"I thought you said you hated parties," River commented, as she noted the neatly folded dress shirt in Carlton's desk drawer.
"I do," Carlton commented idly, picking up another form and starting to fill in details. "Get us another cup of coffee, will you?"
River ignored him. "Then care to explain what the tux is doing in your drawer?"
Carlton threw down his pen with a smile and gave her his famous half-exasperated look. "All right, Sherlock, I give in. Yes, I'm coming tonight."
"I persuaded you?"
"Eventually." Carlton picked up his pen to resume work. "Now, care to explain what you were doing rummaging through my desk?"
"Looking for a pen?"
"That's got to be the worst excuse ever. You're coming tonight, aren't you?"
River nodded. "I'm on late shift, so I'll change here soon as I'm done and head down. Quite seriously, what did make you change your mind?"
Carlton shrugged. "I haven't been to a policeman's summer ball in five years, I'm bored of lazing around at home, and I'm fed up with you bugging me about it." He signed off the last form and put it in the out tray with a flourish. "Done!" he announced smugly, picking up the coat hanger with his suit. "I'm off to get changed. See you tonight, River."
"Wow."
The girl made an understated entrance into the room, dark eyelashes sweeping downwards shyly. Her dress was simple and unadorned, a sheath of navy blue which hugged her slim figure. Eyes followed her as she swayed her way down the room on thin heels, smiling at the waiter that handed her a drink.
"I must confess, you clean up pretty nice, Sergeant." Carlton appeared in front of her, out of nowhere.
River laughed. "It's Kathy tonight, sir, we're not on duty."
"In which case, I'm Mark."
"Agreed."
He offered her his arm. "So, Kathy. I was wondering, can I introduce you to someone?"
"Ah." She took the proffered arm. "Your ulterior motive for coming here, am I right?"
He twinkled. "Guilty as charged." He started leading her up the room, a smile breaking out on his face.
"You're different today," River noted. "What's up?"
Carlton just laughed, without even his usual comeback. "Lara! Lara?"
A girl at the other end of the room was facing away from them, so River could only see the back of her dark green dress - floor length and backless. "Who's that?"
But the girl had turned, and greeted Carlton with a smile. "Mark!"
He moved away from River and slipped his arm around her waist. "Kathy, let me introduce you to Lara. Lara Truman. My fiancee."
There was a scream, and the crash of a glass. The champagne blended with the blood on the floor that even the stony-faced waiters were too shocked to clear up. "He's dead!" a woman's voice screamed, and there was suddenly a swarm of detectives around the noise.
"Back up, back up, everyone, please!" Carlton's voice rose above the babble. "You're not doing him any favours. River, call an ambulance. It would appear that Superintendent Maxwell has been stabbed."
As if responding to his name, the corpse's eyes fluttered open. Blood foamed at his lips, working to form a sound. Lara, being the nearest, leaned in, and he muttered a something at her. Then, with a groan, he collapsed, and breathed no more.
"No!" someone screamed out. "Is anyone here a doctor - a paramedic?"
A man pushed his way through the crowd - a doctor, he later explained, the husband of one of the desk sergeants - and tried to resuscitate the Superintendent. "He's lost too much blood," Carlton thought he said, and it was true... the front of his shirt was drenched, blood had even soaked its way through the thick fabric of his jacket.
And then came the paramedics, racing through the room, River leading the way. The Superintendent was examined, but the lead paramedic shook his head. "I'm sorry, everyone, but this gentleman is dead."
Carlton at once took Lara aside. "What did he say?" he said, urgently. "What was it?"
Lara was white and shaking. She looked down at her hand, still coated with blood where the Superintendent had gripped it. "I - I don't know - it was so indistinct!"
River joined them, glancing between the two. "Sir -"
Carlton spun into her face. "Now is not the time!" he shouted, and flipped back to Lara. "Tell me, what did he say?"
Tears threatened to prick the back of Lara's eyelids; she turned away. River, glaring at Carlton, took her aside. "Hey," she whispered. "This has got to be tough for you."
Lara nodded. "I never imagined - it's just so -" Her tears spilled, pouring down her cheeks. "Why is Mark so angry?" she whispered.
River placed a comforting hand on her arm. "He's not angry with you. He just gets - so intense, when he's working. Believe you me, compared to how he treats some of the others, you got the mild side."
Lara sniffed and smiled at that, so River gave her a supporting smile back. "Do you know, he never told me he was engaged," she said, conversationally. "How long have you two been together?"
Lara blew her nose. "We've been together nearly two years, engaged for the past three months," she said. "I'm surprised he never mentioned it, but it makes sense. He never really talks about work at home either. It's like he has two separate lives."
"Really?" River was amused at this new image of Carlton, seeing her superior officer for the first time as a domestic family man.
Lara nodded. "He mentioned you, though. He sounded pretty impressed."
River laughed out loud at that. "Don't tell him you said that. He'd never admit it." Having got Lara to open up to her a little, she tried asking her about the murder. "I know it's tough for you, you're not exactly used to this. But anything you could make out about what he said, it would really help us. And help Mark, too."
Lara nodded, glancing at the array of police officers standing around the corpse, their empty hands longing to help. "I think he said something about Italy. Or Italian, or tally, or something. It was a bit mumbled."
River conveyed this knowledge to Carlton, who nodded sagely. "Cheers. Right now we have a bit of a crisis on our hands."
"What?"
Carlton gestured towards a sandy-haired man in a tux who was talking too loudly with a couple of officers. "DI Louis, he was sitting with the victim at the attack. Superintendent Maxwell was sitting, he'd had a heart condition this year which meant that he couldn't move around very easily. Three others were sitting down with him, DI Fred Louis, his girlfriend Talia Norman, and Mario Foscarini, a friend of his. He asked Foscarini to get him a glass of champagne when DI Louis and Talia got up, so one of them brushed past him with one of the dining room knives in their hand."
"So why are they suspecting Louis?"
Carlton finished his champagne. "Maxwell just reported him for theft. He was going to be kicked out. It's as good a motive as any."
"But Lara said he said 'Italian'. Couldn't he have meant Mario Foscarini?"
The young Italian over heard this, and attacked her with a stream of bilingual abuse. Most of it was unintelligible, but the gist was clear from the way he waved his hands and was shaking his head violently. "Why I kill my friend? Why I kill him? Signor Maxwell, he good man. He kind man. I not murderer, so why you accuse?"
"I didn't -"
"Was not me! Maybe he wanted me at his side when he died, that why he asked for the Italian. Maybe he no say that at all! Why to accuse?" The Italian spread his hands and looked pleadingly at the bunch of policemen. "You see, is not like this in my country. I not murderer!"
"Mr. Foscarini," said Carlton quietly. "There's blood on your shirt."
Who was the murderer? Highlight to read. It was Talia. She had heard that her boyfriend was to be kicked out of the force and wanted revenge. Maxwell did not say "Italy", he said "ta-li", attempting to say the name "Talia" before he died.
Tuesday 24 July 2012
Friday 6 July 2012
The Elements
Tiula has had her first book published on Kindle! Four short stories - dramatic, intense and mysteries.
Purchase for download on Kindle or to your PC now: http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Elements-ebook/dp/B008HTBUWI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1341603560&sr=8-1
Monday 26 March 2012
Happy Birthday to Us!
Yes, a Selection of Mini-Mysteries has been going for one whole year! As a celebration, here's a nice mini-mystery for you.
The scream pierced the air, shattering the silence like glass. Then Lady Moira de Souza fell down in a dead faint.
For a moment, all were frozen in silent shock. One of the footmen quickly came to his senses and helped Lady de Souza back into her chair.
A grey-haired gentleman replaced the candle in the thick silver candlestick and strode quickly up from the other end of the table to take her pulse. "Fetch a glass of brandy, quickly," barked Dr. Layman. He raised the cut glass to the lady's lips, and as her eyes fluttered open she began to sip the amber liquid. A little colour began to return to her cheeks.
"The jewels..." Lady Moira murmured. "The Heart of Dreams. It's gone."
It was the evening of 26th March, and the night on which each year, every year, the de Souza's would display the national treasure, the Heart of Dreams Diamond. The guest list was specific, and there were never more than four guests present; the most coveted invitation in the country. Some claimed the Heart of Dreams was the size of a man's fist, others that it was over two thousand years old. Everyone knew that it was worth at least £21 million, and was the rarest jewel in the world.
But it was gone.
"What?" an athletic young gentleman leaned over the pretty girl next to him and flipped the jewel case towards him.
The whole table gasped in shock.
The blue velvet jewel case was empty.
"I don't understand." Mr Fairview walked up to the head of the table, his gait sedate but his face creased with worry. "They can't be gone. I saw them this morning. That case hasn't left my sight."
"Oh, you were watching carefully, were you?" The young gentleman rose to meet his gaze accusingly.
"For god's sake, that's my job, Johnson!"
"They say never trust a lawyer," Johnson snarled across the table.
"Or an con," Mr Fairview spat back.
"Ex-con!"
"Boys!" The girl sitting next to Mr Johnson broke into their argument. "Stop hurling accusations until we know what's going on. Mr Fairview, you said you saw it this morning? How?"
"Sure. Aunt Moira gave me a private viewing this morning, and then put it back in the pouch and hung it around her neck. I saw it there all evening. So if that little creep stole it -"
"Go ahead! Search me!" Mr Johnson jumped back. "I didn't steal anything!"
"And you expect us to believe that? Lucy! You don't believe this conman, do you?"
The girl sighed. "Look, both of you - and Doctor Layman - danced with Lady Moira before dinner, so you all had a chance to take it."
"And it just so happens that one of us has a criminal record. Convenient, isn't it?" snapped Mr Fairview.
"Lucy, I must confess," Dr. Layman glanced up from his patient, "The evidence against Mr Johnson is pretty compelling. And we understand why you're defending him, but -"
Lucy sighed. "It's got nothing to do with us. It's to do with justice! I would have thought that you'd appreciate that, Mr Fairview."
"Maybe." Mr Fairview narrowed his eyes. "But why would I steal the diamond? It belongs to my aunt, I'm next in line to own it. I may as well wait until she dies."
"We've only got your word that she didn't bequeath it so someone else."
There was another silence. "So you're accusing me?"
"No. I'm just telling it like it is."
Lady Moira gave another moan, and Lucy was at her side in an instant. "Lady Moira, can you remember if anyone took anything from the jewellery box? Did anyone touch it whilst you were dancing? Anyone at all?"
"No... I don't remember. Wait. Dr Layman touched it once... and Mr Fairview tugged it by mistake."
"What?" Mr Fairview grabbed at his aunt's arm. "Not Mr Johnson?"
Lady Moira turned to her nephew briskly. "No! I'm not an imbecile, my dear. I barely danced with Mr Johnson, he certainly didn't touch the jewel case. I remember Dr. Layman admiring it, and you tugging on it once."
"An accident! I tripped!"
"Let's solve this calmly!" interrupted Mr Johnson. "Let's all of us turn out our pockets."
All the men emptied their pockets and tipped out the contents onto the table. The diamond was nowhere to be seen.
Who stole the diamond and where did he hide it? Dr. Layman hid it in the candlestick he was fidgeting with at the beginning.
The scream pierced the air, shattering the silence like glass. Then Lady Moira de Souza fell down in a dead faint.
For a moment, all were frozen in silent shock. One of the footmen quickly came to his senses and helped Lady de Souza back into her chair.
A grey-haired gentleman replaced the candle in the thick silver candlestick and strode quickly up from the other end of the table to take her pulse. "Fetch a glass of brandy, quickly," barked Dr. Layman. He raised the cut glass to the lady's lips, and as her eyes fluttered open she began to sip the amber liquid. A little colour began to return to her cheeks.
"The jewels..." Lady Moira murmured. "The Heart of Dreams. It's gone."
It was the evening of 26th March, and the night on which each year, every year, the de Souza's would display the national treasure, the Heart of Dreams Diamond. The guest list was specific, and there were never more than four guests present; the most coveted invitation in the country. Some claimed the Heart of Dreams was the size of a man's fist, others that it was over two thousand years old. Everyone knew that it was worth at least £21 million, and was the rarest jewel in the world.
But it was gone.
"What?" an athletic young gentleman leaned over the pretty girl next to him and flipped the jewel case towards him.
The whole table gasped in shock.
The blue velvet jewel case was empty.
"I don't understand." Mr Fairview walked up to the head of the table, his gait sedate but his face creased with worry. "They can't be gone. I saw them this morning. That case hasn't left my sight."
"Oh, you were watching carefully, were you?" The young gentleman rose to meet his gaze accusingly.
"For god's sake, that's my job, Johnson!"
"They say never trust a lawyer," Johnson snarled across the table.
"Or an con," Mr Fairview spat back.
"Ex-con!"
"Boys!" The girl sitting next to Mr Johnson broke into their argument. "Stop hurling accusations until we know what's going on. Mr Fairview, you said you saw it this morning? How?"
"Sure. Aunt Moira gave me a private viewing this morning, and then put it back in the pouch and hung it around her neck. I saw it there all evening. So if that little creep stole it -"
"Go ahead! Search me!" Mr Johnson jumped back. "I didn't steal anything!"
"And you expect us to believe that? Lucy! You don't believe this conman, do you?"
The girl sighed. "Look, both of you - and Doctor Layman - danced with Lady Moira before dinner, so you all had a chance to take it."
"And it just so happens that one of us has a criminal record. Convenient, isn't it?" snapped Mr Fairview.
"Lucy, I must confess," Dr. Layman glanced up from his patient, "The evidence against Mr Johnson is pretty compelling. And we understand why you're defending him, but -"
Lucy sighed. "It's got nothing to do with us. It's to do with justice! I would have thought that you'd appreciate that, Mr Fairview."
"Maybe." Mr Fairview narrowed his eyes. "But why would I steal the diamond? It belongs to my aunt, I'm next in line to own it. I may as well wait until she dies."
"We've only got your word that she didn't bequeath it so someone else."
There was another silence. "So you're accusing me?"
"No. I'm just telling it like it is."
Lady Moira gave another moan, and Lucy was at her side in an instant. "Lady Moira, can you remember if anyone took anything from the jewellery box? Did anyone touch it whilst you were dancing? Anyone at all?"
"No... I don't remember. Wait. Dr Layman touched it once... and Mr Fairview tugged it by mistake."
"What?" Mr Fairview grabbed at his aunt's arm. "Not Mr Johnson?"
Lady Moira turned to her nephew briskly. "No! I'm not an imbecile, my dear. I barely danced with Mr Johnson, he certainly didn't touch the jewel case. I remember Dr. Layman admiring it, and you tugging on it once."
"An accident! I tripped!"
"Let's solve this calmly!" interrupted Mr Johnson. "Let's all of us turn out our pockets."
All the men emptied their pockets and tipped out the contents onto the table. The diamond was nowhere to be seen.
Who stole the diamond and where did he hide it? Dr. Layman hid it in the candlestick he was fidgeting with at the beginning.
Tuesday 14 February 2012
From Tina with Love
"Happy Valentine's Day!" River twinkled as she passed Carlton a bouquet of fragrant red roses.
He raised a eyebrow, passing them with distaste into an evidence bag. "Crime scene," he warned her. "A little respect?"
River was more subdued than she cared to show. "Oh, come on," she smiled. "I'll find the romantic inside you one day."
Carlton rolled his eyes. "At the moment, you seem to be searching hard for the 'shut the hell up' inside me. Come on, let's get on with this."
He assessed the room. A young man was lying slumped in his bed, only the lack of a gentle snore giving away that he wasn't asleep. Another bed, pushed up against the opposite wall, hadn't been slept in. The occupant had decorated the walls with photos of himself and a pretty, dark-skinned girl.
The room was a mess. Although the litter bin was empty, two empty beer cans rolled around on the floor, along with an unopened card and some torn and discarded red wrapping paper. An empty chocolate box lay in the centre of the spread.
Carlton pushed through the photographers and uniforms sweeping the scene and greeted a grey-haired man bent over the body.
"Morning, John."
The pathologist smiled up at them. "Romantic idea of a date, Detective Inspector."
Carlton's face lapsed into its regular scowl. "You know perfectly well this isn't a date. What have you got?"
"His name's Danny Fordham, he's twenty years old. His room-mate's name is Benjamin Kirk, the same age. Danny died in the late last night from heart failure, probably brought on by a poison mixed with the alcohol he appears to have drunk. I'll be able to tell you more when we get him back to the lab."
Carlton pulled back an eyelid and then sniffed the corpse's lips. "Atropa belladonna," he commented.
"Very good."
He continued to examine the corpse in silence for a few moments, leaving River feeling like a spare part. She picked up the empty tray of chocolates from the floor.
"So, I'm guessing someone gave him something less than love for Valentine's day?" She asked.
John nodded. "I'm pretty sure there was something in the chocolates, though I must confess this isn't my area of expertise."
"So who gave them to him? Did he have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
Her question was answered from a hysterical shriek coming from outside the door. Danny's girlfriend was attempting to push her way through the lines of officers guarding the room.
"What's going on, where's Danny?" She sobbed at River, as soon as she had caught sight of the two detectives.
"What's your name, miss?" Carlton asked, patiently. Only River could catch that he was gritting his teeth. He hated any sort of weeping.
"Tina Adams. I'm Danny's girlfriend. Please, tell me what happened to him! Is he in any trouble? Don't arrest him, he's a good guy, honestly!" Tina was crying fluently now, her words becoming less and less coherent.
River gently explained what had happened. "Did you give him anything for Valentine's Day?"
"Sure." She blew her nose. "A box of chocolates and a card. Danny loved chocolates. I sent them in the post to arrive today... I didn't know if he'd be okay with seeing me. We'd had a few ups and downs lately, you see, and..."
She began to cry again. "I had to come and see him, I just had to!"
"What do you mean, 'ups and downs'?" asked Carlton, sharply.
Tina looked up at him. "Doesn't everyone?"
His lips twitched faintly. "What were the downs?"
"At his best he was lovely, but at his worst... he was unfaithful. Arrogant. He was arrested once for shoplifting. But despite all that, he was a good guy!"
"Did other people like him?"
Tina nodded. "Mostly. He was a laugh. I know he annoyed some people... he would flirt outrageously with all the girls, even if they had a boyfriend. Always drank a bit too much. But at the end of the day... he really was a people person."
Leaving River to calm the tearful Tina, Carlton headed back to the bedroom. He sniffed the chocolate box, and then tore open the red envelope lying amongst the mess.
Darling [the card read]
Let's put all this behind us. Stop fighting, start loving again.
I love you
xxx
Carlton bit his lip, his mind working furiously.
Answer (highlight to read): Danny died on the night before Valentine's Day, certainly before Tina's chocolates had arrived. Danny had in fact stolen and eaten the poisoned chocolates his room-mate Ben had bought to give to his girlfriend, who had cheated on him with Danny.
He raised a eyebrow, passing them with distaste into an evidence bag. "Crime scene," he warned her. "A little respect?"
River was more subdued than she cared to show. "Oh, come on," she smiled. "I'll find the romantic inside you one day."
Carlton rolled his eyes. "At the moment, you seem to be searching hard for the 'shut the hell up' inside me. Come on, let's get on with this."
He assessed the room. A young man was lying slumped in his bed, only the lack of a gentle snore giving away that he wasn't asleep. Another bed, pushed up against the opposite wall, hadn't been slept in. The occupant had decorated the walls with photos of himself and a pretty, dark-skinned girl.
The room was a mess. Although the litter bin was empty, two empty beer cans rolled around on the floor, along with an unopened card and some torn and discarded red wrapping paper. An empty chocolate box lay in the centre of the spread.
Carlton pushed through the photographers and uniforms sweeping the scene and greeted a grey-haired man bent over the body.
"Morning, John."
The pathologist smiled up at them. "Romantic idea of a date, Detective Inspector."
Carlton's face lapsed into its regular scowl. "You know perfectly well this isn't a date. What have you got?"
"His name's Danny Fordham, he's twenty years old. His room-mate's name is Benjamin Kirk, the same age. Danny died in the late last night from heart failure, probably brought on by a poison mixed with the alcohol he appears to have drunk. I'll be able to tell you more when we get him back to the lab."
Carlton pulled back an eyelid and then sniffed the corpse's lips. "Atropa belladonna," he commented.
"Very good."
He continued to examine the corpse in silence for a few moments, leaving River feeling like a spare part. She picked up the empty tray of chocolates from the floor.
"So, I'm guessing someone gave him something less than love for Valentine's day?" She asked.
John nodded. "I'm pretty sure there was something in the chocolates, though I must confess this isn't my area of expertise."
"So who gave them to him? Did he have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
Her question was answered from a hysterical shriek coming from outside the door. Danny's girlfriend was attempting to push her way through the lines of officers guarding the room.
"What's going on, where's Danny?" She sobbed at River, as soon as she had caught sight of the two detectives.
"What's your name, miss?" Carlton asked, patiently. Only River could catch that he was gritting his teeth. He hated any sort of weeping.
"Tina Adams. I'm Danny's girlfriend. Please, tell me what happened to him! Is he in any trouble? Don't arrest him, he's a good guy, honestly!" Tina was crying fluently now, her words becoming less and less coherent.
River gently explained what had happened. "Did you give him anything for Valentine's Day?"
"Sure." She blew her nose. "A box of chocolates and a card. Danny loved chocolates. I sent them in the post to arrive today... I didn't know if he'd be okay with seeing me. We'd had a few ups and downs lately, you see, and..."
She began to cry again. "I had to come and see him, I just had to!"
"What do you mean, 'ups and downs'?" asked Carlton, sharply.
Tina looked up at him. "Doesn't everyone?"
His lips twitched faintly. "What were the downs?"
"At his best he was lovely, but at his worst... he was unfaithful. Arrogant. He was arrested once for shoplifting. But despite all that, he was a good guy!"
"Did other people like him?"
Tina nodded. "Mostly. He was a laugh. I know he annoyed some people... he would flirt outrageously with all the girls, even if they had a boyfriend. Always drank a bit too much. But at the end of the day... he really was a people person."
Leaving River to calm the tearful Tina, Carlton headed back to the bedroom. He sniffed the chocolate box, and then tore open the red envelope lying amongst the mess.
Darling [the card read]
Let's put all this behind us. Stop fighting, start loving again.
I love you
xxx
Carlton bit his lip, his mind working furiously.
Answer (highlight to read): Danny died on the night before Valentine's Day, certainly before Tina's chocolates had arrived. Danny had in fact stolen and eaten the poisoned chocolates his room-mate Ben had bought to give to his girlfriend, who had cheated on him with Danny.
Sunday 29 January 2012
Sherlock
Yes, I know. I haven't written on here in ages. In fact, I haven't written a Carlton post since October! I apologise, again.
If you're looking for someone to blame, head to the BBC. To be precise, to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
As an avid mystery-freak, I have of course been following the new Sherlock series. Having been obsessed with Sherlock Holmes from a young age, I was seriously worried when they made a modern version. If they were going to try and make Sherlock a hoodied teenager, I would have been the first to complain.
But it worked! Sherlock Holmes has never been about the era he lives in. It's all about adrenalin, sarcasm, and chasing criminals across London. This new series completely lives up to expectations. Conan Doyle would be proud.
Not content with delighting our screens with pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch in a trench coat, the BBC upped the adrenalin by setting us a challenge for next series, namely: how the hell did Sherlock survive? Of course I wasn't going to leave this one alone. I wasted a whole weekend trying to work this one out - apologies go to my history teacher, yes I did begin my essay "During the reign of Moriarty" - and think I may have an idea.
So, here are the clues that I think lead to an answer. Some of these have been discussed in great detail by journalists, but others have been as yet unexplored. Enjoy!
1) Remember IRENE ADLER in the first episode? She faked her own death with the help of some officials. And given that Sherlock saved her life at the end of the episode, I figure she owes him one.
2) It's obvious that the love-struck MOLLY HOOPER is involved in some way. As a pathologist, she'd be able to pronounce him dead, and Sherlock did ask for her help.
3) Whilst Sherlock was in the lab towards the end of the last episode, he was playing with a small SQUASH BALL. By squeezing the squash ball into the crook of the elbow you can temporarily prevent your pulse at your wrist - exactly where John tried to take his pulse to see if Sherlock was still alive.
4) The area of pavement onto which Sherlock eventually jumped appeared to be MARKED OUT in chalk, or some other white marker, when seen from above.
5) A CYCLIST knocked John over as he was on his way to see Sherlock. This blocked Sherlock from his vision temporarily, as well as making him somewhat confused - possibly concussed - as he saw Sherlock's dead body.
6) As Sherlock was talking to John on the phone, he was insistent that John STAND IN A PARTICULAR PLACE. This suggests that some sort of illusion was going on, and if he moved he wouldn't quite see the scene as he was expected to.
7) Some sort of a RUBBISH TRUCK was blocking part of Sherlock's fall from view. He could well have fallen into it, or clung onto the sides (less likely, and he'd have to be pretty damn good, but he leapt quite well across London in the first series).
8) The little girl kidnapped in Episode 3 SCREAMED when she saw Sherlock. As we know he couldn't have been involved in the kidnap, it means that whoever kidnapped them either looked like Sherlock or dressed to look like him... a trick Sherlock could have used against Moriarty perhaps?
Has anyone got any more theories? I'd love to hear them!
If you're looking for someone to blame, head to the BBC. To be precise, to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
As an avid mystery-freak, I have of course been following the new Sherlock series. Having been obsessed with Sherlock Holmes from a young age, I was seriously worried when they made a modern version. If they were going to try and make Sherlock a hoodied teenager, I would have been the first to complain.
But it worked! Sherlock Holmes has never been about the era he lives in. It's all about adrenalin, sarcasm, and chasing criminals across London. This new series completely lives up to expectations. Conan Doyle would be proud.
Not content with delighting our screens with pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch in a trench coat, the BBC upped the adrenalin by setting us a challenge for next series, namely: how the hell did Sherlock survive? Of course I wasn't going to leave this one alone. I wasted a whole weekend trying to work this one out - apologies go to my history teacher, yes I did begin my essay "During the reign of Moriarty" - and think I may have an idea.
So, here are the clues that I think lead to an answer. Some of these have been discussed in great detail by journalists, but others have been as yet unexplored. Enjoy!
1) Remember IRENE ADLER in the first episode? She faked her own death with the help of some officials. And given that Sherlock saved her life at the end of the episode, I figure she owes him one.
2) It's obvious that the love-struck MOLLY HOOPER is involved in some way. As a pathologist, she'd be able to pronounce him dead, and Sherlock did ask for her help.
3) Whilst Sherlock was in the lab towards the end of the last episode, he was playing with a small SQUASH BALL. By squeezing the squash ball into the crook of the elbow you can temporarily prevent your pulse at your wrist - exactly where John tried to take his pulse to see if Sherlock was still alive.
4) The area of pavement onto which Sherlock eventually jumped appeared to be MARKED OUT in chalk, or some other white marker, when seen from above.
5) A CYCLIST knocked John over as he was on his way to see Sherlock. This blocked Sherlock from his vision temporarily, as well as making him somewhat confused - possibly concussed - as he saw Sherlock's dead body.
6) As Sherlock was talking to John on the phone, he was insistent that John STAND IN A PARTICULAR PLACE. This suggests that some sort of illusion was going on, and if he moved he wouldn't quite see the scene as he was expected to.
7) Some sort of a RUBBISH TRUCK was blocking part of Sherlock's fall from view. He could well have fallen into it, or clung onto the sides (less likely, and he'd have to be pretty damn good, but he leapt quite well across London in the first series).
8) The little girl kidnapped in Episode 3 SCREAMED when she saw Sherlock. As we know he couldn't have been involved in the kidnap, it means that whoever kidnapped them either looked like Sherlock or dressed to look like him... a trick Sherlock could have used against Moriarty perhaps?
Has anyone got any more theories? I'd love to hear them!
Saturday 14 January 2012
The Mystery on the Train
A deafening screech caused three doors to come flying open and a different head popped out of each one.
The conductor smiled at them from the end of the corridor, rising to his feet. "Please, there is no problem," he assured them. "At this point in our journey, the journey gets a little rough. It is just the noise from the train, that is all."
"Bloody mechanics," snorted the heavily built man with a sandy moustache. "Is this train safe, then?"
"Oh yes, sir, there is nothing to worry about," Igor, the young conductor, repeated. "We will arrive in Moscow in about twenty minutes."
The man grunted once and returned to his compartment. The lady opposite him, whose extraordinary hat filled most of the corridor, looked down at the rather short man from her rather tall height, aided by stunningly impractical heels.
"If that is the case, I should like a pot of tea and a tray of biscuits delivered to my compartment as soon as possible. Don't forget: cream, not milk, and always in its separate jug - silver, not any of this tin rubbish."
"At once, Mrs Der Layman." Igor bowed and the lady retreated into her compartment.
He breathed a sigh of relief and gave a nervous smile to the one remaining passenger, her chestnut brown curls cut into a neat bob. She looked the sensible type, he thought, pretty but clever, the sort of girl who became a teacher or a nurse. So English. He wondered what she was doing here, far from home. He glanced once at the card on her door, written in an upright hand: "Miss Vera Cartwright".
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked.
Vera responded in his native Russian - fluently, but with a strong English accent. "Oh, no, thank you. I was just wondering if the other gentleman was alright."
He hid his surprise well at her choice of language. "The other gentleman, miss?"
"The man in the compartment opposite. He didn't come out, and that noise would have woken the dead."
Igor smiled. "He may be asleep, miss. I'm sure he's quite alright. I will wake him when we reach Moscow."
The girl nodded, flashed him a smile, and turned back to her compartment.
Igor was right about the track, Vera mused, as the words of her book began to jolt before her eyes. The rhythm of the train had now escalated to a cacophony of metallic grating and groaning, which continued for several minutes. Relaxing or reading was rendered impossible, so she put away her book and instead watched the countryside unfurl before her eyes.
It wasn't long before the train began to slow and the journey became quieter, and Vera peered ahead to see the largest of Moscow's stations wind into view. The snow on the ground sparkled... like magic.
She put on her hat and coat, for she knew the train might well stop for twenty minutes and she needed to stretch her legs.
The narrow corridor was blocked with people and shouts. The Mrs Der Layman was talking quickly in a high voice, the man with the moustache talking slowly in a low voice. And Ivor was pushing between them, his slight frame swamped by the much taller passengers, all gathering around the door of the elderly businessman.
Vera added her voice to the commotion. "What's going on?"
Igor looked up at her in relief. "Miss! It's that man you were worried about. I came to inform him that the train was arriving at Moscow, but his door is locked and I cannot seem to wake him."
"You have a pass key! Why the hell don't you open it up?" muttered the man, turning sideways to get through the corridor to his own room. "Idiots, the lot of you. Now, stop disturbing me. I have some extremely important business to be getting along with."
He slammed the door to his compartment. Mrs Der Layman sighed. "Honestly. A little calm will always suffice in a crisis, a little calm. Remember that, dear." She patted Vera's shoulder condescendingly. "Now then. Get the door open, quickly, before we fear the worst and call the police!"
"Yes, yes, madam, I will -" Igor fumbled in his pocket for the key and unlocked the door. "Mr Harvey, sir? Mr Harvey? Are you alright?"
Igor's scream shattered the air. "Oh my god!"
Vera pushed her way behind Mrs Der Layman into the tiny compartment. It was identical to her own - a small bed which doubled as a sofa, a sink, and a small wooden cabinet. Lying in the bed was the body of an elderly gentleman, blood trickling from a wound in his chest.
"Oh!" Mrs Der Layman sank to the floor in a sea of purple. Ignoring her, Vera stepped over her unconscious body and felt for a pulse.
Her eyes flashed up at Igor. "I'm afraid he's dead. Get some brandy for Mrs Der Layman, and take her back to her compartment."
When they had left, Vera regarded the scene. A bottle of sleeping tablets stood on the cabinet, only half full. Mr Harvey's wire-rimmed glasses were neatly folded next to them. The murder weapon - a sharp kitchen knife - was still in the body, although Vera had more sense than to touch it.
Igor entered the room, still pale. "I took her back to her room, miss. One of the train staff is looking after her. Can you help him, miss? Are you a nurse?"
"A governess, I'm afraid. Not really equipped to deal with injuries other than bruises and scratches. However, he is still warm, and that wound looks painful. I would guess that he was killed at some point during that noisy piece of track, which would have muffled his screams."
Igor nodded. "That would make sense. I left the corridor for most of the last hour to talk to my colleague, so anyone could have come in here. When I leave, the pass key is on my desk... oh god, this is my fault!"
"Of course it's not your fault," Vera said briskly. "Can you give me a list of all the passengers in this corridor?"
"Of course, miss. Other than you and Mr Harvey here, there is the English lady Mrs Der Layman, and the General Culling."
"I'm going to need to talk to both of them."
"Yes, miss."
Mrs Der Layman did not appreciate being interrupted. "Are you suggesting I had something to do with his death? I was in here all the time during that piece of rough track, resting - well. Trying to rest, anyway. It was near enough impossible to do anything!"
Vera nodded. "I know. I'm just trying to work out where everyone was. You didn't leave the compartment, then?"
"Not at all. I didn't hear a scream or anything else either, not that I would have done over that noise. Now, if you'll excuse me. I've had a terrible shock and need to rest."
If possible, General Culling was even less co-operative. "What are you suggesting? For god's sake, I didn't hear a thing! Get out of here."
"What were you doing when he was killed?" asked Vera.
"I don't know. Listening to the radio, I think. There was a rather good programme on after lunch."
"To the radio? On that noisy stretch?"
"Huh? Oh no, after the programme it got a bit noisy. I had to turn it off. Stayed in here the rest of the time, didn't see or hear anything. Now move it."
Vera sighed, and left him to himself.
Who killed Mr Harvey? (highlight to read): The lack of a struggle, the glasses folded on the table, and the fact that no-one heard a scream, suggests that Mr Harvey had taken sleeping pills and had a nap. This alters the time of death, as he could have been killed before the noisy stretch started. General Culling automatically assumed that Harvey had been killed before the noisy stretch, not during, and his alibi cannot be confirmed. He is the killer.
The conductor smiled at them from the end of the corridor, rising to his feet. "Please, there is no problem," he assured them. "At this point in our journey, the journey gets a little rough. It is just the noise from the train, that is all."
"Bloody mechanics," snorted the heavily built man with a sandy moustache. "Is this train safe, then?"
"Oh yes, sir, there is nothing to worry about," Igor, the young conductor, repeated. "We will arrive in Moscow in about twenty minutes."
The man grunted once and returned to his compartment. The lady opposite him, whose extraordinary hat filled most of the corridor, looked down at the rather short man from her rather tall height, aided by stunningly impractical heels.
"If that is the case, I should like a pot of tea and a tray of biscuits delivered to my compartment as soon as possible. Don't forget: cream, not milk, and always in its separate jug - silver, not any of this tin rubbish."
"At once, Mrs Der Layman." Igor bowed and the lady retreated into her compartment.
He breathed a sigh of relief and gave a nervous smile to the one remaining passenger, her chestnut brown curls cut into a neat bob. She looked the sensible type, he thought, pretty but clever, the sort of girl who became a teacher or a nurse. So English. He wondered what she was doing here, far from home. He glanced once at the card on her door, written in an upright hand: "Miss Vera Cartwright".
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked.
Vera responded in his native Russian - fluently, but with a strong English accent. "Oh, no, thank you. I was just wondering if the other gentleman was alright."
He hid his surprise well at her choice of language. "The other gentleman, miss?"
"The man in the compartment opposite. He didn't come out, and that noise would have woken the dead."
Igor smiled. "He may be asleep, miss. I'm sure he's quite alright. I will wake him when we reach Moscow."
The girl nodded, flashed him a smile, and turned back to her compartment.
Igor was right about the track, Vera mused, as the words of her book began to jolt before her eyes. The rhythm of the train had now escalated to a cacophony of metallic grating and groaning, which continued for several minutes. Relaxing or reading was rendered impossible, so she put away her book and instead watched the countryside unfurl before her eyes.
It wasn't long before the train began to slow and the journey became quieter, and Vera peered ahead to see the largest of Moscow's stations wind into view. The snow on the ground sparkled... like magic.
She put on her hat and coat, for she knew the train might well stop for twenty minutes and she needed to stretch her legs.
The narrow corridor was blocked with people and shouts. The Mrs Der Layman was talking quickly in a high voice, the man with the moustache talking slowly in a low voice. And Ivor was pushing between them, his slight frame swamped by the much taller passengers, all gathering around the door of the elderly businessman.
Vera added her voice to the commotion. "What's going on?"
Igor looked up at her in relief. "Miss! It's that man you were worried about. I came to inform him that the train was arriving at Moscow, but his door is locked and I cannot seem to wake him."
"You have a pass key! Why the hell don't you open it up?" muttered the man, turning sideways to get through the corridor to his own room. "Idiots, the lot of you. Now, stop disturbing me. I have some extremely important business to be getting along with."
He slammed the door to his compartment. Mrs Der Layman sighed. "Honestly. A little calm will always suffice in a crisis, a little calm. Remember that, dear." She patted Vera's shoulder condescendingly. "Now then. Get the door open, quickly, before we fear the worst and call the police!"
"Yes, yes, madam, I will -" Igor fumbled in his pocket for the key and unlocked the door. "Mr Harvey, sir? Mr Harvey? Are you alright?"
Igor's scream shattered the air. "Oh my god!"
Vera pushed her way behind Mrs Der Layman into the tiny compartment. It was identical to her own - a small bed which doubled as a sofa, a sink, and a small wooden cabinet. Lying in the bed was the body of an elderly gentleman, blood trickling from a wound in his chest.
"Oh!" Mrs Der Layman sank to the floor in a sea of purple. Ignoring her, Vera stepped over her unconscious body and felt for a pulse.
Her eyes flashed up at Igor. "I'm afraid he's dead. Get some brandy for Mrs Der Layman, and take her back to her compartment."
When they had left, Vera regarded the scene. A bottle of sleeping tablets stood on the cabinet, only half full. Mr Harvey's wire-rimmed glasses were neatly folded next to them. The murder weapon - a sharp kitchen knife - was still in the body, although Vera had more sense than to touch it.
Igor entered the room, still pale. "I took her back to her room, miss. One of the train staff is looking after her. Can you help him, miss? Are you a nurse?"
"A governess, I'm afraid. Not really equipped to deal with injuries other than bruises and scratches. However, he is still warm, and that wound looks painful. I would guess that he was killed at some point during that noisy piece of track, which would have muffled his screams."
Igor nodded. "That would make sense. I left the corridor for most of the last hour to talk to my colleague, so anyone could have come in here. When I leave, the pass key is on my desk... oh god, this is my fault!"
"Of course it's not your fault," Vera said briskly. "Can you give me a list of all the passengers in this corridor?"
"Of course, miss. Other than you and Mr Harvey here, there is the English lady Mrs Der Layman, and the General Culling."
"I'm going to need to talk to both of them."
"Yes, miss."
Mrs Der Layman did not appreciate being interrupted. "Are you suggesting I had something to do with his death? I was in here all the time during that piece of rough track, resting - well. Trying to rest, anyway. It was near enough impossible to do anything!"
Vera nodded. "I know. I'm just trying to work out where everyone was. You didn't leave the compartment, then?"
"Not at all. I didn't hear a scream or anything else either, not that I would have done over that noise. Now, if you'll excuse me. I've had a terrible shock and need to rest."
If possible, General Culling was even less co-operative. "What are you suggesting? For god's sake, I didn't hear a thing! Get out of here."
"What were you doing when he was killed?" asked Vera.
"I don't know. Listening to the radio, I think. There was a rather good programme on after lunch."
"To the radio? On that noisy stretch?"
"Huh? Oh no, after the programme it got a bit noisy. I had to turn it off. Stayed in here the rest of the time, didn't see or hear anything. Now move it."
Vera sighed, and left him to himself.
Who killed Mr Harvey? (highlight to read): The lack of a struggle, the glasses folded on the table, and the fact that no-one heard a scream, suggests that Mr Harvey had taken sleeping pills and had a nap. This alters the time of death, as he could have been killed before the noisy stretch started. General Culling automatically assumed that Harvey had been killed before the noisy stretch, not during, and his alibi cannot be confirmed. He is the killer.
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