Murder at Grimwood Manor

Part 1

The cold rain trickled down the window. Just another London day. Outside, the trees shook, begging for mercy from the howling winds and the occasional crack of thunder could be heard in the distance. The streets were thick with fog and cars rattled past, their wipers making futile attempts to clear the onslaught of rain from their windows. Despite it only being half-past three in the afternoon, the sky was dark and every streetlamp was lit, creating ominous shadows on the damp streets below. There were very few people out there now - only the ones who had been caught off guard and were forced to race for shelter with the hands over their heads. The sounds of cars honking their horns drifted over from the city centre. Overall, a miserable day.

Detective John Smith gazed thoughtfully out of the window. It appeared that everything he did was done thoughtfully, as though his mind was always elsewhere. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a brown wooden pipe. He didn't smoke but found that holding the pipe aided his concentration greatly, especially on days like these. His assistant Charlotte entered the room with two cups of tea, set them down on the table and sat down in the musty leather armchair in the corner of the room. Charlotte was an opinionated girl with a little too much attitude for her own good. Despite John's best efforts, she often managed to get herself into trouble, although he often found this greatly amusing. When she asked him what the matter was, he simply replied that the weather was awful and that usually meant something terrible was about to happen.

He was right.

A sharp knock rapped upon the door. Silently, Charlotte stood and went to answer it. A tall, thin man in a sharp suit and coat entered the room.

"Detective John Smith, I presume?" he said, extending a hand. The detective nodded and shook his hand. "My name is Charles Banks, and I have come here this afternoon in the hopes that you may be able to help me."

The detective motioned for him to take a seat. "I will do my level best, Mr Banks. What appears to be the issue?"

Mr Banks explained that a few nights ago the daughter of the man he worked for (for he was a butler) had passed away. The girl, Elizabeth, was only 21 years old and very bright. After dinner one night, she had retired early, on the grounds of a headache. The next morning, she was found dead in her room. No injuries, no sign of struggle, no obvious cause of death. The undertakers could not find a cause of death and the police dropped the case, claiming she died of a heart attack. The girl's father, he explained, was not kind towards her and they had just had a row before she retired to her room.

"Despite the police's reports, I believe she was murdered. She was a healthy girl and a heart attack seems highly unlikely. I wish to see her come to justice and I believe you are the only man who can do this," Charles concluded.

The detective remained silent for a moment. Charlotte looked at him expectantly; she could tell that he was already trying to solve the case, without having officially accepted it. It was as though she could see the gears turning, pieces connecting in his mind. Finally, he looked up from his thoughts and agreed to take the case.

Charles Banks gave him the address of the house and the undertaker where Elizabeth's body was being kept until the funeral next week and, with a curt nod, bid them goodbye.

"I do not trust him, Mr Smith," Charlotte remarked once he had left. "it seemed as though he knew a little too much about the whole affair, considering his position in the house. Surely, if it were the girl's father who'd sent him, he would have said. Why would he come if that weren't the case?"

John dismissed Charlotte's worries and said that they should go to the undertaker's first thin tomorrow to inspect the body. In the meantime, she should return to her studies (for she was a learned woman who enjoyed studying the sciences) and leave him in peace. Reluctantly, she obliged and the detective returned to the window, just in time to see the butler clamber into his car and drive away hastily.