One night, one storm, one death

One night, one storm, one death

A story of love and murder

It was a dark and stormy night. Despite this sounding like a Snoopy cartoon strip, it really was a dark and stormy night. The wind buffeted the house, finding every loose tile, every way of creating cold draughts inside the building. The rain was relentless, the cold biting into everything. Lightning flashed overhead. The thunder crushed all other sounds and its starting crack made us all duck, even though we were in the house. The power went out, torches and candles were found and light returned. We were lucky we had an all fuels stove, intended to burn logs but would take anything that was solid and combustible. We settled down to a medieval style of evening.

We were a motley collection of misfits, thrown together in this sudden reminder of how powerful nature is and how powerless we are. I was, and still am, old tired and cynical. My companions were John, also retired but wealthy since he had been a successful commodities trader. Paul was younger but not working due to ill health, had been a journalist for a left leaning “right on” politically correct media outlet. Tracy was the youngest, a graduate from a female only university, who seemed to see no contradiction in her complaints about men only clubs while defending her women only college. The others present were Juliet who owned the house and her sister Amanda; they were now in their middle age. Both had been actors but the parts had stopped coming as their age increased. They lived on past glory and in hope of the future. Both had been married but were now divorced. We had gathered here to celebrate Amanda's sixtieth birthday.

The house was perched at the top of a hill, at one time a row of majestic elms had given shelter from the wind but these fell victim to Dutch Elm disease and so to the chain saws, many years ago. Now the house just had to put up with the wind and rain. The only way to reach the place was along a mile long curving drive that had been neglected over the last few years and so was rutted and interspersed with growths of weeds. The curve meant that the house itself could not be seen from the road. It was doubtful that there were any travellers along that road since the rivers were high and flood warning in place over the whole county. I had been the last to arrive, just before the storm reached us and I was sure the river nearby was going to cover the road within an hour and so prevent any return journey for a day or two. Juliet and Amanda seldom left the house or its grounds these days, all the supplies were delivered. They no longer could afford full time staff, just part time help provided by girls from the nearest village. This meant there were bed rooms for all of us, some were ex-servant rooms but a place to sleep.

The drawing room,which in its full pomp and glory days, would have been known as a withdrawing room, a place the ladies came to when leaving the men to their cigars at the end of a meal. The house was originally built some four hundred years ago then rebuilt in the Georgian style. When Juliet and her then husband, found it they had more modern plumbing and electrics installed but the listed building regulations prevented too many changes. The drawing room had some quaint touches, some offerings to the fact this was a rural area. The house was a “place in the country” used originally as an escape from the glitz and glamour of London's theatre district. One such recognition of it's rural location was a stuffed barn owl, still gleaming white in its glass bell shaped dome enclosure. Its eyes still shone even in this reduced lighting. The paintings around the walls were of hunting scenes, many painted by local artists and showing the front of this very house. The candle light enhanced the air of history, it was so easy to image yourself in this house two hundred years ago. Amanda was in charge of finding food and she made a very good job of it, when we returned to the dining room, the table was loaded with ham, cold beef slices, an assortment of salads and fruit. The bread was artisan from a local baker and delivered fresh that morning, the butter from a local farm shop and the taste of everything was enhanced by the atmosphere, almost like a school days adventure. The wine flowed freely, the conversation was light hearted and everyone enjoyed themselves.

When everyone had eaten their fill we returned to the drawing room, wine and brandy bottles close to hand. With no power for even the gramophone, conversation flowed, we sat drinking coffee that had been percolated in an Italian made aluminium stove top device, Gradually our numbers dwindled as people went off to their allotted beds. John and I exchanged looks with no added words, when Paul and Amanda quietly left the room together. I was the last to leave and find my attic bedroom. I slept a while then woke and found it so hard to return back to sleep. I decided to light a candle and go back to the drawing room since I remembered seeing some magazines to read. I crept as silently as possible down the two flights of stairs. The power was still out so my solitary candle was my only illumination in the drawing room. I noticed the owl looked even more alive in the dim light but I did not pay much attention to this. I found the magazines and returned to my bed.

The next morning the power was back on and we all gradually collected in the kitchen; I was one of the relatively early arrivals Paul next then John and Juliet. Tracy arrived looking very bleary eyed. Juliet started the coffee percolator and started to find eggs, milk, cereal and all the other “makings” for breakfast. No sign of Amanda, which was odd as she was the non stop force of nature in all our lives.

Juliet went to rouse her while we drank our coffee, the scream jolted us all from our morning drowsiness. We all rushed to the stairs and up to Amanda's room. Juliet was standing in the doorway shaking with fright and grief. Amanda was stretched out on the bed her wrists and ankles tied with soft padded cords to the 4 corners of the bed. Her nightdress was pulled up about her neck and even from the door way it was easy to see she was dead. I moved into the room and made certain by checking her neck pulse, the protrusion of the eyes, the position of the tongue added up to indicate asphyxiation but there were no marks of strangulation on her neck. Murder by one of us but who and why?

We gathered together in the drawing room, the power may be back on but the phone lines were still down and experience indicated they would remain so for several days. I noticed the owl was in its usual dome but I also noticed that it had been moved, I remembered yesterday we had all admired it for being so life like and had all touched the glass dome but then it was at one end of the sideboard, now it was nearer the middle. We had covered Amanda with a sheet for decency, while doing this I noticed three pillows in a heap on the floor. All of us being English, no one wanted to make public accusations but obviously we all had thoughts about the identity of the killer. I asked Paul what time he left Amanda, he glanced at Tracy before speaking. He described how Amanda liked sex games but not too painful ones, she liked to reprise one of her old film roles as a victim tied to a bed. He had been drunk and although he managed to tie Amanda up, he then had left to find something in his room, passed out and forgot all about Amanda. No one actually questioned this but I expect all of us found this very hard to believe. If he was sober enough to tie her securely, he was unlike to pass out, due to drink a few minutes later. I had worked out how she had been killed without strangulation marks; I kept to myself the idea that the dome from stuffed owl had covered her head; pillows were used to seal round her shoulders so she asphyxiated leaving no marks on the neck and this would have also stifled any calls for help she may have managed. The dome was then replaced over the owl but still the big questions, who and why??

I knew I did not do the deed and it could not have been suicide, or an accident of some sex gratification game, the dome would still be in place if that was the case. So this left Juliet, Tracy, Paul and John or may be any combination of these you could think of. The obvious was Paul as he was the last one seen with the victim and his story was so unlikely; but then if he was the perpetrator he would have given himself a better alibi than this; what ever else Paul was he was not stupid. Tracy was unusually subdued, we were all affected by the murder but she seemed far more distracted, more so than even Juliet.

I had quiet and private conversations with each of the others. To my surprise I found that Tracy was gay and that Amanda was happy to engage with either sex in pursuit of some momentary escape from her dull life. Talking to Paul without the others listening, I found he could not understand why he passed out as he claims not to have had that much to drink. Then he confessed that he Tracy and Amanda were setting the scene for the three of them to enjoy themselves. It had been Amanda's idea in the first place. They tied Amanda to the bed then Tracy handed him a glass of whisky saying it would get the juices flowing. I am no doctor but checking his eyes and reflexes were enough to suggest he had been drugged. This indicated that Tracy was the culprit, but why? Tracy at first denied any involvement but when Paul admitted there both being involved in tying Amanda up, she broke down, claimed she had taken drugs and could not remember exactly what happened but Amanda had teased her about her sexual experience. She then broke down and confessed. She had wanted Amanda for herself and thought the invite to the house party was so that she and Amanda could be a couple. But Amanda was not ready for an exclusive partnership. The mix of drugs, drink, jealously and rejection took over. The rest is, as they say, history.