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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 25, 2017 1:02:42 GMT -5
Thomas Rodgers was coming home after a long day at work. He wasn't a very remarkable man; he wasn't handsome, but he was not ugly either. He didn't have any special talents, but he made a decent living as an accountant for a major business in London. Though he had no fame to his name, he had to put up with the occasional reporter outside his door from time to time, because though he himself was not famous, his neighbor was. Adolf Gunnarson had made a name for himself over the years as a private detective, a "modern Sherlock Holmes" they would say. But for Rodgers, it was something of a burden to live in Gunnarson's shadow. Why did the reporters even come to him for questions? Rodgers hardly knew him and Gunnarson never even gave him the time of day. The most he got was the occasional hello in the hallway. But little did he know, today would be very different. As he came home and entered the main hallway, he went up to the second floor. The building had eight apartments on this floor, and if we were to look at it from a top view, they were arranged in two rows of four. On the left side, there was 2-A, 2-B, 2- C and 2-D. On the right there was 2-E, 2-F, 2-G and 2-H. Gunnarson lived in 2-C, and Rodgers in 2-B, the apartment directly to the left. Across from D was E, across from C was F, across from B was G and across from A was H. Rodgers was just coming up the steps to his floor, when he saw something most peculiar. There was Gunnarson, knocking on the door of apartment 2-F, in short bursts, clearly trying to get the man's attention. Was this for a case? Then the door opened. "Hello? Oh, Gunnarson, what can I do you for... Wait, what are you doing?!" The tenant cried out. Much to Rodgers' horror, Gunnarson had pulled out his service revolver and emptied all six bullets into the man. Then, as if nothing happened, Gunnarson turned around and walked back into his apartment, not even bothering to close the door to 2-F. Rodgers ran up to the door, and much to his horror, there was the dead man, six bullets in his body; four in the chest, one in the neck and one in the head. Though he could not believe what had just transpired, he knew it was his duty to report this crime. Some time later, Adolf Gunnarson was reading in his apartment when he heard a knock. He went to answer it... there was Gent and two officers. He was immediately restrained. "What the?! Gent, what is the meaning of this?!" Gunnarson said. "Adolf Gunnarson" Gent said as a tear formed in his eye, "you are under arrest for first degree murder" he said, as he gestured to across the hall. Then, an officer reached into Gunnarson's shirt and pulled out the revolver... it had been recently fired, with all six cartridges expended. Then they held up his hand... small black specks were on it. Gunshot residue. "Why Gunnarson? Why?" Gent asked. But Gunnarson could only be shocked. "But Gent my friend... I did not kill anyone!" he said, confused and shocked. Gent shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry Gunnarson, but the evidence in undeniable. You'll have to accompany me to Scotland Yard; your arrest is to be my final field action" he explained. Thomas Rodgers looked on as Gunnarson was handcuffed and taken away. Then an officer came up to him. "We'll be contacting you in the coming days for an official statement; is that ok with you?" he asked. "Yes, of course. I'll go write something down so I know what to say when the time comes" Rodgers replied. "Good. Enjoy the rest of the evening sir" the officer said as he left. Rodgers went into his apartment and proceeded to write everything down. "Why Gunnarson, why?" He thought to himself... but he was an accountant, not a detective- he worked with numbers, not cases. So he shrugged off the thought and continued writing his statement... Literary Mosaics No.10
The Tables Turn |
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Post by Eyes on Apr 25, 2017 2:23:08 GMT -5
I was having breakfast when I looked at my newspaper and was taken aback.
"Gunnarson in... prison? For murder?!"
I dropped my paper, left my eggs and bacon, put on a coat and went to Scotland Yard immediately.
"I must see Gunnarson!" I said, but the guard was having none of it.
"We can't let every Tom, Dick, and Harry come to see the prisoners," he replied with a frown.
"You don't understand, I'm a friend of Adolf Gunnarson's. My name is James Hartley."
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 25, 2017 19:52:57 GMT -5
"Well, since you are a friend of his... all right, but don't cause any trouble" the officer relented.
Escorted to the holding cells where prisoners were kept, Hartley found Gunnarson sitting sadly in a cell.
"Hartley? Oh, thank goodness you came" Gunnarson said, feeling relieved.
"Yes; I was going to spend some time with Cricket this week so I was staying at a hotel. What happened Gunnarson?" Hartley asked.
"I'm not sure... I do not deny that my revolver was fired and there was gunshot residue on my hands but... but I swear I am no murderer! They won't let me go and there is no bail, so I cannot investigate anything- I don't know how I'm going to defend myself" Gunnarson said.
"You want me to go call our friends from way back?" I asked.
"Yes! Do that!" Gunnarson said, sounding hopeful. I went to go make some phone calls
Gunnarson sat in his cell nervously as I came back to inform him of the news.
"Well?"
"I'm sorry Gunnarson, but they can't help you" I explained.
"What?!"
"Miss Marple said something about after a sleeping murder case, she was "too old for this line of work" and Poirot is busy with a case involving a murder at a farmhouse (The Hollow) so they are unavailable" I explained.
"What about those brothers I keep reading about in the news?" Gunnarson asked.
"Those Hardy boys? They live in America and they are teenagers" I said dismissively.
"Darn it all" Gunnarson said, feeling defeated.
......
All the while, two other men were having a field day. The Crown Prosecutor assigned to this case was none other than Henry Taylor himself; he had been cheated out of his victory against Gunnarson back in 1942 because of Dr. Drugg's intervention, and now he was back with a vengeance. He was going over every detail, every bit of evidence there was... if he was going to get Gunnarson, it would have to be a solid case.
"The evidence is absolute and conclusive... I have physical evidence, an eyewitness, means and opportunity. I just hope the detective can find me a motive- then I can pressure Gunnarson into a plea bargain" He thought. But he decided that he had to take no chances, so he went back to reviewing the notes.
On the police end, the Detective assigned to investigate the Gunnarson case... Detective Walton, who was elated that he finally had a chance to get Gunnarson out of the business for good.
"Your incompetence and lack respect for the procedures will be a thorn in my side no longer! All of the pieces are in place and they all come together so perfectly. All I need to do is discern a motive, and you are going DOWN!" He thought to himself at the crime scene, as he reviewed all the evidence and pieced together what had happened.
......
Gunnarson and I were talking when a well dressed man appeared in our cell.
"Adolf Gunnarson?" The man asked.
"Yes; can I help you?" Gunnarson replied.
"I will be your defense attorney on this case; don't worry, I'm not some recent law school graduate. I've read up on your case in the papers, and quite frankly I feel that there is something fishy going on. After that... questionable performance you gave 4 years back defending yourself, I think you'll agree that you need a real defense attorney if you're going to have any chance of winning this case" he explained.
"Yes, you are right. I am no lawyer. Thank you, Mr..." Gunnarson began.
"Mason. Terrence Mason. But you can call me Terry" he offered.
(NOTE: Based on Perry Mason; but because Perry Mason practices law in California, and is almost certainly not certified to practice law in the UK, for all intents and purposes Terry will be our "Perry" if you will)
Just then, I had realized, "oh dear, I must go and meet Cricket. There's nothing more I can do here so I will leave it to Mr. Mason. Best of luck Gunnarson!" I said as I went to leave.
......
"And that's the story so far" I said to Cricket as we enjoyed a meal in a cafe. I think she was on her third coffee by the time I finished the story.
"What a shame; I hope it all works out; you did say you want him to be the Best Man at the wedding in a few months" Cricket said.
"Me too; but the prospects are grim" I sighed. Little did I know, my day was about to go from bad to worse.
"Oh, here he comes now! I didn't mean to surprise you, but I decided that it is time you meet my father, Hartley" Cricket explained. A rather large, imposing man came up to us; I swear he must have had at least a foot on me.
"So, you are the man whose won over my daughter, eh? While I do appreciate you saving her life son, I think you're kinda rushing things. Who ever heard of proposing to someone you've only known for a month?" Cricket's father said as he looked at me and then her.
"I looked into his eyes, and I could tell he was my knight in shining armor" Cricket said, but her father was not won over.
"tell me this boy, what do you do for a living?" He asked.
"Well, I'm between jobs right now, but as a side thing I'm sort of a personal assistant to a Private Detective, Adolf Gunnarson" I explained.
"The criminal?!" He said in shock.
"No, no! Nothing's been proven yet! But anyway, I sort of help him out on cases. Well, he does the bulk of the work, I just write the notes and give him someone to talk to" I explained.
"And are you paid in this line of work?" He said suspiciously.
"Well... not really, no" I admitted; most of my money came from the odd jobs I did around town. Then he looked angrily at me.
"I knew it! You're after the fortune that my family has spent years building up! Well I will not allow this! Phillipa, you are forbidden from marrying this crook, and from ever seeing him again! Come on, we are leaving!" He said, going towards her.
"Father, no! I truly love him!" She said.
"No you don't! You love the hero that rescued you, not the man!" He fumed, reaching towards her.
"Now look Mr. Earnest, there's nothing to get worked up about..." I said, calmly approaching him.
"You shut your trap!" He screamed. I regretted coming near him.
The next thing I knew, a giant fist flew right at my face... and I took a blow right between the eyes. I fell to the ground with a thud, and couldn't move. The last thing I remembered seeing before losing consciousness was a crying Cricket being dragged away by her father, who was going on about "finding her a real man to marry" or something. Then I passed out.
......
"What are you doing boy? Your friend's freedom is on the line and you're just laying around here? Stand up like a man and fight back if you want that which is good and right to succeed!" I heard a voice say. I found myself in a black void, with only one man near me. An older gentleman, but I recognized his face right away.
"Wait, it's you! But, if you're here, does that mean I'm..."
"No, you're not dead, just having a near death experience. You will come to in a bit, but it is just enough time for me to tell you it is important that you investigate this case for your friend" he said.
"How can I?! I'm not like you, Poirot or Gunnarson, I'm just the assistant who loyally follows behind. Face it, I'm no Sherlock Holmes" I said to him.
"Then don't be me! Be James Hartley, and solve this case for your friend's sake" Holmes said to me.
"But I can't do this alone! Gunnarson is locked up with no chance of parole, and Poirot and Marple aren't available" I said.
"There is still one man to turn to..." Holmes said reassuringly before everything went black again.
.......
Everything was a blur as I started coming to; but I heard a familiar voice.
"It's all right Cinders; he's an old friend of mine" I heard him say.
"But should you really get involved?" This "Cinders" replied.
"Yes, I must! Poirot may be busy with a case but I still have other friends here" he said, as my vision finally started returning to normal. Though I was groggy and my head hurt like all hell, I was finally able to say something.
"H... Hastings? Is that you, Captain Hastings?"
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Post by Eyes on Apr 25, 2017 22:35:01 GMT -5
"But wait - I thought you were living in Argentina and were only in England for a visit?"
"Yes, but Cinder's father died and we came for the funeral. Funny story as to how we found you though..."
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 0:27:46 GMT -5
"We were just coming out of the Funeral luncheon, and had decided to go for a walk now that all was said and done. Never thought we'd run into you along the way" Hastings explained as he helped me up. "So what exactly happened?" Hastings asked.
"Well... the father of my fiance broke our engagement, then he sucker punched me out cold... so In one day I've lost a good friend and my bride to be" I sighed.
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 0:33:27 GMT -5
"Damn," said Cinders, "that must be pretty annoying."
"You don't know the half of it," I said. Then, standing up, I assured them I was feeling fine, and left to get control of my thoughts.
Somehow my feet led me to Scotland Yard.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 1:00:24 GMT -5
I thought it over; should I report what Cricket's father did to me? Or would it only make Cricket hate me? Maybe I could go to Gunnarson's holding cell and... no, he's working with Mr. Mason.
Darn it all; there was nothing I could do. My head still hurt like all hell though; so in the end, I figured it was best to go back to the hotel. With the current situation, I figured, I considered going back to Scotland. Have you ever wondered what it is like, know that your friend's freedom is on the line, and there is nothing you can do, because you are the assistant and not the detective? I assure you, it isn't a good feeling.
I went to leave, accidentally bumping into a man that was on his way to Scotland Yard.
"Oh, terribly sorry" I said.
"Quite all right; we've all had rough days" he assured as we parted ways.
......
In Scotland Yard, Thomas Rodgers went up to the desk with a stack of papers.
"I'm the witness from the Gunnarson case; I'm here to submit my official witness statement" he explained, holding up the papers
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 1:06:27 GMT -5
"Ah good, just set them right there and someone will see you shortly."
"Hmm," said Rodgers, "that reminds me of the doctors office..."
-----
I went back to the hotel, opened my room and went inside. There was Cricket, who ran up to me.
"What.. what are you doing here?" I asked.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 1:12:53 GMT -5
"I wanted to tell you... father was arrested earlier" Cricket explained.
"But I didn't report him, honest. But wait, how DID you get in here?" I asked, confused.
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 1:16:39 GMT -5
Cricket smiled at me. "I have my ways."
"But seriously, how did he get arrested?"
"You honestly don't think someone can knock a guy out and not draw attention to himself?"
"I see your point."
"But I honestly don't care what he says, I love you, and that's all that matters."
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 1:21:49 GMT -5
But did she love me, or did she love the hero that rescued her? Eh, I couldn't focus on that right now. So I just sat on the bed and sighed.
"I tell you Cricket... I've never felt so useless in all my life" I explained to her that there was nothing I could do for Gunnarson
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 1:24:58 GMT -5
"Oh, don't say that. You may not be as brilliant as Gunnarson, but you make up for that in understanding, kindness, and personality."
"Well thanks I guess..."
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 1:40:39 GMT -5
"Is there anything you can do?" Cricket asked me.
"Other than offer moral support... I don't think there is anything practical I can do" I explained. But then, I had another idea.
"I ran into an old associate earlier... Captain Arthur Hastings, he did some work with that Poirot fellow in a similar vein as myself. Perhaps he may have some advice for what I can do as a... well, investigator's helper, I guess" I said.
"Do you know where they are?" Cricket asked.
"No, they did say they were only visiting because they live in Argentina, but... ah! It's a long shot, but..." and I left the room, in my haste leaving Cricket behind. I went down to the concierge desk to make a very important inquiry.
"This may sound strange, but is there currently an Arthur Hastings staying in this hotel?" I asked the concierge. It was a long shot, but just maybe...
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 1:48:29 GMT -5
"I'm sorry, we do not disclose information about our guests..."
"So he is here?"
"Sir, why do you need to know about which guests are here?"
"Never mind then." Her answers pretty much confirmed he was here.
I went back to my room, and there I found Cricket making coffee.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 1:53:29 GMT -5
"Wait, you're making coffee in the hotel room?" I asked, confused.
"Oh yes, it's so convenient. Eh, it'll probably never catch on though" she shrugged.
So I continued to think, until at last, it hit me.
"There's still a chance; perhaps when they get back... forgive me Cricket, but this is very important" I said, going to leave the room again.
I went down to the lounge on the main floor; in this hotel the rooms were pretty much just for sleeping anyway. If he was staying here, then chances were, he'd come here. And if not here, then to the restaurant when it was dinner time. I would wait for hours if I had too.
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 1:55:19 GMT -5
So I picked up a newspaper and then I fell asleep...
=================
Gunnarson was pacing his cell, thinking about the conundrum of a problem he was in.
"I didn't kill him... who did?"
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Post by Toz76 on Apr 26, 2017 2:02:19 GMT -5
But he couldn't be sure he didn't do it. Gunnarson recalled the twisted experiments of Dr Drugg. Though Drugg himself was dead, Blade, the Irish Mob, and who knows who else had access to his work. Anyone could have spiked his tea and snuck in to give him instructions at any time.
It was then that Gunnarson made the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't stop to consider any other options. He assessed the available evidence and concluded that either Blade, the Irish Mob, or someone else connected to Drugg had used Drugg'a cocktails to force him to commit the crime, not even thinking until much later that this case had nothing to do with that at all...
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 2:12:45 GMT -5
But then Gunnarson backtracked, "No, that couldn't be. Gent confided in me that he saw Drugg attempt to burn the paperwork but he was shot by a stray bullet before he could do so. So Gent, in the heat of the moment burned the paperwork so no one would ever use his formulas again. Though then again..." he continued thinking of other possibilities.
Gunnarson found himself in a bad position; even he realized that the case was almost solid- hard evidence, opportunity, means, and the eyewitness testimony was the icing on the cake. But motive- if he could prove he had no motive, then he was certain the case would fall apart.
His train of thought was interrupted by detective Walton, who decided to interview Gunnarson and get some answers out of him.
"So let's assume for the moment that you didn't kill him; where were you that day, during the time of the murder, which was about... 6 p.m." Walton said, looking at the medical examiner's notes and Eyewitness notes.
"I was home all day... and I know that may look bad, but I assure you I never left my apartment that day; I was catching up on my reading... it has been so long since I sat down and enjoyed a good book" Gunnarson explained.
"Weak alibi, check" Walton thought to himself. "Next question, the victim was 33 year old Franklin Orwell... did you know him?" Walton asked.
"Yes, we saw each other in the hall from time to time. We floated around different circles though so we didn't really spend time together" Gunnarson explained.
"Did you ever have any issues with the man?" Walton asked.
"Well, from time to time, yes. He was an alcoholic so he left bottles all over the place, even in the hall for me to clean up. He loved his radio a bit too much and would blast it even in the dead of night. And don't even get me started on those rowdy poker nights he would play with his buddies every Thursday. He was so annoying and rude, sometimes I wished he would just die or something!" And in that moment, Gunnarson realized he had chosen his words poorly.
"And then there was motive" Walton thought to himself. "I think that's all for now; thank you Gunnarson, you may return to your cell.
Once locked up again, Walton looked at the case file with pride- he had EVERYTHING he needed. Means, motive, Opportunity, hard evidence, and best of all, eyewitness testimony. After a phone call to Crown Prosecutor Taylor, who was also glad to hear the case was now absolutely solid, began formulating how the case would go... or even better, force Gunnarson to take a plea bargain and go to prison without the need for a trial.
In his cell, Gunnarson was angry at himself for letting a poor choice of words slip out.
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Post by Eyes on Apr 26, 2017 2:18:30 GMT -5
(Gunnarson's OOC, but f*ck it.)
I woke up hours later, wondering why I had dozed off right then. I went to my room, and found Cricket still there, drinking presumably her fifteenth cup of coffee and reading a magazine.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Apr 26, 2017 2:37:35 GMT -5
(It's important to the plot that going in, the case be completely solid with no discernible holes; forgive me Eyes, but it was important)
"Anything?" She asked.
"I, uh, fell asleep for reasons even I don't understand" I admitted.
"Huh? Well then what will you do know?" She asked.
"Dinner, I guess" I explained. So I went down to the restaurant where, ad I got into the crowd, I bumped into someone.
"Oh, terribly sorry"
"It's quite all right"
"Hartley?"
"Hastings?"
At last, the two detective helpers had reunited.
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