Murder in the Bible Museum's Relic Room

This is a chap. of a longer work, 'The Tragedy of Flight MH3700 and Several Ghost Stories (2014)

MURDER IN A BIBLE MUSEUM’S RELIC ROOM (2014)

By JOHN TAN

(Edited, 15-16 September 2014) 9,705 words (final version)

The CURATOR was speaking to a PRIESTLY DETECTIVE during a mutual friend’s birthday when everybody was having a little cocktail, which was the usual follow-up, of the hefty, sumptuous, dinner-party fare. ‘Don’t credit me, G., with any of your blessed ideas about your little compendium, because it’s been tried before once or twice!’ cried FATHER BROWN, a little sharply, who was muscular enough to uproot a tree; stirring the dry martini, with his forefinger. In fact, the country priest looked too much like Flambeau, the criminal I, Simon Chan, had just been reading about in Chesterton’s The Blue Cross. ‘I mean, a museum of the same sort, your people are proposing to set up.’

‘What about it?’ queried the curator flatly when he had the first opportunity to do so.

‘Some ten years ago, a very gracious SWEDISH SHIPPING MAGNATE-- think, by the name of MAGNUS H. BJORNSEN - nearly very much did the same thing. It was reported in The Times, I remember.’

‘Ah!’ said his friend, G., the CURATOR, waggishly--but lacking in confidence in his tone, ‘From a person of your line, I can guess, you were just about to tell me that murder had been done in connection with his museum, somehow, were you not?’

‘There you have it! The sum and total of my thinking! Yes, verily, a crime was committed, in a nutshell. Murder--to make no qualms about it. Perpetrated when the building of the aforesaid museum itself was nearing full completion. ARCHITECT DEXTER WISE �" was murdered in the swanky relic room, which was next to the private chapel one night in September. The Swede, Magnus the Magnate, was but newly converted to Catholicism: and that perhaps explained why he hit upon the idea of a Bible Museum. Sometime between one and two in the morning, this murder was done: if you credit the coroner’s report. These are a few basic facts about the case off the top of my head.’

‘Where was the unfortunate building sited in the city?’

‘It was situated not far from the south bank of the RIVER TIBER in Central ROME. But, for the life of me - I can’t quite recollect on which actual street itself. It was quite near the famous pyramid �" that of CAIUS CESTIUS. Now then! A choice of weapons, the murderer had. A piece of steel wire was one. The other was an unusual, large-sized rosary that was used for decorative purposes �" about a meter long. The third was a solid necklace. Jewelry--of very great value was the necklace made of. Diamonds, in actual fact, sir! The rosary, made of walnut beads, had no monetary value. The architect-victim himself was an independently wealthy man. What was the easiest object to use? What kind of person would employ a sacred object to commit a heinous crime? Was there a hidden meaning or motive behind that choice? The Roman Constabulary was baffled to no end at that point in time.’

‘So in the end, the murderer fixed his or her choice on the rosary. Is that what you, Father Brown, would have led me to think?’ murmured G., champing on a ripe olive delicately.

‘Precisely: the rosary. Precisely! The local enforcement were kept hopelessly on the boil for about two weeks before they “invited” me to do them a special favor as I have just happened to have come from London, as the bishop’s special representative for the Youth Eucharistic Congress, to be held in the middle of September. Needless to say, I came very highly recommended and enjoyed quite a reputation even on the Continent.’

‘Have you solved many cases internationally?’

‘No; not then! Since then I have succeeded while others have failed. But in truth I could not have solved the crime, and would not have seen the light to this day had it not been for a slight miracle of being at the right place at the right time. You smile, would you?’

I, Simon Chan, was not actually present when the story was being related to the NEW BIBLE MUSEUM CURATOR, but I seemed to have seen a movie of it and am passing it on just as I got it from him: he was a redheaded, dapper little man, G. ANTONIO CARLO by name, was this acquaintance of mine. The Museum curator had just finished describing the private detective, with an added, little anecdote about his antecedents. He had a permanent eye-patch over his right eye �" the unfortunate result of messing about with his sire’s key-cutting tools when he was eight, he pointed out. Clearly, keys of all sorts: be they real or not: whether they actual or symbolic, metaphorical or hypothetical were a perennial source of endless fascination, for him…

The priest’s method, he elaborated to me, seemed to be to shape his cogitation till a key formed itself that fitted - the solution to the problem. But, sometimes, the debris �" little incongruities in the shape of odd details would spoil his train of reasoning. He did always like to have things down pat, did Father Brown; but, he never gave himself up to actual, rationalizing, ever--which would be putting the cart before the horse, such as it is, to all intents and purposes; as goes the saying. Yet, this was the important point I don’t suppose the curator, nor I, would have missed, even at the outset.

‘Let’s have the whole hog of the tale, then,’ insisted G. my acquaintance, who was still smiling. He added; ‘Including that quaint part about your ‘little’ miracle too, of course!’

‘To begin at the beginning: they were going to have every single translation of the Bible, in all the languages of the world, kept on permanent exhibit I mean, it was going to be a most famous, privately funded and owned museum in Central Rome. It was a very good concept. Very! There were also going to be relics there, too; and, the building was furthermore, to house a private chapel (the shipping magnate’s idea), which, the deceased architect (two months before his untimely demise) had specially designed,--to showcase a large piece of mirror behind the altar. There’s a novel idea for you! For, for all his faults and failings, Dexter Wise was an innovative genius! A cut above the rest! Who has ever heard of vanity glass in church? A glass creates its own special atmosphere. We can have mirrors in parlors, boudoirs and amusement parks. Why not having it, in sacred surroundings? The architect was bitterly opposed in this by at least three persons �" whether for aesthetics, religious or ideological reasons. I questioned all three of them, extensively, when I pursued my investigations, but not all of them feature or have a place in this narrative.’

‘No doubt! - Yes, yes, now about our Bible Museum. That is what we are going to do, also, as well �" by that, I mean - housing tons of different versions and translations of the Bible, old and new, and ancient scrolls �" written centuries upon centuries ago in their original tongue to represent people of every tribe and race under heaven. Still, ah, this is most fascinating! About the mirror, too,--I mean!

‘Imagine walking up at communion time as the sacred host is being distributed, and seeing your likeness in a full-length mirror. Can you tell me anything that breeds piety in a rush than this, perhaps?’

‘Not likely, you may lay to that. Right. But who would have wished to rub out the architect: go to such length as to stop his plans from being realized?’

The priest’s impassive passion was suddenly quaintly stirred. What? Besides the people I already mentioned as prime suspects, the architect had plenty of detractors, enemies. A-plenty! It transpired that there were many people who had wanted to kill him! At least, one he had in every city he had ever sojourned or visited for more than six months, according to rumors. I had begun to investigate extensively and did my little thoughtful researches and heard from voluntary informants about his seamy life. A huge dossier on Dexter Wise’s possible suspects, I soon had in the palm of my hands, after the police’s interviews of more than sixty likely people from three different continents to piece details together.’

‘You titillate my curiosity! Go on, please!’

‘After going through my makeshift list thoroughly, eliminating the impossibilities, mathematically - I managed to narrow the list down to the four prime candidates. At the beginning I had ten or fifteen. All the latter were residents of Rome, our Eternal City. It was no very wild conjecture that these, and only these, persons, had had very specific motives and every opportunity to commit the crime.’

‘Was it borne out your conjecture was confirmed?’ said G., smiling.

‘Not really! There was another that I had to add to the list as events unfolded.’

‘Who was he or she?’

‘He was a PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER, attached to a glitzy magazine from Fleet Street.’

‘Tell me who were on the narrowed down list of suspects?’

‘Very well: the first, the shipping magnate himself. The reason: the architect had got himself in a tiff with him, over a gambling debt of long standing. The former refused to settle the debt, an enormous one (too big to overlook, unfortunately), giving him the usual characteristic, lame excuse someone that had been long eaten up with parsimony, would give. Magnus had already planned to spend the coming weekend in STOCKHOLM, and he was coming by appointment, wired to Dexter by his PERSONAL SECRETARY PEGGY CELLINI earlier that morning, that he was going to see the architect at the almost completed museum. This had to do with some touching up of some parts of its opulent Gothic-style interiors; and they were scheduled to meet for a few minutes before his taking the late train out to his home city.’

‘That’s one. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to strike me as surprising. But, well, who are the others?’ said G., as he peaked up with more and more curiosity.

‘There was the TYCOON’S PRIVATE OR PERSONAL SECRETARY-CUM-ASSISTANT, the same aforementioned one, whom he, Dexter, was seeing at the time.’ She was very young: a beautiful, hotheaded girl from poor family background, no breeding whatsoever. A divorcee at age twenty-one, she had dumped her hubby for her present lover, the architect, but later became very jealous--almost insanely so--when she discovered he was seeing other people on the side, while they were having an on-going romance.’

‘And?’ asked G.

‘A DEACON OF ST. BRIDE’S! The deacon, VALENTINE BORBORYGMUS, was in charge of overseeing to some of the statuary that was being ordered to generate a tastefully pious atmosphere in the museum. Some ancient scrolls had arrived that afternoon, and the deacon had been agog to see them; for, he was also a keen biblical student, who not too long ago, had completed a tough theological exam at a seminary college in VATICAN CITY. He was in love with PEGGY. He was head over heels, madly in love,--very madly in love with her. The suspicion rested most heavily on him because witnesses had it that Dexter had deliberated insulted his dignity two days before the murder by called him ‘a puling boy of thirty-six’. He told everybody and declared outright that ‘pine though he might, till kingdom come’--But he, Dexter Wise, ‘will never, never relinquish his hold of the Madam.’ Let us give the deacon the assumed name of CUTHBERT. He was an innocuous-looking boyish man, athletic-looking but was known to be a heavy drinker of small beer and wine. Cuthbert was to be attached to the museum in some sort of semi-official capacity, when it was to be fully operational, under orders from his bishop. He already had move in and had a makeshift quarter in the new building itself.’

‘Last--? ’asked G.

‘Why, the CURATOR of the ‘OLD’ BIBLE MUSEUM itself �" the one which project was abandoned after the murder - can’t you guess, sir? The curator was very bitterly opposed to the new-fangled chapel idea: it - being in the same building. He was an atheist. Needless to say, he disdained everything connected with a place of prayer, including anything there such as the mirror, oddly enough. He was especially chosen to fill this post because of his vast experience. In working out deals with men of the bureaucratic temper, he knew everything there was to know: about church hierarchy, the handling and preserving of artifacts �" these were his bread and butter. Government officialdom and private institutions we knew inside out: how they are run, how they are funded. What grants to apply for, how to cut costs and how to seek assistance, or cooperation from them.’

‘Like unto someone in my enviable position! Well and good! Well and good!’ the Curator was chuckling a good deal. ‘But what’s the take on the photographer?’ He swallowed down his cocktail; then, reached for another. ‘I need another refill. Oh!-- Charming!’

‘Oh, he had no real reason to be connected with this case, except the fact that he and poor Dexter were always playing rounds after rounds of golf in their leisure time together.’

‘Yes. Quite right, too! What was the day like, and the actual circumstances of the murder itself?’ asked G.

‘It was fine weather throughout before the night of the murder. Dexter had been going out doing a little shopping that afternoon with Peggy. Golf, at the exclusive country club green, was the order of the day for Dexter, all set for the morrow, with the photographer: and, both the architect and his friend, the media man, being avid golfers, were looking forward to a morning round of intense competition of eighteen holes together. There were witnesses, acquaintances ready to testify they overhead Dexter making his remarks to the same effect at different places that day.

‘Just a minute! How many of these five suspects are CATHOLICS, besides the deacon?’ inquired G.

‘Two. The woman and Magnus,’ Father Brown replied.

‘Ah, yes! Magnus, the convert! What? The woman was a Catholic, too? Were she contemptuous of his riches, or him, as his tender companion, she would have strangled him with the diamond necklace, rather than the actual murder weapon itself, am I right or am I right? What was the diamond necklace doing in the scene of the murder?’ said G. ‘Was it hers?’

‘It was his peace offering to placate her because she had just found out about him and about his other women. He bought it for her only that afternoon when they went out shopping together in a plaza in the city’s wealthiest district. You are proceeding very logically and admirably over the same ground I had covered about this case ten years ago. That was what I asked of myself, too. The woman said he had bought the expensive gift for her, costing twenty-five thousand liras on a sudden impulse. It was meant to be a bribe to keep her quiet. Things, however, didn’t quite fell out quite as he had planned, however, and they quarreled soon after they had returned from the city. Peggy told me very distinctly - in no uncertain terms - she had returned it to him �" ‘flung it down at his feet’ �" she said. With the ostensible message that he was to get the hell out of her life, forever: She was still not appeased or placated at his having a string of romantic entanglements even after the proffered gift. He refused adamantly to listen to her pleas to leave those other hussies. They parted at about seven-thirty in the evening, with mutual recriminations ringing in each other’s ears.

‘It seemed likely, that, while Dexter, the architect, was waiting for his employer, the Swede Magnus H. Bjornsen, he downed two or more glasses of Chianti. But it was somewhat difficult, filling in the gaps, of what the architect did from nine forty-five to ten-fifteen.

‘There did not seem to be many calling cards sent to him at the museum, too, at that time. There was a couch in the relic room, and the dead man might have slept on it part of that time. But, someone called twice. It could be the same person; it could be two different persons! A caller was traced to a long-haired young Italian man, no doubt, a hireling. The security guard’s log established the time of arrival of the Swede magnate as at exactly ten-seventeen, and this was confirmed later by a street person who happened to look at his antiquated fob-watch when his automobile drove up into the tree-lined avenue.’

‘Pray, go on,’ said G., with a supercilious look of interested amusement.

‘The automobile was seen to depart at around eleven. There was somebody at the back of it. But, Magnus never took the intended trip to the Swedish capital which was scheduled at eleven fifty-five.’

‘Was he able to account for where he was between eleven and two-thirty A.M.?’ G., the curator had wanted to know, pronto and chop-chop.

‘No. He had had no alibi. Later, the next morning, the architect was found dead in the new relic room, which was on the second floor. This was the second to last room at right angles to the main building: one that looked out into the artificial lake and pergola on the left or eastern side of the building’s grounds.

‘The estimated time of death, according to the preliminary inquiry report, had been established at between one fifteen and two-thirty. This you already know, because already I have spoken something of it right at the beginning. The murder was discovered at six-thirty six A.M. on the next morning by the JANITOR-CUM-SECURITY GUARD, a NEGRO man from HARLEM, NEW YORK; an upstanding permanent resident, whose record was as clean as a whistle. There was a very bright Roman full moon out on the night of the murder. No rain had fallen for two days; and the grounds were dry as tinder. The windows of the relic room, there being three of them, that, an intruder might have gained access to, was not breached, for these were barred by iron grills two inches thick. There was no sign of forced entry at all.’

‘So it must have been an insider who did it.’ G., the Curator remarked.

‘Precisely! I assumed it was one of the four people did it. The cause of death was put down as a puncture in the windpipe concurrent with the result of asphyxiation, but the neck itself was not nearly broken. It was intact.

‘The murder weapon had grazed, cut into the Adam’s apple and formed a deep, ugly black serrated bruise on the skin and some little bleeding as the result of chain and bead being applied on the neck with powerful force as he was being throttled from behind. Dexter must have been caught by surprise; and, it looked like the victim’s back was towards the murderer when this act was committed.

‘The rosary was recovered on the floor next to the head of the sprawling form of the dead man. The necklace was strewn carelessly at his left feet, near the point of his toes, but without actually touching the body. There was blood and fleeced-off skin, on the rosary’s chain itself and splattered on the beads, but no fingerprints of any kind were to be found.

Peggy’s fingerprints were on the necklace,--as you might have expected, but not the dead man but none from the other people pertinently connected with the case itself.

‘The wires in the room were the ones used to hang up the pictures that had already being partly framed, and these were leaning against two sides of the walls, furthest away, from two of the windows.

‘Dexter Wise had passed from this world, clutching a reliquary--that is, a receptacle for a saint’s holy relic--at the moment of his expiration, although there was no sign that he had ever been a devout person. There were other reliquaries, but he seemed to have grabbed the one closest to him.’

‘Was there any other access into the relic room, other than via the usual way? Were there any backdoor or side entrance that commands exits without being seen by the security guard at his lodge?’ queried G., looking intently up at his man, a triumphant smile playing on his lips.

‘Yes, you have nearly succeeded in prying out the singular detail incident to the murder that was pertinent on the night of the murder. There was a backdoor; and the deacon, who was employed to do his work, had a key. Magnus had the original set, and the SECURITY GUARDS had a set of duplicates. These keys’ existences were well known to most - if not all the players of this cruel drama: for it was common knowledge.

‘But, at this point, I must hasten to add, it so happened that, Cuthbert, the deacon, lost his keys, a week before the murder, but he had already had a duplicate made of the set beforehand, including the all-important key. Hence, he was able to cover up what would have been a fuss on the part of the Swede millionaire. His admission was proved out to be categorically true: and later investigations showed that he was now using a duplicate and the date the duplicate was made had also been testified satisfactorily and proven.

‘Of the other missing set, whither they went still remains a mystery to this day….

‘The guards’ keys at the night of the murder had been carelessly hung on a hook in the guard’s office instead of being in the guard’s pocket, where they usually ought to be. So, anybody might have borrowed or taken them and later - returned them, unnoticed. Because,--the COLLEAGUE of our Harlem man later admitted to have been sleeping on the job: the only time he had checked that they were where they were supposed to be was at three o’clock, when he suddenly woke up. He reported to the Italian police, it was a quiet night, throughout, without any unusual incidents or disturbances.

‘Two theological books belonging to the deacon placed on a makeshift shelf in the murder scene were also missing. But that was not patently important to this case, it was later conclusively proven. It later turn out that a friend of Cuthbert’s had “borrowed” them.

‘Magnus explained that the reason he decided not to catch his train was because he simply changed his mind. He was, indeed, the person confirmed by his CHAUFFEUR- that was in the backseat of the car when it pulled away from the new-old museum. But the snag, here, was that �" the driver also reported, when he was interviewed, he’d dropped him off five blocks down from the museum; but no reason for this was forthcoming from the millionaire. It was generally supposed he had a secret rendezvous.

‘The bedside light was on in Cuthbert’s room in the museum all night long; and the deacon claimed he was there almost the whole of that night, especially at the time of the murder. At eight-thirty in the evening, he was seen exchanging a few words with Dexter in another part of the building (not in his room, where, the deceased never set foot in.) after he had been at evening prayers, in the chapel. The chapel was his favorite place in the whole building. He could be seen there every day, thumbing through his divine office, and prayer books. They were heard to have exchanged grunts, when they met in the corridor. He had seen the architect, drinking and walking agitatedly up and down with the wineglasses in his hands. This was how they had met. There was a cabinet in the left corner of the relic room, where bottles of Chianti were kept; and earlier, it had been positively established by credible witnesses, that the architect had taken them out, and poured himself a couple of drinks. The deacon’s testimony was, thereby, wholly collaborated. He said he’d met him standing in the long passageway outside the relic room, with a hangdog look.

He could not prove where he claimed to be at the time of the murder, that was, from one o’clock to past two. He was in a deep sleep, he pointed out to us. He said he cherished no deep rancor against the dead architect, but the veracity of his statement is not easily to be believed. So far there was no incriminating evidence against him.

‘There was one other singular detail about the love triangle, I needs must mention. Peggy said she came to see him later that night at the stroke of midnight. He claimed she stayed with him till morning: Five o’clock. She was his alibi. This was the sequel to the earlier affair. She rebutted his claim, however; saying, although she admitted sleeping with him, she had got up and left his side sometime between three and four o’clock. He said he thought he must have fallen asleep at about one. She said the same thing. She also claimed she was never in love with Cuthbert. She said her motives were only to get back at her lover, the architect Dexter Wise: now,--at least he’d know how she felt when he had treated her badly �" ‘like trash’.

‘Cuthbert could not but tell us she stayed until morning because that was what he assumed she naturally did, because he said he was not awake when she left. But, it was true that she was gone when he woke up fully conscious at seven A.M. by the ROMAN POLIZA. I thought I can believe them when they said that they were in each other’s arms during the night of the murder. But that didn’t exclude either from being the culprit, the heinous murderer; as either or both of them could have crept out of bed,--hypothetically, to accomplish the deed. She’d left his bed without his knowledge, it was claimed. The woman also confirmed this part of his story. But the passion of the young man for her love might have fueled his decision, notwithstanding his profession and religion�"if--he had wanted to, to bump off his rival for keeps.’

‘What was the museum’s curator doing at the time of the murder? When was he last seen at the scene of the crime, or together with Dexter?’ asked G.

‘He had no solid ironclad alibi, too. He was last seen there two days ago. Someone might have seen him, or someone, rather, fitting his description, at a public house fourteen miles away at eleven o’clock, prior to the murder, laying it on hard like there was no tomorrow.

‘Speaking of drinking, the murdered victim had had two glasses of Chianti �" or, it could be three - as far as we know�"and this, I have already told you. Cuthbert was a known heavy-drinker; but swore he never touched a single drop that night; and, your counterpart, the curator, might have been the one at the pub seen drinking savagely--like a fish. The bartender did not seem to have recognized him. The curator claimed himself to have been at a night spot, alone later, until three to four o’clock, but no one remembered him paying his bills, and no one saw him leaving. All we know was that his intoxication was still high when the police tested him for alcohol, in the morning. He was found in his hangover state at nine o’clock the next morning, near a children’s playground or park. He was found inside his Daimler, parked under a tree, which was three miles away from the drinking establishment and eight away from the museum.

‘As drinks were connected with the case, and were at the scene of the crime, the Poliza very prudently tested everyone they had reason to suspect for being the murderer. Nothing showed up in the tests done on Cuthbert, however. On the other hand, I reasoned later, since he was a hyperactive young man, he might have naturally high alcohol tolerance. He might have only drunk a little also. On the other hand, once started on his habitual bout--there was every likelihood he could not have stopped. The woman, like that other fellow--I mean, Cuthbert-- was totally sober, too. Magnus was contacted at ten the following morning. He too was clean.

‘‘About the bottles of Chianti--they belonged to the deacon�"a gift from the deacon’s younger brother. There were supposed to be round a dozen of them. A few days prior to the murder, the deacon had very speedily finished four or five bottles, and left six inside the small cabinet on the evening of the murder. Only three were found left unopened. Two bottles were flat missing. The opened one was one-third full. There were three tumblers with the dregs still left at the bottom. These contained no clear fingerprints.

‘There was no lipstick imprint on any of the glasses, or anything unusual. There were no fingerprints on the cabinet itself, except, again--smudges that had been half-rubbed out.

‘Why - the two missing bottles of Chianti? It was very evident that whoever murdered Dexter had taken them because no one seemed to have done so. No one came forward to admit to taking them: neither the construction laborers and workmen nor the magnate’s manservants. Therefore, the murderer had had the presence of mind to wipe away the fingerprints off the handle and door of the cabinet case, and the glasses. Evidently, he had tampered with or removed all incriminating evidences.

‘Who do you think, was the most likely culprit? Was it Cuthbert, Magnus or the curator?’ cried my acquaintance. ‘Mightn’t it be, that, the woman and the deacon decided on the murder and carried it out together?

‘I had a long thinking spell in the matter of the deacon Cuthbert. ‘What did he want with the bottles if he were the murderer? Was he merely getting rid of the empty bottles without drinking them? That was �" if it was really him who did it. Was it merely unreasoning possessiveness? Was it a compulsion? Were these meant to be a red herring? Was the murderer�"if it wasn’t him�"an alcoholic? Had the murderer drunk those two bottles himself after or before? There were ample wine stains on the carpet and the low, lacquered mahogany coffee-table; but from which bottle did it come from?’

‘For the most part, the deacon was thought to be a decent, even likeable, chap. On the other hand, he was a known drinker. He couldn’t have killed Dexter, without taken--imbibe an appreciable amount of alcohol to steady his nerves because he was precisely the kind of person whose nerves needed steadying at moments of high stress or tension. He could hardly have taken a sip without emptying bottle after bottle and he was clean when they tested on him about five hours later. Was it a ruse to take the bottles away merely because someone wanted to create the impression as if the murderer had consumed a quantity of alcohol? Or, he could create the impression that the murderer simply couldn’t help helping himself with reds from the famous Tuscany vineyards. At that point of the investigations, I thought it could be a ruse, nothing more.

‘Be it as it may be, all in all, there is no avoiding the conclusion that Cuthbert was the prime suspect in this murder case more than either Peggy, Magnus or even the curator of the proposed Bible Museum, the atheist. His possible motive would be�"he was in love with Peggy, and consequently, the architect was his rival, and it was a grudge against a rival that prompted him to kill. He was possessed of every opportunity to do away with Dexter. He could not account where he was at the time when the murder was perpetrated other than offering the inconclusive proof we know already. He said he in his own room hitting the sack. Peggy’s statements partially collaborated that this was true. Both could have feigned sleep, and gone out of bed once he or she was sure that his or her partner had fallen into a deep slumber. Yes, so much for Cuthbert! More of him later!

‘Listen: mind! By far the most interesting feature of the murder, however�"was the fact that the victim was found clutching a reliquary in his death grip. Could anyone explain or account for this? What was it pointing towards? Was it a symbol or shorthand to help us unlock the identity of the murderer, so that justice can be served? I should hasten to add--other than the part about the reliquary--the look on the contorted face of the dead architect was most horrible to look at!’ said the priest, wiping the sweat from his white brow. He continued after a pause:

‘The dead man’s swollen tongue was protruding out; he had the general appearance of a contorted fixity with the muscles of his cheek, shoulders and chest bunched together--other than the ‘marks of contusions’ I had already iterated.

‘And, oh�"yes--his eyes ghastly, staring white; as if some intense pressure had been applied internally to such an extreme degree that they were ready to explode out of their sockets. It was likely--that brute force that was exerted on his throat, to squeeze the life out of him--but notwithstanding that, it wouldn’t have resulted in the creation of this so horrifying an expression that was written all over his face at the moment of his quitting this world.

‘I conclude, the murderer whomsoever he, or she, might have been, he or she must not only be powerful physically; but have held an extraordinary, possibly, even supernatural power over him, to elicit this fearfulness in him, to such a hideous, gruesome and unnatural degree.

‘I must own up, further, and humbly and shamefacedly admit-- this stumped me for two hours after I had returned from my short and curtailed attendance at the religious congress, and I seem to think more thought or more clues coming to light might be able to shed light on what seemed to be a proper mystery. What could the explanation be?

‘I was working five to six hours a day, checking and rechecking the facts, and the results of interviews and information from the police; and the bare bones of what I am telling you now remained the only true and indissoluble facts. I was doing my own extensive inquiries in certain shall we say, sordid quarters: but I only got a pittance for all my labors. Besides the missing wine, what could account for that turn, such a strange state of affairs?’ I quizzed myself endlessly every moment I took to puzzle out the case.

‘What, then, did you proceed to do?’ asked G.

‘I went over the four key suspects. I followed my firm conclusions to the bitter end. Magnus was a solid character:--almost beyond reproach. But, he failed to bring forward conclusive proof that he was somewhere else at the time of the murder. He could have easily doubled back to the museum, got in unseen and murdered Dexter. On the other hand, why should he want to kill his own highly paid architect? He wouldn’t have killed a guy over a few ‘lousy lira’, as he very contemptuously termed it; he didn’t need the money, furthermore, and murder won’t help him to get his money back. Also, he needed him for his museum.  But, there wasn’t any other possible motive.

‘Peggy, on the other hand, being a pretty small petite creature, probably, she wouldn’t have the strength to commit murder by way of strangulation. She was a woman and Dexter was a sizeable man. It would not have been easy for her to overpower the victim. If there had been a great struggle, she would have not had the strength to maintain her grip on the murder weapon. Furthermore, she wouldn’t have been so idiotic to necessarily giving incriminating evidence against herself and the person she’d just slept with. All the evidences she gave she had yielded up to us voluntarily. She did it because she was sure Cuthbert was as innocent of the crime as she was; and because, she was a person not given to falsehood. Psychologically, she probably wouldn’t have hated her former lover enough to destroy him by murdering him even if she were capable of it. And, she couldn’t have been in cahoots with Cuthbert, using him to destroy Dexter. She wouldn’t be so silly as to sleep in his bed if she were contemplating foul play in any way. Like I have tried to hint, she was a simpleminded woman with a gorgeous face--and the explosive psychic energy necessary to premeditate and commit murder would have been in every way alien to her nature. By way of explaining how the diamond necklace with her fingerprints were found near the murdered man--and, might have been there at the time of the murder: this was what she said. She reiterated she had torn the necklace Dexter gave her from off her neck; she had angrily flung it hard against the carpeted floor in the heat of the quarrel that afternoon. That was when she had stormed out of the relic room. That was the last time she ever saw her beau alive, and she was sorry now that she had thrown a tantrum, and wished he were not dead, she said.

‘She explained she went for a walk that night after finishing up some paperwork in the museum office. She sat under the pergola, near a laurel until midnight; at the end of which time she was still half-mad with Dexter. The willful idea in the meantime had formed itself in her female brain to make a laughing stock of him as he had of her. Tit for tat, that was her trademark style of thinking. Her womanly desires were to be desired by any man of her choice, to find fulfillment; in a monogamous relationship; (we know how these had been perverted on the night of the murder).

‘Therefore, I shortened my list. Thus, I cleared Peggy of having been involved with murder.

‘Cuthbert, the deacon, I must by extension of my same inexorable logic, also had to be exonerated tentatively--at any rate--in the absence of anything more incriminating.

‘My personal opinion was that the deacon was in many ways an inept in the ways of the spirit, but he was no murderer.

‘The photographer-cum-golfer, friend of the murdered victim, you will have noted hopefully, hardly comes into the story at its unraveling up to this point. (In point of fact, I was still as far from solving the crime as when I had first taken on the case after a week): you would have noticed this on your own. He only came into it, when, at last, the ongoing police investigations brought to light the fact that it was he who had sent a note to the museum. After ten years, I couldn’t say exactly what the exact words said but it came out later; this was, because an inordinate length of time had elapsed. The police had incontrovertible proof: he was unable to deny it. Up to this point, I had four prime suspects. (Therefore, after the police questioned him again, I, accordingly, put him down into my list as the fifth suspect because of some little importance of this new discovery).

‘Effectively, it had established him to be within the same locality of the new museum. It was a great stroke of luck that the police was able to come up with the proof that they need at the right time when it was needed. I had nothing to do with it. It was that simple.

‘Yes, he had asked a loafer in the bar to run a message for him, he confessed frankly, with a disarming smile. He’d confessed this to me when I questioned his story. ‘What were they about?’ I looked at him inquiringly.

‘What are your questionings about?’ he answered, stoutly.

‘You answer first!” I returned, staring him down with my single, blazing eye.

‘Purely about playing golf the next morning, of course!’ answered our photographer. He looked at me as if I was a deranged lunatic...

His answers were always the same. I didn’t think he was the murderer at that point in time of course; but it was only proper investigative procedure to track down every possible lead; in the face of blank walls. We �" the Roman Poliza and I �" had ferreted out the Swede magnate’s reasons at this same time for keeping us in the dark as to his whereabouts at the time of the murder and we were satisfied they could not possibly have anything to do with our murder case. So far: dead ends only. So, the photographer-cum-golfer angle was at least a more promising angle in the end of our enquiry. The guy had to be worked on; mined, before we could even think of the mother lode. He would have been an excellent bridge partner as well,--that man; and it was impossible to catch a meaningful glimpse of the man behind the thoroughly adult style of thought. I had not liked him. He was a repulsive sort of a man, a cipher, but throughout--neither the law enforcement officers, nor myself--succeeded in cowing him. He knew where he stood exactly with us, and his position, in relation to us.

‘He was able to slip through any verbal or logical trap we set for him. He never incriminated himself.

‘But let me turn away from discussing the photographer (we are almost coming to the end of the story) and say briefly a few words on the curator of the museum: either he or the photographer must have murdered Dexter, the way I figured it, now.

‘The curator was a careful man; he knows how to take care of his appearances at work. He never made a mistake. His manner and approach were wholly professional to the highest degree. He would be plump crazy to kill his own architect, he said. There was already ample proof that he was drunk on the night of the murder. Could a man, heavily-laced with alcohol murder his intended victim and escaped undetected? Wouldn’t he have made a mistake? What would he want with the Chianti from the scene of the crime? What could they do for him but incriminate him? Personally, he and the architect disliked each other intensely: each in his little agnostic way. But, professionally, it must be admitted, everything between them was peachy and they were a very credible team based on the ongoing work that was proceeding, right to the day of the murder.

‘Bitterness was what had led the curator to his drinking from the first: he was disappointed with life, despite his professional success and status, counting them as hollow victories in his heart of hearts. He was endowed with the unenviable trait of having an evil temper, although he managed to keep any of his friends from even suspecting he had it: he had his temper under lock and key. The curator was ever the consummate diplomat. He was in his mid-fifties; he was not a powerful man, in fact, an asthmatic; and his choice of murder weapon, if he were really the murderer, being a rational man, would have been a length of wire, instead of the rosary. A piece of wire cuts easier and deeper, and with less force! It would have served him better than using a rosary. Still, he had had no religious aversion about using a religious object for the purpose of murder. Just as the Peggy woman--were she the one that was committing ‘unpremeditated’ murder-- would have picked up the diamond necklace that had landed on the floor, where she had flung it in her ire to do murder, he  would have preferred the wire, as regards him, because they were more handy. It was simply plain common sense. He told us, during a bout of intense questioning he fantasized about committing crimes of violence, especially when he was very upset. He told us how he would have looped the wire around the architect’s thick neck, tugging at it rather than the cumbersome rosary. But he did not fantasized on killing him with any of the proffered choice of murder weapons that same week, he said.

‘Therefore, as there was no damning evidence against him, the case that was built against him was finally dropped by the police,’ said the priest, with a quite tone of voice. ‘They simply couldn’t come up with any proof enough to convince an Italian Judge.’

‘By the way, the necklace must have lain there on the Persian carpet the whole time, because Dexter "the Wise" had deemed it beneath his contempt to pocket or retrieve it. Possibly, he was sensitive enough that she might come back to re-claim it later that evening. Why didn’t the real murderer pocket it?’ said the curator, G., ‘I am justified in these half-conclusions and suppositions?’

‘I was coming to that,’ returned Father Brown. ‘But let me bring in one final digression before the denouement, as it were, taking a second look at the people we have dismissed. I was aware I was merely clutching at suppositions. But at that time, I was a little desperate, shall we say: it was a piece of rationalization that flew in the face of the other facts of the case, and I nigh well succumbed to it. In a word: it didn’t quite fit in with what we already know at this point in time. When I thought how poor dead Dexter was holding a reliquary, which, incidentally, contained no relic in it at the time; I thought it might have been because he wished to point out with the word ‘reliquary’ that in actual fact he meant--‘relinquish’. This very word he had previously used himself, in a particularly suggestive connection as regards to Cuthbert before certain readily available witnesses; and that he might have been in effect telling us the identity of the murderer was none other than the deacon, Cuthbert, himself. Both have the identical spelling, ‘reli’ and have a ‘q’ in it. I dismissed these, later, however, as pure speculation on my part, pure fancy, in the end, as having no real basis in which to build a solid case. My miracle occurred at this time, and it produced the correct insight into how and why the photographer must be the one who committed the crime of murdering Dexter,’ said the priestly criminal specialist from England. ‘Tell me,--what in heaven’s name tempted the poor fellow to do it? He was the one with the least reason to kill because he was the architect’s friend!’

‘Right you are, old chap!’ chirruped the tough priest. ‘His was the weakest motive of all. Later, I discovered he was eighty percent of the time an amiable chap, although his face was sallow and none too handsome. In fact, many would have considered him downright ugly. Same as most of those following the same profession as him-self: deep down he was a loner! He had no real female friends. Dexter Wise was rich, of the profligate type, and well set up both in appearance, grooming and stature.’

‘In his police statement, the photographer admitted that he had been in a blue funk the day before the murder. He had been feeling rather tight all that evening; he had just finished his assignment chasing after some socialite or celebrity and had hit on the idea of calling up Dexter later in the evening. So he sent him a note twice from the service of a paid messenger suggesting he came to see him and they drop down to a nice ‘quiet place for a drink or two’ �" and all that jazz, you know? Both times the architect politely refused. Nonplussed by the unintended snub he decided to call on his friend himself. He arrived at the museum on foot, via the garden path after asking the Italian cabbie to be dropped off two blocks down, because as he explained to the cab driver, he needed air to clear his thoughts. The night was very fine. He realized he had to come up with a plausible reason for calling on his friend at such a late hour in the night. It was five minutes to midnight. He was sober and his thinking was sharp; though his mood was rotten.

He had been sitting in the backseat of the same cab; and the driver had been eating pepperoni pizza and had never given him a second look. He believed the driver could not recognize him if he ever saw him again. He had no intention or motive to harm, much less murder his friend, whom, he was very anxious and eager to see. He did not have the keys to the building. He did not know whether he could gain entry. Suddenly, he remembered the backdoor keys that he knew would be with the security guard. It was now ten past twelve in the morning: he ambled back to the guard’s lodge, which were fifty or sixty yards from the main building. There was the scent of azaleas and the lights was illuminating the building spectacularly. He cheered up a bit. There was only one guard there, who was fast asleep on his desk. He was in luck. He boldly walked up to him �" but instead of waking him up �" he carefully pocketed the backdoor keys and slipped away into the half-gloom as silent as a lamb, without arousing any notice. He had no real reason to keep his movements so confidentially; but he was the naturally cagey type. By now, he had gained an entrance to the building. After unlocking the tiny door, he placed the key back on its hook. The guard was still sleeping. There was no one in sight. All these, he readily confessed in the police statement when he found that the game was up at last.  They found the missing bottles in his possession, where he had stashed them.  But we have to explain his motive for killing Dexter Wise-man.

‘He entered the relic room to find Dexter Wise sleeping like a baby, stretched out amorously on the couch. This was the room, Dexter, he said, had told him where he was usually in during one of their casual conversations. He woke him up. The latter was surprised at first. Then he was angry. The photographer walked over to the cabinet and began to uncork the two bottles of Chianti. He loved Italian wines, and he immediately shoved half a bottle’s contents down his gullet. His Dutch courage up, and, relishing the drink, thereby, he proceeded, suddenly and abruptly, to blurt out his feelings to the bemused architect who began to laugh at him rudely in his face. Dexter called his friend a ‘ruddy Mooncalf’ and a ‘damned, bloody fool’. The photographer continued drinking the first bottle of Chianti down to the very last drop. He began on the other in earnest.

‘Dexter grew more sarcastic, and made ironic comments about the other’s type of behavior. He elucidated, enlarged on his bawdy descriptions, using every epithet that could be employed in such a way to yield the most crude and unsavory of meanings. He laughed again in his face. He leered, he abused; he insulted.

‘The effects of the drinking were now making the photographer more peevish�"suddenly, than he had ever been. He bared his soul even more, in the most pathetic manner. As he grew more and more intoxicated, his temper also mounted. His anger grew. The architect must have thought he was on a roll, and he tossed out insults after insults. The media man’s anguish and humiliation was now of such monstrous and unnatural proportions, and continued to grow; till, at last, he had lost all sense of reason and self-control. His anger became a pure, maniacal, burning rage that swept everything in its way. There was an explosive release of psychic energy, to say the least. There could only be one result: murder. Yes, murder had to be the result!

‘There was one thing left that needed explaining: the choice of the murder weapon.

‘It was a half-conscious choice, as we have consistently maintained, earlier on; but it was decided on in a split-second. It had all boiled down to his professional training as a photographer. He had been trained to filter away secondary details, and keep himself locked on the essentials: he had an eye towards composing a subject fit for photographing. He was aware subliminally of the effects of light and shadow in any composition of his, being particularly good with people as subjects. Subconsciously, he must have thought how good a copy it would make on the front page of the morrow’s evening paper. But all these had taken no more than half a second, being all that was needed, to decide on using the rosary. He had no qualms as to the rosary’s meaning. No one has yet to dispute that its placement was on the wall near the door was inconvenient �" and he grabbed this and use it, as we already know, to throttle his friend, Dexter Wise, the architectural genius.’

‘Yes. Fascinating but gory stuff! What convince you to point the ‘idea’ as the key to unravel the identity of the real murderer? You haven’t explained what led you believe that it was him? Pray, explain at once!’ said G., draining his cocktail down his delicate-looking throat.

‘Well,’ said the tired looking Catholic priest, Father Brown, with a faraway look of despair or hope in his eyes: ‘I made the claim earlier it was nothing short of a little miracle. You see: I had read much about the Miraculous Infant, the statue of the Christ Child, dressed in royal vesture and venerated in Prague, Czechoslovakia at that juncture. It was a piece of purely Catholic devotion, and it was said to yield certain miracles and cures, if certain set prayers were said regularly--you know that sort of thing? I happened to have a copy of the prayers, with me at the time; and desperately needing to solve the crime I was sent down to that part of Rome for. So I said to myself, ‘oh,--what the heck, I’d give it a try for what it was worth’. You know, ‘When in Rome, do what the devoutest Romans do!’

‘It was at dinnertime, in the last weekend of September. I was having my dinner �" some of my favorite pollo alla cacciatore �" in Via Nomentana, at a little al fresco place �" they are literally hundreds of them all over the city- one that specializes in chicken dishes. I happened to take out my prayer leaflet and started to recite it with all the fervent hope that was in my heart that I could muster at that time. I had just been seated and waiting to be waited upon at a table inside the restaurant itself. Outside, on the paved street there was a mock robbery-cum-shooting going on. Something was being arranged for the press corps, in conjunction with public awareness against the Brotherhood of Crime or some group or other. And I saw there was this young press photographer in a trench coat and dark glasses (despite the falling light,) rearranging the fake ‘murder victim’s’ appearance and her effects so that the picture would come out well. The scene is indelible impressed in my mind.

‘The photographer connected with my ongoing murder case flashed instantly across my mind. I realized the truth immediately. Part of the truth is that we are all conditioned! Our circumstances and surroundings conditioned us. The choice of the murder weapon with regard to the murder of Dexter Wiseman had been chiefly a conditioned reflex action, brought about by the aesthetic instinct in us.  

‘Finally, using my discovery as a basis, as the key to the problem--I was further able to explain the look of repulsion and intense dread that was etched on the features of the corpse. It was really fear of demonic forces that inhabit our world, in the upper air, which each one of us human beings must contend and strive ever against. The photographer, in the very act of murdering his friend, had, in reality, turned into a fiend, lusting to destroy, exulting in taking a human life �" at least, momentarily. And that was why the dying architect was led to clutch the reliquary that was within an arm’s reach. He had no time to ascertain whether the reliquary had been possibly empty or filled with a saint’s relic. It was his first and last act of faith: the act of faith of someone who realized whose whole life had been wasted on debauchery and sin. He was seeking protection from God, craving God to protect him against the wiles of the unseen enemy who was now come in human form. After the murder, the photographer went to take the key to lock the door, and he was lucky, for the guard was still sleeping. He put the key back, and left without anyone knowing. Also, he said he was tempted to pocket the necklace; but he thought the better of it, because he realized its presence in the scene would point to another, since he had not touched it. There, you have it, my story!’

‘Grazie, I must hot-foot out of here at once!’ the curator, G. Antonio Carlo, said putting on his coat and hat and taking his leave all in the same moment...

Author's Note

my first coherent piece of writing penned back in December 2001, and here, used as a chapter to support the main plot of my latest work which was begun on the 16th of September 2014.

Reviews

[John Tan]

It was quite rocky going trying a hand at the detective/crime genre; but, on the whole, i thought, i pulled it off in the end. A minor success!