to blame them for the fact that his son was gone.

"How old was Louis?" asked River, gently.

"Only - only five." Mr Dryden couldn't stop himself now, the tears flowed freely. "He was all I had left."

"What about his mother?" asked Carlton.

"My wife left me not long after Louis was born. Whilst she was away touring with her band, I was left with custody of Louis."

Carlton nodded, thanked him, and left, but River stayed for a moment. "We're really sorry about your son, Mr Dryden," she said. "I promise you, we'll do everything we can to find him."

He nodded again, and blew his nose. Then he headed over to the mantlepiece, where there was a framed photo of himself, a young woman, and a young boy with curly blond hair. He touched the boy's face lightly. "That's my boy," he murmured.

He picked it up and handed it to River. "Keep it," he said, "So you know what he looks like."

River took it and smile. "We'll bring him back home, Mr Dryden," she promised. "I promise."

She headed out of the house to the car, where Carlton was waiting for her. The instant she was in, he pulled away with a screech of brakes.

"You took your time," he snapped, his eyes glued to the road.

River knew better than to answer, as he snatched his phone from the dashboard and began dialling a number, swerving dangerously through the cars as he did so. He thrust the phone at River.

"Ring that number," he instructed.

"Why?"

"They're locating the dark blue Fords that headed out of town in the past four hours and giving me an address. Now get on with it!"

River did so, and listened for a moment to the man's gravelly voice on the other end of the phone. "One's heading north on the motorway towards Crawford, two are on the A692 east-bound and one double backed on itself and is near King's Cross."

Carlton stabbed the buttons on the radio. "All patrol cars, this is Squad Car 27. We're headed for the Crawford car, repeat, the car headed to Crawford. Divide up the other cars between yourselves, let's find this kid before anything happens to him."

A moment later the crackly voice came back at him. "Roger that, sir. We've covered the rest."

Carlton weaved in and out of the traffic until he hit the motorway, when he slammed his foot down. "Best bit of being a copper," he muttered to himself, as the needle hit 100 mph.

**

"What do you mean, you haven't got him?" Carlton was livid, and River made a mental note to stay out of his way for the next few hours. The uniform looked as though he wanted to do the same.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. "None of the cars contained a child. There was an elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Vane, James Kayne, the famous boxer, a Miss Vaqueros and a group of three brothers who refused to give their names as anything other than Ghost, Black and Crew. No children anywhere."

"Vaqueros?" butted in River, suddenly, before Carlton's breath could turn into abuse. "That's Dryden's ex-wife, sir, that's Louis' mother."

Carlton's angry glare was replaced by his sharp, concentrating look. "Get her in the interview room, now," he ordered. "And keep the others here, I'll want to talk with them. Don't think you've heard the last of this."

Whilst Carlton went to talk to the boy's mother, River slipped away, wanting to confirm her own hunches. She went first into the room where Ghost, Black and Crew were waiting.

The three obviously weren't brothers. Crew was dark-skinned, with a red stripe running down one side of his dark dreadlocks. Black was tall and skeletal, and Ghost was small and Asian, a dozen amulets hanging around his neck. He was strumming a guitar whilst the others were singing along, Crew drumming a beat on the table.

They trailed off when River came in and sat down opposite them silently. She took the picture of Dryden, his wife and his son and placed it on the table in front of her. "Know them?"

"Sure," said Crew, exhaling smoky breath at her. "The chick's Vixen, she's in our band."

"Vixen? What's her real name?"

"Real name? It is her real name. Your false two-part names are constraints of society, binding us down with ties stronger than rope. By choosing our own names, we cut these bonds and forge our own path through life, bringing peace and love with our music," said Ghost.

"Do you know where she was last night?"

"She came home from her holiday only this morning. We were meeting for another gig tonight. We're playing our new song, listen!" Ghost strummed a chord and the boys all began singing again.

River shook her head and left quickly, frowning. Nothing tied those boys to the abduction, but something... something wasn't right. She picked up the list of suspects again and examined it.

Answer (highlight to read): The boys must have been part of the abduction. Miss Vaquerous, Louis' mother, was out of the country, and the other two suspects (the elderly couple and the heavily-built prize fighter) would both be unable to climb through the window. Knowing Miss Vaqueros and her family makes it all the more likely that they would have been part of it.

Saturday 11 June 2011

Circus Tricks

Winter had hit the small town of Little Elmsford hard, and, by the first Saturday in November it had been raining for a solid three days. The river had burst its banks, blocking off the main road into the town with dirty, knee-high water. And it was along this flooded way that the circus caravans were winding its slow way.

"Damn this weather," came a low voice from behind a copy of the Sunday Times. "There's nothing more depressing than setting up camp in two feet of mud."

"It wouldn't kill you to look on the bright side for once, Pete," said a pretty redhead, flipping through a magazine.

"Okay, everyone, shut the hell up and listen!" The caravan had come to a halt and the owner and part time director had just come in from the rain. Roxanne Wright was five foot two and as scary as hell.

"Flood water's bad, we can't make it past here. Peter and Jasper, you're going to need to get the main tent, take it to the green and set it up. Yes, in this weather!" she added, as Pete began to grumble. "Get to it. Now."

She waited until they had left before frowning at the remaining faces. "Vera, where's Megan?"

"Here," called a voice from the other end of the caravan. She straightened up. Despite the fact that her hair was dyed black and cropped, there was no mistaking the similarities between Meg and her twin. They both had identical blue eyes, the same turned up nose and flirtatious smile.

This smile, incidentally, was not visible at this present moment. Meg's face was distinctly annoyed. "I can't find my wig," she scowled. 

"Well find it," snapped Roxanne. Vera bit her lip, remembering the tantrum Roxanne had thrown when Meg first cut her hair off. They had had to have a special wig made to match her natural ginger curls for their twin trapeze act still to work.

"Maybe it's in the other van," she mused, and quickly slipped out.

Roxanne turned to go, and then whipped back to face the remaining couple. "Don't think you two are without jobs," she warned them. "As soon as the tent's up, you need to get the trapeze organized, Vera. And Matthew, you're going to need to unload the costumes. No slacking here, or you're out."

When she had gone, Matt leant back and ran his hands through his dark hair. "I thought she'd never leave!" he sighed, smiling across at Vera.

She placed her hand on his. "Me neither," she smiled, and leant forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

"Vera," he began, but she shushed him and linked her hands around his neck to kiss him again.

He took her hands in his to talk to her properly. "Vera, listen to me. I'm sorry, but - it's just not working out. Between us, I mean. You're a wonderful girl, and you deserve a wonderful guy. And I don't think I can be that guy for you."

Vera was speechless for a moment. "But Matt... I love you. I thought - I thought you loved me."

"I'm sorry, Vera."

They stood in silence for a full twenty seconds, and then Vera's face changed from its usual happy-go-lucky smile to a furious glare. Matt took two steps back in alarm. "Get out!" she screamed. "Go on, get out of here! I don't want to see you ever again!" Angry tears streamed down her cheeks like the rain down the caravan windows. She grabbed a cushion from the couch and started hitting him with it.

Matt retreated towards the door, protecting his head with his arms. He kicked the door open with his foot and stumbled out into the rain, away from Vera's angry glares.

"Hey, Matt!" A greeting reached his ears before he had taken two steps from the caravan. "The girl become too much for you, then?"

"Shut up, Jazz," he replied. "I don't want to talk about it."
Pete and Jasper exchanged a glance, but dropped the subject. "We've got the tent secure, and I'm going to set up the electrics. Jazz, you need to get the animals in." said Pete.

"Roger that," said Jazz, and left.

"Matt, would you get the costumes laid out for tonight? That's assuming we get an audience in this weather."

"Anything to get out of the rain," answered Matt, and headed inside.

**
Several hours later
**

"Twenty minutes! Twenty minutes until we're on! Where the hell's Matthew?"

No-one answered, but Vera blushed. Always able to second-guess her twin, Meg gave her a meaningful glance, but said nothing.

"I said where's Matthew?" Roxanne yelled.

Jasper coughed. "Er, I last saw him heading into the caravan about an hour ago. Then Vera ran out of the caravan quickly, past me."

Vera frowned. "No, that wasn't me. I was on the trapeze, practising my act with Meg."

Meg nodded to confirm this. "Yeah, she was there. And Pete was in and out the whole time, fixing the electrics. He saw us both."

"I could have sworn it was you, Vera. I saw your hair, you're the only redhead girl, aren't you? That said, I was weighing out feed at the time, so I didn't see the face."

"I don't care who went where, I want Matthew here now." growled Roxanne. "Peter, go and get him from the caravan or wherever he is."

Pete returned within minutes, his face pale. "Sorry to report," he began, slowly. "Matt's dead."

There was a hubbub of voices and questions, and Pete raised his hands in a surrender gesture.

"Shut up!" screamed Roxanne. "Peter. How did you find him?"

"He was stabbed with one of the knife-throwing knives, and he's lying face down in the caravan. He's stone cold, so probably been dead a while."

"Vera?"

"I didn't do anything! I said, I was on the trapeze! Meg said -"

"She's your twin, for god's sake! Hardly a solid alibi, is it?"

The rest of Roxanne's speech was drowned out by a wave of protest from both twins, which escalated to nearly deafening level when the word "police" appeared over the argument.

"Wait a sec," said Jasper, when they finally quietened. "I think I can solve this without calling the police."

Answer: The killer was Roxanne. It must have been someone who could wear Meg's red wig and passably be Vera to Jasper's unobservant eye. Both men would have been too large and of the girls, Roxanne does not have an alibi.

Thursday 9 June 2011

Apologies

Hi everyone!

Firstly, let me apologise for the lack of posts for the past few days. I have had my exams, followed by school restarting, which has meant that my free time has plummeted. I am hoping to upload some more mini-mysteries, preferably ones that are more mystery than story, over the next couple of weeks. I'll do my best, promise!

I am taking part in the International Blog Writer Award where people are given points for popularity and quality of writing. Please help out by clicking the vote button on the left! It's free and there's no sign up required - just click the button and your vote will be added.

I also wanted to thank you all for reading, following, and voting for my blog. Without you guys, there would be no point in writing any of this, and whenever I hear from one of you guys, it really makes my day. So please, keep on reading, commenting, and loving mysteries!

~ Tiula
x

Saturday 14 May 2011

Panic (Part 3)

River, waiting outside the heavy double doors, cast her mind over the events of last night. After seeing Carlton, both girls had recovered their appetites and had eaten a good dinner in a restaurant just opposite the hospital, in case any more news came. Then they had gone back to River's flat -- neither feeling ready to go back to Carlton's empty house, even though it was much bigger. They had slept on the sofa in shifts, in case a call came from the hospital. And, at last, early this morning, it had come.

The doors swung open, and Louise came out. Her eyes were glittering suspiciously, but her face was calmer. "Your turn," she smiled, "Thanks for giving us some time alone."

"No problem," replied River. "How is he?"

"Not bad, I suppose," said Louise, "Considering... anyway, you can go in and see for yourself. I'll wait outside."

Inside the ward, Carlton lay in the same bed as he had been last night, but River was relieved to see that he no longer had the life support machine beside him and seemed to be breathing normally. Tubes were still wired into his hands and one was taped under his nose, but it was such an improvement from the last time that River couldn't help herself breaking out into a relieved smile.

"Mark!"

"It's sir as soon as I get out of bed, understood?" he said, and tears came to River's eyes as she saw the twinkle back in his.

"Understood." She pulled up a chair beside him. "God, you gave me such a fright! How are you feeling?"

"Like I've just been shot," he said, looking up at her. He hated feeling so pathetic, just lying there. "But I'll live."

"I'm glad to hear it."

There was a slight, awkward, pause, and then Carlton brightened. "Hey, Kate, can you do me a favour?"

River raised an eyebrow. "Sure, but it's back to 'River' as soon as you get out of bed."

He chuckled. "Fine, Kate. Help me sit up."

"You're supposed to be resting."

"Like hell I am. Help me up." And, when she didn't move, "If you don't, I'll try and do it myself. And then I'll rip out all my monitors and wires and probably fall into a coma again."

Knowing that she wouldn't put it past him, River plumped his pillows up behind him and raised him slowly into a sitting position. Then something clicked. "Again? You mean, it's happened before?"

Carlton shook his head dismissively. "Last night, after the anaesthetic. Only for a few hours. It's nothing, I'm fine."

"What?! Why wasn't I told this?"

"Calm down, I'm fine, like I told you. Anyway, I've something to show you. Look in the folder on that table over there."

River took it, and opened it up to see a couple of black and white photos. "What is this?"

"CCTV footage from the day that boy was killed. I've had an I.D. from his school: a Daniel Wyatt, aged 16, who apparently loved old buildings, which was probably why he investigated it in the first pla-"

"Wait, what?" River broke in. "You're still trying to solve this case?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Carlton seemed completely confused.

"Well, for one thing, the last time you tried you ended up shot. Secondly, like I said, you're supposed to be resting, and I don't think solving crimes comes under that category. And thirdly, because we know who killed the boy, but he had a balaclava on, remember? CCTV footage won't help you much."

Carlton only considered the third one worth answering. "That's why I got it. Because I don't think the man who shot me is the same one who shot the boy. So I took a look at who went into the house that day, other than the boy."

River took a closer look at the photos. Three men were entering the house together. One had a balaclava over his head, and was about the height and weight of the man who had shot Carlton. Another had long blond dreadlocks that obscured his face. The third was wearing a large dark overcoat, the right arm of which hung oddly.

"Is that...?"

"A prosthetic, I think," replied Carlton, in response to River's pointing arm. "Who would you choose, out of the three?"

Answer (highlight to read): It was the man with dreadlocks. The man with the balaclava was a very good shot, as shown by the fact that his bullet hit Carlton exactly at the wrong (or right) angle. However, several shots were randomly fired before one hit the boy. The man with a prosthetic could not have fired a gun, which needs two hands to load (and it would have needed reloading after so many misses).