The Perfect Crime

The telephone rang as Inspector Keith Nichols reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll get it,” he called out to Sue, his wife.  He listened while Sergeant Cook told him a murder had been committed during a robbery at the museum.
            “I’m on my way,” he said at last.
            Replacing the receiver, he hurried through to the lounge to find Sue. They were due at a friend’s house for dinner in an hour. She would have to go on without him. “It may not take too long. I could be back in time, however...” he began.
            “...don’t rely on it,” finished Sue. “I know the drill after all these years. She sighed. “I’ll make your apologies. I think most of our friends would be surprised if we actually arrived anywhere together.” She cocked her head on one side. “What is it this time?”
            Keith smiled. It was true. Sue had been a policeman’s wife long enough to know that any arrangements were never definite. “It seems a body has been found in the museum and some jewel has gone missing.”
            “Jewel?” Sue uttered. “Not the Crimson Globe? It’s worth a small fortune.”
            “Yes, that’s the one,” Keith replied, pulling on his coat. “You seem very well informed.”
            “It was splashed all over the front page of the local paper last week,” said Sue. “But then you only read articles about crime. Culture and the finer things in life seem to pass you by.” She paused. “The Crimson Globe is said to be so named for its rich colour and size. It’s on a short term loan from its owner. He’s allowing a few museums to display the jewel so people may view it. It’s very nice of him really. Janet and I had planned to see it on Thursday.” She grimaced. “But there’s not much point us going if it’s been stolen. We’ve already seen everything else the museum has to offer.”
            “Yes! Very good of the fellow,” Keith murmured. He wasn’t impressed.
            He was less than keen on folk who showed off things out of the goodness of their heart. It usually meant there was something in it for them. He kissed his wife. “I must go; Sergeant Cook is waiting for me. Enjoy your evening, I might catch the coffee and liqueurs.”
            Several reporters were already at the museum when Inspector Nichols arrived. It never failed to amaze him how quickly the news got out. But as always, he reminded himself that reporting was a cut-throat business. Any reporter worth their salt always had one ear to the ground, no matter what else they might be doing at the time. Rather like police work.
            “Give me a chance, I’ve only just got here,” he yelled, pushing his way past a barrage of reporters. “I’ll speak to you once I’ve examined the scene.”
            Reluctantly, they stepped aside allowing him to pass. A rather flustered Sergeant Cook was waiting by the museum door. 
            “I haven’t let anyone in,” he said, wiping his brow. “Once I saw the body for myself, I put a constable on the door of the jewel room. I know how you operate. Look first – touch later, isn’t that what you say?”
            “It is indeed.” The inspector smiled. “You’re learning. Lead the way, sergeant.”
            Cook led the inspector to a large room. A body lay on the floor near a tall stand with a glass case on top. The case was empty. “That’s where the jewel was on show,” he explained. “As I understand it, an alarm was set to go off if anyone touched the glass cover. The alarm didn’t go off, the cover is intact, yet the stone has gone.” He drew himself up to his full height. “It seems to me that only someone who knew the code could have switched off the alarm and removed the cover in order to steal the stone.”
            “And what about the body?” asked the inspector. “Do you know who he is? Shouldn’t we consider him before we start worrying about a jewel?”
            “Err, yes. I was coming to that.” Sergeant Cook shuffled his feet. “It seems he was the leader of the gang. However, once they had taken the jewel the others got greedy and killed him before making off with the loot.”
            “What makes you think he was part of a gang?” The inspector looked at his sergeant. “Couldn’t he have been killed simply because he tried to stop someone from taking the jewel?”
            “It’s possible, but the owner of the stone thinks otherwise,” said Cook. “You see Sir Ralph Forster is here. It was he who was first on the scene after the gun went off. He happened to be at the museum to sign a few autographs, he does that on the first day of a showing, and...”
            “Obviously Sue didn’t know about it...” the inspector mused.  
            “Did you say something?” asked the sergeant.
            “No, I’m sorry.” Inspector Nichols gestured the sergeant should carry on. “I was merely thinking aloud.”
            “I was just going to add how he was upstairs with the curator when it all happened,” Cook continued. “According to Sir Ralph this man is Alan Holmes, his employee and an ex-con – a first offender for robbery. However when he applied for a job Sir Ralph took pity on him and gave him a chance.” The sergeant paused. “A worthy sentiment, but rather stupid in my opinion. What I mean is, here we have an intelligent man – yet he gives a job to a known criminal and a thief at that!” He shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned – once a thief, always a thief, Sir Ralph should have known better.” He looked down at the body and sniffed. “So what we have here, is a man who knew the combination to the alarm system, which gave him the ideal opportunity to take the stone.”
            “Indeed,” murmured Inspector Nichols, thoughtfully. “So why would he need a gang?”
            Still standing in the doorway, the inspector continued to gaze around the room. The floor was made of some kind of stone; marble perhaps. In any event, it was polished. In the centre stood three display stands, all holding glass cases. Only one was empty.
            “Now there you have me,” replied Cook, scratching his head. “Nevertheless, he’s the ideal suspect.”    
            “Perhaps.” Inspector Nichols slowly moved into the room.
            Nearing the body, he noted there were some slight scuff marks on the floor; obviously made by rubber soled shoes. He gazed down at the dead man. He was wearing a rather well cut suit. It looked quite expensive, no doubt provided by his employer. Yet something was wrong.
            Leaving it aside for the moment, he glanced down at the victim’s feet. His shoes were rubber soled. Moving away from the body, he began to examine the display stand.
            With the sound of the gunshot resounding around the room, why on earth did the thief stop to replace the glass cover? The inspector sighed. Perhaps the murderer returned it to the stand before he shot Holmes? But there again, why? It wasn’t often a thief stopped to close a till drawer once he had grabbed the money. In his experience, thieves simply took what they had come for and ran.          
            Again, he looked down at the body. “You say Sir Ralph was first on the scene?”
            “Yes,” replied the sergeant. “He had gone upstairs to thank the curator for his help during the day leaving his man to close up down here.” Cook scanned his notes. “Apparently both men heard a gun shot. They hurried downstairs and found the body here on the floor. The jewel was missing from
the display stand, but there was no sign of anyone else. The rest of the gang had scarpered.”
            “Who was first person in the room,” asked the inspector.
            The sergeant thumbed through his notebook. “It was Sir Ralph. He’s younger than the curator and no doubt much nimbler on his feet. He was already trying to revive Holmes when the curator reached the room.” He paused. “The two men are upstairs. I asked them to wait until you were ready to see them.”
            Inspector Nichols nodded and continued to look down at the body. There was still something about the suit, which bothered him. The jacket looked wrong – the pocket was gaping slightly. So unusual on such an expensive well cut suit – unless. Pulling on his gloves, he slid his hand into the pocket. It was empty, but had there been something in there?
            While removing his hand from the pocket, he noticed a loose thread. Something must have tugged at the material. Carefully, he checked the body, but found nothing, which might have snagged the cloth.
            “I’d like to see the men now please,” he said, looking up at Sergeant Cook.
            “I’ll show you the way up...”
            “No! Ask them to join me here at the scene of the crime.” The inspector smiled. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”
            “Yes sir.” The sergeant left to room and returned with Sir Ralph and the curator.
            As Cook had said, the curator was the elder man. It also appeared the whole incident had unnerved him. He kept mopping his forehead with a large handkerchief.
            “I’m sure I won’t have to keep you long,” said the inspector.          
            “Indeed, I should hope not,” retorted Sir Ralph. He nodded towards the corpse “I gave this man a job. I even trusted him with the combination to the display stand and how does he repay me – he sets up a gang of thieves to steal it when I was out of the room.” He looked at the curator. “Tell him how we were both upstairs and heard the gun go off.”
            “Yes, I heard a faint noise.” The curator looked rather flustered. “I didn’t know what it was at the time – my hearing isn’t what it was, you understand. It was Sir Ralph who pointed it out to me. We were discussing his exhibit when he said something about a gunshot before running out of my office. Naturally I followed him downstairs.”
            “There you have it,” interrupted Sir Ralph. “Holmes must have got a few men together to steal the jewel. Knowing the combination to the alarm system will have made it very easy for him. He saw it as foolproof. But there’s no such thing as the perfect crime. His plan backfired when his so called friends wanted the jewel for themselves. By the time we arrived on the scene he was dead and the thieves had escaped with my jewel.”
            For a moment the inspector didn’t speak. He simply looked Sir Ralph up and down – his eyes lingering on the man’s large hands.
            “There was no gang,” he said, at last. “I don’t believe Holmes was stealing your jewel. I think you shot him and took the jewel before going upstairs to see the curator.”
            Are you mad?” Sir Ralph bellowed. “Didn’t you hear? I was upstairs when the gun went off.”
            “No.” Inspector Nichols remained unruffled. “You were upstairs when the recording of a gunshot was played on a small tape recorder. You had already shot Holmes earlier, using a silencer.”
            “Don’t be ridiculous.” Sir Ralph almost spat out the words. “Why would I take my own jewel?”
            “For the insurance,” replied the inspector. “It’s been rumoured you wanted to buy another diamond for your collection, but lacked the ready cash. The money from the insurance company would have allowed you to buy it without having to sell something else.”
            “No! You’re...” Sir Ralph blustered.
            “Using some excuse,” continued the inspector. “You asked Holmes to take the jewel from the display stand. Unaware of your true intentions, he turned off the alarm and removed the jewel from the case, carefully replacing the glass cover. After he handed you the jewel, you shot him knowing the curator was hard of hearing. You took the chance he wouldn’t hear the silenced gun. Afterwards, you dragged the body nearer to the stand, leaving slight scuff marks on the polished floor.” He pointed to the marks on the floor. “You then placed the tape recorder in his jacket pocket. Now all you had to do was to go upstairs and wait for the tape to run its course. Police investigations would show Holmes’ fingerprints on the glass cover.”
            “I’ve never heard anything so preposterous.” Sir Ralph blustered. “Look in his pockets, there’s no tape recorder.”        
            “True! You removed it when you arrived at the scene. That’s why it was imperative you reached the body first. The curator thought you were trying to revive the victim, but you were retrieving the recorder.” The inspector pointed towards Sir Ralph’s right hand. “Your ring has a piece of thread hooked onto the claw. I’m willing to wager you caught it when hurriedly pulling the recorder from Holmes’ pocket.” He looked down at the body. “You formed a plan implicating the ex-convict as the main suspect, but it didn’t work. You were right about one thing though, there’s no such thing as the perfect crime.” He smiled. “At least, not on my watch.”

The End