Alethiology: The Elephant's Hand

Chapter 3

Thorndike replied, "It was your boss who called the Chatterley Police Department, to ask for the case."

"Majorie Spears?" Aletheia asked. "Why?"

Haynes interrupted, "Yes. And you really don't understand office politics and human relations, do you, consultant?"

"Oh?"

"I heard you deducing stuff about the owners of this house by looking at the compound. Impressive, I must say, but all just guesswork. And yet you fail to notice these." Haynes pointed at the photo frames on the small coffee table in front of the leather couch.

There were pictures of Anne Sherman, accompanied by the assistant DA Eric Collins, shaking hands with a blonde woman with curly hair and brown eyes. Aletheia recognised her. She was the Special Agent in Charge of the Chatterley Field Office of the NSSP, Majorie Spears: the one even Sean Clements answered to—the boss of her boss. There was a clearly warm friendship subsisting between two individuals. That must be why Spears had pulled strings for the NSSP to investigate what might turn out to be a natural death in the end.

"It's technically abduction," Aletheia said.

"What?" Haynes exclaimed with incredulity. "Which part of this looks like an abduction to you? If anything, this was murder"

"No, I mean...what I did back there. It's technically not a deduction, which requires absolute certainty that conclusions follow from premises."

Haynes' face crumpled up like an old newspaper. Deigning not to reply, he turned to Clements. "Now, we heard from your Agent in Charge Spears. The NSSP has jurisdiction over this case," he said to Clements. "It's all yours." And he added, "Watch your consultant."

Clements assented. "Where's Sherman now?"

"Uh?" Thorndike turned towards the district attorney's corpse.

"I think he means the male one," Aletheia clarified.

"Oh!" Thorndike exclaimed. "The victim's husband is over there." He pointed behind the thick pillar.

There was a small man sitting on a small couch. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts. Tim Sherman, who now had seated back down again and had his head in his hands. Seeing Clements and Aletheia approach, he stood up. His face was drained of colour, his countenance haggard and weak.

"Timothy Sherman," he said.

Clements reached out his hand to shake Sherman's. Sherman kept his arm by his side. Clements hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew his hand.

"Sorry," Sherman apologised. "I'm quite the germaphobe, you see. I don't like shaking hands."

"Ah," Clements said. "It's alright. I understand."

Aletheia stretched out her backscratcher towards Sherman. "How about this?" she asked.

Sherman stared at the wooden implement, astounded.

"Aletheia, please," Clements said. "The man is grieving."

"Shake it," Aletheia urged. She reached into her black frock coat for a moment and pulled out a bottle of sanitising spray. She sprayed it onto the hand of the backscratcher. Then she pulled a packet of tissue out from her skirt pocket and wiped the hand down. "Now it's good," she said.

Sherman took the wooden hand awkwardly and shook it.

"Now," Clements said, "Mr Sherman, where were you when the crime occurred? Between 10 pm last night and 6 am this morning?"

"I was at home, here. Sleeping."

"Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm your wife?"

"Yes, I—" Sherman stuttered, "there are too many. Too many. She's a DA, you know? Lots of enemies. The people she's put in jail. The people she's almost put in jail. Criminals, gangs."

"Anyone she's ever prosecuted might be a suspect," Haynes suggested.

"When did you come back into the picture?" Aletheia quipped.

Haynes frowned. "I know that recently, Anne Sherman prosecuted a member of 1564, that drug-trading gang."

"Oh, yes!" Sherman affirmed. "Andre Bentley is his name. From the Chatterley branch of the gang. He's the leader of his cell."

"You keep track of all the people your wife has prosecuted? In detail? That must be hard work," Aletheia said.

"I—" Sherman hesitated. "Actually, it's my job."

"How so?" Clements asked.

"I'm her secretary," Sherman said. "It's my official duty to record everything she does."

"Ah," Aletheia said. "Then could you give us a list of all the people she's offended recently?"

"I— Sure," Sherman said. "If you mean a list of people whose cases she's been on. I'll send the list to you." He whipped out his phone, a new translucent Hoshikawa model, and tapped on the screen.

"DA killed by someone she prosecuted..." Thorndike muttered. "Seems almost too easy. Could there be other angles to explore?"

"Ooh," Aletheia remarked, "now we're talking."

At this moment, the teak doors to the house swung open. A man in a light grey suit and a white dress shirt, paired with a pink tie, barged in. He had a pronounced eyebrow ridge, a sharp nose, and facial stubble which he had hardly pruned.

"Sir, this is a crime scene. An investigation is ongoing," Haynes immediately approached the man. "Please step away."

"Oh come on," the man barked, "don't you know who I am?"

"Assistant DA Eric Collins," Clements uttered. "What's he doing here?"