Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity by Natalie Brianne (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

“I may have mentioned it in passing. That’s why I had clearance to assign you to the Pennington case. The other was deemed of more importance. But with the letter they received they aren’t going to take any chances. The more experienced chief inspectors and superintendents have been put on the case. They are simply waiting for the letter to be forwarded from the Central News Agency.”

“They’ve taken you off of the case?” Byron looked surprised.

“So it would seem.” Thatcher drooped with discouragement.

“Where are you going, then?” Byron asked.

“To clarify the cause of death of an old man. Since he lived in the same building as Pennington, we have to establish that it wasn’t related to that.”

She felt a pang of grief hit her heart and then settle somewhere in her stomach.

“Not Mr. Graham?”

They accompanied the chief inspector on his ride over to the crime scene in a hansom cab. It was a bit crowded with the chief inspector, Byron, herself, and Officer Wensley.

“We got the news about an hour before you came by. I sent Wensley, and he reported back. It wasn’t until then that I saw the significance. Two deaths in the same building?”

Officer Wensley leaned forward in his seat. “Mr. Morrison let me in when I got there. It looked like a clear case of natural causes, but my gut says there’s something more to it. Something seemed off. Not sure what.”

The chief inspector rubbed his temples. “I’m having a medical examiner take a look just to be sure it wasn’t another murder.”

“And one of them a witness to the other.” Byron trailed off, deep in thought. Mira sat in silence.

“We had talked to him, of course, but there wasn’t much useful information,” Thatcher said.

“You had determined that there was a woman?”

Wensley looked at the inspector. “Not until you brought it up, no.”

“Mr. Graham supplied us with that information. We were actually going over today to ask him some more questions,” Byron said.

“I see. Well, he wasn’t responsive to us.” Thatcher looked out the window.

“He’s an old friend of Miss Blayse’s uncle, I think. I’m sure that had something to do with it.” Byron looked at Mira a bit worried. She didn’t have the heart to correct him.

They reached the scene and Mr. Morrison, the landlord, greeted them.

“This is nasty business, this. First Mr. Pennington, and then Mr. Graham. Of course, Mr. Graham died of natural causes, didn’t he?” He nodded to the chief inspector, the constable, the detective, and the secretary.

“It could be, it could also not be.” Thatcher led the way into the front room. Looking around, everything seemed to be normal. Nothing was amiss at first glance. Only after venturing into the bedroom, greeted first by a stench, did they find Mr. Graham, in bed. He looked peaceful enough for a corpse, as if he had died in his sleep. The only evidence of him not being asleep was the obvious smell, his blue lips and his ashen skin. There were a few flies buzzing about in an unsettling manner. Mira found it hard not to grimace.

“Were you the one who found the body?” Byron turned to Mr. Morrison.

“Oh yes. When he hadn’t given me his rent, I came to check on him. That was this morning. I knocked, and he didn’t answer, so I tried the handle and found it unlocked. I came in and found him like that. Right peaceful. Of course, it’s bad for business. Two deaths. No one will want to rent any of these rooms out. At least neither of ‘em were bloody though. That would be far worse.”

“It does appear to be natural causes Wensley. Good work. We’ll have to wait for the medical examiner to be certain.” The inspector retreated into the living room, and the rest of the party followed.

Mira trailed behind, taking one last look at Mr. Graham, feeling ill and despondent, as if she had lost something precious and rare even though she hadn’t known him long. When she followed the others into the living room, she found Byron in his bloodhound state. Stalking about the room, examining everything, each detail, every inch of the minutia. The chief inspector leaned against the wall in deep thought. Wensley examined the door.

Byron turned back to them. “I can tell right now that this isn’t a matter of natural causes.”

“It isn’t?” the landlord and inspector said in unison.

“No. Of course not,” Wensley turned towards the rest of them.

“Well…? What is it about the room that causes you to think that?” The inspector prompted him to continue.

“Oh no. It isn’t anything in the room. Although the chrysanthemums do give us some clue as to how long he’s been dead.”

“How long?”

Byron moved over to the flowers by the windowsill. They looked under the weather, wilting and shriveling up, the color nearly faded away. He pressed a finger to the soil.

“Three days at the least. The soil is almost entirely dry. It takes a few days for that to happen, and Mr. Graham was rather fond of these mums.” With that he went to the kitchen and filled up a pitcher, returning and reviving the plants. Mira smiled a little at that. How thoughtful of him to take care of them even though Mr. Graham was dead. She looked back towards the bedroom and her smile disappeared. She was brought out of her thoughts by the Inspector.

“If it isn’t something in the room, then what prompts you to say it isn’t natural causes?”

“Mr. Morrison, you said you just found the door unlocked?” Wensley asked.

“Yes, it was.”

“From my interactions with Mr. Graham, I have found that he is distrustful of strangers and visitors. He would have the door locked.” Byron moved over to the door.

“And there is evidence in the room, seeing as there are several deadbolts on this door. Why were none of them used?” Wensley gestured as Byron locked and unlocked one of them for, what Mira thought was, dramatic effect.

“Well, I suppose we shall see