Scotland, St Andrews, 15th April 1932
It was raining cats and dogs. Matthew Dashwood would much rather have a steaming hot cup of Earl Grey in front of his warm and cozy fireplace, but there was no avoiding it: The tax consultant had to visit a very important client, which could not be postponed another day. The famous actor, winner of an Oscar® and headmaster of the society “Scotch and Kilts“, Mr McGoryman, was encumbered with debts. But that wasn’t all, with keeping a butler and just having bought a brand-new Rolls Royce automobile it seemed like he didn’t have the slightest clue.
It looked like the rain could last the whole night! Matthew sighed before raising from his oak writing desk. He put on his coat and hat and took his attaché case, where he stored the documents of Mr McGoryman’s non-existing financials. After opening the door of his office with reluctance, an icy sea breeze and frosty rain lashed into his face. He grabbed an umbrella and left his office. He detested this weather and he had to walk the all the way up the hill! But there was no other choice. He went down the small alley to the end of the town.
When he left St Andrews, he turned right onto the large gravel path leading to the manor house. After a long, strenuous walk he arrived, soaking wet. He knocked at the door, but nobody opened. He tried it again, but also without any success. He got annoyed. Why did the butler of the widower keep him waiting for so long? Did he go home already? Now? He furiously went back to the gate house, where the butler lived alone. The butler normally stayed from seven a.m. to nine p.m. at the manor house, but at nighttime he wanted to have his peace and quiet without the old grouch.
Mathew rang the old, mechanic bell. After waiting a few minutes, Mr Mendig opened the door. He was in awful condition. His nose was runny and red, the eyes were barely open, he was very pale and looked exhausted. He hardly could stand upright. To make it short: he looked like the walking death. “Oh no,“ said Dashwood, “seems like you cought a very bad flu!“ “I know, but, please, may you tell me the reason of your visit? Is there a problem with my financials?“ croaked Mr Mendig. “No, of course not! But you’re working still for old Mr McGoryman, right?“ “Not now, of course, but usually, yes, when I’m healthy! Why? Did something happen to him?“ The last words sounded a bit hopeful. “I don’t think so, but it could be! He does not open the door!“ “That does not mean anything! The old man is a little bit deaf. Maybe you try it again, knocking a bit louder. But I’ll give you a key, in case he does not open!“ Mr Mendig slowly walked back into the house. When he returned, he had a very big, silver key in his hand. He handed it over to Mr Dashwood and mumbled: “That’s strange. In the last months nobody came visiting old Goryman and then, when I’m sick, the whole town is stopping by!“ Matthew expressed his thanks, turned around and went back to the manor house, the shining key in his hand. He knocked again as loud as he could. After waiting another five minutes, he opened the rusty old door with the key. After entering, Matthew called out: “Hello Mr McGoryman!“ No answer. He tried it again, this time screaming at the top of his lungs: “HELLO?!“ Again, no reaction. Matthew went into the hallway and then turned into the room on the right. It was the dining room. A big passageway took him to the living room. He also found a small door leading to the kitchen. He went back into the staircase and walked up to the first floor, where he found a big library and the bedroom. At the end of the hall there was a door on the left. “This must be the bathroom“, Matthew thought. He also felt not very good. Where was the old McGoryman? But he pulled himself together and opened the door to the bathroom. Matthew was shocked! Everything was full of blood! The floor, the wall and the bathtub, where McGoryman lay in the deep red water: One arm was lying on the edge of the bathtub, with slashed wrists. His head was twisted unnaturally. Dashwood nearly vomited. He went back two steps and sat down on the floor.
One hour later Mathew was fed up with questions from the police. Chief inspector Lestrade was very sure about this case: After Dashwood mentioned the financial situation, it was really unambiguously suicide. “Sergeant McCallen, please call the doctor for the death certificate. Then get the gravedigger and the charlady. Exactly in this order, please! Then take a look at the documents if he has relatives. Somebody has to pay for the funeral after all.“ Matthew returned home. He was very exhausted and wanted to sleep. But before, he drank a potent Scotch Whisky and then went to bed.
The next morning, exactly at eight o’clock, he sat in his office with a strong headache. Matthew still hat to fight with this accident. Something did not fit! Nevertheless, he tried to concentrate on his work. He was just sorting some documents for a client, when somebody knocked at the door. “Come in!“ The inspector entered. “I have only got some routine questions: When exactly did you find the body?“ “Around seven p.m., I think. Why do you ask?“ “Well, the doctor thought, that McGoryman already had been dead for three hours when you found him. It’s just strange, that the blood was not coagulated. You cannot rely on these charlatans! We’re going to close this case!“ After the inspector had gone, he really had no chance to concentrate any more. He phoned his clients and cancelled the appointments.The rain had stopped last night and the sun was shining today.
So he decided to go for a walk. The fresh air might help him also to focus his thoughts.
He headed in the direction of the forest, but before he went in, he turned left on the hill, as always. It felt good, to stand on that hill, feeling the cool air blowing from the sea. But even in this beautiful landscape he couldn’t forget the picture of the dead McGoryman. What did not match? He had no way of knowing about his bankruptcy, why should he kill himself? And why did he have a lacerated wound on his forehead? Did he slip in the bathtub and fell over before he committed suicide? But how could he open his artery then? He must have opened his wrists standing upright to fall over then. This didn’t make sense. Nobody kills himself standing in a prepared bathtub! Besides that, he was found lying on the back, but his injury was on the forehead! The two wounds were in conflict! Furthermore, there was no knife at the scene of crime! He really couldn’t remember a knife. It still
had to be in the bathroom!
Mathew ran back to the manor house. In front of the house, he met the sergeant. He said: “This is a restricted area. I’m sorry, I cannot let you in there!“ “I… I’’m looking for my briefcase. There are some important documents in there. I only want to be sure, that it is not here!“ He was surprised by himself, that he did not mention his reflections.
He went fast straight into the bathroom. It still looked terrible even without the body - everything was full of blood. The red water was still in the bathtub and the pool of blood on the floor coagulated to an ugly, brown spot. He sighed and then he started to look for the knife. He found it far under the bathtub. No wonder, that he had not seen it yesterday. How could it slip that far away? Matthew took the knife out carefully: “Butcher’s Best“ was its brand name. He went into the kitchen. On his way, he passed the staircase. Where was the Oscar, which was normally placed on the plinth? But he couldn’t think about this now. So he entered in the kitchen. There was the block with the knives. None was missing. He took one of them and read the brand name: “Sheffield Bronson&Sons Knifes by appointment of the majesty King George V. “ Now, it was getting interesting. Should he inform the police? No, up to now he didn’t have any solid evidence at all.
He decided to visit the butler to ask him some questions about the knife. He cleaned the bloody cutter and went to the gate house. The butler still hadn’t recovered, when he opened the door. “I’m sorry that I have to disturb you again, Sir! I think, you have already heard about the incident.“ “Oh, yes, the police informed me this morning. Now I’m unemployed! What shall I do? Nobody will employ such an old man as I am!“ Matthew conversed with Mr Mendig about this and that, but mainly about his former superior. “…he had just bought this new Rolls Royce few weeks ago, simply to be one of the first in town having a car! By the way, I don’t think, cars will have a great future! Fetor and noise!“ “Oh, I nearly forgot that: I found a knife, laying on the way to the manor house. Is this
yours or Mr McGoryman’s?“ He showed the knife to Mr Mendig. “No, I’ve never seen these
before. But it’s a ’Butcher’s Best’! My cousin is butcher in Glasgow and he swears by this
professional knives! The butcher of our town was here yesterday to deliver his weekly supply of Haggis to McGoryman! Maybe it’s his!“ The former butler coughed. “Well, that’s possible! I’ll ask him later. But now, you really should go to bed again getting healthy again!“ “You’re right, Sir! Goodbye!“ “Goodbye, Mr Mendig and get well soon!“
The tax consultant was now on his way home. But before he went to his flat, he sat down at his desk in his office and thought about the dreadful event. A suicide seemed more and more improbable to him. But who benefitted from McGoryman’s death? There wasn’t anything to get out of him. Who else had a motive? Who had seen McGoryman last? The butcher? Who else? The butcher!
As a tax consultant he was convinced that taxes are showing much more about a person than his manner. Curiously, he took the file ’H-Le’ out of the shelf. He opened the register of Mr Laingin and watched his turnover from the year 1930. About seventy per cent of his purchase of animals weresheep. 1931 it were no more than thirty-five per cent! Moreover, the number of purchased pigs increased a lot. Did that imply that the butcher was stretching his famous Haggis? With pork? Mathew was shocked! This way Mr Laingin would save about six hundred pounds! What, if Mr McGoryman had found about this and blackmailed the butcher? It would have been the ruin of the butcher, if the old man had published that! Especially since he was a person with much influence as he was the president of the society “Scotch and Kilts“! Maybe now it was time to inform the police.
Two days later, Mathew visited the butcher’s shop. He ordered Haggis and then asked for the head. His small, lanky employee from London answered: “I’m sorry, Sir, but he’s slaughtering at the moment!“ “Okay, thank you. Goodbye!“ Dashwood left the shop and walked through the small lane to the courtyard. He went up the loading ramp. Mr Laingin stood at a big metal desk, having a anaesthetized pig in front of him. Mathew looked around and saw the wall with the knives. There was a gap matching to the knife in McGoryman’s house. When the butcher drew back his arm holding a big hatchet to slaughter the pig, Mathew cleared his throat: “Mr Laingin!“ “Mr Dashwood! Nice to meet you! Is there a problem with my finances, Sir?“ The tax consultant was annoyed. Why
did everybody he visited think that there was a problem with theirmoney?! “Not
directly, Sir. I would prefer to talk about the murder ofthe president of the society ’Scotch and Kilts’!“ “What have I to do with that?“ mumbled Laingin. He drew back the hatchet again. “Please, listen to me!“ “Hm“ the butcher put his axe on the metallic table. “He’s exactly the same person as our dead Mr McGoryman and I think he’s the first victim of your cheating with haggis.“ “Uh! You cannot prove anything, can you?! Hm?“ The butcher shouted at him. “Please, calm down and let’s talk about the events. Mr McGoryman found out about your fraud and tried to blackmail you. If not, he’d have brought it to the public’s attention. Your butcher’s shop and you would have been ruined. My evidence is this knife. I found it lying next to the body. I think, it’s yours!“ The butcher had turned red during Dashwood’s speech. Then he shouted: “He wanted fifty per cent of the profit! This is
absolutely unfair! I would have had all the work and he would have conviscated all my money! I just wanted to talk with the old skinflint, but he was so pigheaded! Then I took his stupid golden fellow and knocked him down!“ The butcher had kept his hatchet in his hands during his speech. Now, he raised it and wanted to stab Matthew. He could just barely safe himself by jumping aside with a loud yell. This was the cue for the police, which had been waiting in the lane to the inner courtyard. Mr Laingin got sensible quickly, when he was threatened by two pistols. Then he was led away. At the police station he confessed everything: After killing Mr McGoryman, he ran panicstricken away from the manor house and threw the Oscar® into the next hedge. Being at home, he realized his deed and he thought about how to hushing up the murder. His idea was to cover it as suicide. He only had to fill the old man’s bathtub with water, put the actor in and cut open his wrists. Because he knew that animals don’t bleed a lot after being dead for a while, he decided to add the missing blood with the blood of a pig.
What a pointless bloodshed.