City of Light (City of Mystery) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Kim Wright
over time was
my own invention. Admirable job, each of you.”
He did not have to
add “At least as much of it as there was,” for Gerry immediately fell to guilt,
as she was apt to do.
“Next time I promise
I won’t step in all your lovely splatters,” she said. “I know I made a muddle
–“
“Never fear,
Geraldine. You open your home to us each week, providing superior food and
wine, as well as your own very pleasing brand of hospitality. You could waltz
your way through a hundred bloodstains and your honorary standing in the Murder
Club would not be in jeopardy.”
“I’m the one who
should be sorry,” Emma said. “I was a proper fool of a girl, wasn’t I? Screaming
and fleeing and unable to remember a thing.”
“You were startled,
dear,” Gerry said, patting her hand.
“But crime strikes
unexpectedly, Gerry, that’s Trevor’s whole point,” Emma said. It was clear she
was still somewhat agitated by the manner in which she gripped her teacup and
the way her eyes darted around the table, settling on no one. “A suspect does
not walk towards you slowly in broad daylight wearing a placard that reads ‘Criminal.’
They come in the dark, moving fast, often having taken pains to conceal their
identity. Is that why he was wearing makeup?”
“I’m sorry to say
that particular fantastical touch wasn’t my idea,” Trevor told her. He smiled
with what he hoped was assurance, but her eyes had already moved on to Tom.
“But you’ve left us
guessing,” Tom was saying. “Why did the criminal wipe the knife and place it
so carefully back into the block?”
“I haven’t the
slightest idea,” Trevor said, dabbing up the last bit of soup with a crust. “I
was hoping one of you could tell me. The scene is precisely as Rayley
described it. A respectable French family in a better part of town, a cook and
a maid in the kitchen just after six in the evening. The maid moves into the
pantry to retrieve some item or another, and while she is gone a man rushes
into the kitchen, uses the knife on the cutting board to kill the cook, wipes
it clean, and replaces it with the other cutlery. She reenters just as he is
leaving but she doesn’t recognize the man. Question one: why would a thief
enter a kitchen at an hour when he would almost certainly encounter people in
the process of preparing the evening meal?”
“Perhaps he was not
a thief,” Davy said promptly. “We went straight to that assumption, without
much evidence to support it.”
“Then what was the
motive?” Trevor asked.
“Could have been
someone from the cook’s past,” Davy said, his voice a little more speculative. “A
man who bore him a personal grudge.”
“If confrontation
was his aim then why would he show up without a weapon?” Emma asked. “He
seemed to grab the bread knife on impulse, and, as you say, it’s hardly a
weapon of first choice for someone bent on murder.”
“And why wipe it
down after he used it?” Tom said, putting his elbows on the table and leaning
in. “I’m sorry to sound redundant but I find that the most puzzling part of our
little experiment. The knife was already out, being used to slice bread. Why
not simply return it to the cutting board?”
“He feared the
police could find fingerprints on the weapon?” Emma guessed.
“Your average
criminal doesn’t know anything about fingerprinting,” Tom said skeptically. “The
concept is in its infancy and seems to mislead as often as it solves.”
“But the French are
very proud of it, are they not?” Emma said. “No doubt any crime stories
reported in the Parisian papers are those in which fingerprinting proved
successful. The criminal element may be more frightened of the notion than they
should be. Or consider this. By bragging about their new forensics
techniques, the police may not be scaring off potential criminals at all,
merely teaching them to wipe down any objects they touch.
my own invention. Admirable job, each of you.”
He did not have to
add “At least as much of it as there was,” for Gerry immediately fell to guilt,
as she was apt to do.
“Next time I promise
I won’t step in all your lovely splatters,” she said. “I know I made a muddle
–“
“Never fear,
Geraldine. You open your home to us each week, providing superior food and
wine, as well as your own very pleasing brand of hospitality. You could waltz
your way through a hundred bloodstains and your honorary standing in the Murder
Club would not be in jeopardy.”
“I’m the one who
should be sorry,” Emma said. “I was a proper fool of a girl, wasn’t I? Screaming
and fleeing and unable to remember a thing.”
“You were startled,
dear,” Gerry said, patting her hand.
“But crime strikes
unexpectedly, Gerry, that’s Trevor’s whole point,” Emma said. It was clear she
was still somewhat agitated by the manner in which she gripped her teacup and
the way her eyes darted around the table, settling on no one. “A suspect does
not walk towards you slowly in broad daylight wearing a placard that reads ‘Criminal.’
They come in the dark, moving fast, often having taken pains to conceal their
identity. Is that why he was wearing makeup?”
“I’m sorry to say
that particular fantastical touch wasn’t my idea,” Trevor told her. He smiled
with what he hoped was assurance, but her eyes had already moved on to Tom.
“But you’ve left us
guessing,” Tom was saying. “Why did the criminal wipe the knife and place it
so carefully back into the block?”
“I haven’t the
slightest idea,” Trevor said, dabbing up the last bit of soup with a crust. “I
was hoping one of you could tell me. The scene is precisely as Rayley
described it. A respectable French family in a better part of town, a cook and
a maid in the kitchen just after six in the evening. The maid moves into the
pantry to retrieve some item or another, and while she is gone a man rushes
into the kitchen, uses the knife on the cutting board to kill the cook, wipes
it clean, and replaces it with the other cutlery. She reenters just as he is
leaving but she doesn’t recognize the man. Question one: why would a thief
enter a kitchen at an hour when he would almost certainly encounter people in
the process of preparing the evening meal?”
“Perhaps he was not
a thief,” Davy said promptly. “We went straight to that assumption, without
much evidence to support it.”
“Then what was the
motive?” Trevor asked.
“Could have been
someone from the cook’s past,” Davy said, his voice a little more speculative. “A
man who bore him a personal grudge.”
“If confrontation
was his aim then why would he show up without a weapon?” Emma asked. “He
seemed to grab the bread knife on impulse, and, as you say, it’s hardly a
weapon of first choice for someone bent on murder.”
“And why wipe it
down after he used it?” Tom said, putting his elbows on the table and leaning
in. “I’m sorry to sound redundant but I find that the most puzzling part of our
little experiment. The knife was already out, being used to slice bread. Why
not simply return it to the cutting board?”
“He feared the
police could find fingerprints on the weapon?” Emma guessed.
“Your average
criminal doesn’t know anything about fingerprinting,” Tom said skeptically. “The
concept is in its infancy and seems to mislead as often as it solves.”
“But the French are
very proud of it, are they not?” Emma said. “No doubt any crime stories
reported in the Parisian papers are those in which fingerprinting proved
successful. The criminal element may be more frightened of the notion than they
should be. Or consider this. By bragging about their new forensics
techniques, the police may not be scaring off potential criminals at all,
merely teaching them to wipe down any objects they touch.