Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

"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.

The Elements

The Elements - Antonia Goddard

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

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.

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.

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!

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 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!

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!

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Theatre Tragedy

This post has been deleted by the author..

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?

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."

Changes to the site

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