Porch Prompts: Week Two!

Week Two: Setting the Scene

Night has set across the library in [insert your hometown of choice here], which, during the day, intimates the warm allure of the sun; and at night, the distance. Within, across the high call desk, through the wooden stacks, and into the deep middle of the romantasy section, lies on the floor a woman in a long dress, arms laid vaguely about her head as though dancing, the blood seeping from her body making a mess of the worn carpeting. Several details in her vicinity reveal themselves: First, a step ladder fallen nearly on top of her, a toppled book settled perfectly upon her face. Second, a letter opener covered in something… sticky? lodged into her left lung. And third, of course, resting within her open hand: a literal smoking gun.

Each day, you will be given a new clue. Each day, you will be asked to solve the crime. And if you don’t solve it in time… you’ll be next.

The prompt is from Ani Beeler and Eliza James, so thanks to them for this.

To get started, let’s build our characters! (Mentally OR on paper OR however your heart desires.)

Our characters as defined by their differences:

~Character One~

Character One is sharp in mind7 and tongue, which does not endear them to anyone. They are someone who is, and must be, easily hated, and this works perfectly for what they have planned.

~Character Two~

Character Two is reserved, and rightfully so. They have a secret that, when revealed, will ruin everything.

~Character Three~

Character Three is boring & normal.

Day One (Monday):

It was a relatively normal evening in Bloodtown. A Monday evening. Darkness had fallen.

The towns only pub, ‘The Tooth’ (formerly ‘The Tooth of The Matter’, named by the previous landlord who had purchased the pub after a career in dentistry, and who enjoyed a pun as much as giving a root-canal) was hardly heaving, though some regular patrons were present.

I was sitting, nursing a lemonade, waiting for a call to meet the wife, after she’d finished pilates (or archery or bowling, or whatever the latest fad was this week).

Craig Brewster, a local councillor, recently-elected, was at one end of the bar. Beer in hand, union jack tattoo on his forearm, face as red as tomato, though the town hadn’t seen sun for about six months. Maybe his penchant for necking copious amounts of beer each night, coupled with aggravating everyone he comes into contact with was playing havoc with his blood pressure. One can hope.

Slightly to his left was someone I hadn’t seen before. He appeared Asian, which no doubt would rile our ‘Make Britain Great Again’ councillor. You could see Brewster giving him side-eye evils.

The barman, Chris asked him what he would like.

“Pint of Spitfire please….actually no, just seen you have Doom Bar. I’ll have one of those”.

Chris shuffled slowly along. I’ve ever seen him utter much that wasn’t monosyllabic (and rarely even real words, more grunts and noises) and the new guy was duly given a ‘uh’ by way of reply.

“Thought you’d prefer a Chang or a Kirin” said Brewster at not quite a shout, but loud enough for the new guy to hear.

“Not that popular in Slough” said the man.

Brewster approached him, leering at him.

“We know you’re not from Slough, really though, don’t we?”

Chris slammed his hand down on the bar and glared at Brewster who stepped back.

“Thanks” said the Slough resident to Chris. “I don’t want any trouble. The names’ Tony. Just here working a few days.

“Uh” said Chris and moved to tidying behind the bar.

It felt like any tension was temporarily diffused when Brewster ordered another beer, and asked Chris to send a Doom Bar down Tonys way too.

“Just to show how welcoming and tolerant we are” he said under his breath.

Relative silence then ensured, save for the sounds of Chris, pacing behind the bar.

Suddenly the door burst open, and Christine Higgs, who seemed to have cleaning contracts for every building in the town as well as an ear for gossip and a tongue that couldn’t sit still once she’d heard it.

“You’re not going to believe it” she said.

I glanced up, expecting it to be a story of her ex seeing someone new (doubtless whom she’d deem a slag or worse), but she was really breathing heavy and looked genuinely upset.

“What is it?”, I asked.

“Mrs Dean-Smith”, she replied.

“Emma?” said Brewster, suddenly serious looking and actually turning to look at her, putting his beer down.

“She’s a teacher, isn’t she?” I asked.

“English and humanities”, replied Brewster. “She’s pretty into her literature, though I’ve seen her in the romantasy section in Waterstones and she didn’t seem to want me to know it. Scarpered right out of there when she saw me”.

“She’s my Tracey’s teacher” said Christine and I’ve just seen loads of police, and an ambulance and…she’s dead”.

Brewster went pale, Tony slowly turned.

“Uh” uttered Chris.

Day Two (Tuesday)

Day Two: Character One did it. Carefully choose your viewpoint character to tell us how and why.

Your clue for the day: Your viewpoint character of choice visits the crime scene to check it all out (how do they get past the police? Who knows). When they remove the book from her face, a cavity within its pages becomes visible—but it is empty. What could have been hidden within? Search for the item that has been lost. It is near her body, and it may be a crucial clue.

Brewster quickly downed what was left of his pint and made to leave.

“As a newly appointed representative of Bloodtown”, I should probably take a look? see if I can assist, reassure people” he said.

Tony turned “What do they need to be reassured about”, surely it could be an accident, illness.

Brewster slowly walked up, getting in Tony’s face.

“I know that you’re not from round here mate, but round here, we are proper British people, they don’t suddenly get so ill that they die. They are made of sterner stuff, if something terrible as occurred, as their newly-elected councillor, I should offer my support, don’t you think?”.

Tony didn’t avert his gaze, but said nothing.

“Uh”, said Chris, sliding a brandy over to a sport at the bar that the shaken Christine had moved to, pulling up a stool to sit on.

After putting on his coat, Brewster turned and looked at Chris as he left.

“May call back in for last orders if I'm back from the library in time”.

As he left, we all turned and looked at each other.

The library hadn't been mentioned.

At the library itself, Mrs Dean-Smith was laying on the floor, arms above her head. There was a pool of blood around her, making the carpet a sticky red mess and filling the air with a sickly, metallic aroma.

A letter opener protruded from the area around her left lung, there was a stepladder that had fallen and was nearly covering her. A book from the romantasy section had landed on her face, falling open, mid-story. A gun lay in her hand.

Many of the police had temporarily dispersed, leaving just one manning the cordon.

Suddenly, that one policeman saw the figure of Craig Brewster approaching and quickly positioned himself between he and the scene of the crime.

Brewster quickly eyed the ‘SC’ on the epaulette of the policeman.

“Where is everyone, special constable”. “What has gone on here? From what I see and hear, there should be more of a presence from your lot”.

“They can’t do anything until the forensic team has finished, most of the crowds got bored and dispersed….and 'Rita’s Fish Bar’ has a special deal on Mondays. Two saveloys for the price of one. They’ve gone to get some. I prefer battered sausage myself. I hope they have those left”.

“What’s happened though? I can see blood from here”. said Brewster.

“I’m not supposed to say”, noted the officer.

“We’re about done here”, came a shout from a tarped off area, shielding Mrs Dean-Smiths’ body from view, though not doing as good of a job containing the blood, as plasma crept under it and through the fibres of the carpet further down.

Brewster waited and watched what he assumed to be the forensic team pack up and leave, before making to head to the area himself.

The office placed a hand in his way.

“Now, special constable, you know that I’m an elected representative here, yes?”, questioned Brewster, brusquely.

“Yes but no-one….”

“Then you’ll know” continued the councillor, cutting him off and following-up with some hastily made-up ‘facts’, “that in the absence of any sort of senior police presence, that elected officials have a right to assume an authoritative role- it’s all in the police guidebook, section 21-B, paragraph seven”.

“Um, er” said the flustered special constable, letting Brewster walk through.

Once there, Brewster leant over the body, muttering to himself.

“How dreadfully romantasy of you, to try that and both reveal a secret and then conceal it in that way.”.

“I can sniff things out though. That’s why the people voted for me, I smell the desire for change. To get back to what this country used to be, to make Britain British again, to… sorry, getting carried away there. Long weeks of campaigning. Still, you can’t hear it now anyhow”.

He pulled on a pair of gloved pulled from his jacket pocket, leant down to retrieve the book, opened it, thumbed through, before a look of both shock and anger crossed his face.

Where was it?

Day 3 (Wednesday)

Day Three: No, actually, Character Two did it. Carefully choose your viewpoint character to tell us how and why.

Your clue for the day: The stickiness on the letter opener tastes like honey? Strange. Thankfully, it was something semi-edible and not horrendously disgusting, since someone chose to taste it.

She’d started scribbling notes after they’d met a couple of times and both times drinks and a chat had led to the bedroom. For Brewster it was nothing more than a dalliance, and one he could do without his wife finding out about.

For her, it seemed more serious. She melted when he said he’d make love to her like Oswald Mosley.

Her being dead was certainly not part of the bargain though, and if someone was to find those scribbles, then not only would Brewster likely be fighting to save his marriage, but his reputation as a councillor may be sullied and he would undoubtedly be chief suspect in her death.

He checked around her again, looked in the book once more and found nothing.

Glancing around without wanting to disturb the scene too much, he checked over her person, wincing as he felt her skin becoming cold in a way it never was in life.

With no success, he walked briskly out, trying to disguise the fact he was shaking and not saying anything to the policeman at the cordon, still keeping watch. Still awaiting his sausage.

A short while later, the special constable was pleased to see food arrive, and swapped with a female officer, also a special constable, though the remaining police were still somewhat slow returning.

In the handover, and discussion between the pair as to whether battered or unbattered sausage was the superior choice; a figure, clad in black, with a hat pulled down over his eyes made his way through the cordon and to the figure of Mrs Dean-Smith on the floor.

“Unfortunate that it came to this”, he said, picking up the book with hands concealed but blue plastic sheaths. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

“Still, if you decide to fuck racist pieces of shit like Craig Brewster, then perhaps you did deserve it” he said, looking over her own note and placing it back in the book and then arranging it back over her face.

“He will soon get what he deserves too, when he takes the fall”. He smirked. “The boys inside are quite diverse. Hopefully he’ll be more open to racial harmony once they’ve properly welcomed him”.

He leant down and picked up the letter-opener. He ran his finger along the substance and tasted it. “Mmm” he muttered, putting it in his pocket.

He knew it was evidence, but he hadn’t been seen, and the library was fairly antiquated, no CCTV. The police had a poor enough reputation in this area, it was quite likely that they’d lose evidence, he reasoned.

He walked around the corner, to his work van, opening the door and tossing the letter opener inside.

He closed the door, and got in. His mobile went as he put his seatbelt on. He answered.

“Tony Au apiary services. If it’s bees or honey, I’m your man”.

Day 4 (Thursday)

Day Four: No, actually!!! Character Three did it. Carefully choose your viewpoint character to tell us how and why.

Your clue for the day: When the gun is pulled away, there rests a piece of paper with something written on it in the woman’s hand. Now your character must find out: What does it say, and how did it get there?

Back at the bar, I was still waiting, this time, adventurously swapping my lemonade for a black coffee after my wife called to say she had actually met a friend and was going for drinks and would meet me back here before closing.

Tony had left not long after Brewster, leaving me momentarily alone in the bar with Chris.

“You ok Chris, managing alright on a busy night like this?”.

“Ha, yeah”. He said.

I pulled out my phone and started seeing what teams were on Monday night football. Brentford vs Wolves. Not a riveting fixture on paper, but sometimes these things surprised.

I asked Chris if he’d put it on when it starts.

“Can do” he said.

Two replies, each with two words, that is almost bordering on aimless chatter for Chris.

A short while afterwards, Brewster came back. He looked even redder in the face than usual and look upset.

“Scotch please, Chris”.

“Uh” said Chris, duly putting one in front of the councillor.

For the next while, not much was said. I concentrated on the football with one eye on a game of solitaire on my phone.

Councillor Brewster seemed on a bit of a mission to work his way through the Scotch and he wasn’t my favourite person to talk to when he was sober, so I left him to it.

The second half of the football had started and Tony returned. We all assumed pretty much the same positions we started the evening in.

“Chang Beer” please, he said.

Chris barely stirred, but Brewster’s head whipped round.

“Just kidding. I’ll have a ‘Ghost Ship’ please mate”.

“Uh” said Chris, pouring the beverage.

Other than that pretty uneventful, until the 77th minute of the game, though that was the expected tepid serving of a game.

It was around then though that Chris started quietly and then more animatedly looking around the bar. Moving jars of nuts and crisps and ever more urgently checking his pockets, the till, shelves.

His next “uh”, followed by another solitary utterance:

“fuck!”.

Back at the library, the police were milling around, a detective standing over Emma’s body.

“I guess with forensics done, we can start bagging some of this stuff up”, he said to his colleague, leaning down to take the gun from her hand.

As he did so a small business card (or piece of paper, shaped like a business-card) fell from under the gun’s handle) fell from under it.

“Looks like they may have missed something”.

A female detective walked over, with an evidence bag, and picked it up with a pair of tweezers, procured from a kit she had with her.

Before dropping it in, she looked at what it said.

‘The Tooth of The Matter’ Pub and Restaurant- The Finest Food and Ale in Town’.