The problem of Rong Bridge – Part I

‘He could hit really hard, so could we, fifty years ago, maybe forty, but now we were all over eighty, so he just knocked us out with a punch in the face. Heck, some cowards might have dropped just from the breeze from his swings. That’s what you get for attempting to board the bus first as a senior citizen. He hopped on the bus and left as we lay there, everyone walking by, as you do. Nobody cared, nor did we, we sat down on the sidewalk, or better said, sat up there, sputtering blood, talking gibberish. Literally talking rubbish, as he broke all of our dentures. One of my mates said:”aaaan daaa iise” to which I replied „what you said?” but then it was something more like „aht uuu ad”. We were just laughing there, a bunch of old farts. But one of us was in a lot worse shape than the rest, he was silent all along, then he suddenly fell back. I crawled next to him, still chuckling with tears and blood, he was shaking too but not for the same reasons. He managed to convey a few words, and from the manner he spoke, I realized that it must be serious for him. He blurted out a couple more, then he collapsed on his back and didn’t budge anymore. By the time the ambulance got there, all they could do was pronounce him dead and us lucky. His last words were these, and I quote: “Aham baim he eletikiki mee no ar as em ool ohm ack it eh arinshoe am esel. Erer erer.”’

And then the old man, who was telling me this story, fell silent, his eyes eagerly awaiting my reaction.

‘I’m sorry Mr. Harris but this makes absolutely no sense to me.’

‘Yes, I admit that it sounds completely gibberish, but I am 99.5 percent certain this is what he said: “Heaven may be eclectically reached, mown the grass, make the full moons rack, little Karen Schuman may tell, heaven, heaven”‘

‘What?’

‘That’s precisely what I inquired as well, except I asked “Who?”, but all he answered was “her, her.”‘

‘Yes, who and what is exactly the same indeed. So you’re 99.5 percent sure this is what he stated? Well, I’m a 110.6 percent sure I don’t know what it means. Who is this Karen Schuman?’

‘I don’t know her either. But we have to locate her and we need to find out what she knows. Gary Gers, that was his name, had always been somewhat spiritual; he might have discovered some secrets. I know that for you heaven is not important. You think it’s not relevant for you, yet, but I realize it’s long overdue for me and I wish to know. And you might need to know the meaning of his words too, hopefully, later than sooner.’

‘So, at the end of the day, you don’t actually know what he spoke? Seems to me that you are hoping that he said this.’

The gray man wasn’t perplexed by my statement, he was just nodding silently. I had spent sufficient time in Rotham: by now for all kinds of people to come to know me. This aged bloke was one of my colleague’s father or grandfather, I don’t know for sure. What I do know is he was always chatty, even too friendly, one might say. It was a real effort to recalling his name. Again, he was being amiable, gentle bobbing his head without doing anything else, so I felt compelled to do break the silence. ‘And what can I do?’

‘Well, investigate; you’re a journalist, aren’t you?

‘Well, I am, but why don’t you ask your gr….son?’ I coughed to cover up that I wasn’t sure what his tie to my colleague is.

‘I’ve asked him too of course,’ he said with a grin. ‘But he’s not as . . . assertive,’ he said, trying some good old fashioned flattery on me.

‘Me? Assertive?’ I forced out a loud laugh. ‘No, I’m not like that.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He was still smiling. ‘And what about that time with the train?’

‘What train?’ I pleaded ignorance, but I couldn’t fool him.

‘You know, when you locked bicycles in front of three doors in a two-carriage train so that all the passengers had to squeeze out through the fourth door’

‘Ah, that one! No, that was different. I had been charged to report on the morning rush hour but I overslept and by the time I got to the station there weren’t enough people; I had to be ingenious so at least I could take one picture of a train door with the sardine-effect.’

‘You see,’ he said as if this was exactly the words he expected to hear, ‘this is the kind of person I need! Alright, I’ll leave you now; let me know once you found out something.’ He shook my hand, strictly friendly of course, and off he was.  

The next morning I had to go to the police station anyway, so I thought I’ll ask a few questions there, maybe I’ll be able to find out something. If not, so be it, at least I tried.

I didn’t even go to the work the next day; I went straight to the New Rotham: Yard on Eating Broadway Street. Come to think of it, this was also work. I was helping them out occasionally, doing police sketches. This was the reason why I had to go there that day. A middle-aged woman was waiting for me. She was clearly distressed but was trying to compose herself. She recounted the abuse she had been subjected to and sought to describe the perpetrator. This was visibly disturbing for her. Even me, who usually wouldn’t get involved emotionally to cases got affected, infuriated to be more precise. I attempted to draw the person as accurately as I could; I even endeavored to bring his crime in his facial expression.

When I finished, I stayed back pretending to be looking for something. There was a guy there, a detective with who I talked too sometimes. Better said, he was doing the talking and I was doing the listening, pretending to be interested. A cocky guy, full of himself and always certain of his actions, I never liked the type. Of course, now that I wished to bump into him, he was nowhere to be found. I popped into the loo before leaving and as I was standing there facing the wall – but not because I was instructed to do so by policemen – someone got behind me. 

‘Hey, Azeu, today’s your lucky day,’ someone said as they stopped next to me, ‘are you in the mood to watch Sherlock Holmes in action?’, he asked while giving me a huge pat on my shoulder with his free hand.  

It was detective Nofaught, the chap I was after. Normally I would have politely refused this “awesome” offer but now I realized that if I go with him, I could run the old man’s story by him. 

‘Sure!’ I worked up some enthusiasm, ‘what do you have in mind?’

A body was discovered in Middle Park and the case was entrusted to me. You can come along,’ he added, ‘but only if you don’t inhibit me. Who knows, maybe you’ll get a decent article out of it.’

Yeah, right! I thought but I only said, ‘when are we leaving?’ This, at least, was an honest question. 

‘Right now!’ and off he went. I followed him, jumped into the car but he wasn’t in a chatty mood, and I couldn’t find an appropriate way to bring my case up. I was expecting sirens and wheel grinding but instead, we were just rolling nicely, halting at red lights, rushing on the green as everyone else.

‘It must be a serious case, we don’t just go out to any dead body, there aren’t enough of us. And also, they never assign me to simple cases,’ he grinned. Then he fell silent again.

I was truly bored, normally I listen to music when I travel, but it would have been impolite to put the headphones on, even rude. So I was just peeking out the window, but the sun was in my eyes which made me turn my head down and stared at the glove compartment but the light was still too sharp so I had to curtail my gaze even further. The detective was quiet; maybe talking to me would have been demeaning to him. I shook my head sourly and since the sun disappeared behind the clouds, I raised my gaze higher again. There were a few planes lining up nicely in a row, each one a bit lower than the one behind it, bracing to land at the airport. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but you cannot see planes high up in the sky in this area, each of them is flying low, maybe to get a better picture of the city. Of course, this train of thought didn’t go anywhere either, so I was just sitting there as if in an empty station. Suddenly the detective broke the silence.

‘And then you don’t have to play the guitar.’

Obviously, I had no idea what he was talking about, though he gave me no time to think it over, as he followed up his remark.

‘I’m sure you’re puzzled why I just suggested that. I was observing you, Azeu. You were looking out at the slums we were passing, then you averted your gaze, then you studied the glove compartment and saw the three lines on it, which reminded you of the Adidas logo and how some sportsmen get millions just to slip on their shoes, while these poor souls out there are running barefoot. Then you sank in yourself, you dropped your head and later you were scanning the sky, most likely thinking where is God now. Then you noticed the billboard advertising all sorts of furnishing, but the picture resembled a stage instead of a cupboard. Then you had the idea that a charity concert should be organized. Most likely you were considering musicians as well, you must have thought of your favorites, if you’re doing charity you should get something out of it as well after all. Your eyes were arrested by the DIY tool shop, and instinctively you started thinking about the instruments of the musicians. And when we passed that dog food billboard you recalled that the dog goes woof-woof, and if you hook up a wah-wah pedal to a guitar, you don’t really have to play it. This is when I stepped in and blurted out your thoughts before you even realized them. I do this often and never been wrong before.’

‘Do you play the guitar?’ I quizzed him.

‘No, I just heard about it. Do you?’

‘No, I only play the hu…’

‘It’s not important anyway,’ said he, cutting me off, ‘it’s all about the logical process.’

I’m not the one to shatter innocent delusions, even if they pop out of sheer arrogance, so all I said was: ‘Are we going to Rue Morgue by any chance?’

‘No, that’s on the other side of town. We almost arrived at Middle Park now’

And he stopped the car. ‘We’re walking from here’ he stated abruptly.

He must have known where we were going as we were heading in a specific direction without hesitation, and soon arrived at the stream crossing the park. Not too far there was a stone bridge, a few constables were hanging about and a couple of other people wearing civilian clothes were also there. One of them was taking pictures, the other one was smoking, he must have been the coroner.

When we got there, the detective headed straight to the smoking man. ‘Hello, doctor, what’s on?’

‘Not much, middle-aged woman, gunshot wound to the head, shot fired from close proximity’

‘How close?’ he inquired while lifting the black sheet to take a look at the body.

‘Any closer and we would be talking about a stab wound,’ the doctor said prosaically.

‘Time of death?’

‘Somewhere between eight and twelve last night, more accurately after the autopsy.‘

‘All right,’ acknowledged the officer, then he turned to the constable, ‘Who found the body?’

‘A man who was jogging here. He declared this was his usual route, he noticed the body lying here on Rong Bridge, and notified us.’ he reported dutifully. 

‘Where is he now?’

‘He’s gone to work.’ he replied in the same manner.

‘What??’ exploded Nofaught, ‘you let him go?! And what if he was the killer?’

‘I, I,’ the constable lost all his composure, ‘I wasn’t thinking of that, he gave me all his details and he looked like a proper jogger, slightly fit, terribly sweaty.’

‘Then in the summer everyone could be a jogger,’ the detective shook his head as if saying: amateurs. He completely forgot about me, which was good, as I didn’t have to fake that I was interested. I found all this incredibly boring, like a lunch break chit-chat, so I quietly waited for an opportunity to bring up my problem. The officer kept inquiring:

‘Weapon?’

‘We haven’t found it yet,’ mumbled the still uneasy uniformed guy.

‘Is that a fact?’ exclaimed the officer and raised his head like a bloodhound on the scent. ‘That changes everything.’ And he looked almost jubilant rubbing his hands together.

I started paying more attention as well; a woman’s body is found on a bridge, shot in the head at close range, missing gun, I’ve seen this before. I was certain that this self-proclaimed Sherlock Holmes is going to notice the similarities soon enough.

At the moment he just kept snooping.

‘Do we have an ID on the victim?’

‘Yes, her name is Anne Murray; she lives close by, next to the park.’

‘Great, I’ll go there. Has the family been notified?’

The constable quietly nodded, with reverence, as you do. Seemingly the detective considered the crime scene investigation over, he took the address from the policeman, who overzealously gave him directions, I guess he was still embarrassed that he had let the jogger go. Nofaught told the coroner to let him know once he finished, then he waved his hand and left the scene. This wave was probably intended to me, though he didn’t look up. I followed him nevertheless, quickened my pace to catch up. He was silent again, this could have been a terrific opportunity to bring up my question about the old man, but I was interested in something else.

‘So what is your preliminary assessment?’ I asked him softly, providing him with an excuse whether he prefers to hear it or not.

‘It’s a clear cut murder. The husband did it.’

‘Clear cut?’

‘Of course. I have no doubt about it.’

‘But doesn’t this remind you of something?’

‘Yes, it does. We have many cases like this, the husband gets exhausted by his wife and instead of a divorce he kills her thinking that he can outsmart us. But now, the poor fellow has met his match,’ he grinned without a hint of modesty.

‘You are right,’ I concluded, ‘this must be a typical situation, but I wasn’t thinking about that.’

‘What then?’

‘I was thinking . . . ,’ I paused, evaluating if I should continue or not. ‘Are you aware that there is a Sherlock Holmes story that eerily resembles our current predicament? A woman commits suicide on a bridge after securing a gun to a stone with a lengthy rope. Thus the weapon falls in the water after being fired, and in the absence of a gun, everyone suspects murder. Have you read it?’

‘When do I have time to read?’

‘There is a movie version as well.’

‘I don’t have time for that either. And besides, this is not fiction, and in this case, the husband carried out the deed.’

‘In the book, the gun makes a fresh chip on the ledge of the bridge.’

‘Fresh? What do you mean by fresh?’ asked the detective mockingly. ‘Like it’s still dripping? Anyway, this gun was small, so it couldn’t have caused any damage and so light that one should have tied a planet to it to make it sink.’

‘How do you know it was a small gun?’

‘It was a small-caliber gun. The smallest caliber there is, if it had been any smaller there wouldn’t have been a hole in it.’

‘How do you know that?’

 ‘From the wound. I have an eye for that. You’ll see, the coroner will confirm it. No, no, it was the husband and I’ll prove it.’

We left the park and soon were at the house. It wasn’t far from the bridge, maybe a ten-minutes-walk. A policeman was assigned to the house, Nofaught just nodded towards him as we entered. Another constable was sitting inside, the detective glanced at him with prying eyes, and he pointed towards a door. It seemed that they had an evolved conversation system in place. We walked towards the door, but suddenly the detective stopped me: ‘You should stay outside now. Journalists are not really allowed in, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to play good cop/bad cop, so I’ll have to play both Mutt and Jeff by myself. Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in, so you can write about it in great detail.’ And he left me there, not even bothering to wait for my answer. The policeman in the hall displayed a serious expression as if saying ‘I’m on duty, can’t talk’. I sat on a chair and waited. Must have sat there for half an hour, sometimes I would pick up a bit of shouting from inside but couldn’t make anything out. Then Nofaught came out, and I followed him. Journalists can do that, sometimes they even must. Once outside, he lit a cigarette and started puffing contentedly. I didn’t want to interrupt his delight, so I gave him time to finish. When he was done he gestured towards me, ‘Come, let’s go through the neighbors.’

‘The neighbors?’

‘The tabloids don’t cover the Murrays, but the neighbors do.’

He picked their left-hand-side neighbors. Surprisingly their door was ajar, with nobody in sight. We went in looking around like in an amusement park until we encountered a young lady. The officer asked her: ‘Pardon me, do you live here?’

‘Yes, yes I do, come on in, though as you can see we are in a rather bad state, with the funeral and all that.’

‘Are you preparing for the funeral?’

‘Yes, yes we do.’

‘I don’t really understand it, why are you planning the burial here?’

‘What do you mean? Whose side are you from? Mr. Gers’ or his wife’s? I suppose you are from my uncle’s side, may he rest in peace.’

‘Uncle?’ Nofaught raised his eyebrows even higher. ‘What uncle?’

‘Why, my uncle Garry Gers, of course, the poor soul passed away yesterday, haven’t you heard? He got in a fight with someone and at his age . . . , you know.’ She didn’t wrap up the sentence, seemingly out of sheer piety.

But now she caught my attention, it looked that even if I didn’t bring my case up, someone else would; the detective couldn’t have picked a better spot to catch up on the local gossip than here. The woman repeated the question that was left unanswered earlier: ‘So whose side are you from? Or are you not here for the funeral?’

‘No, no, I am from the police,’ and he took his badge out. Finally. He should have opened with that.

‘Finally!’ exclaimed the woman as well, although for a different reason. ‘We phoned several times but they kept on repeating that they don’t have sufficient agents and they can only be assigned to relevant cases. ‘But,’ she flared up, ‘what’s more important than a person’s life?’ And she stood there with her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, glaring at Nofaught, I’m sure he would have rather stared down the barrel of a gun.

‘Certainly nothing, I can assure you that one of my colleagues is on his way,’ lied the inspector, though I assume many of his buddies were on their way. Somewhere. Probably nowhere. 

Another woman appeared in the back and addressed our conversation partner:

‘Karen, can you please come to the back when you’re done, we need you.’

‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

Hearing her name I launched straight away: ‘Your name is Karen?’

‘Yes, yes it is,’ she acknowledged with a big smile, ‘Karen Crow’

‘Oh, is that your maiden name by any chance?’

‘You are correct again; I haven’t met the one yet.’ And she threw me a glance that suggested: “but I’m up for it!”

Sadly for her, I genuinely was only interested in her name, hoping she could be the Karen Schuman that the late Mr. Gers mentioned Allegedly. I looked at Nofaught letting him know he can carry on. He didn’t seem overjoyed with my intrusion and he clearly conveyed it by giving me a resentful look before proceeding.

‘As I said, someone is on their way. I, on the other hand, am investigating the murder of your neighbor.’

‘There was a murder there?!’ and I felt that curiosity quickly took over which swiftly shifted into pedantry; ’I always maintained that the shrew is going to kill that poor old man.’

‘Shrew? What shrew?’ Nofaught asked.

‘Well, Mrs. Murray of course!’

‘But she is the victim.’

‘Is she?’ said Karen amazed. ‘I know I shouldn’t mention this but whoever did it . . . .’ she didn’t finish the sentence, apparently realizing that some words are best left unsaid.

‘You haven’t heard it yet?’ inquired the detective.

‘No, not yet, we have our own tragedy.’

‘I can understand that,’ the detective stated, struggling to look compassionate. ‘How would you characterize your neighbors?’

‘Weeeeel,’ stalled the woman, though I thought maybe she was contemplating how could she repudiate her words. ‘It wasn’t an ideal marriage,’ she continued while she kept slowly shaking her head left and right. ‘The woman, Mrs. Murray, was a bit peculiar, she wasn’t really friends with anyone, so we don’t know much about her.’

‘And the husband?’ the officer asked, with the same fake sympathy.

‘We don’t know much about him either,’ Karen stated, but it was clear that she was playing it safe. ‘He was away most of the time, you know, with his work and all.’

‘What is his job again?’ Another trick question.

‘He’s a cartographer, is he not? Or something like that, I’m not positive.’

Then another door opened and a familiar fellow turned up. It was Mr. Harris. He strolled past us like he didn’t recognize me, but he did wink at me behind the detective’s back. Then he mouthed, ‘I like your cover.’ And he slipped out through another door. I couldn’t help thinking that if poor old Mr. Gers had mouthed yesterday, I wouldn’t have had to be here. You can read lips even without teeth behind them if it’s done slowly.

In the meantime the officer concluded his inquiry and was on his way out; I sought to display a consoling smile which wasn’t too convincing I presume and accompanied him.

‘What do you think?’ I asked him once outside.

‘So far everything fits in beautifully. I don’t think that we need to see any more neighbors. The husband, the widower, if you will, mentioned that they have a tenant, a woman, but he doesn’t really know her. But I think,’ and he paused for a short, dramatic effect, ‘I wager they are lovers. Will see.’ he added, but it sounded more “you’ll see that I’m right”.

We went back to their house to meet this tenant; she had a room with a separate entrance on the left side of the house. We tapped on the door: no answer. Tried turning the knob: locked. Key: we had to get it. The officer sent a constable Mr. Murray. As we were waiting for the keys his phone started buzzing. He looked at the screen ‘Damn it, it’s my boss,’ then he took the call ‘Yes?’ he said in a soft, soothing voice, ‘When? . . . Tomorrow? . . . What was the name of that place again, captain? . . . Hastings? . . . All right, I’ll do it . . . and you. Bye!’ He hung up and was disapprovingly shaking his head. The policeman came back with the keys, we opened the door but the officer got another call. He glanced at his phone and waved us in as he remained behind to take the call.

We went in. It was a small clean room; the windows were open so the air was fresh. It had only a few items, bed, cupboard, table, two chairs. On the table, there must have been a miniature tower made out of small grey blocks, but now the little grey cells lay scattered all across the table. No reason for it, apparently. On the side, there was a handwritten note, ‘Welcome to the aftermath of the incidents that made the tower fall”.

I thought to myself that there must be an unusual person residing here, to say the least, maybe a little too over the edge. If I hadn’t known, that Mrs. Murray committed suicide I’d have put my money on this woman who lived here. Come to think of it, she could be familiar with the Sherlock Holmes story the same way as I and others are.  Indeed, she might count on this, that due to its circumstances it will instantly be classified a suicide. The more I pondered it, the more convinced I was that this must be true. The officer came in and I didn’t even let him look around as I started on him: ‘You were right, it is murder!’ I blabbered enthusiastically. ‘But it wasn’t the husband; it was this deranged woman. And she made it look like the Sherlock Holmes story; she might have even thrown the gun in the water under the bridge. And this way…’

‘Stop! Stop!’ Nofaught attempted to cut my rant short, and when he succeeded, he displayed the expression of a professional preparing to deliver a lecture. ‘There was no murder, the coroner just called; they’ve found gunpowder traces on her hand. It was a suicide, just as you suggested, and just as my gut told me at first. And the first impression is never wrong. I was merely dragging it for you and your paper.’ he added, almost reproachfully.

I listened to him carefully, and I wasn’t sure what stunned me more: the suicide or his lie? I decided on the former.

‘And these traces of gunpowder can only be present if she’d fired a gun? I challenged him, acting like I already knew the answer, which I didn’t.

‘There are other ways as well, but it’s tricky.’ he declared, waving me off.

‘But it is possible nevertheless.’ I tried holding on to my argument. ‘I think you should talk to the tenant, something might turn up.’

‘Obviously, we’ll chat with her, but it’s just procedure. However, we won’t stick around for her to get home, I’ll come back later or send someone else. I’m sure though,’ he continued, ‘that it won’t yield anything and I expect that we can close this case tomorrow. I let you know what to print in your piece. As for now, I’m taking off, do you need a lift?’

And he was already at the door. I hesitated a bit, but then followed him out. I was planning to do some digging on my own tomorrow, so all I asked him was, ‘Is there a train station somewhere near?’

‘Yes, there are a few around here, though I’ll only drop you at the one that’s on my way.’

I hopped in the car, he exchanged a few words with the constable that was still standing in front of the building, then he joined me, but we barely started when he stopped again at the station. I could have easily walked.

‘Cheers!’ I said as I got out.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he winked at me, ‘you’ll hear from me soon, maybe tomorrow.’

‘To-morrow?’ I asked him.

‘Yeah, that’s what I said,’ and he looked baffled. I guess this quip would have been better received in a comic book when characters speak in text bubbles.

I was about to leave when I realized something, so I spun around.

‘Just one more thing…’ I started, but he interrupted me.

‘Not now, tomorrow. See you.’ and he drove away, which was great because I forgot what I wanted to ask anyway.

That day I had to visit a couple of places to review, which probably will never be printed, and since it was only early afternoon, I thought I’ll head to the gallery. At least I was interested in that. It took me a good half an hour to get there, but I couldn’t shake off this murder. I tried looking at it from every conceivable angle but I couldn’t solve the puzzle. In the end, I decided to abandon it, and if the inspector doesn’t call me back tomorrow I’ll go there on my own and speak to the husband and the tenant. I assumed, rather naively, that I might surprise them in bed, celebrating the clever way in which they had hoodwinked the police. And I just realized that the gun was still missing if she had committed suicide, where was the gun? There were still a few loose ends there.

Once inside the gallery, I was determined to leave the crime outside and focus on the exhibition and study everything meticulously. Forgetting the murder and practically everything else was easier than I expected because as I was walking in I spotted her. I had no doubts that it was her, even though I hadn’t seen her in ages. Our last encounter was so long ago that sometimes I feared that it ever happened. I was so dumbfounded that I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do, evidently, I would have loved to talk to her but wasn’t sure how she would react. If I am really honest, then I must admit that I acted foolishly the last time we meet. She had every right to be mad at me, though I reserved the same right for myself too. But all this bitterness was an obscure memory, now all I wished to do was talk to her. While I was reasoning with myself, she noticed me too, but she didn’t waver and started walking towards me, beaming, like it was only yesterday she had cried on my shoulders after two glasses of absinthe. When she was only a couple of steps away her perfume struck me, it was the same heavenly smell and I felt the same trembling inside as back then. I just realized how much I missed it. The trembling. All this felt like the shortest moment and there she was, standing in front of me, smiling.

To be continued…

Since I can’t compel you to stay as there are laws against it why don’t you do it on your own? Stick around and read more of my short stories. All of them are amazing. Well, most of them are. OK, honestly, some of them are. Why don’t you decide for yourself? Take a look around –> Here’s a map!

Or, if you’re really adventurous, get off the beaten track and read a random story!

This story is part of the Rotham sur Real: universe. (Yes, with a colon.)