"Three acres and a cow”

A murder short story after GK Chesterton inspired by https://substack.com/@joeljmiller

It was the silvery ribbon of mourning when he looked down at the weed in the fresh-rained on soil, to find out what was. He looked in his book – because he knew most of the common weeds from the cockroach-like bluegrass to the doveweed. Then after a bit of page turning, he found that it was called the purple nutsedge. He lifted his enormous self to full position and looked out on the flowing grass and tree-lined road and decided to see if the cow that he brought with him would eat it.

 After all, if the cow will destroy it then it can’t be hard to destroy. This fits in with the next that if don’t know why a thing is here then you should not destroy it.

The cow munched happily on what she considered a tasty dessert. Then she looked up at GK but did not notice his rotund form, nor his suit for his small glasses. Instead, it wanted to know where was to feed upon next. This was logical because after all how is a thief and once private property respected because the cattle want all the grass?

He put the book away pulled out a notebook and a pencil and scribbled down what saw of the scene. he was not a tourist to see what he had come to see but a traveller, who takes in what there seem. To be included the oak trees planted at regular intervals that were at least 400 years old which were not all on any road. Clearly, there was one occasion between two nobles and particularly their fields. Wondered who had one, probably the grass because it was still here. Beaconsfield was a larger village than most with several steeples to tower above the inns and stores which huddled together for warmth from the cobbles. There was nothing here that would make Beaconsfield the hammer of God with its fiery devotion to some sect of the Anglican church. Instead, it was a sunny place with friendly people who waved to one another and knew where they lived.

He waved to several passing gentlemen who were also enjoying a stroll, he recognized several because Beaconsfield was a respite from London. And he remembered that the stock and gold trade was out today because of the Holiday at the end of May. GK even tipped his hat to Mr. Heifer, who was normally trading on the London gold exchange during the week.

On a whim, GK asked him: “How was your walk through the fields?”

“Of simply quite fine, but then after four days of rain, I will take what I can get. It has been a bad run on the trading floor so I need refreshments from time to time. Though I must admit that lawn would bet better than Hoi Polloi of rancorous species.”

“No cows?” GK merely got a face from Mr. Heifner.

Then with an air of magnanimity, Mr. Heifner pulled out a flask of Gin, he first offered some to GK and then had a good long swig himself. Then he wiped his hands to shake GK. But once he did that it was clear that he had someplace else to be: “Quite so quite so, I will leave you to your business.” Which meant: I needed to go about my business.

GK saw Mr. Heifer go to the road and walk down just a little way until he stopped where there sat a Bentley 3-Litre.

Of most extravagant investments, few people have automobiles and fewer still have such an expensive automobile. But a man with an average height often has to make his things speak letter than his stature or his intellect. And Mr. Heifer is below the average.

The walk back to the barn, with the cow, was ambulatory. He put everything, away except the cow who was munching at the grass.

Then he went down the path between the overgrown bushes opened the iron doorway and walked along the nicely lit hedges towards the Tudor and brick house with tiny windows, with 15 per opening, and began to make his way through the inside. He noticed that his Frances add brought evening mail the need the stack of letters was The Evening News, which was odd because he had never subscribed to it and Frances certainly wouldn’t. He was sure that there was something of a policy that had been printed on the front page, but fallacies are such that they don’t become fulsome just because they are fashionable.

He turned aside towards the stairs upwards thinking he might have some time to write. But then he yawned and felt that it might be time to take a nap - after all, there were so many more hours of sleep that he could load a bit more to a 24-hour. One thing is that at his age was no longer young. When he was young such a thought would not have occurred to him.

Halfway up the stairs, he heard the door gently open and he knew that Frances was home. He decided that if he hadn’t known about his presence, he would not be the one to divulge such information.

But his next step create the wood and he heard from downstairs: “Gilbert is that you?”

Can always view that he was in trouble when his name was pronounced fully because he vastly preferred “GK.”

“I hope it is because as one retired wit suggested, ‘everybody else is already taken.’” And that went double for himself because that didn’t start to describe his situation.

“Knowing how you do not read, I wanted you to look at this evening standard.”

Which meant: There was something truly wrong about this being published or other. Although he knew that the journalism of the Evening Star was mediocre at best, he was not quite sure what would pique her envy. What would she want to know about who had died when she doesn’t care if they lived while they were here?

“What is it?”

“It was my thought that there may be something for your priest-detective, I think there is a story to be written to the dry facts.”

This was interesting indeed because it was not what he expected. But then as his amanuensis, Frances often had a keen eye for the anecdote which became data in his pen.

GK looked and did not see anything until he spotted the notice of a man’s death, which meant it had to be an important man because that is what journalism is suited for telling us about the deaths of our enemies and our friends and very little about our next-door neighbor. That is left up to God. And anyway, our friends and our enemies are often the same people.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to find it I had my presence of mind placed elsewhere. Why do you think this headline would be important?”

“It is not just a man but a broker on the London Stock Exchange. A Mr. Campbell- Mills.”

“There are several people who do this kind of work. What about it to your attention?”

“First, one doesn’t have such a man murdered every day, second look at the description of how the body was found, and third, it seems as if he was involved in some scheme to borrow bonds against the position in gold.”

So, GK read the entire article, even when it switched to the back with all the details. Because as GK knew, it was in the particulars where one could find the motivation. He noticed that the paper was coy about other accomplices.

He read what was written but he knew the was more to be known and therefore he had to go to where the body was recovered: Maidenhead.

-

“I don’t think we can help you, because we’ve already captured a man and I think he will confess.” My meaning is later tonight. After no food, no water, and most importantly: no sleep. It was the Noh confession that the police officers all over England knew quite well. Welcome to Maidenhead.

“Can I speak with your suspect? What is his name?”

“He calls himself Mr. Glass, but I don’t know if that’s his real name, because there seems to be no place of address which he’s willing to give us.”

“It seems a little bit strange that someone of no fixed address and I would assume very little money would be able to kidnap so prominent a man.”

“That’s because you don’t know how police work is done, it is often the man with very little money who becomes the primary target and confesses.”

“I see.”

After this, he was brought into the cellblock and saw the most miserable specimen of mankind which he scarcely believed that England could reduce. He was tall but very thin, and not just in the middle but his arms and his legs stretched beyond their normal portions. He wore a woolen suit that was patched in some places and sheened in others. He was looking out the window but turned and faced GK. His face was sour and bitter.

GK holds up a chair just beyond the reach of the other side of the bars. And he began with the most disarming tone of voice: “May I talk to you?”

“If you’d like. But I’m afraid that after they get through with me, I will probably confess to anything that they want.”

“You sound as if you have had experience with the bobbies.”

“Some.”

“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

The man looked at GK, and past the obesity of his form, GK must have had something innocent about his complexion.

“For work, for about two weeks, I was tasked with cleaning up the rooms that people stayed in.”

“So, you cleaned them up after they left?”

“Sometimes even before because many of the renters were on the sloppy side.”

“So, what happened in this particular instance?”

“First you have to understand that I have been off for a week to visit my mother. Then the day I returned, I opened each door with the passkey. One was being cleaned I opened the closet door for suits, and the corpse just popped out. I told the manager and I thought that would be that. But in less than half an hour day had cuffed me in given the lodgings in this lovely place.”

“I see. Where did you live at this time?”

A sheepish grin slowly emerged: “I live much further out in a room that one of my acquaintances has. She can’t rent the room presented and that’s why I try to keep it quiet.”

GK was about to go when he stopped and asked one further thing: “How many other people worked in this particular building, or was it just you?”

“There was one other person and he did most of the work.”

“And where can I find him?”

“He is always at the place, he sleeps there. Harry Moore is his name.”

GK examined the man up and down, saw that he had not wavered in the telling, and was convinced that this was not the man. But if he could be made the man by the police.

Once back in the waiting area he offhandedly asked: “Was this person signed in under his name?”

“No, and we don’t know how he got there. That is one of the reasons we collected Mr. Glass because he has a passkey.”

The fat man simply nodded and went out of the police station to the location where the man had been found.

The next place to visit was the coroner’s office to see what a physical mind would make of the case. Would probably not be of any use to GK, but you never knew. He stopped at the next building which was the corner office. It was a one to shop for the body: first, the body was cabbed here, then to be corner slab the body to find out what killed him, and then the police attempted to nab the criminal. Or at least that was the theory.

The corner was an old man, slightly stooped, and with a torrent of weaving hair which went off in many directions. GK got his attention and then said: “Could I ask you a few questions about the trader who was found inside the closet?”

“You can certainly ask me, what I don’t know if I will have all of the answers.”

“Fair enough. What can you tell me about the condition of the body?”

They left the morgue with a very ordinary body of ordinary height and weight and the corner turned around and looked at the wall with folks hanging on it and each book had a notepad attached to a noteboard. He looked only a couple of places and held down the noteboard.

“This case was moderately interesting. The body had been dead for two days. And there were signs that the was poisoned by strychnine.”

“A nasty way to go. Anything else?”

“The body had been out in the rain.”

“Not surprising.”

“Well, what is surprising is that his shoes that he was squeezed into were dry. Which indicated to me that the murderer or someone else changed the shoes.”

The minutes crawled by slowly and GK pondered, and then he asked: “Was there anything else interesting?”

“There was a jacket in another closet, which I think was his because it too had been wet and had various bits of Flora attached.”

“Can look at this?”

In the corner, we took him to another room and pulled out a long jacket. GK looked at it up and down and did indeed find a few strands of grass and other weeds. It was all very natural. GK then thanked the corner and pondered for a while. He collected some of the wild fields, perhaps to examine the later,

As he was walking, he thought to himself: If I were the famous detective Sherlock Holmes this case would be so simple. I’m sure that clues at the location gave me all that I needed to solve the case. Unfortunately, I am not a scientist or an investigator and the clues that would be present to Sherlock would be obtuse to me. But I feel that motive is often be which the police do not look at carefully enough. But then I think of myself as more of an Agatha Christie fan.

Almost late in the day, he arrived at the location of the man’s body. So, he ran around the circle near the police station and then walked up Forlease Road where he could see the railroad. He passed a building that was for a solicitor and just happened to run into the same. Rather than hurrying along he managed to create a medium width but tall man. This did not bother him because he was not as tall as GK was, and secondly, he wanted to know what kind of village Maidenhead was.

“Hello, I’m GK Chesterton, I assume that you are the solicitor?”

“Yes, that’s very good, and you are the writer what brings you down here?”

“I’m simply looking into a murder. And I thought I would ask some questions about the people who lived here to find out what to do place it is.”

“Needed and it is a very odd community, there is little interaction between the inhabitants, and even less so if you weed out the trivialities of the day.”

“I see and what do you do here?”

“The usual, real estate, annuities, and the occasional transfers of property. You did say that you are interested in a murder, may I ask whose?”

“One Mr. Campbell-Mills. Could you tell me if he was an outdoorsy sort of person?”

“Good God no, he was always in his house working on various financial things. Carried the papers everywhere in case he had an idea.”

“What sort of financial work did he do?”

“Government bonds, gold, and stocks - and the like.”

“I see. So why would he be found inside a flat?”

“That I do not know. But I must say, frightfully bad business that.”

“Was he a client of yours?”

“In fact, yes he is the will is going to be read here in a few days.”

“Anything interesting in it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge anything in the will, and only those people who are invited will attend. You will excuse me, but I have some business to attend to.” And off he walked to the local public house for a spot of beer.

At the rental flat, he could see no one attended the comings and goings, so he went around to the back because he had a suspicion that Harry Moore would be in the bottom basement apartment, and was the last that he needed to talk to. He went around the back and saw a man going into the basement.

“Excuse me! Are you Harry Moore?”

A slightly slender man perked up at his name being called and looked back at GK. He wiped off the petrol and answered back: “Whose wanting to know?”

“I’m GK Chesterton. Could I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Perhaps.”

“It is about the murder of Campbell-Mills.”

“They caught a man for that murder.”

“Yes, but having caught a man and having convicted the right man are two very different things. I think that you were the one that the tenant in that night.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the death of the body was well before when it was found. And Mr. Glass was off for almost a week before he returned.”

“Let’s save for the sake of argument that I would agree that Mr. Glass probably doesn’t have the best representation and that he might well be innocent.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I will not repeat this in front of the law or the judge, but I let into people one of whom was truly drunk and was leaning on the first man. Both of them were dressed up in jackets to the length of the floor, and it was late so I could not tell for sure what either of them looked like. But the man said that he needed to keep his friend upright, and could he trouble me to open up the flat.”

“What did you do?”

“I immediately put down what I was doing got my ring of keys, and walked up to the flat and opened it. All the while there was little talking but he did mention that his friend was going to spend the night sleeping off the beer which the two had been consuming.”

“And what time was this?”

“It had to be 11 o’clock at night.”

“I see. Thank you for your time.”

-

The next day in Beaconsfield, he wandered through the fields thinking about the problem which the case presented. A new who the killer might have been, but how to give a theory about what happened and why the killer could be identified. He then went down to Mr. Heifner’s residence and knocked on the door.

Mr. Hefner answered the door and GK asked to be invited in so they could speak in private. This was accomplished and the two were sitting at the chaise longue in the parlor.

After getting some tea, Mr. Hefner started the conversation: “So what can I do for you today?”

“I think you may want to get things in order because in about half an hour police are going to arrive.”

“Why ever would they do that.”

“I’ve been indiscreet in investigating the murder of Mr. Campbell-Mills. I do have to admit that he is a dislikable fellow only concerned with money, but that having said, having him murdered is I think a bit too extreme.”

“And why do you think that I am responsible?”

“Well I don’t know specifically all of the details, but the police are getting a search warrant for the last pieces that I could not establish, being only a citizen.”

“And what pieces are these?”

“The bonds and business arrangements should be bonds become due for lack of funding. I believe they will be found here or in your automobile.”

“And why do you think that?”

“I believe that you and Mr. Campbell-Mills had an arrangement and unfortunately that arrangement requires you to put up more money than you otherwise had.”

“I will admit that things have been not the best, but how do you get from the operations on the trading floor to murder?”

“The first thing is that Mr. Campbell-Mills was in an odd position. Will you grant me that?”

“That certainly seems to be a reasonable opening move.”

“And that was found some two days after he died.”

“Yes, but what does this have to do with me?”

“The person apprehended by the police could not have done the deed. Which means we must widen our search.”

“You would have to get extremely wide to encompass me. I mean we worked on the same business, and I certainly knew him but only to a very limited extent.”

“I think that is an understatement. I think when the police investigate, they will find you as among the people invited to a reading of the will.”

“All right I will admit that I am invited. What of it?”

“I also think that you were the person who was led in with the dead body to the rooms that were rented by both of you for some scheme that both were involved with. But he was more meticulous and wanted to make sure that he would not be blamed.”

“This is all very amusing, but what connects Mr. Campbell-Mills with me?”

“He did not own an automobile and if don’t own an automobile, you have boots it is raining, and it was raining when Mr. Campbell-Mills was deposited. On the other hand, if you have an automobile, you can wear shoes. Which is what the body was in.”

“Let’s say that I will, for the sake of argument, entertain the idea that the body was found with shoes. And that the murderer had planted those shoes rather than the boots that Mr. Campbell-Mills was wearing. How does that implicate me?”

“Because he was murdered at fields near here and then deposited much later at the flat in Maidenhead.”

“And why is that?”

“The rooms at Maidenhead were of particularly low quality, all the better for the two men to keep track of their scheme. Bought the body Mr. Campbell-Mills was not found with anything that would associate with the rooms exempt in some tangential way, rather than the petrol and so on which you have about.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“You murdered Mr. Campbell-Mills here, absconded with the papers, and then dropped him at rooms with Harry Moore’s key. And all of the missing details will be discovered by the police: the papers, the bonds particularly. And what is also as important is what is not found on Mr. Campbell-Mills: petrol from the car or on his person.”

There was a knock on the door.

“That must the police.”

And with that dropped a nutsedge on the coffee table. GK concluded: “Never alter something unless you know why it was there in the first place.”