Ilysveil: The Hidden Vengeance

by J. H. Zech

Table of Contents

Table of Contents
parts: 1, 2, 3

conclusion

“It’s the rope, constable. It rained last night, and there were no footprints below the window, so we assumed the rain had washed away the footprints. Yet the rope was dry. If the culprit had used the rope to climb down from the window, left footprints, then the rain washed them away, then the rope would have been wet. Because it’s not, the culprit must have put the rope there after the rain stopped, but had he climbed down, he would have left clear footprints since the dirt was wet from the rain. There are no footprints. What’s the only possibility left that explains this?”

The constable gasped, “You don’t mean...”

Joseph flashed his eyes towards the three men. “Yes. No one climbed down that rope at all. The culprit was on the inside and hung the rope to make it seem like an outsider did it.”

“Isn’t it possible the rope merely dried out after the rain?” William asked.

“We could sit here for a few hours and test how long it takes, but there’s more. Winston was lying on his stomach with his head towards the window. No matter how you think about it, that’s not possible if the culprit came in through the window. If he faced the culprit at the window, he would have been stabbed in the front, not the back. Had he been facing away from the culprit and the attack from the window surprised him, he would fall forward, his head pointing towards the door. The only way his position makes sense is if someone came through the door and stabbed him in the back.”

“Then indeed, it looks like you three are the primary suspects,” Gorton said, turning to the three men. “So, which one of them is the culprit?”

Joseph slicked his hair back. “Let’s go over what really happened that night. At eleven in the evening, Winston retired to his room. Then, at midnight, the other three went to their rooms. At some point between then and four, one of the three snuck out to gather the tools for the murder, then went into Winston’s room and stabbed him in the back.

“To disguise the fact that it was an insider, the culprit did two things. He stabbed Winston multiple times, as if in a rage, to make it seem like the motive was revenge. Then he hung a rope outside the window and threw the knife and apron used to shield himself from blood spatter outside, completing the illusion of the outsider.”

“We already know that much!” Charles barked.

“Be patient. Given what we know, one of you said something strange when we met. Theodore, you were the first to suggest that Winston may have been murdered as part of Maria Crossham’s vengeance. Now, it’s true the stab wounds looked like an act of revenge. But why did you specifically draw a link to Crossham? Isn’t it strange that you’d immediately suspect your close friend of a murder that happened ten years ago? Ordinarily, one would have some doubts about their close friend turning out to be a murderer. Since Crossham’s skeleton showed up yesterday, you aimed to tie this to Crossham’s revenge so you could blame it on an outsider.” Joseph pointed his finger at Theodore. “Indeed, the one who murdered Winston Cranvel is you, Theodore Lutzwain!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves!” Theodore protested. “I don’t mean to sound like William, but it can’t be helped. This is all just speculation! Where’s your proof that I did it? You don’t have any, do you?”

“Proof? Of course, I have it.” Joseph grinned. “Or rather, you have it on you.”

“What is it? The murder weapon had no fingerprints,” Gorton said.

“Remember that there was blood on Winston’s hand? And some of it had been smudged? There was nothing in the room that had smudged blood. Which means the culprit had to have taken away whatever was smudged.”

“Isn’t it possible that it was smudged on the apron or knife?” Gorton asked.

“Think about the position he was in. He was on the floor, bleeding to death. He was stabbed in the back, so he couldn’t have easily grabbed the knife. But what was the culprit doing immediately after killing Winston?”

“He went to the window to hang the rope,” Gorton said. He gasped.

“Yes, the one thing in reach of Winston as the culprit had his back turned, was the culprit’s shoes. He smeared his blood on the back of the shoes. And the culprit still hasn’t noticed.”

Theodore froze, and the color drained from his face.

“Let’s have a look at your boots,” Gorton said.

Theodore turned around lifelessly and, sure enough, dark dried blood was smeared on the back of his boots.

“Theodore Lutzwain, you’re under arrest for murder,” the constable said, cuffing him. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Theodore was silent.

“We’ll have a long talk at the station,” Gorton said. He walked into town with Theodore in handcuffs.

Joseph watched Theodore’s expression as he was led away and became even more sure of his gut feeling; this case wasn’t over yet. There was still a veil shrouding the truth, and he still needed the key evidence that would make everything clear.

* * *

That evening, a knock came on the door of the cabin Joseph was staying at. He hurried to the door, and it was Stacia.

“I found it,” she said. Stacia stepped aside and showed him what she had brought.

A mixture of horror, sadness, and excitement welled up in him. At last, with this, the truth had been made clear. The stage had been set, and it was time for the final act, to bring an end to his long journey. “Good. Let’s head down to the police station,” Joseph said.

The station was a simple brick building with a grey slanted roof and the Ilysveilan imperial seal of the crescent moon and sun carved on the wooden door. When they arrived, Gorton was smoking in the break room.

“What brings you two here?” Gorton asked, breathing out an unpleasant grey cloud.

“Has Theodore still not confessed his motive?” Joseph asked.

He shook his head. “He won’t say anything. We have him for murder regardless, so I’m not sure why he’s being so stubborn.”

“Please bring the other two to the station.”

“What for?”

“I’ve uncovered his motive. The case isn’t over yet.”

Later, Gorton had the three men gather in an office room of the station. It was a sparse room of brick walls, a single magitech light crystal, and a table. The three men sat on one side of the table, and Joseph, Stacia, and Gorton on the other.

“What’s going on? I thought the case was closed,” Charles said.

“Before we begin, Theodore, is there anything you’d like to confess voluntarily?” Joseph asked.

Theodore averted his eyes and remained silent.

“What admirable loyalty. If only you had been so loyal to Maria Crossham,” Joseph remarked.

“What do you mean?” Gorton asked.

Everyone waited in tense silence.

Joseph continued. “First, my suspicions were once again confirmed. Normally, when your close friend is arrested for murder, one would ask, ‘Why did you do it?’ I waited for either of those two to say something earlier, but no one did. And neither of you are asking even now. Why did you two not ask? Perhaps it’s because you already know why Theodore did it.”

“Why did he do it?” Gorton asked.

“What if Theodore’s idea about revenge for the murder of Maria Crossham didn’t come out of nowhere?”

“So, Mr. Cranvel actually murdered her?”

“I believe so. What’s more, there was something strange about this whole get-together from the start. The day that Crossham’s skeleton showed up, her four former students gather that same night. Is it just a coincidence? If Winston murdered Crossham, what did the others know? Or maybe more than know? There were four shovels with fresh dirt on them, four people in the cabin. Maybe the four of you were digging something up. I wonder what that was.”

“Are you accusing us of murder?” William asked.

“You three confirmed Winston was acting strangely that night. Given he murdered Crossham, why do you think he was acting that way? The answer is obvious. The skeleton and the sign indicated that someone knew Crossham had been murdered and was out for revenge. He would have been very afraid. Afraid enough, perhaps, to dig up the body he had buried to verify whether the skeleton he saw had been dug up by somebody else. But regardless of whether he found the body, he still would’ve been anxious. Even if the skeleton in the town square was a fake, it didn’t change the fact that someone knew Crossham had been murdered.”

“What are you trying to say?” Charles demanded.

“It puts the torn page in his notepad into context. Why did the note have to be burned? Winston was in no condition to be getting his notepad and pen from the nightstand while he was bleeding out, and there was no blood on the notepad or a bloody pen. So, he must have written something on the page before being murdered. But what could threaten the murderer in that case? What was written couldn’t have been the name of his murderer. No, feeling guilty and afraid, he had written his own confession to the murder of Maria Crossham and told you all of his intentions that night.”

“That can’t be considered evidence,” William insisted. “And besides, what does Winston’s personal confession have to do with us?”

Theodore looked down at the table and didn’t say anything.

Joseph chuckled. “You’re going to feign ignorance until the end? Very well then. Winston’s confession was not just his own. Four students of Crossham who turned against her. Four shovels with fresh dirt. Shovels, I should add, with all four of your fingerprints on them. I had Stacia track the smell from those shovels with police dogs.” He glanced at Stacia.

She stood up and walked out of the room. Stacia returned shortly carrying a large bag. She set it on the floor and opened it, revealing a skeleton covered in dirt.

The three men jumped out of their seats and stumbled back.

“I see you recognize this,” Joseph said. “It’s the real body of Maria Crossham.”

“You all buried it pretty deep. I had to dig for a while to find it, especially since it was just me and one other officer,” Stacia said.

“The only ones who could know where this corpse was buried after Maria Crossham disappeared ten years ago, are you three and Winston, the ones who murdered her!”

Charles bolted towards the door. Stacia grabbed his arm and swung him into the wall. He fainted and slid to the floor. William and Theodore sank into their seats. Stacia rotated her shoulders. “It feels nice to cut loose again.”

Gorton adjusted his crooked hat. “What exactly is going on here?”

“Theodore murdered Winston because he was going to confess that the four of them had murdered Maria Crossham.”

“What’s this about a real body? What was the skeleton in the town square?” Gorton asked.

“Oh, that.” Joseph suppressed a laugh.

“That was my doing,” Stacia said. “Joseph snuck out a corpse from a case ten years ago from the police headquarters, and I came here two nights ago to put it in the town square with that sign, then went back to the capital overnight. We figured it would get the real culprits to act.”

“Joseph?” Gorton eyed them suspiciously.

“Er, I mean Inspector Wrenheit.”

“It’s all right, Stacia. There’s no need to hide anything anymore,” Joseph said. “She’s my wife, not my assistant. I did all this without the knowledge of headquarters. Surely you must have thought it strange that someone from Scantia Hall headquarters would send you a telegram about a body in a remote town in the Britannia province the same morning that body was discovered and insist on coming immediately.”

“That I did, but I didn’t want to question headquarters. But this was highly inappropriate,” Gorton said.

“You’re absolutely right, and I understand if you’re upset. I just request that you keep our involvement secret from headquarters.”

Gorton sighed. “Well, you did solve two murder cases in one night, so I guess I can overlook this just once, but why did you go to such lengths?”

Joseph glared at the two men still conscious and smiled. “That sign on the skeleton wasn’t a lie. My original name was Joseph Crossham. I am the son of the woman you murdered! I was only a child at the time, but I never forgot. I married Stacia and changed my last name to hers. I worked to become an inspector at headquarters for this day, the day I would get justice for my mother’s murder. Look upon my face and never forget who defeated you.”

Despair came over William and Theodore’s faces, and they said nothing. They had lost all will to resist.

* * *

In front of the cabin, under a vast, twinkling black canvas, the fog had cleared, and Joseph and Stacia stood side by side.

“Are you satisfied with your revenge?” Stacia asked.

“Yes. I feel much lighter now,” Joseph answered. It was the truth. His decade-long journey had come to an end, and with it, both release and emptiness.

“In the end, I never got to hear why they killed your mother,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me, though.”

“No, you helped me through all this. You married me even though you knew that I was going to chase after my mother one day. I’ll always be grateful. You deserve to know. But really, it’s nothing so complicated.”

“I’m listening.”

“Mayor Thompson convinced the four to oppose the railway station. But how? He was run out of town for embezzling and corruption. He simply bribed them. My mother was a problem for the mayor who benefited from local monopolies that opposed the competition a rail line would bring. So, he got her four students to take her out of the picture.”

“I hope your mother can rest in peace now. And I hope you can be at peace, too. I want you to start thinking about our own future now.”

He hadn’t thought about what lay beyond his revenge, but now, everything was wide open. Under the vast sky, he seemed so insignificant and alone. Stacia wrapped her hand around his. That’s right. He wasn’t alone. They had forged their way here together, and they would do so from here on out.