The Woman in Red

A Short Story 

"How could a sane person cut anybody’s throat and then shoot in his head unless the murderer is fuming in limitless anger"

It was quite unusual, that was the fourth night that I could not write a word. Possibly, once again, I was going through, what men of letters call as “Writer’s Block”. Writing Sadovsky’s cases during such times proved to be my solace, but it had been more than a month that Sadovsky solved his last – The Lighthouse Murder case. The clock on my desk showed 3:45 am and it was heavily raining outside. My fretful attempts to write seemed abortive and after putting ink-pot and the pen holder aside, I was about to puff the lantern off. Before I ventured to blow off the lantern and go to my bed, I heard few knocks on my door. I was sure it would be Sadovsky, I went downstairs, twisted the door open, and him it was – deep blue eyes, sharp face, blonde hair and ghastly wet and bedraggled.

Sadovsky was a detective – most famous in Zendburgh. He was the wisest of men, yet his ingenuity transcended the genius of ordinary. He was a man of humble eloquence, though he did not talk much except upon the moments when expounding his theories on the crimes committed. I might confess that I envied him for his unerring powers of observation and coveted his absolute sagacity. Always resolute, collected and poised – he was a man of superhuman qualities and clean manners.

 “Oh! Abram! Come in inside” I exclaimed, “You’re wet, come in”

“Not the right time Steve, I am in a hurry. Grab your raincoat and come with me, ” said he

“Where are we going? At least come inside for few moments”

He mopped his wet face and shut the door behind him and we both sprang swiftly towards the study upstairs.  As we entered the room, Sadovsky threw himself on the sofa and leaned backwards, and I went towards the wardrobe.

“So, is it the robbery again, that has brought you here at this hour?” I asked while I searched through the clothes

“No, a banker has got murdered at his apartment at Thallstreet”

“Oh, the murder. Interesting. Take this, this may be of our assistance” I threw an umbrella at him which he caught in no time

“Steve, will you make hurry please. You are an assistant without even a speck of assistance”

“Am I?” I smiled sardonically

“Of course, you are. Hurry up, the cab is waiting.” he frowned at me

I put on the hat and an overcoat walked towards the door. Sadovsky rose quickly from the sofa and I was following him down the stairs. The rain was frantic and there was a cab outside waiting for us. I felt pity for the cabman and his horses. We sat into the cab and left the Shrimpstreet. Thallstreet was half an hour away, to the east, just adjacent to the Frost Lake.  We felt thumping of the rain over the roof of the cab as if it were hailing. The cab rattled through the street, left the St. Arnhem Cathedral behind, crossed the Arnhem Bridge, moved past the old Sawmill, scuttled about the Frost Lake Dockyard and after about half an hour, we were on our destination. Sadovsky paid the cabman few Zends and we left the cab.
“Here you go Steve” He opened the umbrella and we walked under it till we were at the door of the Banker’s apartment.

 There were few cops of Zendburgh Police standing outside accosting to each other. As soon as they chanced us, Their babbling was interrupted for a moment. We were of course acquainted to them as it was not for the first time that the Zendburgh Police needed our assistance. One of the constables ushered us to the room – which was upstairs – where the corpse of the banker lay in the pool of blood.  

There were few cops searching for the evidence and Inspector was himself busy smoking the cigar. A journalist was conspicuous by his presence, who was talking to the Assistant Inspector Smith. “Oh, here we are. You’re welcome, Your Majesty, Abram Antonovic Sadovsky, the great detective of Zendburgh Zevane. Oh Stephen Hill, you’re here too” Inspr. Clarke exclaimed sarcastically

“Hello, Inspector. Seeing you again, good and bad” I shook hand with him though Sadovsky straightly walked towards the corpse to examine it

“Hello, Mr. Stephen. I hope the ride did not annoy you”

“Not much, Inspector”

“Alright it is then, I suspect, eh?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Clarke”

 Banker’s corpse, which was lying near the small table, made my teeth gnash. His throat was cut and the indentation was severe. His clothes were besmeared with blood, though it was very incongruous to see a bullet hole in his fore head. It seemed a job done by some lunatic. How could a sane person cut anybody’s throat and then shoot in his head unless the murderer is fuming in limitless anger. After closely examining the corpse, Sadovsky stood up and asked Inspector Clarke

“So, what is your theory Inspector?”

“Well, very simple it is”

“And what’s that?”

“This is an acute case of robbery. The thief must have gotten into the room through the window by climbing up the pipe, and on the point of the knife asked him the keys of the vault. Obviously, the Banker might have refused and with the intention of wounding the victim, the robber cut his throat, and in complete fright and tragedy the Banker might have given him the keys, after looting the vault, he shot the Banker dead and left the room through the same way he had earlier used as the ingress. Very simple, indeed; motive of the murder – Robbery; Cause of death – A headshot”

“Very clever Inspector Clarke. I’ll come to you later. What about you Stephen?” Sadovsky asked me

“Well, I think, Mr. Clarke has made a point. I do agree him on several points, but as to ingress and egress, I am pretty confused. You see, the window is still locked from the inside.” I faltered

Upon listening to my remark, a frowning countenance took over the face of Inspector Clarke, and Sadovsky timely grinned.

“Very shrewd. I appreciate your powers of observation Stephen. Now as to you, elegant your theory is, but I am afraid, Mr. Clark, though on this particular occasion, I am sure that, you’ve led yourself to flawed conclusions, it is ultimately erroneous.”

“What? What do you mean?” inspector stammered in bewilderment

“Did you find the keys of the vault? Or, like my comrade pointed out, were the windows locked from inside when you entered the room? Do you think bullet killed him?”

“No, I did not find the keys. May be, the robber has taken those with him. I am afraid, I don’t know about the windows, I was about to check…”

“Aye, sir. The windows were shut, when we came here. Even the door was shut from the inside. We had to break it to enter” Constable Crane interrupted

Sadovsky lit his cigar, went near the window, and peered out through the glass. He slowly walked towards the sofa and reclined and smoked. Everybody in the room was watching his face with extreme curiosity.

“But, it might be possible that window was open already, and the robber made ingress through it and after finishing this scary thing, he again made an egress through the same window and closed it and bolted it using any wire or any other meticulous method?” Inspector Clark asked with sheer desperation.

“How long it has been raining?” Sadovsky asked us

“It’s been raining since 7 o’ clock sir, it was windy too at times.” Constable Crane retorted with diffidence

“By examining the body, I came to a conclusion that the murder was committed not before 11:45 and not after 12:30; somewhere between 11:45 and 12:30. The body is but not very stiff. It indicates that rigor has mortis has already started about an hour ago, leaving the precise timing of murder at its disposal” Sadovsky added while looking at his wristwatch “it is precisely 4:30, and as to my senses, rigor mortis began about 3:30  which tells that he died  on about 12:30. And since we all are the men of our senses, it seems obvious that the intrusion was made about 11:45. And, Mr. Clark, as one of your constable testified the fact that it has had been raining since 7 o’clock and wind was blowing too, it makes the ingress through the window impossible. As you see the pipe is still wet, the wind showered rain upon it. To climb a wet pipe is very difficult, and when one of your fore limbs does not function at all, it becomes impossible. So the possibility, of making ingress through the window, here is itself eliminated”

Upon listening to the account of Sadovsky, everyone was gaping in astonishment, except the Inspector Clarke himself

“Ha! Ha! Ha” Inspector Clark laughed heavily “Our detective says the murderer had one hand smoothly working and the other hand was paralyzed.  Your majesty, may we know, then how did this paralyzed robber enter the room? Was he a spirit that could move and run through walls? HA HA HA ! the paralyzed spirit. Lo! We have a supernatural explanation for the murder. The Witchcraft , Mr. Sadovsky, is it?”

The entire room burst in laughter. Though Mr. Clarke’s sarcastic remark had no effect on Abram Antonovich Sadovsky. He was all resolute and calm, smoking in the sofa, with a cunning smile over his face.

“Seriously, Sadovsky, I think you must recount your entire theory in one run and stop ringing our heads intermittently with what seems nonsense in that way” Inspector Clarke said in vehemence

“A right handed, but commited the crime with his left. As far as my senses serve me, the murderer is too astute because even it is wet outside, here we can’t see any  footmarks on the floor. No mud, no wet impressions, nothing. But when we we about to enter the apartment, a trifle mud on the steps of the main door caught my sight. He had put off his shoes there. After putting off his shoes and keeping them there, he went upstairs, picked the lock of the door. Cut the throat of the banker, picked the lock of the vault using the same string which he had used earlier to pick the lock of the main door and the door of this room. Took some money. And finally shot the corpse and left the room through the door and locked it again using a bump key. This is it Inspector Clarke”

“What is this all about the jargon of ‘Hands’? Don’t you make fool out of us Mr. Sadovsky, why on earth you said ‘Shot the corpse’”

“Well, Mr. Clarke. After closely examining the wound on the throat, it is clearly evident that it was inflicted with the left hand because the wound is tapering to the left. But he was right handed. As you can see Mr. Clarke, the room is not having larger dimensions, it is a small one. And shooting a wounded person from that much close range is not hard unless you use the hand other than you use most. As you can see there are two holes, one there on the carpet and another one, there in the leg of the table. And, yes my dear Inspector, the banker was dead before he shot him. Cause of the death as to my theory is exsanguination – the total loss of blood. You see, there is just a speck of blood on his head near the bullet wound. In a hurry, a murderer can’t check the pulse of the victim to see whether it is dead or not he just shot him to suffice the job.”

“You can’t prove it Sadovsky, it is just a hypothesis which I fear won’t last serving you long enough. Though, I hope that we’ll very send the burglar to the gallows.”

“It is not a burglary. I just see that his Majesty’s shrewdness is playing around with your, which is very feeble, reason. He is trying to portray it as a theft, but I see something vindictive in it. Done in extreme anger and hence drinking his revenge to the flee”

“A vengeance? Eh? You’re trying, Sadovsky, to broaden the case and nothing more.”

“Let me tell you a story  Inspector. A very familiar one”

“We are running out of time there is not much time left to giving an ear to any sort of abortive anecdotes, but I am afraid comrade, we’ve got no other choice. Wel, go on”

Everyone was curious and waiting for and recondite anecdote to be expounded. The scene was gripped by suspense, fright and frenzy. And A.A Sadovsky started to recount in deep solid voice

“Long ago there lived a man, who owned a sawmill, and happiness seemed to be all windows and doors to him. Fate gave him everything but what was most elegant of all – a beautiful wife. Days in an days out, both seemed to live happily, until he got to know about his wife’s affairs with a stout banker. His earth shook and his life started to consume him. One evening, he decided to kill her wife and her lover. He injured his arm while murdering her wife with a band saw and in the night he murdered the banker whose corpse, gentlemen, lay next to your feet. It’s getting late, let’s catch him. He might be there, in his sawmill, drinking and boozing in melancholy and regret. Let’s go Stephen.”

Outside there were the private cabs of the Zendburgh Police waiting. Sadovsky hurried as I followed him and we took a cab to the sawmill. Rest of the party followed us too. It had stopped to rain and while cab was making its way to the destination I asked Abram

“what clue took you to sawmill?”

“The saw dust. Saw dust in the mud marks which were at the steps of the main door of the apartment. Too bold a guess, and too interesting a story.”

“Don’t you tell me that you just made it up. You concocted the story, didn’t you?”

“you’re right dear. I just created it out of Thin air. Though it may come true. Fortune favours the brave Stephen, it favors the brave”

“Indeed it does, but may I ask as to why did you fabricate this particular story. You could have created the one in which the banker was killed by some old archenemy, or any other where his older brother kills him in order to narrow down the list on the hierarchial will”

“In the raw state of my mind, there is every possible history of any particular murder and my job is to reduce the histories to an objective truth, which, if my 7 years of experience serves me right, lay ahead of us on the path we are moving –  we are on the right path of the history. Though the path which we are travelling on is a temporary hypothesis, which either is correct in which case we are about to make history, or, which might be a trifle embarrassing, I am absolutely wrong.”

As the cab was moving towards the sawmill, we talked a great detail – about the murder and the possible theories. To confess again, I was extremely envious of the remarkable genius of my boss.

  (To be Continued...)