Writing Competitions
Haiku
Glistening blue hue
Pool ready to dive into
Splash, stroke, swim ensues
~Keira
The Sleuth Olympics
just like the real Olympics
but less physical
~ Ms Helen
O Olympic Flame
ALit in Olympia
The Flame a Symbol
~ Bonanza Jellybean
Here for Olympic
Glory, Feminine Assassins
Arrive on the scene
CodeRed lights the torch
Salutes the UK flag and
Waves the others on
Sharpshooter Keira,
Archerer Bonanza and
Boxing Ms Helen
One-by-one release
Bullets, arrows and charged fists
And win gold medal
Obtained Olympic
Glory. Feminine Assassins
Here to close the case.
~ CodeRed007
Role Play
Paris, 1924, Newspaper Headline: Drama at the Olympics
My head snapped up when I heard yells in the lobby of the Majestic.
Two men were fighting in front of a lady who was calmly, too calmly, drinking tea. It was none other than the Golden Dragon of the Tea Steepers herself. I strolled up to her table as the men continued to punch each other.
“This your doing?” I asked, jutting my chin out at the men fighting.
“But of course, detective,” she answered. Her golden robe was still present beneath her kimono, but only the most trained eye would see. She asked me if I was involved in the horse murder. “No,” I said. I was on vacation and ill-prepared to solve a mystery.
She motioned for me to sit. Quickly her hand was in the air and tea appeared in front of me faster than my detective abilities could fathom. I looked down and noticed the tea was how I liked it: cream and sugar. I took one sip and waited for her amusement with the fighting men to end.
I never got the chance.
Some time later I woke in the storage shed for the yachting team. My head was pounding; I had obviously been drugged. But as I reached for my wallet, a key fell out of my shirt pocket. It was a strange key with a floatation device attached to it. Turning it over I saw the number 4.
My drugged mind cleared quickly. This was the key to the locker of the yacht team member who had died in the lobby of the Majestic. With a click the key turned in the lock and I held my breath as I opened it. Dozens of newspaper clippings from the City News fell to my feet. On them were scribbles detailing the crimes and how the Eastern Tea Steepers were behind it. Last, but not least, was the clipping from the horse murder.
I had been drawn into their confidence and it was more important than ever that I carefully tread the waters that the Golden Dragon had invited me to. I stepped out from the shed onto the lake as the gun went off for the 1924 Olympic games, holding my breath that I wouldn’t be one of their future news clippings.
Twist
I decided it was time to return to the office and run through what I had learned so far. The sky was turning dark, threatening rain, so I picked up the pace and ducked down the alley at the side of [the bar]. Ahead of me I could hear a muffled commotion. As I drew nearer I saw a door open, and a burly man deposit a rather sorry looking patron against the wall opposite. [He] looked rather the worse for wear, and carried on arguing even after the burly man had disappeared behind the closed door. I contemplated whether to turn back, when the inebriate stood, shakily, and turned to face me. It was my client, [Benjamin Ringold].
“Detective?”
“Had a bit too much to drink have we?” I asked.
[He] made [his] way towards me, one hand on the wall beside [him], the other on [his] stomach. “I thin… I thi… I think I’ve had too much t-to drink”
“You don’t say?” I took a step back and covered by mouth. I wasn’t sure what [he]’d been drinking, but it was certainly potent.
[He] took another step and stumbled. It was clear from [his] lack of reactions that [he] was going to hit the deck, and hard, so I took pity and caught [him]. I dragged [him] back to the wall and propped [him] up. “I sh…should never have come to you,” [he] spluttered.
“Why not?” I asked.
“[Sunny Giron] was… was a… a… an awful person. I’m glad [she]’s d-dead.” And with that, [he] passed out.
I called for a cab to take [Benjamin] home, and thought about what [he] said on the walk back to the office. Could this mean [he] didn’t do it? It’s normally the way of the drunkard to spill truths they would never utter sober, and it certainly was a surprise to hear [he] hated [Sunny] so much. Or, could it be a ruse, to throw me off the scent?
On quitting the case:
I decided not to pursue the murder of [Sunny Giron] any further. Hearing the comments from the client, [Benjamin Ringold] in the alley that evening made me question [his] motives for hiring me in the first place, which was enough to make me walk away. Trust is a fickle enough thing in this line of work. It isn’t worth getting tangled up in the misdirected anger of a client who can’t be upfront and at least admit they didn’t like the victim.
If client is guilty:
I heard down the line that it was in fact [Benjamin] who killed [Sunny]. Maybe [he] was just trying to play me after all.
If client is not guilty:
I heard down the line that it was [John Russell] who killed [Sunny]. Perhaps [Benjamin] knew that all along, and regretted hiring me for that reason.
On completing the case, client guilty:
I was more than a little surprised to see that [Benjamin] was the murderer. I almost fell for the drunken act that night, but in the end, that was all it was, an act. And sometimes, it seems the most desperate people will do whatever it takes to try cover their tracks.
On completing the case, client not guilty:
I wasn’t surprised to find that [Benjamin] wasn’t the murderer after all. I never asked [him] about that night afterwards, but I get the feeling that [he] was more honest there than [he]’d been any other time I’d dealt with [him].
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