Tragedy in the Barn

The silver sedan rumbled up the winding dirt road to the old Abram farm. Slowing his approach at the front gate, Detective Sly put the car in park beside a patrol vehicle. He saw the two uniforms at the gate, clean and pressed, but clearly bored at having to watch the perimeter of the scene. Everything looked in order, however, from the amount of officers walking the property, this was not the case.

“What a mess,” Sly grumbled tiredly.

Exiting the sedan, the door made a thud. Looking skyward, Sly could tell it was going to be a very hot day despite the grass along the path still shimmering with morning dew.

“The commissioner is waiting, sir,” piped the one officer, “I’ll take you to him.”

“What can you tell me?” Sly asked as they walked the incline toward the main house.

“One dead in what looks like an obvious homicide. There’s a suspect in custody already, but Commissioner Raleigh still wants your opinion--” The sound of distant voices interrupted the officer.

“I didn’t do it! Honest!” A coyote was being ushered along, handcuffed, down the path towards the Detective. “You’ll have your chance to say your piece. Right now we have to detain you until we get further information.” The coyote’s eyes filled with tears and he let out a wail. As the pair passed, Sly noticed the coyote only had one fang on the right side of his mouth.

Sly watched them briefly, before turning back up the path, “We got a name on him?”

“Yes sir, Peter Coy. It really seems he’s the only plausible one to do it.”

“Innocent until proven guilty, isn’t that how it works, officer?”

“Of course sir, but,” the officer sighed, “you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

The path forked, the right taking them to the main house and the left to the barn and the worker’s lodge beyond. Turning left they made their way through the brush, bramble, and trees before arriving at the barn.

Sly entered the barn doors to a horrific scene. What looked like the body of a pig was on the left-hand side near the wall, completely mangled and shredded. The head looked towards Sly, mouth parted slightly, eyes filled with confusion and fear. As forensics were taking pictures, Sly noticed the commissioner speaking with someone over to the right. The commissioner spotted Sly and beckoned him over.

The cow he had been talking to faced the Detective, a look of anguish and worry on his face.

“This is Bill Abram. Owner of Abram Farms. Bill, this is Detective Sly. He’s got a wealth of experience in these matters and I brought him in for a second opinion.”

Bill looked at the Detective reproachfully. “A fox? Isn’t it a conflict of interest for a carnivore to investigate a carnivore?” Sly’s expression remained unchanged at this comment and decided to wait for Raleigh to ease tensions, “I can assure you Bill. There’s no one better.” The cow paused for a moment and then sighed dejectedly. “Fine.”

“Who’s the departed?” Sly asked without skipping a beat. “Joel Tenner,” Bill replied. “He’s one of my farm hands.” Sly’s ears twitched at this news.

“And how many farm hands do you have?”

“Just the four, er, three now I guess. There was Joel and then there’s Peter Coy, Tim Dennings, and Llyod Webster.”

Sly’s eyes shifted to the Commissioner, “No one in the main house heard anything, although Bill’s wife, Martha, noticed the burn barrel was lit behind the barn here around 3:00 AM when she came down for a glass of water and to close a window that had been left open,” he replied. Bill nodded to affirm. “And before you ask, it’s all ash in the barrel,” he added.

Sly spent what felt like several minutes in silence, his vacant expression never wavering before turning towards the body. The two looked at each other puzzled as the fox detective made it past the forensics team to stoop over the deceased.

The torso is where most of the damage was. It looked as if it had gone through a woodchipper. Deliberate in his movements, Sly took out a small magnifier and examined the torn flesh. He spent some time there before bringing his attention to the head. Joel was there, still frozen in fear. Turning the head to the left uncovered a deep circular puncture wound in the side of the neck.

“What’s the working theory,” Sly called back, not taking his eyes off the body.

The Commissioner cleared his throat and stepped alongside the Detective, “Spite and money. The farm hands had a poker game late last night. It ended well for Joel, but not so well for Peter Coy. A month’s pay gone to pocket 2’s. Liquor was flowing and so were hateful words. ‘You’ll get yours!’, was apparently said. We’re thinking Pete followed Joel out here, jumped him, first biting him in the neck. Then, once he got the blood taste, went into a frenzy tearing poor Joel’s guts out.”

“Very little blood on this floor for someone that was ripped open,” Sly said doubtfully. The Commissioner, the big bison that he was, uncomfortably scratched one of his horns.

Sly stood and made his way to the barn entrance, stopping to talk with an officer. He spoke lowly and intently. The officer nodded and made his way toward the main house.

“Right, I’d like to see the farm hands now,” the Detective quipped. “But before I do, what do we know about them?”

“Peter Coy is the only carnivore. There is the sheep, Tim Dennings, and Lloyd Webster the platypus. Much like the farmhands that come and go, they work to send their earnings back to their families, excluding Pete.” Sly raised his eyebrows questioningly. “As far as we know,” Raleigh continued, “he doesn’t have any close kin. No violent histories on any of them, although I’m sure the alcohol didn’t help last night.”

Sly stood thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay, I’ll see them now.”

They were brought together from the workers lodge which lay beyond the barn and adjacent to a sizable pond. They entered wearing their navy blue coveralls, Tim’s being well worn and dirty while Lloyd’s appeared clean. The two tried to avert their eyes from the horror show on the barn floor.

Sly circled the pair, looking them up and down intently while offering a sniff here and there. The two could only stand still and follow the Detective with their eyes as they tried to ascertain what was happening.

“Mr. Dennings, your coveralls are quite dirty.”

“I’ve only one pair sir.”

“Why not buy another?”

“The majority of my earnings go back to my family to support them.”

“Yes, speaking of, how much did you lose in the poker game last night?”

Tim looked confusedly at the Detective, “I don’t gamble sir. I wouldn’t risk it. Not with how much I need the money.”

“Was Tim at the table last night?” Sly asked, turning to Llyod. Lloyd paused for a moment, replying thoughtfully, “No sir he wasn’t. It was just Pete, Joel, and myself.”

“And how much did you lose?”

“Not as much as Pete.”

“Commissioner, was any money found on the body?”

“No,” Commissioner Raleigh replied, wondering where this was going.

“Back to the uniforms,” Sly continued. “Do you have another pair Mr. Webster? Your’s hardly matches that of Mr. Dennings.”

“I do.”

“May we see it?”

“I’ve misplaced it. Been missing the last few days,” Lloyd said matter of factly.

“Where is this going?” Raleigh asked, sounding a little frustrated.

“You see,” Sly said, turning to the Commissioner, “the body is a little too obvious. I’d say poor Joel Tenner died from the initial puncture wound to the neck. In order to keep from potentially being revealed, the killer would have had to mimic a carnivorous mauling.”

“You’re saying it was one of us?” Tim asked. “We don’t exactly have the equipment for that,” Lloyd said sarcastically, holding up his webbed hands.”

“It’s funny you mention that,” Sly replied, spotting the returning officer from Abram’s, brown paper bag in hand.

“Ah yes, Officer White, did it turn out that Martha Abram was missing something this morning?”

“Yes sir,” White replied. Putting his hand in the bag, he revealed a wooden knife block with an empty slot beside the others.

All looked puzzled.

“What does this have to do with the murder?” Commissioner Raleigh asked quizzically.

“It has everything to do with it,” Sly looked around seriously at the now attentive officers, suspects, and Bill Abram.

“The killer needed to make it look like a carnivore. The flesh is shredded and torn. Whatever did it had to be serrated. I doubt Peter Coy has a great white in his family tree.The farm tools would leave too large of wounds to be Pete’s teeth or claws. The killer needed something smaller. He snuck into the Abram’s house, stole one of the steak knives and returned to the barn to carve up Joel and make it look like a rabid carnivore.”

“And where is this knife now?” Raleigh asked, more interested in the Detective’s narrative.

“My guess would be that pond near the lodges. The killer couldn’t risk Abram’s again, especially with the blood all over him.”

Commissioner Raleigh nodded to one of the officers who nodded in return before running off to assemble a dive team.

“Speaking of the blood, that is what Mrs. Abrams witnessed early this morning--the killer burning his coveralls behind the barn.”

“Who do you figure?” Raleigh asked.

“The only other one who gambled, and lost, last night. The only other one with two pairs of coveralls, one being ‘misplaced’. The only other one with the right ‘equipment’ to deal the initial killing blow. Lloyd Webster.” Tim stepped away from the platypus while the officers turned their attention to Lloyd. Lloyd himself recoiled defensively, “It’s absolutely ridiculous that you think I could do this!”

“I think,” Sly stepped closer, “you lost more than you let on. I think you met Joel in the barn here. Maybe a conversation happened. Either way, you punctured him in the neck with that hollow barb naturally under your elbow when he wasn’t looking.

Realizing he was dead you wanted to make this as open-shut as possible by making it look as though a carnivore went rogue. Retrieving the knife, you hacked Joel up, burned your clothes and disposed of the knife in the pond.”

“All talk,” Lloyd said, not breaking eye contact with Sly. “There’s plenty of doubt there.”

“You know where there’s no doubt?” Asked Sly. “Toxicology reports.” Llyod’s eyes widened. “I’m willing to wager that there is platypus venom in Joel Tenner’s blood. And now there’s plenty of ‘doubt’ to pay attention to every aspect of this case.”

Lloyd held Sly’s gaze for what felt like several minutes before letting out a sigh. “I did lose badly. I just wasn’t as loud about it as Pete. Three month’s wages lost. My family was going to starve. After the game Joel lost his hat and thought he may have dropped it back at the barn. I followed him, drunk as I was. I confronted him here while he was searching, begging to let me have half back for my family. He didn’t care. He shooed me away and went back to looking. I saw the cash in his pocket and lost it. I stabbed him in the neck. The venom did the rest. I got the knife from Abrams. I was completely covered in his blood. I just kept going, like I was on autopilot,” Lloyd said vacantly. “I burned my coveralls in the barrel and threw the knife far out in the pond. “No one would question that it was Pete after seeing the body. No one, but you I guess.”

“Officer White, release that coyote,” Commissioner Raleigh declared. “Detective Sly, get this platypus out of here.”