Death on the Nyle

The Butler did it

"Ah. How very amusing," chuckled Beckett. "You're telling me Büttler did it? A little clichéd but still amusing."

Cedric looked confused. "I don't understand, Beckett."

"Don't mind me, please. Silly little joke." Beckett straightened his mouth and looked serious once more. "Please continue."

"It's quite simple. Büttler is a thief. He's only got about six months left before he retires and he purchased a cosy little flat back on Earth."

"Nothing wrong with that, especially if you work for a trillionaire."

Cedric laughed hoarsely. "Except that Büttler's flat has seventeen bedrooms and three swimming pools."

"Even more than I have," replied Beckett, one eyebrow raised. "How do you know all this and why tell me?"

Cedric leaned against a large statue of a caped figure, holding a large shield. "I know, because how is a butler going to sell stolen works of art? Use your head, Beckett. He's been very careful, only taking small things. Pieces he knew his boss would never miss. Entirely insignificant to Richmal but still worth a fortune. That's the problem with having too much money; you forget its real worth. Anyhow, he passed them to me and I sold them. For a small fee, of course. I didn't mind, I was glad to get one over on the old man."

"I see," said Beckett. "But you haven't answered my second question—why tell me? It may be irrelevant to the murder and it doesn't reflect well on Büttler, but equally well it puts you in rather a negative light."

Cedric peered at Beckett with dark tired eyes. "I'm telling you because despite everything, I want justice. The moon is very socially progressive, you know. In the event of the death of an employer, the employees must be taken care of. Not much, of course, just enough to protect the worker. The law here states that all outstanding payments related to the employee's place of residence are paid off immediately from employer's estate. I'll leave it up to your so-called genius to figure out just exactly how much that is in Büttler's case. Now I need another drink."

With that, Cedric departed, leaving Beckett staring up at the statue of St George, wondering just why exactly Büttler needed three swimming pools.