Jonathan Creek- The Problems at Gallows Gate

Chapter 9

 The huge doors creaked in a way Jonathan would have preferred them not to. The sound rang through the huge, silent mansion, the inside of which was even grander than the outside. Expensive artwork and ornate draperies adorned the walls. The large grand piano in prominent display completed the picture of luxury. Jonathan had to stop himself exclaiming- to use the modern term, “fangirling”- over the priceless paintings as they made their way to the bedroom where Duncan Proctor had breathed his last.

  They leaned over the balcony railings and gazed down at the ground. It was very far off. As Madeline observed, there was “absolutely no way he could have fallen from that height and survived.”

  “Unless…” said Jonathan, and stopped himself. The two ladies naturally begged to be admitted into his confidence, particularly a very eager Clare, but he refused to say more, brushing their pleas aside.

  With an injured expression, Madeline turned away, whipping out her handphone and stalking from the room, apparently intent on making a few discoveries herself.

  Not too long after, she returned with a triumphant air. On her face was plastered an expression of the utmost self-importance, and she held a whispered conversation with Clare in one corner, purposely excluding Jonathan. She did, however, glance up now and then to incite his interest, even going so far as to mention audibly the words “hospital”, “funeral directors”, “obituary”, “Duncan Proctor” etc., but all to no avail. The effect of her news on her more fortunate companion was very noticeable. It produced a series of startled gasps, sounds of disbelief, and a white pallor overspread her features as she dropped into a chair.

  Unable to withstand her friend’s indifference, feigned or otherwise, she then marched over to Jonathan (who was leaning dangerously over the balcony) and demanded, “do you know what I’ve found out from the local hospitals and funeral directors?”

  Upon receiving no reply but a slight grunt, Madeline tossed her curly red head and, referring to a crumpled piece of paper, began to impart her newly-gained information with an unmistakable air of pride.

  “Three out of the four local fun-”

  “-eral directors haven’t heard of him,” interrupted Jonathan, turning to Madeline, “one appears to be on a vacation and did not answer his phone, the local rag has nothing in the obituary about a Mr. Proctor, and the hospitals have no record of any Duncan Proctor, no admissions, DOAs, or even callouts to this address in question.” He rattled all this off in one breath, leaving Madeline completely slack-jawed. She turned away in silent but unwilling defeat. Jonathan did not bother to hide a smug grin on his face as he asked, “did you really think that I would let my spare time last night go to waste?”

  “But…” stammered Clare, still seated in her chair, “the ambulance came and took him away! We all saw it!”

  Jonathan said, “what you see isn’t always what’s happening.” He walked to one of the windows and leaned against it, looking out over the lawn. “What you all,” he continued, “saw that night… Ducan’s death, the ambulance… I’m beginning to think that it was all a very well-conceived hoax.” He lingered over the last syllable.

  Madeline plopped herself down on the floor next to Clare, preparing her notebook and pen. Her face was all eager attention; every feeling of injured pride that Jonathan had called forth was buried beneath a perfect tsunami of curiosity. “Here we go!” Turning to Clare, she explained, “now he’s going to tell us how it was done!”

  Jonathan scratched his curly head. “Well, I know how I would’ve done it myself, but…” he suddenly cut off and held up his palm, surprising even Madeline into silence. His hazel eyes darted towards the room door, which was slightly ajar.