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

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.”

“A falling elevator’s a great deal stronger than any human, Mr Dryer,” said Penelope. “If you search the hoistway directly above the fortieth floor, I suspect you’ll find the wire used to commit the crime. With all the excitement due to the murder, I doubt if Mr Stern had a chance to remove it.”

Stern shook his head. His voice quivered as he spoke. “It’s still there. Things happened just like you said. Doesn’t matter that you figured it out. Old bastard’s dead. He tried to rape my daughter, then threatened to blackball me if she went to the police. That’s when I decided to kill him.”

“Tell it to the jury,” said Penelope. “Considering Calhoun’s reputation in Manhattan, you’ll probably get off with five years probation and a contract servicing the elevators in City Hall.”

Norton and Dryer left a few minutes later, Stern between them. Ushering the Inspector to the door, I managed to slip him a handful of Belgian chocolates before he exited.

Back in her office, Penelope was explaining to the three Calhouns how she figured out the crime without examining the scene. Julian was serving coffee and chocolate cake. My boss might be confined to her house, but she knows how to live well.

“Since it was clear no one could have entered the car and killed Mr Calhoun, I eliminated that possibility immediately. The pieces of wood found on the floor were covered with blood, indicating they had fallen before the murder. This meant that something had happened within the elevator when it started moving, something that made the wooden fragments splinter and fall to the carpet. I theorized a noose tightening. All that remained was to check if there were bloodstains from the wire on the outside roof of the elevator. Mr O’Brien confirmed that. The solution was merely an exercise in simple logic.”

“You are a genius,” said Ralston Calhoun.

“The world is filled with mysteries,” said Penelope. She drank no coffee nor ate any chocolate. Caffeine aggravated her agoraphobia. “Many very intelligent people work solving them. My skill lies in making that talent pay.”

Penelope always sounds modest after solving crimes. Especially after she’s just relieved her clients of ten thousand dollars. Now that takes real genius.

Lawrence Block (b.1938) is one of the most highly respected writers of crime and mystery fiction. He was made a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America in 1994 and several of his stories and novels have won literary awards. His name first appeared with the short story “You Can’t Lose ” (Manhunt, February 1958 ) but over the next two years a lot of material appeared pseudonymously until Death Pulls a Double Cross was published in 1961. His recent books usually feature one of two main characters. There’s the alcoholic ex-policeman, Matt Scudder, who first appeared in , In the Midst of Death (1976) and whose cases include the Edgar Award winning A Dance at the Slaughterhouse (1991) and the tour-de-force When the Sacred Ginmill Closes (1986). And then there’s the bookstore owner and compulsive thief Bernie Rhodenbarr whose books, after the first two, are always recognizable by the title beginning The Burglar Who… The first book , Burglars Can’t Be Choosers (1977), involves an impossible crime. And so does the following, one of the rare Rhodenbarr short stories, written with his wife, Lynne.