The Mammoth Book of Locked-Room Mysteries And Impossible Crimes

established and my income was more than satisfactory. Compared to many other disabled people, I feel quite fortunate.”

“You said two reasons,” declared Garrett Calhoun. Drumming his fingers on the side of his armchair, he was obviously anxious to be gone. “What’s the second?”

“You have a serious problem,” said Penelope. “The president of your bank was murdered this morning in a rather spectacular fashion. Knowing the Press, the story will continue to make headlines for weeks, especially if the killer isn’t apprehended. Your internal security will be judged insufficient, considering it couldn’t even protect the bank’s largest shareholder. TV and radio thrive on unsolved mysteries. The negative publicity will cost your bank many thousands, perhaps millions of dollars in withdrawn funds or closed accounts. Do you agree?”

“Well-” began Garrett.

“We agree,” said Vance. “What’s it to you?”

“I run a consulting business,” said Penelope. “I solve problems. Mostly I work for major companies, oftentimes governments. Even businessmen when necessary. Perhaps in some sort of cosmic balancing act for my bizarre phobia, I have an IQ that can’t be measured by any standardized test. I provide answers, gentlemen. If you agree to pay me ten thousand dollars, I’ll solve your crime tonight. Squashing the story before it has a chance to grow out of control.

“As the majority stockholders in the bank, you have the authority to make such a transaction. I have a standard contract drawn up,” and Penelope reached into the top drawer of her desk and drew out the papers, “and Inspector Norton can serve as witness.”

“And – And – if we don’t agree to this outrageous demand?” sputtered Garrett Calhoun.

“Then you can depend on the good Inspector and New York’s finest to find the criminal. No matter how long it takes. If ever.”

“Well, I find this whole charade ridiculous” said Garrett, rising from his chair.

“Oh, shut up and sit down, Garrett,” said Tom Vance. He stared at Penelope. “If we sign this document, you’ll guarantee to name the killer and explain how the murder was committed before we leave tonight? We won’t be stuck in one of those ongoing O.J. Simpson nightmares?”

“Sign the document and I’ll do so immediately,” said Penelope. “Ask Inspector Norton if you like. I’ve helped him on a number of occasions in the past. Have I ever failed, Inspector, to deliver on my promises?”

“Ms Peters has assisted my department more than once,” said Norton. He hated being put on the spot but Penelope was a precious asset he couldn’t afford to lose. “If she says she’ll deliver, she will. She always does.”

“Good enough for me,” said Vance. Grabbing a pen from the desk, he signed the contract in bold letters. “Go ahead, you two. Unless you’re afraid of the truth.”

“Nonsense,” said Garrett Calhoun. Still, he read the entire document carefully before finally signing.

Ralston didn’t bother to look. He merely shrugged and signed. “I’m not guilty,” he said. “Why should I worry?”

“Murderers are always so self assured,” said Penelope with a slight smile. “They assume no one is smarter than they are. Inspector, all we require now is your signature.”

Norton signed, as he had done more than a dozen times before. Dryer peered at me. I shrugged. I had absolutely no idea which of the three shareholders was the killer.

Norton handed Penelope the contract. She scanned it quickly then dropped it back into the desk drawer.

“You were on the fortieth floor when Mr Calhoun was murdered, were you not, Mr Stern?”

“Yes, miss,” said Stern. “Fixing the air conditioning vent in the boss’s office. Just as I told the police.”

“You also told them that it was impossible for the elevator to stop on any floor other than the ground level?”

“Yes, miss,” said Stern. He sounded puzzled, not sure why Penelope was asking.

“The trap door on the top of the elevator was sealed to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, miss. It hasn’t been used for at least two months.”

“Two months,” repeated Penelope. “I assume that’s when you looped the wire noose around the outside of the light fixture and made sure the wire was held securely in place with those wooden sticks. Then you punched a small hole in the corner of the ceiling where you proceeded to wind the rest of the wire to the elevator cables.”

Stern’s face was white. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, miss. No idea at all.”

“Yes, you do, Mr Stern. But in case you’ve forgotten the details, I’ll state them all for you.

“For some reason, you wanted to kill Mr Calhoun. From what I’ve heard about him, he was not a likeable man. I’m sure Inspector Norton’s men will discover your motive in due course. However, like most killers, you preferred not to pay the penalty for your crime.”

Stern was staring at Penelope as if hypnotized. Dryer and Norton were both on their feet. I had taken a position a few feet behind him. That’s one of the reasons I don’t like to be seated when Penelope’s solving a case.

“The actual execution of the scheme was quite simple for a man of your talents. Two months ago, you took a long roll of steel wire, probably 24 gauge that is so thin it’s hardly noticeable, and made a loop – a noose – out of it. Opening the noose wide, you put it around the top of the light fixture. To make sure it wouldn’t slide off, you steadied it with tiny wooden dowels. You took the end of the wire and slipped it through a tiny hole you made in the top corner of the elevator. I assume you measured off around ten feet or so and tied the wire to a sturdy steel claw. Then you just threaded the rest of the wire among the hoist ropes, so it ran with them whenever the elevator moved.”

“This – this -” began Stern, then his voice faltered and drifted off into nothingness.

“The elevator, with the invisible steel wire, continued to function perfectly. It was a trap waiting to be sprung. That opportunity arose when you were called to the fortieth floor to fix the air conditioning. When Mr Calhoun walked to the elevator, you used your keys and quickly entered the machine room directly above the hoistway. There’s an opening through the floor for the driving machine. Using a grappling pole, you latched onto the metal claw, tugged it loose from the hoist ropes and hooked it onto the deflector shield. That’s just below the machine room and solid as a rock. Then locking the door again, you left the machine room and went back to fixing the air conditioner.”

“Lies,” muttered Stern. “All lies.”

“I don’t think so,” said Penelope. “When the elevator door closed, the car started moving downward. With the 24 gauge wire fastened by the hook to the immovable shield, the noose immediately tightened. The pressure yanked off the pins holding it in place and the wire circle fell like a lasso over Calhoun. He didn’t have time to make a sound. An elevator drops fast. Continuing to constrict, the slip-knot noose zipped up his body until it caught beneath his chin, circling his neck like a garrotte. In an instant, the wire circle jerked him off his feet, up to the top of the elevator. Something had to give. The dropping elevator probably didn’t even shudder when the rapidly contracting noose sliced his head right off his shoulders. A moment later, the wire disappeared through the hole in the ceiling, leaving no clue as to how the beheading was accomplished. A near perfect crime.”

“Damn,” said Detective Dryer. “I’ve heard of men being strangled to death by a wire noose but never beheaded.”