Return to my Fiction pages
Go to my home page
Fiction, © Copyright 2001, Jim Loy
Author's note: My apologies to Mona Morstein who thinks that Sherbert Coleslaw is a moron. Guilty, he is a moron. Ridicule is just my way of examining the various detective (especially Sherlock Holmes) cliches.
Inspector Lemonade entered our sitting room. I took his wet coat and hat. The inspector turned to my friend Sherbert Coleslaw. "Here you go, Coleslaw. Here's a souvenir that I bought for you, while I was on vacation." He handed over a plaid bagpipe, which made a wheezing sound.
"Why thank you, Inspector. I perceive that you have been to Scotland."
I interjected, as I often do, "Coleslaw!"
"Gesundheit."
"Thank you. How the deuce do you deduce that?"
It took him a while to parse my question. "Blithering, you should read my monograph on this very subject, How to Make Startling Observations During Casual Conversation. Surely you noticed the moisture that is currently dripping from the inspector's coat and hat onto Mrs. Longsuffering's carpet. I distinctly read in the London Thames that it rained today in Scotland.
The inspector interjected before I was able to, "But it is raining here in London."
"Merely a coincidence. I am sure that a chemical analysis would show that the coat and hat are wet from the clean Scottish rain, not our rather gritty London rain. I would perform the analysis myself, but Mrs. Longsuffering has hidden the key to my chemistry set. Anyway, what brings you out on a night like this, Inspector?"
"I have been assigned to a brutal murder, just down the street from here."
"Surely the criminals do not need your help."
"I have been assigned to INVESTIGATE a brutal murder, Coleslaw."
"Then you should have said so in your previous sentence. A true scientist is always precise in his use of language."
"Indeed? Regardless, I thought that you and Blithering here might want to tag along and see how we real detectives at the Yard solve a case."
"That was so funny that I forgot to laugh. You forget that brutal murders are my specialty."
Lemonade smiled as he said, "Surely the criminals do not need your help."
After a brief walk in the rain, we found ourselves entering a quaint shop. The shop was a shambles, as about fifty clocks lay smashed on the floor. Coleslaw picked up a broken clock, "Hm, ten minutes past seven. This one too says ten minutes past seven, as does this one, and this one. They all say ten minutes past seven. I guess my watch is fast." He set his watch. "Well, I have seen all that there is to see here. You will notice, Lemonade, that there is a god-awful number of clocks in this room."
"That would be because this is a clock maker's shop."
"Ah! Well then. Where is this brutal murder of yours, Inspector?"
"Right behind your right foot, Coleslaw."
"Of course." Coleslaw bent over the corpse, and picked up a bloody cricket bat, which was leaning against the dead man's battered face.
When I say "bloody cricket bat," I do not mean "bloody" as an abomination against God and Her Majesty the Queen, but rather "bloody" as covered with blood.
Coleslaw said, "I deduce that the man was murdered while playing indoor cricket. I have played it many times myself, as Mrs. Longsuffering could testify." He swung the bat and struck the one previously unbroken clock, sending wooden shrapnel throughout the room. "I'm afraid that would only have scored one run. Well, too bad we cannot find the murder weapon or establish the time of death."
Inspector Lemonade brushed wooden splinters from his clothing. "The upstairs neighbors are waiting to be questioned."
"Of course, lead upwards."
We entered a room in which two men and two women were playing cards. Coleslaw whispered in my ear, "Ah, contract bridge, I know it well."
"Go fish," we heard someone say, at the table.
Coleslaw interrupted, "Excuse me for interrupting your bridge game, ladies and gentlemen. But we are here to solve the brutal murder downstairs." He swung the bloody cricket bat, and nearly decapitated one of the seated men. "Now, how many of you here have committed a brutal murder recently? Nobody? Too bad. But it was worth a try."
Questioning of the card players turned up the following clues: The card players were Sir and Lady Winchester-Cathedral-Hound's-Tooth, and Mr. and Mrs. William Bletchley-Smyth. According to Mr. Bletchley-Smyth, the brother of the dead clock maker (Herbert Bletchley-Smyth), none of the four had any motive or opportunity to commit the crime, and they did not hear or see anything suspicious. Lady Winchester-Cathedral-Hound's-Tooth said that she did hear a disturbance, including a cry of alarm, downstairs about ten minutes past seven. Coleslaw pointed out that this disturbance may have been the indoor cricket match, and that the cry of alarm may have been "Leg before wicket" or some other cricket expression. Sir Winchester-Cathedral-Hound's-Tooth pointed out that Mr. Bletchley-Smyth had been out of the room at the same time. Coleslaw called him Dummy, which Mr. Bletchley-Smyth seemed to resent. Mrs. Bletchley-Smyth mentioned that her husband was short of money, hated the dead clock maker, and was his sole heir. Also, Mr. Bletchley-Smyth had a notoriously bad temper, and was actually under indictment for assaulting a legless old blind beggar with a cricket bat.
Coleslaw thanked the card players for their help. "Unfortunately, we have not been able to establish the time of death, or find the murder weapon." He swung the cricket bat and cut an oval shaped piece out of the carpet.
We later read that Inspector Lemonade had arrested William Bletchley-Smyth for the murder, and that the poor man had confessed.
Coleslaw threw down the newspaper. "I do wish these innocent people would quit confessing. Lemonade will be bragging about this for weeks." He deftly grabbed his tobacco away from his Persian cat on the mantelpiece.