twist
11-16-2012, 07:01 PM
Jack Mandley had been bludgeoned to death with his own cello. It was found smashed later in the shed with blood over it. He was twenty five years old and a promising musician. He kept himself to himself. Not involved with drugs or anything like that. Why on earth would anyone want to kill him? Why did he open the door to this person and so trustingly let them in? Did he sense any danger as he walked into the living room before he was murdered with his beloved instrument?
Nothing seemed to have been taken except the cello. None of the neighbours had noticed anyone at his door that evening or anything suspicious. The night had been wet and there were muddy footprints in the hall.
The police could not find any signs of a struggle. It would seem he was struck from behind and died almost immediately. He fell forward and hit his head on the glass table which had cracked. His watch had also broken making the time of death 9:20pm. The odd thing was that the post mortem suggested a heavier blunt instrument had been used than a cello. No other murder weapon had been found though.
Jack’s parents were on holiday and were informed of their son’s murder while in Hawaii.
Mrs Mandley had collapsed in shock. His dad just kept saying over and over “Why would anyone want to kill Jack?”
He had been a very gifted musician and had won a scholarship to university. He had fallen in love with the cello and recently became the lead cellist in his orchestra. There had been an element of jealousy from other musicians but nothing more. Jack did not socialize with his fellow musicians. He was completely obsessed with his music. Every spare minute was spent practising.
His parents flew over as soon as they could. Mr Mandley wanted to hire a private detective which is why he approached me. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. There just didn’t seem to be any leads. I started by interviewing other musicians in the orchestra. No-one seemed to know Jack as a person. He was a perfectionist but was likeable enough. He didn’t talk much though and would go straight home after rehearsals.
The orchestra conductor was devastated. He had lost a very gifted musician and in such a brutal way. He could think of no motive for his murder. Sure, there had been a bit of jealousy when he was made lead cellist but that was only to be expected. He was the youngest and had joined their orchestra only recently.
He had come to rehearsal that fateful day and left soon after as he always did. He wasn’t behaving any differently recently and didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary.
He was always on time for every performance and put his heart and soul into his music.
I interviewed all the musicians one by one. Everyone who was there had an alibi.
One musician, however, was away. I went to visit him at his house. Andrew Warner seemed to know Jack better than the others did. He already knew of the murder as Jack’s parents had contacted him from Hawaii. He was home having strained his back carrying his double bass upstairs. He said he missed a step and ending up straining a muscle. The two of them had rehearsed together at his house a few times and he had been to Jack’s parent’s house for a small concert. He was shocked when I suggested he might have been jealous of young Jack being chosen lead cellist. He insisted he was proud of Jack.
He had been home on his own with his bad back the night of the murder. He didn’t have an alibi, but he was telling me the truth he insisted.
I met Jack’s parents later that day. “Can you think of anyone who might have a motive to kill your son now that you’ve had more time to think about it?” I asked. “Any reason at all?”
“He was such a quiet boy. In a way his music was his only voice. It got him into trouble with one of the neighbours who complained about him playing his music into the night. He used to play until the early hours of the morning. I did tell him not to disturb the neighbours.” replied his mother.
A little later I knocked on the next door neighbour’s door. A man in his late forties dressed in a vest and jeans answered the door. I introduced myself and he let me in. “Oh yes, I saw the police round a couple of days ago. Really shocking! He was a bit strange though, that fellow. Didn’t seem to have any visitors. None of my business, mind you. I only saw him on the odd occasion.”
He seemed quite friendly and I looked around the house while he talked.
“I heard you complained about his cello playing into the early hours.” I said watching carefully for his reaction.
“Paper thin walls, these.” he said, knocking on the wall for good measure. “My wife got a bit annoyed one night with the noise so I went round. But I thought he played his cello quite well and I’m a sound sleeper …so I’ve not been bothered by him.”
I asked him where he had been at 9:20 pm that night. “I was home with the wife” he replied promptly. Just then a key turned in the door and on cue his wife came in. “I’m home, love. I stopped at the chemist to pick up your sleeping pills.” She came into the living room laden with shopping. She seemed more refined than her husband. “They’re not sleeping pills. They’re to help me relax. She’s always getting mixed up!” he said quickly. Then to his wife he said “This is a detective about that poor chap next door.”
“Really terrible, he was so young too.” she said.
I continued “Did you hear anything unusual next door at 9:20 pm the night before last?”
“No, the telly was on quite loud. I can’t say I heard anything.”
“Did you hear anything, Mrs Harris?” I asked. “Like my husband said - the telly was on quite loud.” she replied, glancing quickly at her husband and then down at her hands.
I went back to the cello playing. “Must have got on your nerves, I reckon. That noise every night through these paper thin walls.” I said sympathetically.
“I know I complained a couple of times but to show him I didn’t have any hard feelings, I even fixed his plumbing for him without charging him a week ago!”
I asked Mr Harris if I could have a look at the backyard in case the murderer had escaped that way. I noticed a pair of workman’s boots in the kitchen. Muddy footprints had been left on Jack’s hall carpet. The size was the same, though these were as clean as a whistle.
There was a high panel fence separating the two houses. The sun was shining now and something didn’t look right when I looked at the panels. Then I realized what it was. There were three new screws in the panels. Someone could easily pass between the gap then replace the panels. “Mr Harris, where do you keep your tool box?”I asked.
“In the shed of course, why?” he countered. “Could I have a look at it?” I said.
There was a screwdriver missing. “I lost it…. two weeks ago.” he replied following my gaze. “I told you to get a new toolbox, didn’t I?” Mrs Harris said in a slightly anxious voice.
I went to Jack’s house next. The cracked table was in the middle of the room. There were large blood stains on the carpet next to it. Something small and shiny lay next to a stained patch. It was a screw which looked a lot like the ones in the fence panels. I carefully put it in a forensic bag. I picked up a writing pad. A letter had been written inside which read:
(Copy)
Dear Mr Harris.
I’m sorry I can’t teach you to play the cello. You really don’t have a musical ear. I have explained this to you several times but you don’t seem to take any notice. Also, I am too busy rehearsing for a performance.
Regretfully yours,
Jack.
I went back next door. Mrs Harris answered the door. Does your husband own a cello? “It’s in the cupboard under the stairs.” she replied flatly. I turned to Mr Harris “How badly did you want those cello lessons? Did you offer free plumbing or money? How did it make you feel when he refused?” I was looking for a reaction but none came. I showed him the screw. I must have dropped it when I went round to his house a week ago. I’ve got a hole in the pocket of my jacket” he said looking at his wife. I took the jacket to forensics. There were specks of blood on it matching Jack’s.
Mr Harris was arrested for the murder of Jack Mandley. The missing screwdriver was found in Mrs Harris’s sewing basket. She was arrested for providing a false alibi.
Jack’s parent’s bought a cello shaped coffin for their son’s funeral. His own solo piece ‘The lonely cellist’ he had written a fortnight ago was played at the funeral by Andrew Warner. As I watched Andrew Warner play I kept thinking his features bore a strong resemblance to someone I had recently met. This threw a whole different light on the case.
After the funeral I went to visit the orchestra conductor again at his house.
“Did Andrew Warner bring his double bass every day that last week?” I asked him.
“Oh no,” he replied. “His double bass had gone for repair last week.
His aunt, Amelia Harris, who lived next door to Jack, lent him her husband’s cello to practice a new solo piece ‘The lonely cellist’ instead. He said he wrote it himself but I must say I was little surprised as he isn’t a natural composer like Jack was. It was a really beautiful piece of music. I’d forgotten about that until today…why?”
Nothing seemed to have been taken except the cello. None of the neighbours had noticed anyone at his door that evening or anything suspicious. The night had been wet and there were muddy footprints in the hall.
The police could not find any signs of a struggle. It would seem he was struck from behind and died almost immediately. He fell forward and hit his head on the glass table which had cracked. His watch had also broken making the time of death 9:20pm. The odd thing was that the post mortem suggested a heavier blunt instrument had been used than a cello. No other murder weapon had been found though.
Jack’s parents were on holiday and were informed of their son’s murder while in Hawaii.
Mrs Mandley had collapsed in shock. His dad just kept saying over and over “Why would anyone want to kill Jack?”
He had been a very gifted musician and had won a scholarship to university. He had fallen in love with the cello and recently became the lead cellist in his orchestra. There had been an element of jealousy from other musicians but nothing more. Jack did not socialize with his fellow musicians. He was completely obsessed with his music. Every spare minute was spent practising.
His parents flew over as soon as they could. Mr Mandley wanted to hire a private detective which is why he approached me. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. There just didn’t seem to be any leads. I started by interviewing other musicians in the orchestra. No-one seemed to know Jack as a person. He was a perfectionist but was likeable enough. He didn’t talk much though and would go straight home after rehearsals.
The orchestra conductor was devastated. He had lost a very gifted musician and in such a brutal way. He could think of no motive for his murder. Sure, there had been a bit of jealousy when he was made lead cellist but that was only to be expected. He was the youngest and had joined their orchestra only recently.
He had come to rehearsal that fateful day and left soon after as he always did. He wasn’t behaving any differently recently and didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary.
He was always on time for every performance and put his heart and soul into his music.
I interviewed all the musicians one by one. Everyone who was there had an alibi.
One musician, however, was away. I went to visit him at his house. Andrew Warner seemed to know Jack better than the others did. He already knew of the murder as Jack’s parents had contacted him from Hawaii. He was home having strained his back carrying his double bass upstairs. He said he missed a step and ending up straining a muscle. The two of them had rehearsed together at his house a few times and he had been to Jack’s parent’s house for a small concert. He was shocked when I suggested he might have been jealous of young Jack being chosen lead cellist. He insisted he was proud of Jack.
He had been home on his own with his bad back the night of the murder. He didn’t have an alibi, but he was telling me the truth he insisted.
I met Jack’s parents later that day. “Can you think of anyone who might have a motive to kill your son now that you’ve had more time to think about it?” I asked. “Any reason at all?”
“He was such a quiet boy. In a way his music was his only voice. It got him into trouble with one of the neighbours who complained about him playing his music into the night. He used to play until the early hours of the morning. I did tell him not to disturb the neighbours.” replied his mother.
A little later I knocked on the next door neighbour’s door. A man in his late forties dressed in a vest and jeans answered the door. I introduced myself and he let me in. “Oh yes, I saw the police round a couple of days ago. Really shocking! He was a bit strange though, that fellow. Didn’t seem to have any visitors. None of my business, mind you. I only saw him on the odd occasion.”
He seemed quite friendly and I looked around the house while he talked.
“I heard you complained about his cello playing into the early hours.” I said watching carefully for his reaction.
“Paper thin walls, these.” he said, knocking on the wall for good measure. “My wife got a bit annoyed one night with the noise so I went round. But I thought he played his cello quite well and I’m a sound sleeper …so I’ve not been bothered by him.”
I asked him where he had been at 9:20 pm that night. “I was home with the wife” he replied promptly. Just then a key turned in the door and on cue his wife came in. “I’m home, love. I stopped at the chemist to pick up your sleeping pills.” She came into the living room laden with shopping. She seemed more refined than her husband. “They’re not sleeping pills. They’re to help me relax. She’s always getting mixed up!” he said quickly. Then to his wife he said “This is a detective about that poor chap next door.”
“Really terrible, he was so young too.” she said.
I continued “Did you hear anything unusual next door at 9:20 pm the night before last?”
“No, the telly was on quite loud. I can’t say I heard anything.”
“Did you hear anything, Mrs Harris?” I asked. “Like my husband said - the telly was on quite loud.” she replied, glancing quickly at her husband and then down at her hands.
I went back to the cello playing. “Must have got on your nerves, I reckon. That noise every night through these paper thin walls.” I said sympathetically.
“I know I complained a couple of times but to show him I didn’t have any hard feelings, I even fixed his plumbing for him without charging him a week ago!”
I asked Mr Harris if I could have a look at the backyard in case the murderer had escaped that way. I noticed a pair of workman’s boots in the kitchen. Muddy footprints had been left on Jack’s hall carpet. The size was the same, though these were as clean as a whistle.
There was a high panel fence separating the two houses. The sun was shining now and something didn’t look right when I looked at the panels. Then I realized what it was. There were three new screws in the panels. Someone could easily pass between the gap then replace the panels. “Mr Harris, where do you keep your tool box?”I asked.
“In the shed of course, why?” he countered. “Could I have a look at it?” I said.
There was a screwdriver missing. “I lost it…. two weeks ago.” he replied following my gaze. “I told you to get a new toolbox, didn’t I?” Mrs Harris said in a slightly anxious voice.
I went to Jack’s house next. The cracked table was in the middle of the room. There were large blood stains on the carpet next to it. Something small and shiny lay next to a stained patch. It was a screw which looked a lot like the ones in the fence panels. I carefully put it in a forensic bag. I picked up a writing pad. A letter had been written inside which read:
(Copy)
Dear Mr Harris.
I’m sorry I can’t teach you to play the cello. You really don’t have a musical ear. I have explained this to you several times but you don’t seem to take any notice. Also, I am too busy rehearsing for a performance.
Regretfully yours,
Jack.
I went back next door. Mrs Harris answered the door. Does your husband own a cello? “It’s in the cupboard under the stairs.” she replied flatly. I turned to Mr Harris “How badly did you want those cello lessons? Did you offer free plumbing or money? How did it make you feel when he refused?” I was looking for a reaction but none came. I showed him the screw. I must have dropped it when I went round to his house a week ago. I’ve got a hole in the pocket of my jacket” he said looking at his wife. I took the jacket to forensics. There were specks of blood on it matching Jack’s.
Mr Harris was arrested for the murder of Jack Mandley. The missing screwdriver was found in Mrs Harris’s sewing basket. She was arrested for providing a false alibi.
Jack’s parent’s bought a cello shaped coffin for their son’s funeral. His own solo piece ‘The lonely cellist’ he had written a fortnight ago was played at the funeral by Andrew Warner. As I watched Andrew Warner play I kept thinking his features bore a strong resemblance to someone I had recently met. This threw a whole different light on the case.
After the funeral I went to visit the orchestra conductor again at his house.
“Did Andrew Warner bring his double bass every day that last week?” I asked him.
“Oh no,” he replied. “His double bass had gone for repair last week.
His aunt, Amelia Harris, who lived next door to Jack, lent him her husband’s cello to practice a new solo piece ‘The lonely cellist’ instead. He said he wrote it himself but I must say I was little surprised as he isn’t a natural composer like Jack was. It was a really beautiful piece of music. I’d forgotten about that until today…why?”