DEATH BY THE DOCKS:
The interrogation room hummed with tension. Lieutenant Sylvester’s glare could have drilled holes through steel as he leaned across the table toward Philip Buntler.
“This little lecture of yours,” the lieutenant hissed, “might just earn you a necktie party.”
Buntler’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?” The word dripped with amused disbelief.
“You,” Sylvester confirmed, slamming his palm on the table.
The scientist adjusted his glasses, unfazed. “I assume you’ve found the body then?”
“Not yet,” the lieutenant admitted through clenched teeth.
“Ah.” Buntler steepled his fingers. “As a man of science, I can think of… two truly effective methods for making a corpse vanish.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But surely you don’t suspect me? I’d have been clever enough not to draw attention if I were guilty.”
Sylvester’s fingers drummed an impatient rhythm. “Let’s try another angle. Ever hear Stanwood mention the ‘Diamond of Death’?”
The room stilled.
Buntler nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. An Amazonian relic. Found in a cursed tomb, inscribed with warnings against disturbing the dead.” His gaze turned distant. “I gifted it to Harrison myself. Rather ironic, given recent events…”
A whisper of movement came from the doorway. The Japanese servant bowed deeply. “The car is missing, sir.”
“Whose car?” Sylvester snapped.
“The master’s blue luxury sedan,” Charles Wettler interjected.
“Perhaps the girl took it,” an officer suggested.
Hashinto’s headshake was barely perceptible. “Miss Catherine drives her expensive vehicle.” That infuriating, inscrutable smile returned. “Her car is also gone.”
3:17 AM – Police Headquarters
The girl sat like a statue in the interrogation chair, her vacant stare defying threats, pleas, and logic alike. Sylvester’s patience hung by a thread when the phone shattered the silence.
A patrolman ducked in. “Call about the Stanwood case, sir. Says it’s urgent.”
Sylvester snatched the receiver. “Talk.”
The color drained from his face.
“Dead? Where?… Boat harbor?… Locked from the inside?… Seven minutes.” He slammed the phone down and whirled to Sydney. “We’re moving. Now.”
As they bolted downstairs, the lieutenant filled in the details between gulps of frigid dawn air: “Stanwood’s car was found by the docks. Lights on. The body is inside with a dagger in its chest. Doors locked. Boatman named Bowich called it in—claims he knows Harrison well.”
Sydney’s car tore through deserted streets, tires screeching around corners. The first gray fingers of dawn clawed at the horizon as they skidded to a stop near the waterfront.
A burly figure materialized from the shadows.
“Sydney!” The boatman’s weathered face split into a grin. “Christ, am I glad to see you!”
Bowich’s grin faded as he nodded toward a dim side street. “Two blocks down. That’s where I keep my boat… and where the devil parked his last ride.”
The trio broke into a run.
There, bathed in the sickly glow of its own headlights, sat Stanwood’s blue sedan.
The driver’s window revealed a horror show: Harrison Stanwood slumped against the steering wheel, a jeweled hilt protruding from his chest. The dagger’s blade gleamed wetly in the dawn light.
Most chilling of all—every door was locked from the inside.
TO BE CONTINUED…
(Adapted from Earl Stanley Gardner’s “The Mystery of the Missing Body”)