Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Locked-Room Mysteries And Impossible Crimes

The Inspector turned to the third member of the group. “Ralston Calhoun, right?” Norton asked. “I believe we met once or twice at the Mayor’s Spring Fundraiser.”

The man, tall and slender, with light brown hair and light brown eyes, nodded. Of the three, he was the youngest by a dozen years or more. “Your prime suspect,” said Ralston, with a slight twist of a smile. “Cyrus was my stepfather. With him dead, I stand to inherit a hefty fortune.”

“Nah,” said Norton. “Department furnished me details about the corporation. You make a great suspect, but so do your two relatives. As the three surviving stockholders in the company, you’ll all do quite well with Calhoun dead. None of you has to worry about begging on the street. It’s common knowledge you’ve been asking the old man to step down from the Board of Directors for years, and that he’s constantly refused. Dry those big crocodile tears. Everybody hated the old bastard. After I get statements from all of you, you’re free to go and get yourself smashing drunk. I know that’s what I’d do if I owned shares in this bank. From what Mr Calhoun senior stated, I assume you all alibi each other?”

“Exactly,” said Vance. “None of us could have had anything to do with the crime. It was right after our weekly board meeting. We were all upstairs in the reception lobby of the fortieth floor, saying goodbye to old Cyrus when the elevator door closed. We didn’t know anything unusual had taken place until we got a phone message from the front desk.”

“Didn’t exactly rush down here,” said Norton. “Talking to your lawyers first, I expect. Give your statements to my assistant, then you’re free to go. Good luck with the press.”

He frowned, rubbed his eyes. The usual signs he was getting a headache. I couldn’t blame him. Murders in rooms locked from the inside were bad enough. But a murder in an elevator riding down forty stories?

Around that time, Norton noticed me trying to make like a potted plant. Surprisingly, he didn’t say a word. Perhaps he was already thinking about Penelope. Not that I could blame him. More than once she’d solved seemingly impossible crimes. Though I had to admit, I was at a loss to explain how she’d figure out this hatchet job. Especially since she never, no matter what the circumstances, left her house.

Norton was talking again, this time to Roger Stern, the short stocky guy who was the building engineer. “I understand you were up on the fortieth floor of the building this morning,” said Norton. “Any special reason?”

“Mr Calhoun was complaining about the air conditioning in his private quarters. Normally, I let one of the engineers handle such complaints, but when it comes from the boss, I do the job myself.”

“Then you were present when Calhoun left the office and stepped into the private elevator?”

“Yes, sir,” said Stern. He spread his hands wide. “Don’t look to me for explanations. Once the door closed, I went back to work. Everything Mr Vance said about the elevator is true. Impossible for anyone to climb inside and chop off Mr Calhoun’s head. Or get out afterward.”

“Any chance the elevator stopping at another floor?” asked Norton. “Murderer jumps in, kills Calhoun with a machete, and jumps out all in the span of few seconds.”

“Sounds like something out of James Bond.” Stern shook his head. “This elevator was built according to Mr Calhoun’s specifications. For his use only. Operates by key. It runs from the fortieth floor to the lobby and back up again. No stops in-between. Once the boss got into the car, it descended straight as an arrow to this foyer.”

“Forget the machete angle,” called Andy Jackson, one of Norton’s team, from inside the elevator. “Wound’s a clean slice. No chop-chop stuff here. More like a guillotine than a butcher knife.”

“Terrific,” said Norton, frustration evident in his voice. “Just terrific.” He looked into the elevator where his crew was working. “Anything else you gentlemen can add to the discussion? A clue, perhaps?”

“Found a dozen slivers of wood on the carpet,” said Mel Thomas. He held one up. It was the size and shape of a large toothpick. It was red with blood. “Scattered all over.”

“There’s a door in the ceiling, right?” said Norton. “Maybe the killer shook the wood loose when he moved the light fixture coming in from above?”

“Building code requires a trap door on top of every elevator,” replied Stern. “It’s kept bolted. I’ll need to lower the elevator to the basement to inspect it.”

“Do it,” said Norton. There was a resigned look on his face, as if knowing what to expect in advance. “Okay if my men stay on board?”

“No problem,” said Stern, pulling out a huge set of keys. “It’ll just take me a minute or so.”

I decided to use that minute to report to my boss. Over the years, I’ve learned how to deliver a concise but complete outline of a criminal investigation. Penelope didn’t say a word during my entire recital.

“Wood fragments,” she said, when I finished. “How interesting. Has the elevator been lowered yet?”

“It’s down,” I replied, glancing over my shoulder. “Norton’s examining the trap door right now. He has that disgusted look on his face. There’s a thin layer of dust everywhere. Not a chance anyone entered the car from the roof.”

“Of course not,” said Penelope. “Ask the good Inspector to let you look at the corner of the roof above where the body was found. I mean the roof of the elevator, on the outside of it. Search for spots in the dust. Then call me back.”

“Spots in the dust on top of the elevator?” I muttered, closing the phone. “Sure, why not. Who am I to question a genius?”

Getting permission from Norton to examine the top of the car was easier than I expected. The Inspector was in a foul mood, but he was no fool. He’d seen my quick phone call and knew who had really made the request. Norton preferred solving crimes on his own. But he never refused Penelope’s help. Especially since she made sure he always got all the credit. Penelope shunned publicity. She sleuthed strictly for the cash.

No surprise. I found three small blotches in the dust exactly where Penelope said to look. After telling Norton about my discovery, I called my boss. She answered on the first ring.

“Well?”

“Three spots,” I replied. “Norton’s crew is examining them now.”

“Drops of Mr Calhoun’s blood,” said Penelope. “Please put Mr Norton on the line.”

“Hey, Inspector,” I said. “Call for you.”

Norton took the phone from me and listened. The conversation didn’t last long. It never does. He nodded a few times, said “Nine is fine,” and snapped the phone closed.

“Get going,” he said to me. “Your boss wants you back at her office, I’ll arrive there at nine tonight. With guests.”

“We’ll be waiting,” I replied. “I’ll put out some of those Belgian chocolates you like so much.”

He grunted, which is about the nearest thing to thanks I ever get from the Inspector.

Leaving the crime scene, I checked and found the bank tellers were still working. Business never stops, even for death. I made my deposit, then headed for home, wondering how Penelope knew about the blood spots dotting the dust on the roof of the elevator.

I didn’t find out until nine that evening. As soon as I returned home, Penny had me draw a detailed picture of the elevator and the position of the torso and head. She stared at it for five minutes, while I waited in breathless anticipation for some profound remark. I should have known better.

“Neatly done,” she declared, handing me back the picture. “A simple problem that should net us ten thousand dollars.” She waved a slender hand at me in dismissal. “Help Julian in the kitchen. We’ll be serving coffee and cake for our guests this evening. He could use your help.”