ACME
09-07-2013, 06:13 PM
A great , dramatic , fascinating short story with audio files
I recommend you listening to it from the audio file on this link
http://www.mediafire.com/download/m1giujv1p5450jj/MIM_-_Audio.rar
and following the text of the story below
Remember
the password for this file is the name of our
forum written as one word
Do Enjoy It
Best Regards
ACME
~
~
~
Short Story:
Missing in March
We have something special for you this
month: a crime story by author Vanessa Clark.
What happened to Margaret Sutton? Follow the
police force over the next six tracks, as they
search for clues to find out. Brian McCredie
from Britain will read the story. Can you solve
the mystery before the police do?
///////////////////////////////
Chapter 1
Sergeant Pearce took out his notebook and
pen and looked at the anxious woman on the
settee.
“So, you say your mother, a Mrs Margaret Sutton,
is missing. When did you last see her?”
“Well, we haven’t seen her since Friday, have
we, Dad?” The woman looked across at her
father, sitting quietly in an armchair. “That was
four days ago,” she added.
“That’s right,” agreed her father. “She went to
stay with a friend for the weekend, and she
hasn’t come back.”
“Does this friend have a name and address,
sir?” asked the police officer.
“No. I mean, well, that’s the stupid thing. I can’t
remember. Jean or Joan or Jane — I don’t
know. My wife has a lot of friends,” stammered
the man. “Really. A lot of friends.”
When 27-year-old Will Pearce had been promoted
to the rank of sergeant a few months
earlier, he had hoped that his working life
would be a little more glamorous than this. A
respectable woman who was late coming
home from a weekend away — it was hardly
the stuff of TV dramas. She was probably
enjoying an extra day away from her boring
husband. But he must try not to jump to conclusions
and to keep an open mind. That’s what
his boss, Inspector Davies, always said.
“Would you like a photo of my wife?” offered
Mr Sutton. “There must be a few recent pictures
on my daughter’s computer. I can print
one out for you.”
Before the officer had a chance to answer,
Mr Sutton was already out of the room.
With the older man gone, Sergeant Pearce was
able to ask the daughter for some background
information.
“Mum and Dad have always been very happy.”
“Do they live near here?”
“Yes, in a flat at Oak Court, the retirement complex.
Do you know it? They sold our family
home a few months ago and moved in there.
Our old house was much too big for the two of
them. Mum said she didn’t want to spend the
rest of her life cleaning empty rooms, and she
thought that the garden was getting to be too
much for Dad. But Oak Court is lovely: nice,
modern apartments with a swimming pool, a
gym and all sorts of facilities on their doorstep.
Lots of interesting new friends. It was the start
of a new life for them. I’ve never seen Mum so
happy.”
“And your father?”
“Well, fathers don’t say much, do they? You
can’t tell if they’re happy or not.”
Chapter 2
Mr Sutton came back into the room with a
photo he had just printed out. It showed a
vibrant woman of about 70, holding a glass of
wine in her hand. She was standing in the middle
of a small group of people, evidently at a
party. Mr Sutton was in the photo, too, at the
edge of the group, but it was his wife who was
the centre of attention.
“Is this OK? It’s only a few weeks old. That’s
Margaret in the middle. It was taken at a party
with our new neighbours at Oak Court. The
other couple there are James and Lillian from
next door. James used to be a professional
golfer. He and Margaret have played a few
rounds together, and she says it’s really helping
her swing.”
“I’ll bet it is!” thought the sergeant to himself.
“Thank you, sir,” he said aloud. “This will help
us to find your wife for you. And try not to
worry too much. Most people return safe and
well within the first few days.”
“But she’s been gone for four days,” protested
the man, “and her mobile’s not on. We’ve left
lots of messages, but she hasn’t called us
back.”
“That’s right,” confirmed his daughter. “We’ve
tried again and again, but there’s been no
reply.”
“Were you here with your daughter all weekend,
then, Mr Sutton?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Dad’s been staying with me for a few days,
you see, while Mum’s been away. We had a
quiet weekend. We went for a walk on Saturday.
It was such a lovely spring day, and the crocuses
were beautiful. But the rain kept us indoors
yesterday. You spent most of your time on the
computer, didn’t you, Dad?”
“Oh? Doing some research, sir?”
“Holidays,” answered Mr Sutton. After a short
pause he added, “Cruises.”
“Dad’s booking a cruise, as a surprise for Mum
for their ruby wedding anniversary next year,
aren’t you, Dad? Which one did you choose in
the end?
“Oh, I haven’t chosen yet. It’ll be the Caribbean,
I expect.”
“She’ll be so pleased,” smiled the daughter.
“If she ever comes back,” muttered the man,
standing up. Then he suddenly blurted out,
“You don’t think she’s run away with one of her
new gentlemen friends at Oak Court, do you?”
That was when Sergeant Pearce’s mobile rang.
It was his boss, Inspector Davies, with the news
that the body of an older woman had been
found in the woods nearby. There were no
signs of violence, but she was definitely dead.
Chapter 3
at the police station, Inspector Davies had
taken control of the investigation. Bob Davies
had 30 years’ service in the police force, and his
calm authority won the respect of both junior
and senior officers.
“Have we found any clues at the Suttons’ flat or
in their car yet, Pearce?” he asked his sergeant.
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Anything from the daughter’s computer?”
“Yes and no, sir. All very boring stuff. No porn
or violence. Just local news, eBay, holiday sites,
that kind of thing. But interestingly, although
the holiday sites were cruise companies, they
were not Caribbean cruises. Sutton spent a lot
of time on the Tulip Tours site, a company that
specializes in river trips in Belgium and the
Netherlands.”
“And our Mr Sutton definitely said Caribbean
cruises?”
“Yes. But it isn’t a crime to pretend you’re going
to Antigua if you can only afford Antwerp, is it,
sir?”
“True,” agreed the inspector, thoughtfully, “but
why say it at all? What about the bank account?”
“Not much there, either, sir.”
“And the wife’s bank card?”
“Nothing for a week, sir.”
“Maybe she was already dead before the weekend,
or maybe this mysterious friend paid for
everything,” suggested the inspector.
“This Jean or Jane or, more likely, James?”
“Ah, yes. That reminds me: the golfing neighbour
was at home all weekend. His wife’s given
him an alibi. So he wasn’t having a dirty weekend
with Mrs S. Anyway, maybe she just paid
cash on her trip.”
“They prefer cash, these old folks. They don’t
trust plastic,” said the sergeant.
“Seventy isn’t that old, and Mrs Sutton didn’t
look much like a typical grandma in that party
photo, did she?”
“But what about the payments out of the bank
account, sir? Don’t you think that they make up
a very typical picture of retired life? A small
amount spent at the supermarket, a subscription
to a birdwatching magazine, a little visit to
the garden centre, another trip to the supermarket...”
The young sergeant’s thoughts on retirement
were interrupted by a call from the pathologist
to say that the initial results of Mrs Margaret
Sutton’s autopsy were ready.
Chapter 4
The inspector leafed through the document
and read out the key points to his sergeant as
they sat on either side of the inspector’s desk.
The cause of death was poisoning; there was a
large dose of lycorine in her blood. There was
one other odd thing: the report noted the presence
of some dead flies and ants on the body.
“Dead ants?” echoed Pearce. “Well, she was
found in woodland. She probably squashed
them when she fell.”
“No. They were on top of the body, not under it.”
“Poisonous ants? Do you mean killer ants?”
asked the sergeant, hopefully.
“No, just normal everyday ants, it seems. But
that’s not important. What’s interesting is the
lycorine.”
“And what is lycorine, sir?” asked Sergeant
Pearce.
“Don’t they teach you anything in basic training
these days? It’s quite a common cause of accidental
poisoning. It’s found in some plants,
including daffodils.”
“But who eats daffodils?”
“Well, the bulbs look rather like onions, so people
have cooked them by mistake and been
very ill as a result. There was a case at a pri mary
school a couple of years ago. A whole class was
taken ill after a daffodil bulb found its way into
the ingredients for their cookery lesson.”
“So maybe that’s what happened. She cooked a
meal and poisoned herself.”
“Pearce, I doubt if an experienced cook like Mrs
Sutton would have mistaken a flower bulb for
an onion. She’d been cooking family meals all
her life. We’ll have to assume she was poisoned
by someone else.”
“Or maybe she wanted to kill herself?”
“I don’t know about that,” said the inspector,
“but I do know that her husband spent money
at the garden centre last week, although he
doesn’t have a garden any more. I think we
need to talk to him again. But let’s call in at the
garden centre on the way, and you can practise
your interview technique.”
Chapter 5
the two officers entered the garden centre,
they found a young man watering the plants
with a garden hose. He stopped spraying to
look at the photo of Mr Sutton that Sergeant
Pearce stuck under his nose.
“Oh, yeah, I know him. He used to come in a lot.
He used to buy a lot of stuff. Good customer.
He doesn’t come in much these days, though.
Why? What’s he done?”
“That doesn’t concern you,” answered Ser -
geant Pearce, who disliked the boy’s manner
(and he really was only a boy in the sergeant’s
eyes, although he was probably only a few
years younger than himself). “We want to know
if you saw him last week.”
“I might have,” answered the boy, and started
watering again. The spray went over the
sergeant’s trousers and shoes.
Sergeant Pearce was not happy.
“We know he was here, so just tell us what you
remember,” he said firmly, looking angrily at
the boy. “He bought daffodil bulbs, didn’t he?”
“What?” The boy laughed. “Daffodil bulbs in
March? What planet do you live on, mate? You
buy bulbs in the autumn and plant them so
that the flowers come up in the spring. That old
bloke, he knew his plants. He wouldn’t have
tried to buy daffodil bulbs in March.”
“You must forgive my sergeant,” interrupted
the inspector. “He doesn’t have your expert
knowledge. But if you could remember what
the customer did buy, it would be very helpful.”
“Well, yeah, I do remember, actually. If you really
want to know, it was a big bottle of insecticide
spray.”
The inspector hurried back to the car.
“Come on, Pearce! You know what we have
to do.”
“But, sir, I don’t understand,” said the sergeant
as he started the engine. “Is there lycorine in
insecticide? Did he poison her with it?”
“No. Modern insecticides aren’t that dangerous.
They won’t kill you in small amounts, not
the sort that’s available to the public, anyway.
But they do kill flies and ants. Come on!
Let’s go!”
Chapter 6
Mr Sutton seemed almost relieved when they
arrested him.
“It was Margaret who wanted to move to the
retirement place,” he explained. “I didn’t want
to leave my garden, but she insisted. In that
small flat, we got on each other’s nerves, and
I couldn’t escape outside so easily without a
garden. And all the new friends! I’m not a sociable
man by nature. I could see the long years
ahead of us. Then, last week I found an old bag
of daffodil bulbs in the boot of my car, and I
realized I would never have the chance to plant
them or grow my own spring flowers again.
Margaret had taken that away from me.
“Then something snapped in me. I knew the
bulbs were poisonous. Most gardeners know
that. So I cut them up and cooked them in
some vegetable soup. I’d been doing a lot of
the cooking lately, as she was out so much,
having fun with the neighbours, so it was normal
for me to make lunch. She ate it all. When
she started feeling ill, I suggested a walk in the
fresh air. We went to the woods. She was in a
terrible state by then. She just collapsed on the
ground and died. I hid her in a thicket and
hoped you wouldn’t find her for a long time.”
“But what was the insecticide for?” asked
Sergeant Pearce, puzzled.
“You were trying to confuse us, weren’t you?”
asked Inspector Davies.
“Yes, that’s right. I once saw something on the
television about how you can date the time of
death by looking at the insect life in a body. All
those maggots and flies. So I went to the garden
centre, and came back to spray the body. I
hoped you wouldn’t find her for a few weeks
and the delay would make it more difficult to
find clues. And if I sprayed her with insecticide,
that would confuse the dates and just make
your job more difficult.” Mr Sutton shrugged
his shoulders. “But it didn’t work.”
“No, indeed,” agreed the inspector. “In fact, if
you hadn’t used the insecticide, there wouldn’t
have been any evidence against you. That’s
really the only proof we have to connect you
with the crime.”
“And tell me,” added the sergeant, “about the
river cruise you were interested in.”
“Oh, you know about that, do you? I wanted to
see the fields of flowers in the Netherlands. If I
couldn’t have my own spring flowers, I thought
at least I could enjoy those instead.”
“Well, it’s lucky you didn’t book it,” said the
inspector, “as you won’t be going on any holidays
for a while.”
The End
I recommend you listening to it from the audio file on this link
http://www.mediafire.com/download/m1giujv1p5450jj/MIM_-_Audio.rar
and following the text of the story below
Remember
the password for this file is the name of our
forum written as one word
Do Enjoy It
Best Regards
ACME
~
~
~
Short Story:
Missing in March
We have something special for you this
month: a crime story by author Vanessa Clark.
What happened to Margaret Sutton? Follow the
police force over the next six tracks, as they
search for clues to find out. Brian McCredie
from Britain will read the story. Can you solve
the mystery before the police do?
///////////////////////////////
Chapter 1
Sergeant Pearce took out his notebook and
pen and looked at the anxious woman on the
settee.
“So, you say your mother, a Mrs Margaret Sutton,
is missing. When did you last see her?”
“Well, we haven’t seen her since Friday, have
we, Dad?” The woman looked across at her
father, sitting quietly in an armchair. “That was
four days ago,” she added.
“That’s right,” agreed her father. “She went to
stay with a friend for the weekend, and she
hasn’t come back.”
“Does this friend have a name and address,
sir?” asked the police officer.
“No. I mean, well, that’s the stupid thing. I can’t
remember. Jean or Joan or Jane — I don’t
know. My wife has a lot of friends,” stammered
the man. “Really. A lot of friends.”
When 27-year-old Will Pearce had been promoted
to the rank of sergeant a few months
earlier, he had hoped that his working life
would be a little more glamorous than this. A
respectable woman who was late coming
home from a weekend away — it was hardly
the stuff of TV dramas. She was probably
enjoying an extra day away from her boring
husband. But he must try not to jump to conclusions
and to keep an open mind. That’s what
his boss, Inspector Davies, always said.
“Would you like a photo of my wife?” offered
Mr Sutton. “There must be a few recent pictures
on my daughter’s computer. I can print
one out for you.”
Before the officer had a chance to answer,
Mr Sutton was already out of the room.
With the older man gone, Sergeant Pearce was
able to ask the daughter for some background
information.
“Mum and Dad have always been very happy.”
“Do they live near here?”
“Yes, in a flat at Oak Court, the retirement complex.
Do you know it? They sold our family
home a few months ago and moved in there.
Our old house was much too big for the two of
them. Mum said she didn’t want to spend the
rest of her life cleaning empty rooms, and she
thought that the garden was getting to be too
much for Dad. But Oak Court is lovely: nice,
modern apartments with a swimming pool, a
gym and all sorts of facilities on their doorstep.
Lots of interesting new friends. It was the start
of a new life for them. I’ve never seen Mum so
happy.”
“And your father?”
“Well, fathers don’t say much, do they? You
can’t tell if they’re happy or not.”
Chapter 2
Mr Sutton came back into the room with a
photo he had just printed out. It showed a
vibrant woman of about 70, holding a glass of
wine in her hand. She was standing in the middle
of a small group of people, evidently at a
party. Mr Sutton was in the photo, too, at the
edge of the group, but it was his wife who was
the centre of attention.
“Is this OK? It’s only a few weeks old. That’s
Margaret in the middle. It was taken at a party
with our new neighbours at Oak Court. The
other couple there are James and Lillian from
next door. James used to be a professional
golfer. He and Margaret have played a few
rounds together, and she says it’s really helping
her swing.”
“I’ll bet it is!” thought the sergeant to himself.
“Thank you, sir,” he said aloud. “This will help
us to find your wife for you. And try not to
worry too much. Most people return safe and
well within the first few days.”
“But she’s been gone for four days,” protested
the man, “and her mobile’s not on. We’ve left
lots of messages, but she hasn’t called us
back.”
“That’s right,” confirmed his daughter. “We’ve
tried again and again, but there’s been no
reply.”
“Were you here with your daughter all weekend,
then, Mr Sutton?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Dad’s been staying with me for a few days,
you see, while Mum’s been away. We had a
quiet weekend. We went for a walk on Saturday.
It was such a lovely spring day, and the crocuses
were beautiful. But the rain kept us indoors
yesterday. You spent most of your time on the
computer, didn’t you, Dad?”
“Oh? Doing some research, sir?”
“Holidays,” answered Mr Sutton. After a short
pause he added, “Cruises.”
“Dad’s booking a cruise, as a surprise for Mum
for their ruby wedding anniversary next year,
aren’t you, Dad? Which one did you choose in
the end?
“Oh, I haven’t chosen yet. It’ll be the Caribbean,
I expect.”
“She’ll be so pleased,” smiled the daughter.
“If she ever comes back,” muttered the man,
standing up. Then he suddenly blurted out,
“You don’t think she’s run away with one of her
new gentlemen friends at Oak Court, do you?”
That was when Sergeant Pearce’s mobile rang.
It was his boss, Inspector Davies, with the news
that the body of an older woman had been
found in the woods nearby. There were no
signs of violence, but she was definitely dead.
Chapter 3
at the police station, Inspector Davies had
taken control of the investigation. Bob Davies
had 30 years’ service in the police force, and his
calm authority won the respect of both junior
and senior officers.
“Have we found any clues at the Suttons’ flat or
in their car yet, Pearce?” he asked his sergeant.
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Anything from the daughter’s computer?”
“Yes and no, sir. All very boring stuff. No porn
or violence. Just local news, eBay, holiday sites,
that kind of thing. But interestingly, although
the holiday sites were cruise companies, they
were not Caribbean cruises. Sutton spent a lot
of time on the Tulip Tours site, a company that
specializes in river trips in Belgium and the
Netherlands.”
“And our Mr Sutton definitely said Caribbean
cruises?”
“Yes. But it isn’t a crime to pretend you’re going
to Antigua if you can only afford Antwerp, is it,
sir?”
“True,” agreed the inspector, thoughtfully, “but
why say it at all? What about the bank account?”
“Not much there, either, sir.”
“And the wife’s bank card?”
“Nothing for a week, sir.”
“Maybe she was already dead before the weekend,
or maybe this mysterious friend paid for
everything,” suggested the inspector.
“This Jean or Jane or, more likely, James?”
“Ah, yes. That reminds me: the golfing neighbour
was at home all weekend. His wife’s given
him an alibi. So he wasn’t having a dirty weekend
with Mrs S. Anyway, maybe she just paid
cash on her trip.”
“They prefer cash, these old folks. They don’t
trust plastic,” said the sergeant.
“Seventy isn’t that old, and Mrs Sutton didn’t
look much like a typical grandma in that party
photo, did she?”
“But what about the payments out of the bank
account, sir? Don’t you think that they make up
a very typical picture of retired life? A small
amount spent at the supermarket, a subscription
to a birdwatching magazine, a little visit to
the garden centre, another trip to the supermarket...”
The young sergeant’s thoughts on retirement
were interrupted by a call from the pathologist
to say that the initial results of Mrs Margaret
Sutton’s autopsy were ready.
Chapter 4
The inspector leafed through the document
and read out the key points to his sergeant as
they sat on either side of the inspector’s desk.
The cause of death was poisoning; there was a
large dose of lycorine in her blood. There was
one other odd thing: the report noted the presence
of some dead flies and ants on the body.
“Dead ants?” echoed Pearce. “Well, she was
found in woodland. She probably squashed
them when she fell.”
“No. They were on top of the body, not under it.”
“Poisonous ants? Do you mean killer ants?”
asked the sergeant, hopefully.
“No, just normal everyday ants, it seems. But
that’s not important. What’s interesting is the
lycorine.”
“And what is lycorine, sir?” asked Sergeant
Pearce.
“Don’t they teach you anything in basic training
these days? It’s quite a common cause of accidental
poisoning. It’s found in some plants,
including daffodils.”
“But who eats daffodils?”
“Well, the bulbs look rather like onions, so people
have cooked them by mistake and been
very ill as a result. There was a case at a pri mary
school a couple of years ago. A whole class was
taken ill after a daffodil bulb found its way into
the ingredients for their cookery lesson.”
“So maybe that’s what happened. She cooked a
meal and poisoned herself.”
“Pearce, I doubt if an experienced cook like Mrs
Sutton would have mistaken a flower bulb for
an onion. She’d been cooking family meals all
her life. We’ll have to assume she was poisoned
by someone else.”
“Or maybe she wanted to kill herself?”
“I don’t know about that,” said the inspector,
“but I do know that her husband spent money
at the garden centre last week, although he
doesn’t have a garden any more. I think we
need to talk to him again. But let’s call in at the
garden centre on the way, and you can practise
your interview technique.”
Chapter 5
the two officers entered the garden centre,
they found a young man watering the plants
with a garden hose. He stopped spraying to
look at the photo of Mr Sutton that Sergeant
Pearce stuck under his nose.
“Oh, yeah, I know him. He used to come in a lot.
He used to buy a lot of stuff. Good customer.
He doesn’t come in much these days, though.
Why? What’s he done?”
“That doesn’t concern you,” answered Ser -
geant Pearce, who disliked the boy’s manner
(and he really was only a boy in the sergeant’s
eyes, although he was probably only a few
years younger than himself). “We want to know
if you saw him last week.”
“I might have,” answered the boy, and started
watering again. The spray went over the
sergeant’s trousers and shoes.
Sergeant Pearce was not happy.
“We know he was here, so just tell us what you
remember,” he said firmly, looking angrily at
the boy. “He bought daffodil bulbs, didn’t he?”
“What?” The boy laughed. “Daffodil bulbs in
March? What planet do you live on, mate? You
buy bulbs in the autumn and plant them so
that the flowers come up in the spring. That old
bloke, he knew his plants. He wouldn’t have
tried to buy daffodil bulbs in March.”
“You must forgive my sergeant,” interrupted
the inspector. “He doesn’t have your expert
knowledge. But if you could remember what
the customer did buy, it would be very helpful.”
“Well, yeah, I do remember, actually. If you really
want to know, it was a big bottle of insecticide
spray.”
The inspector hurried back to the car.
“Come on, Pearce! You know what we have
to do.”
“But, sir, I don’t understand,” said the sergeant
as he started the engine. “Is there lycorine in
insecticide? Did he poison her with it?”
“No. Modern insecticides aren’t that dangerous.
They won’t kill you in small amounts, not
the sort that’s available to the public, anyway.
But they do kill flies and ants. Come on!
Let’s go!”
Chapter 6
Mr Sutton seemed almost relieved when they
arrested him.
“It was Margaret who wanted to move to the
retirement place,” he explained. “I didn’t want
to leave my garden, but she insisted. In that
small flat, we got on each other’s nerves, and
I couldn’t escape outside so easily without a
garden. And all the new friends! I’m not a sociable
man by nature. I could see the long years
ahead of us. Then, last week I found an old bag
of daffodil bulbs in the boot of my car, and I
realized I would never have the chance to plant
them or grow my own spring flowers again.
Margaret had taken that away from me.
“Then something snapped in me. I knew the
bulbs were poisonous. Most gardeners know
that. So I cut them up and cooked them in
some vegetable soup. I’d been doing a lot of
the cooking lately, as she was out so much,
having fun with the neighbours, so it was normal
for me to make lunch. She ate it all. When
she started feeling ill, I suggested a walk in the
fresh air. We went to the woods. She was in a
terrible state by then. She just collapsed on the
ground and died. I hid her in a thicket and
hoped you wouldn’t find her for a long time.”
“But what was the insecticide for?” asked
Sergeant Pearce, puzzled.
“You were trying to confuse us, weren’t you?”
asked Inspector Davies.
“Yes, that’s right. I once saw something on the
television about how you can date the time of
death by looking at the insect life in a body. All
those maggots and flies. So I went to the garden
centre, and came back to spray the body. I
hoped you wouldn’t find her for a few weeks
and the delay would make it more difficult to
find clues. And if I sprayed her with insecticide,
that would confuse the dates and just make
your job more difficult.” Mr Sutton shrugged
his shoulders. “But it didn’t work.”
“No, indeed,” agreed the inspector. “In fact, if
you hadn’t used the insecticide, there wouldn’t
have been any evidence against you. That’s
really the only proof we have to connect you
with the crime.”
“And tell me,” added the sergeant, “about the
river cruise you were interested in.”
“Oh, you know about that, do you? I wanted to
see the fields of flowers in the Netherlands. If I
couldn’t have my own spring flowers, I thought
at least I could enjoy those instead.”
“Well, it’s lucky you didn’t book it,” said the
inspector, “as you won’t be going on any holidays
for a while.”
The End