Adam Maxwell: Murder on the Links

“You know,” he added. “It was worth risking life and limb to watch you run over that fool Smith.”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean run over?”

“Just that, you caught him good and proper, knocked him into the rough.”

“Is he alright?”

“Hey!” said a voice.

I didn’t like the tone of that ‘hey’ and I liked it even less when its owner came into view bearing all the hallmarks of being a policeman.

“Clint, is it?” he panted as he came to a stop.

“I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder…”

“Hang on a minute there’s no way I could have killed Smith – not with a golf cart.”

“Smith? Golf cart?” he looked genuinely confused. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “I am arresting you for the murder of Damien Zelnick. Anything you

“I’ll tell you who is guilty of this murder, officers,” Mitch was standing in a room in the clubhouse and I was lying on the floor with my cheek on the carpet and my arm cuffed to a table leg.

I pushed myself up quickly and surveyed the scene. Travers was present. There were two policemen. An older bloke I hadn’t seen before. The lawyer and a paramedic tending to Smith, who looked pretty shook up. I had the horrible feeling that Mitch was just going to let them cart me away. This was even easier than a confession, he didn’t need to convince the police.

I thought for a second about making a run for it and then noticed that one of the attendant lawmen had handcuffed me to the table leg.

“Not too late am I?” I asked.

“You finished your post-hit-and-run nap then have you?” Smith shouted. “You could have bloody killed me!”

I winced a smile at him and he stared blankly back.

“This murder was committed by…” Mitch began.

“Can I just stop you for a minute there, Mitch?” I interjected.

“Er.”

“Just before you get into the cut and thrust of it all I would like to say,” I lifted the table slightly and slid the attached cuff off the leg. “It’s just that there’s no way I could have committed this murder.”

“Erm, of course there isn’t,” said Mitch.

“Because at the time of the murder I was… What did you say?”

Mitch stared at me, frowning.

“Well of course you didn’t do it, you were… well, you know…”

“Sleeping?”

“Sleeping. Exactly.”

“Oh, right, well then, can someone have a look at this please?” I stood up and lifted my arm in the air, jangling the attached cuff in the direction of the police in attendance.

“Hang on,” said one of the policemen. “I’m not convinced about this. I mean…”

“As I was saying officer,” said Mitch. “The murder was committed by Avelina Mergen.”

The policeman started to walk towards me.

“The lawyer?” I asked.

Mitch nodded.

“He’s right,” she said. “It was me.”

I looked over to her sitting at a table by the bar, relaxed, sipping a white wine.

“It wasn’t her,” I said.

The policeman stopped walking towards me.

“It wasn’t?” said Mitch. He let out a small sigh. “Come on Clint, I’m trying to help you here.”

“It was,” she said again. “I killed him.”

“See?” said Mitch. “What more do you need?”

He nodded towards the officer who started to walk towards her.

“I though we already talked about this, Mitch. What about evidence?” I said.

The policeman stopped and stared at Mitch again.

“Ah, yes, I know but she’s admitted to it. Now, erm, shut up will you?”

The policeman hovered in the middle of the room for a second then began to speak. “Alright,” he said deliberately. “If she didn’t do it then it was definitely you.”

He pointed at me.

“Hang on, officer,” said Mitch. “This murder was committed by Mr Bartholomew Travers. Take him away.”

“What?” barked Travers.

“Listen,” said Smith, rubbing his damaged limb. “I just need to go to the toilet, can I pop out for a second?”

“Oh I wouldn’t mate,” said the policeman. “There’s been some sort of, I don’t know, outbreak or something. It looks like a septic tank has exploded in there and there’s people lying around…”

The corners of his mouth turned down and he swallowed.

“There’s… well, there’s excrement up the walls and… well, to be honest with all that’s going one here,” he said. “I just locked them in there.”

“Erm, Officer?” Mitch tried to re-establish control of the room.

“Hang on a minute Mitch,” I said. “I don’t think it was him. There’s no way those fingers could have wired up the device that electrocuted him. He hasn’t got the dexterity.”

“Electrocuted?”

“Yeah. Wide eyes, hair standing on end, smell of burning. It’s a dead giveaway isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. That and the massive bloody battery and wires in the golf cart thingy.”

“And he was soaking. Conducts the electricity a treat. Sprinklers mysteriously came on before it happened did they?” I looked over to the lawyer who nodded dutifully.

“Device?”

“Yeah. Arthritis. Didn’t do it.”

Not one to take this lying down. Mitch rounded on the lawyer.

“Well one of you two must have done it. I don’t care what the evidence says!” he said, his eyes darting from the lawyer to Travers and back again. “You. You did do it didn’t you?”

“I told you I did,” said the lawyer. “Now prove it or piss off.”

“Right,” said Mitch. “Well then.”

He wagged his finger at the lawyer.

“Ah,” he said, turning back to Travers. “But I did find a cigar butt on the corpse. There!”

He beamed at Travers. He turned around and beamed at me.

I shook my head. He stopped beaming.

“No?”

“Nope,” I said. “Different brand isn’t it?”

Mitch stamped across the room and snatched the cigar Travers was holding.

“Shit,” he said and gave it back. Mitch turned around to look at me, “Where are you getting this from Clint?”

I shrugged.

“Oh bollocks to it,” said Mitch. “If you’re so clever you work it out then smart arse.”

The policeman who had been hovering in the centre of the room finally snapped into action.

“Right,” he said. “So we’re happy it’s not the lady lawyer. Which I’m quite glad about. Mr Travers here appears to have been unable to set up such an elaborate trap.”

“Steady on,” said Travers.

“Sorry,” he continued. “So that means we’re back to you then, doesn’t it. You were there before anyone else. Apparently asleep although frankly I have my doubts so let’s stop messing about, come on, I’m taking you down the station.”

The other policeman put his hand up to speak. I nodded eagerly at him.

“He said he’d never met any of these gentlemen before today. Said they asked him to make up the numbers.”

I laughed, “That’s good – make up the numbers? Get it?”

Everyone stared. That happened a lot.

“Never mind. You,” I said pointing to the accountant. “You did it. I know you did it.”

“Eh?” he replied.

“Officers, take this man into custody. He’s the murderer and I have the evidence here.”

I snatched a bunch of papers from a nearby desk and waved them comically at the bewildered accountant. I looked around at everyone and waited for someone to move, to say something but everyone was staring at me as if I was Miss bloody Marple. This was going to be difficult because I was just making it up as I went along. I needed time to think but the officers started to move forward and all I could think was shit, shit, SHIT I need to think. Please just