Detective Sutton Returns to Square One

“Winston and I were back at square one.”

The detective paused significantly, looking each member of the group in the eyes before continuing. 

“Or so I thought. As Winston brought to my attention , the last piece of the puzzle had been staring me in the face all along.”

Adam glanced at his watch. Detective Sutton had been monologuing for nearly forty minutes and he finally seemed close to the end of his story. He was recounting seemingly every thought he’d had regarding the murder since his arrival, and he hadn’t even hinted at who his primary suspect was. 

Sutton and his assistant, Winston, had been investigating the death of Adam’s great-aunt, Doris Barker, for the past three days. Ninety-two years old and in perfect health, Doris had been a star in early Hollywood. Now, she spent her time doting on her beloved Bichon Frise, Teacup, and luxuriating in the wealth she had accumulated from her many starring roles. It had seemed like she would easily live another hundred years, but someone had gotten impatient and killed the old woman.

She was discovered by her butler, Mr. Floyd, a week ago. He’d been closing up the house for the night when he heard a single gunshot from her bedroom. By the time he arrived, Doris was dead and the killer was gone, having fled through her open patio doors. 

Since then, the few remaining members of the Barker family had gathered at the family estate while various authorities and private eyes investigated. Adam’s aunt, also named Doris, and her husband, Damon, had been living with great-aunt Doris since Damon’s business imploded a few years ago. Sonya, their twelve-year-old daughter, had been brought home from boarding school for the funeral. As they were a decade apart in age, Adam barely knew Sonya, and with how quiet she was the few times they’d met, he doubted she’d ever said more than a dozen words to him.

Adam and his mother, Flora, had arrived a few days earlier. He’d flow across the country when he’d heard the news. Flora drove in the same day his plane landed and had picked her son up at the airport on the way. The entire two-hour drive from the airport to the Barker home was silent, apart from Flora’s favorite country music station.

With all five of them there, it was the first time every living Barker had been together since the death of Adam’s father seven years prior. 

Bringing Detective Sutton in was Doris Junior’s idea. Having a decades-long career and multiple accolades from various investigative agencies, Detective Sutton was hailed as the greatest investigator on the east coast. The other investigators hadn’t made any progress on the case, and the police were willing to chalk it up to an ambitious home invader. However, Doris Junior didn’t want her beloved aunt’s murder to go unsolved. 

Detective Sutton had been interviewing the five of them repeatedly and reviewing the crime scene since his arrival, though he hadn’t given any hints about who he suspected. They hadn’t even realized he had a suspect until he called this meeting earlier today. 

“You see,” the detective said, resuming his story, “the disappearance of Doris’s beloved dog, Teacup, while seemingly unrelated to her tragic death, actually leads us to the killer. Winston.” The detective looked to the man standing behind him, who passed him a pink bedazzled dog leash. 

“Winston discovered this leash on the side of the road a few miles away just after we’d arrived. At first, we thought nothing of it, until Winston pointed out the suspicious marks on the handle here.” He pointed to a few small smears of reddish brown on the pink fabric.

“I sent samples of the stains to my colleague, who confirmed it to be the late Doris Barker’s blood. 

“At least, some of it was.”

The detective paused significantly again, waiting for a reaction. Adam had noticed his penchant for melodrama already, between the drawn out explanation laden with meaningful pauses and the way he slowly paced around the room, periodically making eye contact with one of them. Or, when he really wanted to make a point, meeting each of their gazes before continuing. 

“There were also traces of blood from the killer. Type A. This doesn’t mean much, as most of you are type A, but we also compared the stain against the DNA samples the police took from each member of the family. Our friend managed to match the blood to someone. In. This. Room.” He stopped his pacing and looked at each of the Barkers. After a moment, he resumed, walking more slowly and gesturing with the leash still in his hand.

“Eight days ago, Doris Barker was readying for bed as she normally did. As always, she took Teacup out one last time for the night, using her favorite matching leash and harness.” He held up the pink leash.

“When she returned through the patio doors of her first-floor bedroom, she was about to remove her slippers and take off Teacup’s leash. However, she was interrupted.”

Detective Sutton stopped pacing again. “The security system records the patio doors opening at 9:47 p.m., yet Mr. Floyd did not hear the gunshot until after the grandfather clock in the hall had chimed for 10 o’clock. This means that, based on the fact she was still wearing her outdoor slippers, Doris must have spoken to her killer for several minutes. She did not attempt to trigger the alarm system that would alert the authorities, nor did she use the phone in her pocket to call 911. Clearly, while she was surprised to see someone in her room, it was someone she recognized. Someone that she trusted.

“This someone used Mrs. Barker’s own Smith and Wesson revolver to shoot her once in the chest. Teacup, who would have been standing beside Doris, would have had her blood all over his white fur.

“The killer then tried to pick up Teacup to cover their tracks, getting Doris’s blood on their hands, but underestimated the Bichon’s spirit. Teacup bit the killer’s hand, and when they then dragged the dog away by the leash, they transferred Mrs. Barker’s and their own blood onto the handle.

“The killer disposed of poor Teacup, likely by throwing him off of the bridge just down the road, and tried to cover their tracks by tossing the leash on their way back.”

The room was silent for a moment, until Adam’s mother scoffed.

“Frankly, Detective Sutton, I don’t give a rat’s ass what happened to Teacup. You’ve been talking and talking, and you still haven’t told us WHO killed my aunt,” she said, glaring at the detective.

“Of course, Ms. Olivier. I was about to get there,” he said, smiling at her. 

“You see, the killer was careful to avoid getting caught. They knew Doris’s schedule and committed their crime when they knew only Mrs. Barker and her butler would be home. They knew the Harts were away, visiting Sonya at school. They wore gloves and clothes that they disposed of in a way that left no evidence, and they got rid of the dog that would have shown clear aggression towards the killer and given their identity away. 

“This same dog, poor little Teacup, has led us straight to our killer. The same person whose blood is on the dog’s leash.” 

Detective Sutton looked at each of them, from Adam to his mother to Doris and Sonya, until his gaze settled on Damon. 

“Mr. Damon Hart.”

The room exploded into a frenzy. Adam’s mother began yelling at Doris, saying she always knew Damon was trouble. Doris yelled back, and yelled at Detective Sutton to defend her husband. Damon also yelled at the detective for his accusation. Sonya began crying loudly. Adam sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. 

A loud, crashing sound broke through the cacophony, silencing everyone. Winston had banged the decorative gong that great-aung Doris had hung in the sitting room decades before. This was probably the first time it had ever been used. 

Damon looked at Detective Sutton, his face red and jaw clenched. 

“That’s not what happened! You can’t really believe I killed my wife’s aunt. She was practically my aunt! She took our family in when we needed help and supported Flora’s dancing. Why on earth would I kill her?”

“Why, the oldest motive in the world,” the detective replied, raising one eyebrow. “Money.” 

“Doris was 92! She told me we were in her will, and we were already being taken care of. I wouldn’t jeopardize that, and I wouldn’t kill Doris!”

“I would believe you, if it weren’t for the blood evidence…” Sutton said, walking slowly away from Damon. The Detective then spun around, shoving a finger in Damon’s direction. “And the affair you’ve been having with Flora!”

Adam’s mother gasped and stuttered out a denial while Doris looked quickly between her sister and her husband. 

“The late Doris Barker discovered this affair when she saw charges on her cards for hotels in West Bend, just outside Flora’s home city. After calling her bank, Doris learned that this was the card she had given Damon to use for Sonya’s school and dance lessons. She wanted to know what he was doing with her money, so she hired a private investigator. He followed you the last time you went there, and he took these photos,” Detective Sutton fanned out a dozen photos on the coffee table in front of them, all featuring Flora and Damon. Thankfully for Adam, none were graphic, but their body language made it clear this wasn’t a meeting between a sister and brother-in-law.

The room was silent once more, but this time it was broken by Doris Junior’s strangled sobs. She rose quickly and fled the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sonya, still crying from the first accusation against her father, followed her mother. Damon, not usually the brightest, had the good sense not to go after them, and sat, head in his hands, while Adam stared at his mother.

“Oh please. Don’t look at me like that, Adam,” she said, turning her head away from his gaze. “I’ve been a widow for nearly a decade, and it’s not like your father treated me like a princess before that.”

“Mom, I don’t care that you’re in a relationship,” Adam said disbelievingly. “How could you do that to your sister? And Sonya?”

“They weren’t ever supposed to know!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “It was just a bit of fun while Doris dealt with her own…problems.” 

Ms. Sherman, the housekeeper, entered the room hesitantly. 

“Is everything all right?” she asked quietly from the doorway. “I heard yelling, and saw Mrs. Hart and her daughter leaving.”

“I’m afraid Mrs. Hart has had an unpleasant realization,” Detective Sutton told her, motioning to the photos still laid out. Her eyes followed his gesture, and she grimaced when she saw what lay on the table. Then, she noticed Teacup’s leash.

“Oh! Where did you find that?” she said, moving forward to take it from the Detective. 

“This is a vital piece of evidence, Ms. Sherman,” the detective said, pulling his arm back from her reach. “We must hold onto it.”

“What do you mean?” She looked at him quizzically.

Detective Sutton pressed his lips together before he answered her. “There is crucial evidence on this leash. The blood of both Mrs. Barker and her killer are on the handle.”

“Oh, you must be mistaken, Detective!” Ms. Sherman said. “There was an incident the day before Mrs. Barker…passed. Mr. Hart and Mrs. Barker were talking together in the rose garden when Teacup got away from her and became tangled in the thorns. Mr. Hart scratched his hands up while removing the poor thing and a thorn caught on the leash later cut Mrs. Barker’s finger. My sister was working in the garden when it happened, and she helped them clean up. Luckily, Teacup only had a few scratches. 

“I took the leash intending to clean it, but Mrs. Barker told me to throw it away. I did that same day, and then Mrs. Barker…” She trailed off.

Detective Sutton narrowed his eyes and asked, “Then where is the dog himself?”

“After Mr. Floyd found Mrs. Barker, he took Teacup to the dog sitter he goes to when Mrs. Barker travels. We didn’t want the family to have to look after him while sorting everything else out.” 

Detective Sutton stared dumbfounded at Ms. Sherman. Damon, having tuned into the conversation, looked at the detective for a moment before standing and leaving without a word. He may not have been a murderer, but his marriage was still ruined. 

“So,” Adam said, snapping the detective out of his stupor. “What now?”

“Well, Mr. Olivier,” Detective Sutton said, straightening his spine and smoothing his coat lapels. “It looks like we are back at square one.”