From W. Y. Traveller: Corpse

From mrspencil: the finest Scottish whisky

Part 2 of 2

I found Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and Constable Morley in the dining room, amongst the Cowen family and house staff. Holmes spoke with Lord Cowen, Mr. Lipman and Ms. Brisly, holding up the Scotch whisky for them to examine. Holmes gestured to the bar by the window in the dining room.

"I believe so, yes," said Mr. Lipman. "This fifteen-year whisky belonged here, in the dining room." Lord Cowen and Ms. Brisly nodded in agreement.

"I thought as much," said Holmes. "Thank you." He turned to Constable Morley and muttered something discreetly into his ear. Constable Morley nodded, and left the dining room through the southern door, opposite of me.

Inspector Lestrade stood beside Holmes. "I thought the Scotch whisky was from the study side table. How did you know it came from somewhere else?"

"There was no bottle stopper in the study," said Holmes. "This bottle has started to accumulate dust in the grooved crevices near the neck, much more so than the liquor bottles that Lord Cowen keeps in his study. I also figured that Lord Cowen's personal taste is more American, judging by the bourbons and tequilas that he chooses to keep on his side table—Scotch whisky is decidedly Scottish. For more reasons than one, the bottle appeared out of place."

"How did it end up in the study then?" said Inspector Lestrade.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Holmes. "The victim grabbed it on his way through the dining room."

"He passed through the dining room on his way to my study?" said Lord Cowen. He turned to Mr. Dodger. "You were in the kitchen next door, weren't you?"

"I was," said Mr. Dodger.

"And you didn't hear him?" said Lord Cowen.

"I didn't," said Mr. Dodger. "My Lord, I was repairing the oven. My head was deep inside as I tightened bolts in the back, and the kitchen walls are thick. The whole house was rattling with strong wind. I didn't notice him at all."

"And what about you, McGuire?" said Lord Cowen. "The cellar is below the kitchen and dining room. You didn't hear anything either?"

"No, Sir," said Mrs. McGuire. "The floor is thicker than the walls. To be honest, when the old tree fell I thought it was just distant thunder. I can't hear anything down there."

Lord Cowen eyed Mr. Dodger and Mrs. McGuire. The other dining room occupants, many of whom sat around the long table, were looking on with curiosity. There were fifteen of us in total. In addition to Lord Cowen, Mr. Dodger, Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and myself, the room included Young Lady Cowen, Old Lady Cowen, Jonah Cowen, Mr. Lipman, Ms. Brisly, Mrs. Verner, Mr. Remington, Mrs. McGuire, and two constables in the back.

"Neither of them murdered Mr. Emrys Eaves," said Holmes.

Holmes paused upon dropping the victim's suspected name, taking a few seconds to survey the room, reading the reactions of his audience. Holmes had a talent for picking up on micromomentary expressions—a twitch of the brow, a redirection of the eyes, a bead of sweat, an unconscious fumbling of fingers—subtle signs of deception and surprise. If he noticed anything, I must have missed it, for I didn't see any noteworthy reaction in Holmes's expression or in any of the others. After several seconds, Lord Cowen raised an eyebrow.

"Eaves?" said Lord Cowen. "Where have I heard that name?"

"The '95 Wimbledon quarterfinals," said Holmes.

Lord Cowen's jaw dropped. "Eaves! Yes, of course. But, no, that can't be him." He leaned on the dining room table with both hands, eyes closed in thought. "I suppose, now that you mention it, they share a certain similarity, but still…"

"The stab wound finished him off, but even prior to that, he was going through the worst of times," said Holmes. "These past months were exceptionally hard on him."

"Jesus, I never would have guessed it was him," said Lord Cowen. "I watched him place second in the '93 Birmingham Open. I met him in person, before then, when he played for the collegiate club in Oxford. What the hell was he doing here?"

"Looking for you," said Holmes.

Lord Cowen stared blankly at Holmes, then around the room at his family and staff. "I can't imagine why," he said.

Holmes directed his gaze at the younger Lady Cowen. "Can you?" he said.

Lady Cowen looked more bewildered than her husband. She was still donned in her gardening clothes. "I haven't a clue."

"You killed him, Lady Cowen," said Holmes.

The room was quiet, but for the icy wind gusting against the windows. Inspector Lestrade stared at Holmes, then Lady Cowen, then back to Holmes. Lord Cowen stepped in front of Lady Cowen, facing Holmes head on, his dark eyes locked onto Holmes's liquid gray. Lady Cowen did not speak. A soft gasp escaped her lips.

"You're a bold one," said Lord Cowen. "Mr. Holmes, was it?"

"Hardly as bold as the Lady of the house," said Holmes.

"Are you being funny?" said Lord Cowen.

"No," said Holmes.

"This is a serious accusation, and I will not take it lightly," said Lord Cowen. "For your sake, and yours, Inspector, I hope you've thought this through. On what grounds do you accuse my wife?"

"Earlier this morning, the late Mr. Eaves ventured on foot to this estate," said Holmes. "Judging by the direction of his windswept hair, primarily to the right, we can deduce that he approached from the south, with strong west winds blowing against the left side of his face. Coupled with the fact that he picked up the bottle of Scotch whisky here, in the dining room, he most likely entered via the southern door by the greenhouse, and walked straight through the dining room to your study. Lady Cowen was the sole occupant of the greenhouse at the time." Holmes looked past Lord Cowen to Lady Cowen, addressing her as he continued his narration. "You spotted Mr. Eaves approaching the estate—limping, drunk—and you ushered him inside. He wanted to see your husband, but you knew Lord Cowen was away, hunting with Mr. Remington. You led him through the house, directly to the private study. That was a gamble. Fortunately for you, nobody noticed the two of you walking through. Maybe offering him the dining room Scotch whisky was a way of keeping him quiet. Once you reached the study, you took another gamble."

At that moment, Constable Morley reemerged with a cardboard box full of garden shears. "Mr. Holmes, I found four pairs." Sensing the tension in the room, Constable Morley stuttered his steps.

"Excellent work," said Holmes. "Bring them here. Thank you, this will do." Holmes examined the four pairs of shears, then drew out one in particular. "I present to you, the murder weapon. Just the right size and shape to inflict the damage dealt to Mr. Eaves. The blades are dull and dirty, which explains the rough, rending damage to Mr. Eaves's clothing and flesh, as well as the specks of soil found near the wounds. After stabbing Mr. Eaves, you returned to the greenhouse and cleaned the shears, then dirtied them back up to hide any traces of blood. I think you've missed a spot here." Holmes pointed to a red spot on the shears near the hinge.

"Traces of blood?" said Lady Cowen. "Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you're confused. I was tending to beets in the greenhouse. That's red beet juice, nothing more."

"Ah, yes, I thought that was a nice touch," said Holmes. "Of course, once you returned to the greenhouse you cleaned yourself, and the shears, and then touched yourself up with soil and beet juice for the purpose of introducing an element of deniability. You can claim that any blood found on your body, clothing or weapon is merely beet juice."

"You've proven nothing," said Lord Cowen.

"I admit that beet juice looks like blood, but there are more rigorous, scientific ways of differentiating the two substances," said Holmes. "Beet juice is moderately acidic, whilst blood possesses a slight alkaline quality. The difference can be measured with a litmus test, a bit of chemistry utilizing dyes extracted from lichens. And a serologist would have no issue confirming if an ambiguous red liquid was blood or beet juice. They would measure the agglutination properties. There's two examples of techniques that could be used to see through your trick."

"You've failed to explain how anyone could have escaped the deadbolted study after committing the murder, or why my wife would even think of performing such an act," said Lord Cowen.

"That brings us to Lady Cowen's second gamble," said Holmes. "You brought Mr. Eaves to the study. The door was unlocked. Once he stood just inside with his back to you, you stabbed him from behind with the shears. You gambled that you could kill him, quickly and quietly, and then clean up his body before your husband returned from his morning hunt. Unfortunately for you, the first swing didn't kill him. Maybe if you aimed higher, at the neck or head, you would have had more success. He turned around, and you swung again, this time stabbing into his chest. Mr. Eaves shoved you away, out of the room, and deadbolted the door himself. That's why the deadbolt latch was smeared with blood, from Mr. Eaves's own hand. There's a spot of blood on the wall above the door as well, from when you pulled the shears back out of his chest and flicked blood up behind you. You were locked out. Mr. Eaves was bleeding profusely. He collapsed within seconds, going into shock, and crying out in pain for other members of the household to hear." Holmes nodded to Mrs. Verner and Mr. Dodger. "You both stated that you thought the victim may have been trying to say something as he died. Live. He was calling out to Lady Olivia Cowen."

"Hold on a moment, Holmes," said Inspector Lestrade. "If everything you say is true, then Mr. Eaves would have surely slammed the door as hard as he could. Don't you think someone would have heard the sound of the door slamming?"

"The sound of the door slamming was covered up by the sound of the ash tree falling," said Holmes. "In fact, I think it's likely that Mr. Eaves was distracted by the ash tree beginning to fall, and that's why he turned his back on Lady Cowen."

Holmes let his audience stew on the explanation, how the impossible crime had been committed. The murderer simply left the room before the door was locked, and the victim locked the door before he died.

Lady Cowen shook her head. "You're wrong, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh?" said Holmes. "Would you mind disrobing for us?"

"What?!" said Lord Cowen. He slammed his first down on the dining room table, rattling plates and glasses all the way down to the opposite end. "You crude bastard. All you've spouted is conjecture, and you insult my wife in every way possible."

"Apologies, fully disrobing is unnecessary," said Holmes. "But I'd like to see your arms, Lady Cowen. When Mr. Eaves shoved you away, pushing you out of the study, he grabbed you by the arm. You were driving a blade into his chest, after all. I wonder if he left a mark."

The air left the room. All eyes fell on Lady Cowen. She looked around, red wetness forming in her eyes. Lady Cowen patted Jonah's soft head of hair, and gave him a loving squeeze and a kiss.

"Olivia," said Lord Cowen.

"Conrad, it's all right," said Lady Cowen. "Mr. Holmes is wrong." She pulled up her right sleeve, revealing a darkening red bruise. It was fresh, the oxygen still leaving the blood under the skin, producing a vibrant red hue. Someone had grabbed her forearm with an intense grip. "You're very observant, Mr. Holmes, but allow me to defend myself."

"Please do," said Holmes.

"I killed him, but not as you've described," said Lady Cowen. She let out a long sigh. "I never let him inside. Not intentionally. You were wrong about that. This morning, I came in from the greenhouse for a book on horticulture from the house library. The fool I am, I left the southern door unlocked. When I was returning to the greenhouse, I saw that man in Conrad's study. I didn't know his identity. Eaves, you named him? He was out of his mind. He attacked me first, Mr. Holmes, and did this to my arm. I thought he was going to kill me, so I defended myself. I ran out of the room, and he locked himself inside." She put her face into her hands and began to sob softly. "This is all my fault. I couldn't tell anyone the truth. I was so scared."

Lord Cowen placed a comforting hand on Lady Cowen's shoulder. He stared daggers at Holmes, then looked back softly at Lady Cowen. "Olivia, I believe you. You were defending yourself. It's not your fault. Isn't that right, Inspector? She has the right to defend herself in her own home!"

Holmes leaned back against the wall. He snorted. "You took the shears with you to the library?"

Lady Cowen nodded.

"If you were defending yourself, then why did you stab him in the back?" said Holmes.

"It's a blur, Mr. Holmes," said Lady Cowen. "But you had it backwards. He grabbed me, and I stabbed him in the front. He turned around, and I thought he was going for a weapon, so I swung again, and I hit him in the back."

"He spoke your given name with his dying breath," said Holmes. "Live. Olivia. Where did he learn it?"

"I'm not sure about that," said Lady. "I can't speak on what Mrs. Verner or Mr. Dodger may have heard, but I didn't hear any such thing."

"You didn't seek help afterward?" said Holmes.

"No, I told you, I was scared," said Lady Cowen. "It all happened so quickly. It felt like a bad dream. I couldn't let my awful mistake shine poorly on Conrad, or the rest of the Cowen family."

"Fascinating," said Holmes. "Truly fascinating."

Inspector Lestrade looked at a loss. I think he may have seen his career flashing before his eyes as he contemplated arresting Lady Cowen, and making an enemy of the Cowen family. His constables were just as paralyzed. Holmes sounded unconvinced.

Holmes continued. "I suppose that only leaves one question unanswered: what was Mr. Eaves's motivation for coming here?"

Lady Cowen shrugged her shoulders. "He was a drunken madman."

"Perhaps," said Holmes. "Though, I'd like to offer an alternative theory. Thirty years ago, Mr. Gregor Johann Mendel published an academic paper titled, Versuche über Pflanzen-Hybriden. In English, Experiments on Plant Hybridization. He discussed the concept of dominant and recessive traits, and the mechanics of how genetic traits are passed down from parents to their offspring. Since then, the study of genetics has grown substantially, well beyond Mr. Mendel's plant-centric experiments. Geneticists have identified many dominant and recessive traits passed between humans. For example, brown eyes are dominant relative to recessive blue eyes, and brown hair is dominant relative to recessive blond hair. That is to say, if one parent is blond and the other is brunette, it's significantly more probable that their child will be brunette. If both parents are brunettes, then it's even rarer to produce a non-brunette child. I provide this brief lecture on Mendelian inheritance to emphasize the implausibility of two brown-haired-brown-eyed parents giving birth to a blond-haired-blue-eyed child."

I could not help but notice the dark hair and eyes shared by Lord and Lady Cowen, as well as Old Lady Cowen, in contrast to the light blond hair and bright blue eyes of Jonah Cowen. I thought of the windswept blond hair and dead blue eyes belonging to Mr. Eaves. Lord Cowen's brown eyes looked down at the floor. Lady's Cowen's looked up at the ceiling. Lord Cowen sank into his chair. He put an arm around Jonah, and held him close. Dubious lineage by damned, they were still a father and son. The expression on Lord Cowen's defeated face left me thinking he wasn't wholly surprised by Holmes's biological revelation.

"Lady Cowen, you've admitted to the act of taking a man's life," continued Holmes. "We live in a world where such an act is sometimes necessary to preserve the lives of others. We will never know your true motivations, and so we can only speculate based on all possible data. A man known to the Cowen family for years, at least tangentially, comes to Lord Cowen when down on his luck, desperate and destitute. Why does he seek Lord Cowen? Does he have an offer to propose? Leverage? Lady Cowen ends the man's life before he has the chance to speak with her husband. Was she defending herself, or was she attempting to prevent any interaction between Mr. Eaves and her husband? I think Lady Cowen is more cunning than she presents herself as, and the Cowen family tree is more complicated than it first appears."