The Mammoth Book of Locked-Room Mysteries And Impossible Crimes

outlining his position and indicating that within a short time he’d be fully prepared to take them to court over the ownership of the place unless they could reach some kind of settlement with him.”

“And that’s what the meeting last July was all about?” asked Alice Doyle.

“That was it. So you see, the women make perfect suspects as far as motive is concerned. But means and opportunity? No way.”

The detective shook his head. “So there you have it. The death of Simon Winkler. Was it a perfect crime? Was it an accident? We just don’t know. Frankly, this case seems immune to any logical approach. But I’d be very happy if Mr Strang could shed any light on it. I don’t like cases that remain in the Open File.” He chuckled. “And neither does the lieutenant.”

Silence. Twenty-nine pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Mr. Strang who was staring off into space.

“Any questions?” asked Roberts finally.

Jerry Lockley’s hand shot up. Roberts nodded in his direction.

“I been thinking, you know,” said Jerry. “Couldn’t those ladies have tossed something out of the window of that centre gable – something heavy? Whammo! Down it comes on ol’ Simon’s head. What about that, Mr Roberts?”

The detective shook his head. “First of all, both women were old and weak. They could hardly have lifted a heavy object, much less toss it out a window. And even if one of them managed it, the gable is set back from the roof’s edge. The distance down from the gable to the eaves is about eight feet. So the object would have either made a hole in the shingles or stayed on the roof or rolled off the edge, smashing the gutter. Our investigation showed everything intact and nothing was found on the roof. And remember, both Agnes and Lucille were at the front door with Father Penn at the exact moment of death. Finally, any object heavy enough to smash Winkler’s skull couldn’t have landed very far from the body. But we found nothing.”

Jerry sank back into his seat.

“What if a guy hit Winkler and ran away fast?” someone called.

“Uh, uh. A man – especially one carrying a heavy object – would have left tracks in the soft earth unless he went straight down the front walk. And that walk’s long enough so that even an Olympic runner couldn’t have gotten away before the door was opened and he’d be seen.”

Silence.

“Anything more?” Roberts asked.

“Just one thing, Paul,” said Mr Strang softly.

“What’s that?”

“Was there a laundry room anywhere on the ground floor?”

Roberts screwed up his face, puzzled. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Right next to the kitchen. A little room with an automatic washer at least fifteen years old. Why?”

“Did the laundry room have an outside window?”

Roberts consulted his folder. “A little one, yeah. But-”

“Thank you, Paul,” said the teacher. “Thank you very much.”

“Hey, you mean you’ve got a handle on this case?”

The teacher nodded.

“Well, give!”

Before Mr Strang could reply, the bell rang.

Over the excited humming of the students as they shoved their way toward the door, Jerry Lockley’s voice rang out loudly.

“Well, all RIGHT!”

WEDNESDAY: THE CONCLUSION “Glad to see you back, Paul,” Mr Strang began. “I’m just sorry Father Penn couldn’t make it.” He turned to address the class.

“The murder of Simon Winkler-”

“Wait a minute!” Paul Roberts called out. “I told you yesterday, without proof you can’t accuse-”

“Oh, to be sure, but Winkler was murdered. By his aunts, of course, The problem is how they did it. And I hope to explain that today.”

He pressed his fingers together thoughtfully. “Lucille and Agnes Winkler,” he said. “Represented to us yesterday as a pair of sweet, frightened, rather doddering old octogenarians. And yet their grandfather did a builder out of his just payment, their father swindled money from the government, and their nephew was preparing to take the roof from over their heads through legal chicanery. From one generation to the next the Winkler family has not only been devious but completely without scruples. If only from the standpoint of heredity, can we expect less from the ladies?

“I say no! The method of murder was not only heartless, as all murders are, it was also devilishly clever – as might be expected from the descendants of Andrew and Jacob Winkler.”

“Hardly proof, Mr Strang,” said Roberts. “What about the weapon?”

“Ah, yes, the weapon. I was struck, Paul, by your description of the gardening tools at the front door. Would women who kept the house as neat as a pin – your words, Paul – have left those objects lying about? I doubt it. Furthermore, you mentioned a shiny new pair of grass shears. Shiny, after three days and nights of wet weather? No rust? Oh, come now.

“No, the tools were put there, probably just before Father Penn arrived, for just one purpose – to camouflage the murder weapon.

“Now what are the requirements for such a weapon? Basically it must be heavy – massive, in fact. Therefore we eliminate the basket, the trowel, and the shears. All too light.”

He bent down behind the demonstration table and brought up an object that bonged as it hit the table’s hard surface.

“A sprinkling can,” he said simply. “Borrowed from my landlady and similar, I daresay, to the one you found, Paul. Weight, perhaps a pound or two. But-”

He moved the can underneath the curved faucet at one end of the table and turned the water on full. In a few seconds the can was brimming. Mr Strang hooked a spring scale to the handle and lifted.

“Fourteen pounds,” he announced. “A massive club indeed. A weapon fit for a Samson. That’s what struck down Simon Winkler. So heavy and deadly when full” – he emptied the water into the sink and tossed the can into the air – “and so light and harmless when empty.”

“But-” Roberts began.

“How was the blow delivered? Jerry Lockley’s theory of yesterday was close to the mark.”

Jerry tapped his brow, but Roberts shook his head. “Mr Strang, neither of those ladies could toss something that heavy eight feet from the second floor onto-”

“No, Paul.” The teachers finger traced a diagonal in the air. “It was eight feet from the gable to the eaves. But that’s on a diagonal, down a sloping roof. The actual horizontal distance couldn’t have been much more than four feet, maybe less.”

“Even so, a can full of water being heaved four feet? By two old women who weren’t even on the same floor? What are you trying to give me?”

“You’re forgetting something. On that centre gable there was a means to suspend the can beyond the edge of the roof. Think, Paul. All of you. Think back to Jacob Winkler. Remember what-”

“The flagpole!” cried Jerry Lockley. “Hey, yeah. A can attached to the rope on that flagpole and pulleyed out to clear the roof.”

“And since the pole was for a large flag, it would be fairly sturdy,” nodded the teacher.

Then Jerry shook his head. “No way, Mr Strang.”

“Why, Jerry?”

“Look, the can is hanging there, right? Maybe getting full of water from the rain.