The Body In The Rose Garden

Part One.

Someone Came Creeping In The Shadows Deep And Dark.

Mister Collier looked about the grounds of the West Oakland Retirement Community. He had been the gardener since the day it opened. He had built and planted all twelve of the flower gardens and spread the seeds for the lawns. He had even planted ten young oak trees that were now well over twenty feet tall.

He was celebrating his twenty-fifth anniversary as the resident gardener which no one else noticed. But that didn’t matter. It was all about the grounds and the beauty he created, and, the job came with a private cottage alongside the river, a little apart from the rows of townhouses and two apartment towers.

It was his habit in the late evening, during the gardening seasons, to make one last round to make sure everything was in good order. He called it picket duty, a term he had picked up in his army days. It was almost like he was putting the flowers and trees to bed. Along the way, he greeted the tenants who might be out for an evening stroll. “Good evening Mrs. Ruth or Mr. Malcolm, Daisey, Mathew, Gerald, always using their proper given name. Now and then he would stop and have a tea with Mrs. Wilma, or a little snort with Mr. Carson, but mostly he just passed by with a wave and a smile.

Many of his flowers had names that once belonged to tenants that had gone on their way. “Good night Marty, I hope you are comfortable, and Mable, was that cat of yours waiting for you and his favourite, “Well Sam I hope you rode off into the sunset just like an old cowboy.” Sam always said he had been a real cowboy once upon a time.

The evening sky of July first grew gray with dark rolling clouds. The rain came in fits and starts and flashes of sharp-edged lightning cut across the sky followed by deep, growling thunder, rumbling from somewhere behind the clouds. 

Mr. Collier, not being one to renege on his duties, donned his sou’wester hat, put on his full-length raincoat, pulled on his wellington rubber boots, and went out to inspect his gardens. He did not expect to find anyone else out in such weather.

He made his way around the gardens and under the trees with a light step and a quiet hum of a song he liked about singing in the rain. Then as he inspected the Mums he saw that someone had tromped through the garden, but not just one. There were two sets of prints, one heavy and one light, and both seemed to be running. It seemed the heavy ones were following the lighter ones. It was just luck that they had not trampled the flowers. After grumbling some admonishment, Mr. Collier leaned down and scuffed up the garden soil, erasing the footprints. Then he moved on to the petunia patch and again he spied the footprints only this time the flowers had been crushed.

“Who would be so careless. He cried out as he tried to repair the damage.

When the repairs were done he moved on to the wild garden and was horrified when he saw that the person with the light step had taken a fall and crushed a huge swatch of wildflowers.

He cursed and nearly cried.

After doing his best to fix them he moved on preparing himself for another disaster, but as he approached the corner of a town house he heard voices. Angry voices. Voices he should not have heard. Maybe…if he had just walked off into the night things would have turned out different.

Mr. Collier halted abruptly. His ear perked up:

The man said: I told you if you don’t keep it up I’ll turn you in. All the paper work leads to. The money trail goes straight to your name.

The Woman said: But you have been blackmailing me from the start. I never wanted to do this. That boy that died wasn’t my fault and it was a long time ago.

The Man replied, A long time a go doesn’t matter. Murder is murder and if I tell the police what I know they will open the investigation again and this time they might think you killed that kid to shut him up.

The woman said angrily, “I don’t care anymore. Do what ever you are going to do. I am not stealing from the home anymore. In fact I am going to confess.

Mr. Collier saw the woman run away then, but all he saw was a shadowy figure. Still. He knew who she was. He thought the man had gone off the other way.

Mr. Collier stepped around the corner.

The morning mist floated away in gossamer strands as Evy, Marli, Bea and Cherry settled around their patio table that was always bathed in the morning sunlight. Their husbands were off to the club for a round of golf. Tonya Blake who was the director of the gym club was spear heading the West Oakland Retirement Community Walking Club’s morning jaunt that followed the winding trail of the cobblestone walkways. A town bus pulled into the drive and a dozen residents climbed aboard. It was museum day for those who wanted to participate.

A few minutes later Edie, a dining room server delivered the ladies tea and chat group their pots of tea and biscuits. The ritual had begun on Victoria Day, as most elderly folks still called the holiday. The club met every day except on rain days and Sundays. Sundays at the Community had by natural forces become family day for most residents, at least for those who had families.

Evy noted as her eyes panned the lawn and garden that stretched out nearly an acre toward the street. “I don’t see Mr. Collier this morning.”

Edie smiled and replied, “Mr. Collier always takes the day after Canada Day off. He says the activities celebrating the country’s birthday is always busy and he needs to recuperate.”

Marli said. “I did not see him on his evening rounds last night. Maybe we wore him out yesterday. There was an awful lot of cleaning up to do.”

Bea put in, “I saw him just after supper time. He was carrying a garbage bag to the trash bins and the place looked neat as a pin.”

Milly Banders, who was considered young and spry at sixty seven jogged by. She was wearing a baby blue track suit with pink jogging shoes with white laces.

She offered a pert little nod and smile as she passed by the tea-table. It was a gait that feigned jogging but it was more like exaggerated walking. She always seemed a little smug about her energy and said she couldn’t understand why others didn’t join in.

Evy said, “She’ll drop dead of a heart attack someday. It happens all the time to people who don’t know when their body is getting worn out and keep pushing it.”

Bea was saying, “Maybe she thinks she’d get old if…” as Milly turned the corner at the end of a row of town houses, but she didn’t get a chance to finish.

Sudden Milly Banders’ screams ripped through the morning air as she backed around the corner into sight, with her hands vicing her head.

The four ladies of the Tea and Chat club were on their feet and rushing toward Milly in seconds. It was Evy who peaked around the corner to see what had shocked Milly into her devil’s scream.

Evy turned and said breathlessly, “Oh my. It’s a body. Its Ellen Shippers from the office.” Then everyone took a peak around the corner and would have gone for a closer look had Evy not had the sense to tell them to stay back. But Marli managed a closer look, screamed, and fainted. Later they couldn’t get her to stop sobbing and muttering, “Oh dear. Oh my.”

She said, “That’s what they say on those police shows. Don’t contaminate the crime scene.” And everyone agreed.

Bea was already on her cell-phone calling…911. She explained, “We need the police at the West Oakland Retirement Community. We have found a body in Mr. Collier’s Rose Garden.

Part Two

At The Scene Of The Crime

Victor Trunk sneered at his desk like it was an intruder, a messy intruder with an in and out file basket piled so high they could fall over at the slightest provocation, and that was after two days of heavy slogging to catch up on the paperwork.

He had been a police detective for twelve years, climbing the ranks and pay scale until he got the private office with a silver plate that read Detective Inspector Victor Trunk. In all that time he had never come across that case, the case, the one that identifies. From the traffic incident investigator, the vice squad, and the final homicide it had all been routine and paperwork. It seemed criminals had absolutely no imagination, especially murderers.

But he always remembered the words of his mentor when he was assigned to homicide, “look, son, most of the juicy murders never surface because no one knows there’s been a murder. All the rest are cut and dried killings and all we do is put it all on paper so the lawyers can thrash out who is going to get what. And believe me, kid, whodunits that do come across your desk are not fun and exciting, they are aggravating and get you in trouble from the brass, the media, and the public when it takes longer than a TV show to solve it.”

He couldn’t argue. He had followed several of her cases that proved nearly impossible to solve but in the end, she always seemed to find the loose end to the gordian knot, but seldom before the onslaught of critics pushed most of her buttons to distraction.

When the desk phone rang he nearly jumped. It hardly ever did. He snatched it up and listened then dropped the receiver into the cradle and muttered, “Careful what you wish for. You might get it.”

Victor Trunk arrive at West Oakland Retirement Community just in time to get a quick look at the body in the rose garden. His sergeant met him with a grim face and a dark tone in his voice.

“It’s not just a suspicious death now. It's definitely murder. When they rolled the body over the techs found a needle in her back. The coroner said it went straight between the ribs and into the heart. She probably died instantly or nearly so. Her name is Ellen Shippers. She works in the accounting office here. Apparently, she is responsible for the rental payments.”

Victor Trunk replied thoughtfully, almost cheerfully as well, “Let me guess. No witnesses.”

Sergeant Grant explained, “None, but the coroner thinks she was killed around ten to twelve hours ago after most people here would have gone to bed. And you might be interested to know that Jerry Collier, the Gardener is nowhere to be found.”

“Hardly. I am right here.” Mr. Collier came strolling up from the direction of his cottage.

“I just got home. I went out early this morning. I had planned on a day off until I got a call from Mrs. Rackson, the property manager. She said there was trouble, then broke the news about Ellen. I hurried back because I know something you might want to know.”

Inspector Trunk said, “Are you a witness to the crime?”

Collier answered, “Not exactly but what I did witness might be related.”

The Inspector said, “Ok. Sergeant Grant. Take Mr. Collier’s statement please and before you go, is there anything I need to talk to the coroner about?”

Sergeant Grant thought for a few seconds then answered, “No. I passed on what he knows so for and that was just an estimation.”

An hour later Inspector Trunk found the sergeant examining the ground all around the rose garden. He started tracing his way back to the wild garden when the Inspector caught up to him.

“What do you have Andy.” Trunk asked.

Sergeant Grant paused his search and regarded his notebook then answered, “Collier had quite a story to tell.” Then he relayed the gardener's statement.

Then he said, “So now we know there were two sets of footprints, one most likely belonging to the victim and there other belonging to a male. Collier saw the male and could pick him out again but he had never seen the man before. Collier described the man as being tall, heavy set, with a swarthy complexion and dark eyes. He had thick closely-knit eyebrows and a wide flat forehead. Black or really dark brown hair.”

Inspector Trunk replied, “Doesn’t sound like someone who would use a knitting needle.”

“You mean you think there was someone else here last evening and it was a woman.” Sergeant Grant suggested.

“At this point Andy, anything is possible. It's not time to focus on any one point yet. Lets just gather all the information first. Then we will start sorting it out. Right now we need a place to do interviews and conduct our investigation on site. Go find the Manager of The Complex and arrange that.”

“There are 1500 tenants Inspector. How do we interview that many?”

“You can start by eliminating all the ones who were sleeping Sergeant Grant, which might be the majority. But I would start with the four ladies who belong to the Tea and Chat Club.”

“Wouldn’t that be relying on gossip Sir?”

Inspector Trunk snickered and replied, “Like she always said Sergeant: “Don’t discount gossip and lies. They are often based on a thread of truth.”

An hour later one of the complex common rooms was set up as a situation room with constables stationed at the doors, a situation board, and an interview table in place. The sergeant was assigned to doing most of the preliminary interviews melting the fifteen hundred potential witnesses down to the few most likely to have any pertinent information.

Sergeant Grant had always know who ‘She’ was. Anyone who had ever passed through the world of law enforcement knew of her, knew the legend, but he had never met or even seen her.

“Violet Cambridge.” She introduced herself as she settled into the witness chair.

****

Andy Grant looked up abruptly and stared in awe. He didn’t know what to expect if he ever did meet her, but he wasn’t expecting a robust energetic character who probably stood inches taller than him, even with an elderly stoop in the shoulders, and outweighing him by several pounds. Mostly, as she had approached the chair he noted that there was nothing old about her gait or those keen, sharp, dissecting, blue eyes ‘She’ was noted for, mostly by Inspector Trunk.

“When she looks at you it’s like ‘She’ knows absolutely everything you are thinking And can pick the lie out of your brain before you tell it.”

Sergeant Grant managed to escape his awe and make his first query, “Do have anything to offer about the incident that has occurred.” He chose the question carefully just to find out if Miss Violet Cambridge was even aware of the incident.

Violet Cambridge smiled and replied, “I have already had a long conversation with your boss Sergeant. I probably know as much as you do but I have nothing to offer directly. I do know there was tension among the people who run the community and that the victim was at the centre of these concerns.”

“So you have been conducting an investigation even though you are no longer a police officer.” Grant challenged.

“You bet your cute little badge Sergeant. This is my home and I noticed something about it is amiss from the moment I arrived. I must admit though I did not anticipate murder and I am not entirely sure Ellen’s death has anything to do with these internal affairs.”

“Have you interfered with this investigation?” Sergeant Grant tried desperately to maintain his authority.

“Of course I have Sergeant. Now try asking me the right question and I will be glad to enlighten you. Otherwise, I will be on my merry way.” Miss Violet replied cheerfully.

Sergeant Grant thought for a few seconds then asked, “Ok. What have you discovered?”

“Good Sergeant. Come with me and I will point out a few details that appear to have been overlooked.”

“The Inspector knows all about this doesn’t he?” Sergeant Grant replied cautiously.

“Of course. He knows enough to rely on all available resources.”

Part Three

Ellen Shippers

In a company as massive as Magnolia National Seniors Retirement Communities Enterprises one speck of dust floating about goes unnoticed. Ellen Shippers was that speck though in her own small way she had been entrusted with the movement of large sums of money. She was also very adept when it came to computers and what they could be used for. Not that that was her intention when she took the job of Accounting for West Oakland Retirement Community. She was just glad to come out of college and drop into a great job, though at first, she was just one of three bookkeepers. It took 12 years to climb the ladder to the managing position. And life was good, a thousand times better than she ever hoped for considering her disturbing beginnings while struggling into adulthood.

She was settled, happy, and active in her hobbies, with no intent or even desire to become Mrs. So and so or have any other relationship or partner in life. In fact, the idea of intimacy was appalling beyond a smile and a handshake. Numbers were her passion second to nothing but she enjoyed history…mostly of ancient nature. She adored museums. For some reason, they were…intimately embracive.

Then one early morning on her way to work taking her usual morning coffee at Café La Flora the last face she ever wanted to see again stood at the order counter. It did not acknowledge her in any way but in a sense that was even worse. The faces invoked ancient memories and wounds, ones she had believed had been long buried and healed. But at that moment she realized they had only been buried, neatly tucked away in some memory archive waiting for the chance to emerge.

Ellen lowered her eyes and stared into the darkness of her coffee, once a rich black delight but suddenly becoming a holograph of the most horrifying time and event in her life.

It was that summer between middle and high school.

Trevor Moshlyn was the boy’s boy, handsome, fit, blue-eyed, and blond. There was no doubt he would grow into a man’s man, masculine, athletic, daring, dashing, and ambitious. Of course he excelled in sports but did well in academic studies which were unusual in the day. He was also destined to inherit Moshlyn Enterprises a major manufacturing firm.

But no one saw the underside, the side that was dark and dangerous, the side that endured the abrasive ridicule that came from a mother who wanted a gentle son, not a manly one. One that would be Momma’s boy forever. No one seemed to notice the red splotches on his face that lasted hours after being slapped because he wouldn’t cuddle.

There was a rumor that when his mother had to be rushed to the hospital after falling down the stairs it was not an accident. Nothing was ever proved but his mother never went home again and a divorce followed. By the last year of middle school with most of the kids now thirteen or fourteen Trevor was a force to be reckoned with but it was a force with very dark underlying currents. He was cold and had a mean streak in him when triggered. Most of his female teachers were cautious around him.

The shock that summer between middle school and high school turned the town into a den of mistrust and accusations. The local paper’s headline read, ‘Star Athlete Disappears.’ Trevor Moshlyn has vanished off the face of the earth.

There was a major search for him that lasted well into the next school year but he was never found and had remained a mysterious disappearance down through the years.

Ellen Shippers had once complained about Trevor harassing her, trying to get her to do things she didn’t want to do. They had dated for a short time before the end of grade eight but by mid-July they were estranged. But the night before Trevor disappeared Ellen had agreed to meet with him at the café everyone hung out at.

After meeting they went off on their own toward the woods at the edge of town.

All through the search and investigation of Trevor’s disappearance, she was a person of serious interest but without a shred of evidence the police could not even seriously question her. A boy named John Lewinsen had told the police he had seen Trevor later that evening and Ellen had rejoined the group by then.

It wasn’t quite a lie, just a half-truth. John had seen Ellen in the woods but not Trevor. Then later they met up at the café.

Ellen had never asked why John had lied.

Ellen looked up at the clock. She had gotten so lost in the memory that it made her late for work. She glanced around for the face she had seen that sparked the memory and decided after a minute it was just her guilty conscience that made the face look familiar.

Quickly she gathered her things and hurried to her car. When she got there she found a piece of paper folded under the windshield wiper. “Hello, Ellen. We need to talk.”

Ellen stuffed the note in her pocket and then drove to work, now fifteen minutes late. She had never been late before.

Ellen sat at her desk staring blankly at the wall. All she could see was the body floating down the river. She knew it was Trevor but she couldn’t remember how he got there. She wished the memory had stayed buried forever.

Several days passed uneventfully, then, one day when she arrived home she found another note taped to her door. “Come to the park tonight. We’ll talk. You owe me”

Ellen slipped down memory lane again, to that night she had gone into the woods with Trevor. He was nice at first, apologetic. Then he wanted a kiss and make-up. He touched where she didn’t want to be touched. She pushed him away but instead of him backing up she fell and hit her head. When she woke up she saw someone, a girl running away, deeper into the woods. Then she saw Trevor’s body floating down the river. He was face up so she could see his cold dead face. At least it looked dead.

Ellen remembered John’s thick eyebrows. They were even thicker now and darker. She remembered how flat his forehead always looked and how he seemed too stalky for his height, “Almost apish,” she had thought at the time. All through high school he had befriended her but never once suggested they should date. Ellen never wanted to date anyone anyway, but she always thought of John Lewinsen as a friend. Why he had lied for her had stopped mattering, and he always seemed to be there when she needed someone to be there, like a big brother. The last thing she ever expected was for him to show up years later demanding blackmail money, more than even her generous salary could provide.

“I know you have access to millions. Skimming a little off here and there won’t get noticed if you just find all those half cents that seem to disappear into the system. I know you can find them and it would go unnoticed if they just went deeper into cyber nowhere.” Me.”

“I don’t know how to do that John.”

“Well you better find out or I will tell the police about what I saw that night. I saw you and I saw Trevor’s body floating down the river.”

“But there was someone else in the woods that night.”

“Not that I saw,” John replied in a hissing tone, but Ellen sensed his lie. She knew he had seen more. A lot more.

“I want money. As much as you can scrounge from cyberspace. Find a way. In the meantime, I’ll take some from your salary to keep me quiet for now.”

Part Four

 The Undiscovered Clues

Miss Violet, as she had become to be known around the community had also made a name for herself for solving small mysteries, like the disappearance of Joby, Mr. Andrews's teacup pouch, which she found alive and well though thoroughly frightened down the stairwell from the outside into the rubbish chute room of the North Highrise. He had escaped his leash and fallen down the stairs which were to high for him to climb out. Miss Violet simply tuned her concentration to sounds. “A dog no matter how small will bark incessantly when in distress.”

When Ellen’s body was found in the rose garden and murdered the tenants of West Oakland Retirement Community naturally turned to her to solve the mystery. Most knew that she had once been a police inspector.

Whether out of boredom or police instincts Violet edged her way into the investigation by lightly stroking her last underling’s ego and offering some good old-fashioned mentor’s advice. And since this was Inspector Trunk’s first real whodunit case he accepted all the help he could get. A mere five hours into the case had left him a little perplexed. “Sometimes the simplest things get complicated by too much information when most of the information has nothing to do with the case or is misinformation by chance or design. And people see things wrong or lie. And most importantly, more often than not we overlook the most important information and clues because we become too focused on one point and forget to look at the big picture, the sights, and scenes on the peripheral outside the police tape.”

Violet Cambridge examined the crime scene with ancient experience. She studied each numbered marker and checked them off the list she had acquired from Steven Lows, head of the Crime Scene Team. As always the examination of the scene was meticulous but there was very little telltale information. It was all just so much paperwork that would get filed away. The parts that were important were already separated and designated for delivery to the Crowns office, when applicable.

Violet considered what she knew as fact. The statement of Mr. Collier being the most informative.

She read that over carefully tucked all the paperwork back into her satchel and let her attention stray in the direction Ellen had run off in when she fled from the man with the neanderthal eyebrows. Violet always put things in a perspective that was handy and sometimes dotted with humour. She called it comic relief in the midst of tragedy. “It helps us cope with the treacheries of the job.”

“If the victim ran away, toward the street how did she end up back here in the rose garden?’

Inspector Trunk who had been wandering about trying to mimic his mentor turned and said, “Indeed. Why would you run back into the arms of a tormentor?”

Violet Cambridge replied thoughtfully, “I think our Neanderthal suspect had already departed just like Mr. Collier explained. Collier had gone off as well or he would have seen what happened next. Let's take a walk that way.” She pointed at an oak tree several dozen feet toward the street. Then she started off with her eyes on the ground.

“Ah. Here is a footprint, obviously feminine given the nature of the heel mark. Narrow and moderately high, though not like those fancy spike heels some women wear.”

A few seconds later Violet stopped again having found another.

She said in a moment of eureka. “And here’s another. The span suggests she was running.”

They were a few feet from the tree when Violet saw that Ellen had turned abruptly on one heel, tearing up the turn noticeably. Then she saw the heel marks retracing their own steps.

While Violet was examining this detail Inspector Trunk looked around the tree.

Suddenly he said, “Inspector Cambridge. Look here. What do you make of this?”

Violet joined him and immediately said, “A clue. Someone here and that someone was a smoker.”

She removed a pair of tweezers from a pocket in her satchel and picked a butt from the grass and examined it closely. “A woman. One who wears natural colour lipstick.”

Quickly she pulled out a plastic bag from the same satchel pocket and gathered the remainder of the three cigarette butts. Then, with a concentrated enthusiasm, began searching the turf around the tree. A minute later she announced. “Here is a new foot print, too small to be male I think unless, of course, the male was small, but I doubt it.”

“Your guessing?” Trunk teased.

“An experienced guess, not to mention again the lipstick on the cigarette but.”

“Of course. I forgot the sequence of discovery.” Trunk nodded.

Violet Cambridge replied, “Now let’s retrace our steps and see if the smoker followed Ellen back to the rose garden.”

They didn’t find any more footprints belonging to the smoker, not until they meticulously examined the footprints in the soil of the garden.

Things had been pretty much turned up but just as Violet was about to give it up, just on the edge, partly in the grass she found one that matched the smokers.

“I do believe, despite our Neanderthal being involved in a related crime he did not murder Ellen. The smoker did. Now, all we have to do is identify her.”

“We will have to look into the past of the victim who it seems might not be who she seems.” Trunk suggested.

“I will leave that in your capable hands and remember, not many people are who they seem. We see only what they want us to see, even you and I Inspector.” Violet replied amusedly.

Violet Cambridge was a city girl. She was born in the heart of the city and knew the world to be made up of concrete and glass broken by patches of green called parks. In between the cities was the outside where things grew because farmers planted them, where stock animals were herded for milk and meat.

West Oakland Retirement Community was somewhere in between and somehow didn’t quite fit in even though it was an integral gear in the engine of society. But for some reason that one little patch of roses seemed to her to have been utterly independent of all she knew and the white paint that was sprayed on it to outline the corpse was in itself a crime. A crime against nature but mostly a crime against Mr. Collier who spent his days and evenings caring for this wonderful pocket of green in the sea of concrete and glass.

She said out loud, “It wasn’t necessary to destroy our beauty.”

“Don’t blame them Inspector Cambridge. Blame whoever killed that young woman. The paint only got there because of a murder.” The voice of Mr. Collier filtered in. “I can fix it. No one can fix Ellen, but you will fix the crime. I know it.”

“Violet turned to look at the man. She replied, “I’m just an old lady now Mr. Collier. My day is done but maybe I can help this new generation solve this mystery.”

Mr. Collier knelt down in the garden with a pair of scissors and carefully began pruning the paint away. “I suppose I am not supposed to do this yet but…Hey, wait. What is this? Why it’s a ring.”

Violet accepted the ring, brushed it off, and examined it. “It’s a high school ring. Tiltburtson High.”

Part Five

Sergeant Grants Report

The Man With The Close-Knit Eyebrows.

When people are not aware of certain circumstances and incidents but are burdened by wrongdoing, however, it is connected or disconnected to the incident they tend to be oblivious that they are in danger of being disclosed for their indiscretion.

John Lewinsen was not a career criminal and blackmail was not something he would have considered had things been different. But they weren’t different. The fact was he was in a tough place, down and out in a city that had promised a better life than being nothing in Tiltburtson but proved to be a rather two-faced friend.

He arrived in the city with a suitcase and a good job, a room in a boarding house with his eyes on a nice little apartment.

Things went well for a few months but suddenly his boss pulled the rug out from under him by laying him off saying that John was not up to the job. The truth was different. The boss wanted the job for someone else even though John was more than adequate.

But none of that really matters. What did matter be John was out of a job and by the time he was running out of the money he had saved to let an apartment he was evicted from his room and living on the streets. He tried to get assistance but he didn’t have enough time.

Then one day he saw Ellen Shippers going into a café.

The mind can be treacherous when a person is desperate. He remembered how much he had loved Ellen a long time ago and how he had lied to save her. His lie though was twofold. He lied to the police about what he saw, which was actually very little. He saw Ellen coming out of the woods. That’s it, but he was certain she had done something terrible but did not want to see her get in trouble. So he manufactured a story to fit…and it had worked. He lied to himself that Ellen would be so thankful she would agree to be his girl.

Then Ellen went away to the city and never came back and John was distraught with grief. He simply could never settle until his grief turned into anger and anger turned to hate. So when he saw Ellen and found out what she worked at he devised a plan to get revenge and to make some money as well. Hence the Blackmail and he was clever enough to do it so no matter what it could never come back on him. All the money she stole went into a special bank account, one that did not bear his name but which he had access to.

All was going well until Ellen had had enough and had decided she must get rid of John. She had learned what had happened to Trevor the night he disappeared and though it was murder the killer had been discovered a few years later, which has nothing to do with this case.

After John began Blackmailing Ellen she returned to Tiltburtson and spoke with the police. That is how she learned she was no longer a suspect. After that, she turned on John.

The evening, the night she died she gave John some money and told him it was done, that he could go to the police if he wanted but then he would have to confess to blackmail. I suppose Mr. Collier didn’t hear that part, or if he did, didn’t recall.

The rest you know already.

Inspector Trunk and Violet Cambridge listened to Sergeant Grants report silently. There was not much to say. He had done a good job as far as it went.

“What do we do about John Lewinsen? He has confessed to blackmailing and was near the scene of the crime around the time Ellen Shippers was murdered. But we have no direct evidence except what he admitted to.” Sergeant Grant said.

“We will let others decide that Sergeant. It will be examined when you submit your report to the CA. We have to concern ourselves with the moment and at the moment we are back to square one with no witnesses and only two more mysteries. Who the smoker is and who owns the signet ring?

***

Eyes in the shadow of evening watched the scene between the man and woman meeting clandestinely near the rose garden. They glinted in the light of the cigarette lighter. She drew in the smoke and let it out slowly. It was her third. She was smoking quickly not wanting to be away too long.

She was almost done when the woman from the rose garden started toward the tree she was hiding behind. She was desperate not to be found out. She didn’t want the world to know she was a closet smoker.

Just before Ellen got to the tree the smoker stepped out. Their eyes met. Ellen turned and ran back toward the garden. The smoker jogged after her, not really a jog but a fast exaggerated walk. She didn’t want Ellen to tell on her. All she meant to do was plead with her.

Ellen stop. “Please don’t tell anyone. I’ll quit smoking.” She was nearly crying.

Ellen smiled at the woman and said, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe. I like to take a puff myself now and then.” Then she took a step backward.

Milly Banders squealed as Ellen fell straight back, “Be careful.” But it was too late. Then, going to help Ellen up she saw that Ellen wasn’t moving. She just laid there staring into night through cold dead eyes.

Milly ran and didn’t stop until she was in her apartment on the second floor of the south tower. All that night she paced until finally, she decided what to do.

The next morning she went for her usual jog after no one had reported finding a body. What better way to hide the truth than by discovering the dead body. In the end when it finally became her time to be interviewed she confessed what had happen.

“If you would have come forward sooner Ms. Banders it would have saved us a lot of man-hours.” Inspector Trunk scolded.

“I was afraid you would arrest me for murder. After all she did step backwards after I confronted her. Maybe she would have just gone by and none of this would have happened.” Milly replied tearfully.

“The real question is now what about the needle and the ring if she died as Milly has described. It seems to have been an accident, a very freakish accident but an accident nonetheless.” Sergeant Grant said ponderously.

Part Six

Sometimes Things Aren’t What They seem

The four ladies of the Lady’s Tea and Chat Club gathered at their usual table and started into a dialogue about how the death of Ellen Shippers had all been a tragic accident. The conversation had come around to Marli when Edie the server came with their tea and biscuits. Marli breathed a sigh of relief and when the conversation started again she said nothing and let Bea have another say.

“It is strange that there was a knitting needle in the rose garden and the police, that Inspector Trunk and out Miss Violet are talking to everyone again. Miss Violet said that even though it is no longer considered a murder they can't leave any loose ends. “Once you have discovered the loose end of the Gordian Knot you simply have to pull it and unravel the mystery.” She said.

“I don’t think it is necessary. Sometimes an accident is just a freakish thing. Maybe Ellen was carrying a knitting needle and fell on it.” Marli said nervously.

Violet Cambridge’s voice crept up from behind Marli. She had just come out the patio doors when Marli was talking. “Hardly. If she had it would most like have been in her chest not her back and Milly it did not mention anything about a needle in her statement.”

“Do you know what happened?” Bea enquired.

“Not yet but I will soon. May I join you for tea?” Violet requested. Then she added, “Since it was a knitting needle the inquiry obviously needed to turn to the Knitting Club so I went to talk to Elma Menssy. She didn’t have much to offer except there were nine ladies in the Knitting club at the moment. We are going around talking to them. I understand you were among the knitters but stepped down a few weeks ago Marli.”

Marli replied sharply. “I was but got tired of the politics so I quit. I much prefer the Tea Club. We are so much more sensible and open.”

Bea noted. “Yes but you’ve always knitted here.”

Marli began to cry and sob. “Oh, dear. Oh my. It’s a terrible thing. I am a murderess. I killed Ellen. Not on purpose and I wasn’t even there but I killed her…I mean my needle killed her.”

Violet said softly. “It was an accident Marli. No one is accusing anyone of murder, but if you know something you should tell.”

Just then Inspector Trunk came to speak with Miss Violet. Violet said, “Shhhh. Marli is about to pull the string on the gordian knot. Go ahead Marli. Tell us what happened.

Marli sobbed. “It’s a stupid thing really.” I was walking and knitting and inadvertently tromped through Mr. Colliers rose garden. I completely crushed one of the younger sprouts. I mean I bent its branch over badly. It was the afternoon before Ellen was killed. Mr. Collier had already done his morning rounds. So I stuck my needle in the ground and wound the rose branch around it as a temporary fix until I could tell Mr. Collier what happened, but I did not see him again that day.”

Violet replied thoughtfully. “And that night Ellen fell into the garden and landed on the needle which went straight through her heart.”

“We will need an official statement but I doubt anything will come of it. It was indeed just a terrible accident.”

“Did anyone find Ellen’s ring? She always wore it. It was a high school signet ring. I notice she wasn’t wearing it the day she…” Evy noted.

“Yes and thanks for pulling that thread.” Inspector Trunk replied with a sigh of relief.