Killing Dreams ~An American Victorian Steampunk Murder Mystery

Chapter 3 Part 3

Bill crossed himself.

     “You wanted to see his shoes,” Peter continued breaking the somber moment. He switched on the second set of reflector lights.

     Bill picked up the pair of brown brogans and held them to the light. “Here,” he pointed to a set of deep scrape marks on the leather backs and heels of the shoes. “Now, look at yours and mine.”

     Patches glanced up from her sketch just in time to see the coroner and her husband trying to stand on one foot and alternately look at their own shoes, those of the deceased, and those of each other all at the same time. She coughed into her hand to keep from laughing out loud simultaneously hoping that neither one of them would lose their balance and fall.

     “Scrapes and wear, but not like these,” Peter affirmed pointing to the gouges in the dead man’s shoes.

     “Correct,” Bill said crossing his arms. “He must have stumbled as he backed out—.”

     “His heels dragging over the glass remaining in the frame and window sill,” Patches finished for him without ceasing her sketching. She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud until she was bathed in silence.  Her head snapped up. Both men were looking at her. “Right?” she added.

     “Absolutely,” Bill confirmed. Good looking and smart, he thought for perhaps the ten thousandth time since he had known her. A radiant smile brightened her face. She was a beautiful woman, even more so when she was right.

     “So we can prove that it wasn’t suicide,” Peter said, coming back to the body. “But we can’t prove murder.”

     “That would appear to be the case, yes.” Bill had begun a slow walk around the body, his eyes never leaving it. “So what am I not seeing?” He frowned and scratched the back of his head; a gesture Patches recognized as one of frustration.

     “Pardon me?” Peter asked curious, moving out of Bill’s way. When Bill didn’t answer he looked at Patches.

     “It’s not a rhetorical question,” she assured him. “He’s looking for things that are literally not there. What’s not there can be just as important as what is.” She watched her husband circle the body for the third time then asked: “So what are you not seeing dear?”

     “I’m not seeing bruises on the chest that would indicate he was pushed forcefully out the window,” Bill began, listing. “Or ligature marks around his throat that would indicate he was rendered unconscious through strangulation first. And I am not seeing abrasions on his arms that would indicate he had been defending himself against an attack but I expected that. Since it seems he was using the sword prior to his fall I doubt anyone would take him on bare handed.”

     “So you think he was alone in the room?” Peter asked thoroughly caught up in Bill’s deductions. Nothing made Peter Trent Lachman happier than learning something new. Right now he was ecstatic. He had learned more in the last fifteen minutes than he had all week.

     “That makes sense, sort of,” Patches interjected. “If someone had been in the room with him they’d have needed a key to get in. According to the police reports they had to break the door in to gain access to the study. I would presume that means that is the only way in or out of the room.”

     “Does it say if anyone has extra keys?” Bill asked coming around to look at her notes. She got up and met him half way.

     “No,” she returned. “And no one thought to ask if they had noticed any strange people fleeing the scene.”

     Peter scoffed. “That’s typical. Eighty-seven percent of proper deduction is asking the right questions.”

     “And the other thirteen percent is figuring out which questions are the right ones,” Bill agreed. “It seems they saw a fallen body and jumped directly to the suicide conclusion.” He became thoughtful and started to pace oblivious to the pun he just made.

     “So what are we missing?” he asked no one in particular. This time the question was rhetorical.

TO BE CONTINUED...