Life of an Illicit Man: Part 1
Perkins Manor
Study
8:45pm
Inspector Pry had got the call at 8:35. Murder at the Perkins' place? It still surprised him, even though he had been there just days before looking at the broken window business. Admittedly, he was expecting a storm but never such an extreme one. He still very much often pondered why such news surprised him. All the years working for the law should have immunised considerably, but it hadn't. That brick wall that was supposed to be around him was there but a few bricks were missing.
He had rung Chart, who wasn't at all impressed. He had just taken a relaxing bath, had a lovely dinner and was indulging himself in the latest whodunnit novel the local library had to offer. Nethertheless, it was now time for a real whodunnit.
They were both in the study, tredding their way through the mess and over to the body, who was covered in a white sheet. Pry lifted it up and eyed the body with a sad expression.
The medical team had already done their principal parts and Dr. Morrisey, head autopsis, snuck up behind the two investigators. "Strangled with his own tie. I'd say he was wearing it, the killer went for it and pushed it up against his throat. Only would've taken about fifteen seconds." He pointed the red-rore neck and the ripping of the tie.
"Looking for a man, then?" Chart said.
"No. You see the thing that really confuses me, is this," he pointed to Perkins' bloated face, "the cheeks and the forehead in particular are all swollen and red. It's odd."
"Couldn't it just be part of the after-effects of the strangulation?" Pry asked.
"I don't think so. It almost looks like poison effects."
"Poison? But look man, he was clearly physically choked to death."
"If you want my opinion, Pry," Morrisey said, standing back up with the two, "I'd say he was drugged and then strangled."
The two detectives shared eye contact for a moment. "Has anyone found anything?" Pry asked, looking around the room.
"Everyone's been looking but nothing particularly obvious seems to stand out," Morrisey said.
Pry sighed.
Study
8:45pm
Inspector Pry had got the call at 8:35. Murder at the Perkins' place? It still surprised him, even though he had been there just days before looking at the broken window business. Admittedly, he was expecting a storm but never such an extreme one. He still very much often pondered why such news surprised him. All the years working for the law should have immunised considerably, but it hadn't. That brick wall that was supposed to be around him was there but a few bricks were missing.
He had rung Chart, who wasn't at all impressed. He had just taken a relaxing bath, had a lovely dinner and was indulging himself in the latest whodunnit novel the local library had to offer. Nethertheless, it was now time for a real whodunnit.
They were both in the study, tredding their way through the mess and over to the body, who was covered in a white sheet. Pry lifted it up and eyed the body with a sad expression.
The medical team had already done their principal parts and Dr. Morrisey, head autopsis, snuck up behind the two investigators. "Strangled with his own tie. I'd say he was wearing it, the killer went for it and pushed it up against his throat. Only would've taken about fifteen seconds." He pointed the red-rore neck and the ripping of the tie.
"Looking for a man, then?" Chart said.
"No. You see the thing that really confuses me, is this," he pointed to Perkins' bloated face, "the cheeks and the forehead in particular are all swollen and red. It's odd."
"Couldn't it just be part of the after-effects of the strangulation?" Pry asked.
"I don't think so. It almost looks like poison effects."
"Poison? But look man, he was clearly physically choked to death."
"If you want my opinion, Pry," Morrisey said, standing back up with the two, "I'd say he was drugged and then strangled."
The two detectives shared eye contact for a moment. "Has anyone found anything?" Pry asked, looking around the room.
"Everyone's been looking but nothing particularly obvious seems to stand out," Morrisey said.
Pry sighed.
Ballroom
8:50pm
The pair were now sat on an azure-tinted loveseat. Pry had just lit himself a Cuban cigar and was puffing on it aimlessly, unneccesarily. The anxiety was building...Chart had a notepad on his crossed legs, a fountain pen in his hand, ready to squiggle down every inch of information he could.
Pry had ordered all the guests to stay in the lounge. He didn't want to, but he knew that he'd have to interview them all before they could be released back home.
The door opened, and an eager, almost excited, young sergeant popped his head through the glass-framed door. "Miss Penelope Perkins, sir." She walked in, very slowly. She looked muddle-headed, confused; a sheep lost from the pack; a fragile mouse in a vicious forest inhabited with merciless predators. Looking at the floor all the way, she took a seat on an opposing sofa. She wiped her face frequently with a hanky.
"Miss Perkins?" Constable Chart asked with a warm smile.
"We understand this must be a huge shock for you, Miss Perkins," Pry continued. Both sets of eyes were locked on her.
She finally looked up, revealing her mascara-draped face, it dripped and drooped down from her devestated eyes and onto her cheeks. The eyes were a sight of their own. They were very strained, bulging out of her face, red and weak, sore and tired. It was almost horrific. Chart had to look away for a moment before returning his gaze towards her.
"A shock?" she spluttered. "A shock?" She said it much louder this time. "It's not a shock it's a traumatization! My father...a great man...a great, wonderful, caring man whose had his neck wrangled like a wet towel and you call it a shock? It's - it's --"
"Please, calm down, Miss Perkins," soothed Pry, before taking a drag from his cigar.
She looked back down at the floor.
"We understand that some sort of party was being held here tonight. Is that correct?" Chart asked, pen ready.
"Yes," she looked up. "My father owns -- owned, a publishing company. You know, novels and the like. The company was in business for fifteen years today. This was a celebration. A birthday." Tears begun to well up in her eyes again.
"And everyone here," continued Chart, "was invited by your father to celebrate with him?"
"Yes. He considered them all good friends." A wave of rage swam over her face. She subdued it the best she could. "Sickening, really."
Pry gave an awkward grunt.
Chart begun again, "Had your father been on disfavourable terms with anyone here? Yes, they were all friends with him, but did someone recently have a bit of a fall-out with him?"
"Professor Plum," she said, her eyes suddenly wide and vibrant. "They are argued just the other day."
"What was the argument about?" Pry questioned, leaning forward.
"Plum had arrived -- he'd been away in America teaching for...oh, I don't know...about a year. Anyway, he suddenly arrived back in the village. He wanted to see my father about some sort of novel he'd written."
"A novel?"
"Yes, Inspector. My father does own a publishing company. They went into the study together for about...half an hour, forty-five minutes? Plum came storming out of the room, with his manuscript in his hand and he walked out. I assume daddy had declined admission for the publishing to go ahead. Plum has always been a bit of literature fan but his writing was never quite up to scratch, in my opinion. It's no wonder daddy refused him."
"He told you all this, did he?" Chart said, scribbling fast.
"No, actually he didn't. He never really discussed business with me that much. I just assume that's what the disagreement was about. The Professor has always been rather headstrong; not open to criticism in the slightest, I'm afraid. The argument had to be about that. What else could it have been about?"
The two men eyed eachother, their mind suddenly abuzz with thoughts, suspicions, possibilities.
"You really believe they were arguing about something else, don't you?" Miss Perkins stated as she folded her arms in disastifaction.
"Well, it is a possibility, certainly, Miss Perkins. You don't neccessarily argue with somebody because they won't publish your novel. A bit tedious, don't you think?" Chart suggested.
"No! As I told you, Julian is a very particular person! His narcissism is unbelievable at times! He'd get very easily offended if you so much as downcast his outfit let alone refuse his hard-worked-upon novel."
"Wait," chirped in Pry, "if Plum and your father had been fighting, then why did he still allow the Professor to come to the party?"
"I don't know. Daddy was odd like that. I just assumed they'd made up."
"You do a lot of assuming, don't you, Miss Perkins?" It was Chart who had caused the interviewee to go red.
"One had to with my father!" she protested. "He was a private man with a lot of things. It was all I could do to assume with him."
"How was your father behaving lately?" Pry asked. "Did he seem upset about anything? Scared, worried, angry? Anything like that?"
Penelope took a few seconds to compose her answer. "Well...he was shaken by the whole brick incident. But I don't think he'd been right for quite some time. He wasn't his usual self, I can say that much. Something was wrong. I have no idea what, though. Like I said earlier, he never told me anything."
"Can you think of anything to add, Miss Perkins? Anything at all you think might be relevant?" Pry asked, getting ready to see her out.
"No, I don't think so."
"Well, the sergeant outside will give you my private number in case you think of anything, alright?"
She nodded and got up, Pry following her out, rubbing her back in comfort. She looked at him before departing. "Please, find who did this, Inspector."
He continued to rub her shoulders. "Don't worry, Miss, we'll try our very best." She let out a sigh, trying to act as positive as possible. She left.
"Interesting. Interesting," Pry wallowed, swinging his arms as he sat back down. "What do you think?"
"I don't know, sir. I feel really sorry for her, you know."
"Don't get soft, Chart. You always feel sorry for the young ladies involved."
"Well, forgive me for having a heart."
Pry swallowed his pride. He had a heart too.
"Who should we go for next?" Chart asked, his eyes running up and down the list of suspects.
"Plum, obviously," Pry tutted before getting up again. "Come on." Chart gathered his things and followed.
8:50pm
The pair were now sat on an azure-tinted loveseat. Pry had just lit himself a Cuban cigar and was puffing on it aimlessly, unneccesarily. The anxiety was building...Chart had a notepad on his crossed legs, a fountain pen in his hand, ready to squiggle down every inch of information he could.
Pry had ordered all the guests to stay in the lounge. He didn't want to, but he knew that he'd have to interview them all before they could be released back home.
The door opened, and an eager, almost excited, young sergeant popped his head through the glass-framed door. "Miss Penelope Perkins, sir." She walked in, very slowly. She looked muddle-headed, confused; a sheep lost from the pack; a fragile mouse in a vicious forest inhabited with merciless predators. Looking at the floor all the way, she took a seat on an opposing sofa. She wiped her face frequently with a hanky.
"Miss Perkins?" Constable Chart asked with a warm smile.
"We understand this must be a huge shock for you, Miss Perkins," Pry continued. Both sets of eyes were locked on her.
She finally looked up, revealing her mascara-draped face, it dripped and drooped down from her devestated eyes and onto her cheeks. The eyes were a sight of their own. They were very strained, bulging out of her face, red and weak, sore and tired. It was almost horrific. Chart had to look away for a moment before returning his gaze towards her.
"A shock?" she spluttered. "A shock?" She said it much louder this time. "It's not a shock it's a traumatization! My father...a great man...a great, wonderful, caring man whose had his neck wrangled like a wet towel and you call it a shock? It's - it's --"
"Please, calm down, Miss Perkins," soothed Pry, before taking a drag from his cigar.
She looked back down at the floor.
"We understand that some sort of party was being held here tonight. Is that correct?" Chart asked, pen ready.
"Yes," she looked up. "My father owns -- owned, a publishing company. You know, novels and the like. The company was in business for fifteen years today. This was a celebration. A birthday." Tears begun to well up in her eyes again.
"And everyone here," continued Chart, "was invited by your father to celebrate with him?"
"Yes. He considered them all good friends." A wave of rage swam over her face. She subdued it the best she could. "Sickening, really."
Pry gave an awkward grunt.
Chart begun again, "Had your father been on disfavourable terms with anyone here? Yes, they were all friends with him, but did someone recently have a bit of a fall-out with him?"
"Professor Plum," she said, her eyes suddenly wide and vibrant. "They are argued just the other day."
"What was the argument about?" Pry questioned, leaning forward.
"Plum had arrived -- he'd been away in America teaching for...oh, I don't know...about a year. Anyway, he suddenly arrived back in the village. He wanted to see my father about some sort of novel he'd written."
"A novel?"
"Yes, Inspector. My father does own a publishing company. They went into the study together for about...half an hour, forty-five minutes? Plum came storming out of the room, with his manuscript in his hand and he walked out. I assume daddy had declined admission for the publishing to go ahead. Plum has always been a bit of literature fan but his writing was never quite up to scratch, in my opinion. It's no wonder daddy refused him."
"He told you all this, did he?" Chart said, scribbling fast.
"No, actually he didn't. He never really discussed business with me that much. I just assume that's what the disagreement was about. The Professor has always been rather headstrong; not open to criticism in the slightest, I'm afraid. The argument had to be about that. What else could it have been about?"
The two men eyed eachother, their mind suddenly abuzz with thoughts, suspicions, possibilities.
"You really believe they were arguing about something else, don't you?" Miss Perkins stated as she folded her arms in disastifaction.
"Well, it is a possibility, certainly, Miss Perkins. You don't neccessarily argue with somebody because they won't publish your novel. A bit tedious, don't you think?" Chart suggested.
"No! As I told you, Julian is a very particular person! His narcissism is unbelievable at times! He'd get very easily offended if you so much as downcast his outfit let alone refuse his hard-worked-upon novel."
"Wait," chirped in Pry, "if Plum and your father had been fighting, then why did he still allow the Professor to come to the party?"
"I don't know. Daddy was odd like that. I just assumed they'd made up."
"You do a lot of assuming, don't you, Miss Perkins?" It was Chart who had caused the interviewee to go red.
"One had to with my father!" she protested. "He was a private man with a lot of things. It was all I could do to assume with him."
"How was your father behaving lately?" Pry asked. "Did he seem upset about anything? Scared, worried, angry? Anything like that?"
Penelope took a few seconds to compose her answer. "Well...he was shaken by the whole brick incident. But I don't think he'd been right for quite some time. He wasn't his usual self, I can say that much. Something was wrong. I have no idea what, though. Like I said earlier, he never told me anything."
"Can you think of anything to add, Miss Perkins? Anything at all you think might be relevant?" Pry asked, getting ready to see her out.
"No, I don't think so."
"Well, the sergeant outside will give you my private number in case you think of anything, alright?"
She nodded and got up, Pry following her out, rubbing her back in comfort. She looked at him before departing. "Please, find who did this, Inspector."
He continued to rub her shoulders. "Don't worry, Miss, we'll try our very best." She let out a sigh, trying to act as positive as possible. She left.
"Interesting. Interesting," Pry wallowed, swinging his arms as he sat back down. "What do you think?"
"I don't know, sir. I feel really sorry for her, you know."
"Don't get soft, Chart. You always feel sorry for the young ladies involved."
"Well, forgive me for having a heart."
Pry swallowed his pride. He had a heart too.
"Who should we go for next?" Chart asked, his eyes running up and down the list of suspects.
"Plum, obviously," Pry tutted before getting up again. "Come on." Chart gathered his things and followed.
Lounge
9:00pm
The grandfather clock in the lounge chimed the hour. The hollow bongs bounced around the walls, forcing their way into everyone's ears. The door opened and Pry and Chart stood at the door.
"Plum? We'd like to see you next, please," Pry announced.
"Okey-dokey," he said, getting up and fastening the buttons of his purple blazer.
Chart surveyed the others. Miss Scarlet and Mr. Boddy sat next to eachother on the sofa, caressing eachother's hands in comfort. Colonel Mustard was stroking the fireplace. Mrs. Peacock and Doctor Black had been sat in the individual armchairs. Mrs. White was stood just by the door. Miss Peach was crying, hunched in the corner of the room, Monsieur Brunette, consoling her.
"Remind me to question those two next," Pry whispered to Chart, meaning Peach and Brunette.
They left, Plum following them. The other guests exchanged awkward glances.
9:00pm
The grandfather clock in the lounge chimed the hour. The hollow bongs bounced around the walls, forcing their way into everyone's ears. The door opened and Pry and Chart stood at the door.
"Plum? We'd like to see you next, please," Pry announced.
"Okey-dokey," he said, getting up and fastening the buttons of his purple blazer.
Chart surveyed the others. Miss Scarlet and Mr. Boddy sat next to eachother on the sofa, caressing eachother's hands in comfort. Colonel Mustard was stroking the fireplace. Mrs. Peacock and Doctor Black had been sat in the individual armchairs. Mrs. White was stood just by the door. Miss Peach was crying, hunched in the corner of the room, Monsieur Brunette, consoling her.
"Remind me to question those two next," Pry whispered to Chart, meaning Peach and Brunette.
They left, Plum following them. The other guests exchanged awkward glances.
Ballroom
9:05pm
"Please, take a seat, Professor," Pry instructed as he closed the door behind him. Plum did just that and the two detectives re-seated themselves on the couch that they were on before.
"Aren't I lucky? Being the first of us to be interviewed outside of Penelope. I'm very honoured, detectives." He was smarmy, with a wry smile plastered over his cool face.
"The reason we wanted to speak to you first, Professor Plum," said Chart, "is because of a certain argument you had with Mr. Perkins days before his death."
"Oh, that. I thought you wanted to know something serious," he chuckled. "Ah, it was nothing. He refused my novel, that's all. I got pretty hot-headed, I admit. Might have said something I regret. Looking back, it all seems really stupid now."
"How long have you known Mr. Perkins?" Pry questioned.
"Dunno. A while, to say the least. It's small village, Inspector, one gets to know one another fairly well, fairly quickly."
"But you've only just come back to the village, Professor," Pry reminded. "Don't you think it's just a little bit fishy he dies soon after you return?"
"Look, I didn't do it!" Plum protested with a grin. "You can ask Miss Perkins. I was with her all evening helping her tidy up the kitchen."
9:05pm
"Please, take a seat, Professor," Pry instructed as he closed the door behind him. Plum did just that and the two detectives re-seated themselves on the couch that they were on before.
"Aren't I lucky? Being the first of us to be interviewed outside of Penelope. I'm very honoured, detectives." He was smarmy, with a wry smile plastered over his cool face.
"The reason we wanted to speak to you first, Professor Plum," said Chart, "is because of a certain argument you had with Mr. Perkins days before his death."
"Oh, that. I thought you wanted to know something serious," he chuckled. "Ah, it was nothing. He refused my novel, that's all. I got pretty hot-headed, I admit. Might have said something I regret. Looking back, it all seems really stupid now."
"How long have you known Mr. Perkins?" Pry questioned.
"Dunno. A while, to say the least. It's small village, Inspector, one gets to know one another fairly well, fairly quickly."
"But you've only just come back to the village, Professor," Pry reminded. "Don't you think it's just a little bit fishy he dies soon after you return?"
"Look, I didn't do it!" Plum protested with a grin. "You can ask Miss Perkins. I was with her all evening helping her tidy up the kitchen."
To be continued...
