Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews! This was one of my favourite chapters. I hope you like it too. Enjoy!
Warnings:- This chapter contains character death and MENTION of suicide. If it offends you, then please don't read it.
Story So Far: After the rock-climbing incident and a fire, Nancy now comes across the murder of Ariana Willin. While investigating, she finds a newspaper cutting with has the news of a hijack by the infamous Jennifer Lincer. Full of questions, Nancy falls in an uneasy slumber. The incidents follow on the next morning when yet another surprise is awaiting her...
Chapter 9: Suicide? Or Not?
When I woke up the next morning to the ring of the alarm, most of the camp was up and about. Really, sitting there, in the semi-darkness of the tent, listening to the bustle and din outside, it felt like it could just be a normal day in a camp. But normal wasn't my norm, and maybe I was glad that it wasn't.
It was a new day, a fresh morning. I had a case to crack and I needed to get started with it. Feeling loads more optimistic, I slid out of my sleeping bag.
We were just done with a quick breakfast, when we saw Mr. Gordon hurrying over towards us. He hurriedly exchanged a few words with Mr. Jones.
Amelia who was next to them gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. The news spread like waves causing uniform ripples as everyone conveyed it to the person next to them.
Gradually the length of the news shortened as it was passed by word of mouth. Then finally it reached us. On hearing it, my legs went weak.
Jenny Willin had committed suicide.
No sooner did I hear this than my feet started walking of its own accord. Bess and George were too startled and they just stood there but I needed to get to the bungalow.
Once I reached the front doors, I didn't hesitate or ask for permission before walking in. Once I ascended the stairs to the first level, I could easily identify Jenny's room. It would be hard to miss, really, with such a huge group of police officers standing outside it.
The police had just arrived. I remembered the siren I had heard a few minutes ago but I had dismissed the thought thinking that the patrol wagons had just come for their regular investigations.
I heard Mr. Ropkins saying, "I knew, the effects losing a family member can have, but it slipped my mind yesterday, or I would have appointed somebody to keep an eye on this floor. I hadn't anticipated this, oh no, this is absolutely unpredictable."
Many of the police officers were casting sidelong glances at me but I knew better than to take any notice of it.
I peeked into the room. It was just like Ariana's room. Jenny's body hadn't been removed from where it was. Suspended by the neck from the ceiling fan in the middle of the room. The rest of the room was untouched, prim and proper.
Wait, something was wrong. It couldn't be, it wasn't, "It's not suicide," I said. A dozen pair of eyeballs turned to look at me. I had a feeling of standing in a very bright spotlight.
"What, may I ask, are you doing here, young lady?" Mr. Ropkins glared at me.
I ignored the question. "It can't be suicide," I repeated, "I mean there is no chair or footstool lying on the floor. Where did Jenny Willin stand? The bed is too far. The rest of the room is in proper order. So, unless the room has been tampered with, Jenny Willin didn't commit suicide," I said with a tone of finality. I looked around to see the reaction of the police officers.
Some of them had their brows knitted in furious concentration, trying to decide whether there was any substance in what I had said. A few of the officers were grinning at me. They probably were thinking along the same lines but were hesitating to interrupt the inspector. Mr. Ropkins looked at the room critically wondering if he could come up with a suitable counter-argument. He appeared to be embarrassed that a teenager had spotted at first sight what he had not.
"But the crime scene might have been tampered with," he finally said. That is possible but it is also meaningless. Why would someone move a chair from a crime scene? But then, where did the chair really go?
"Where is Mr. Gordon?" Mr. Ropkins shouted, "I always thought he was a shifty character," he snarled.
I noticed that the two officers who were grinning at me carefully avoided each other's glances. Mr. Gordon was about as guilty as my smartphone, which, I noticed was beeping. Dad.
I took the call and moved over to a corner. "Hello Dad," I said in a low voice.
"Hi Nancy," he said, "You all are out for a swim, I guess."
"Umm, actually Dad, I am in the middle of something. You see, Jenny Willin, the other owner of the estate passed away this morning. Unnatural death." I decided not to tell him about the suicide-murder contradiction right now. So I said, "Uh, someone's calling me, so can I call you back in, say, an hour?"
"Oh yeah, it's alright. Just don't...," he paused, "Nancy, just don't cause any danger to yourself, for my sake at least. Take care dear," and with that he hung up.
Something about his voice told me that he was extremely worried about me. He probably had one of his moments. He has them when I am working on a dangerous case. He has told me that it is when a sudden, unexplained fear grips him. He gets upset and feels afraid that he might lose me. All that it takes for him to calm down is a phone call. So no matter how busy I am, I always respond to all of his calls.
It reminded me of the tough situation I was in. Pulling myself together I went back to where the inspector was interrogating Mr. Gordon.
"Were you in the outhouse for the whole of last night?" Mr. Ropkins barked at him.
"Last night I wasn't in the outhouse. I went to the town late in the evening yesterday, spent the night at a friend's place and it was only at dawn that I returned here," Mr. Gordon replied in the same nonchalant tone he used during a police interrogation.
One of the officers backed him up, "It is true sir. I was posted at the front gates last night. I saw Mr. Gordon leaving at around 9 pm and he returned at 8 am today."
Police posting. I had expected this when I had heard about the barricade. It was obvious but Mr. Ropkins did miss obvious things. If the posting was full-proof, then it meant that our list of suspects had reduced to the estate again.
"Did he go out over the last three nights?" the inspector asked. The officer shook his head.
Three nights. That would be since the rock climbing incident. How strong was the protection? If it was indeed un-breach able, that meant Ariana's murderer was also from the estate. A lot depended on the quality of protection.
"Is there any other entrance to the estate?" I asked in a low voice to no one in particular.
"No, there isn't," one of the grinning officers replied in an equally low voice, "I am Dan, by the way." We shook hands.
"You were smart to notice the detail about the chair," the other officer said, "I am Alex." We shook hands as well.
Mr. Ropkins said, "What about Mr. Malcolm? He should have been here by now. Froster, show the way to his room." All the officers started to descend the stairs.
"There we go again. On another wild goose chase," Alex smirked.
"I am Nancy, Nancy Drew. I came here on a camping trip and got involved in all of this," I said as I proceeded towards the stairs.
Mr. Malcolm, it appeared wasn't up yet, but it took only about two minutes to rouse him. He opened the door, half-way through a yawn and froze on seeing the mob of police at the threshold of his room.
Even before he could ask, Mr. Ropkins said, "Jenny Willin committed suicide last night. What I want to ask now is, were you in your room for the whole of last night? Did you tamper with the crime scene this morning? Did you notice any form of disturbance at all?"
Mr. Malcolm only had a second to look shocked before he was bombarded with questions. He gaped for a few moments before saying, "I need to take a sleeping pill every night. Otherwise, my injuries never let me sleep. Last night was no different. I was dead to the world after 10pm. I didn't have any chance of knowing anything."
Mr. Ropkins grinded his teeth. Mr. Malcolm looked the very image of someone having woken up from a sleeping pill-induced sleep.
The guard had said that Mr. Gordon returned at 8am today. It was shortly after 8 that he came running to the camp. His shock had seemed genuine. And anyways, what could anyone gain by removing a chair from a suicide scene.
Meaning, my suspicion was right. Not suicide. Murder.
Somebody tapped my shoulder. I turned around to see Bess and George. I was about to apologise for coming up without them, when Bess said, "Mr. Jones cancelled all further activities for the rest of the duration of the camp."
George added, "He wanted to return today only but for some reason it couldn't be arranged. We were scheduled to leave on the day after tomorrow but now it has been pre-poned. We are set to leave tomorrow evening." She continued with a note of desperation in her voice, "You need to get to the bottom of this matter before then."
"Yes Nancy, otherwise it will be a shame for 'River Heights Summer Camp'," Bess said.
Tomorrow evening. It meant that I had approximately a day and a half to solve an ever-increasing number of mysteries. First, there was that rock-climbing accident where someone had sabotaged the rope. It couldn't have been tampered with beforehand, that much was clear. Then, there was Ariana Willin's murder. If there had been proper police protection which I really needed to verify, then it was unlikely that somebody from outside had been the criminal. Even the barricades weren't full-proof. Still, these two crimes could be linked to a certain extent.
What was more perplexing was the current scenario. It was not suicide that much was evident. Still, if it was murder then whoever slung her by the neck had to be exceptionally strong to lift up the plump figure of Jenny Willin and has her suspended by the neck without any kind of protest.
While I was standing there, debating with myself about the possibilities and impossibilities, I noticed that the same doctor from yesterday accompanied by Julian with his camera had arrived.
Jenny's body had been lowered. The doctor came out once he was done with examining it. He gave the necessary instructions for a post mortem and then addressed the inspector, "As per my observations, the victim was first rendered unconscious, probably with chloroform and then her air passage was blocked, as you can see, with this rope," he pointed towards the rope, now hanging limply, "I will be able to give further details only after the autopsy," he paused, then he suddenly seemed to remember something, "Oh yes, about the time of the murder," he pushed back his glasses, "It is 9:30 am now. So, it will be 6-8 hours ago which will be between 1:30am and 3:30am last night."
Mr. Ropkins scowled, "That rules out the possibility of him," he gestured towards Mr. Gordon, "being involved." He thought for a while, "Hmm...then it must be...it has to be murder."
I stifled a laugh. The way he said it made it sound like he was the one who had arrived at the conclusion, not me. Let him take the credit if he wants. I was more bothered with solving the case. But there was something I wanted, "Inspector!" I called out, "Can I carry out my own investigation?"
He looked me up and down and seemed to consider me for a second, "Well yes, since you noticed that-umm-minor detail, we will allow you."
I had barely said 'thank you' when Dan said in a grave voice, "Could you come here for a second, Inspector?" He was seeing something in a laptop, "I was browsing through Jenny Willin's e-mail inbox, as you told me to. You should better have a look."
I peeked over a couple of shoulders to get a good look. What I saw made my stomach churn...
Author's Note: What is there in the e-mail? Something very interesting. I was initially a little worried whether ceiling fans are prevalent in America. But it is pretty common in India, and yes, it is indeed commonly used to commit suicide. Dupatta-Ceiling Fan is a deadly combination. Do look 'Dupatta' up if you don't know what it is. It is very interesting...
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