Chris's entry:
- But Holmes, why the disguise?
- Elementary, Lestrade. What we have here is a literary paradox. These 3 young people behind you are only with us because they are enthusiastic followers of Miss Marple, and believe me to be her.Yet she does not really exist , she is a mere fictional creation and - you will pardon me for saying - a not particularly good one. How many more would be here, courting celebrity and obstructing our work, if they knew it was the world-famous Sherlock Holmes in their midst?
- And the body?
- Ah yes, Lestrade - the body. You will note that he must have fallen from up here. Observe the tell-tale scuff on the rail here, that could only have come from one thing. The very particular brand of shoe that he is still wearing. And the name which Miss Agatha Christie has given to this dead person?
- Remind me, Holmes
- Reichenbach
- Reichenbach? That sounds familiar
- And so it should, Inspector
- Wait! Yes - Reichenbach falls to his death on the landing below. Of COURSE. So that is really the body of... Professor Moriarty?
- Or so we are supposed to believe
- I don't understand you, Holmes
- You think that I am a master of disguise, Lestrade? I am a mere novice. Miss Marple? Hah! Anyone with eyes can see that the nose is wrong. All wrong. It is an amateur accomplishment. No, there is only one real genius of disguise, and we both know who that is, “Inspector”
- My god, Holmes -
- It’s no good, Moriarty. You have fallen right into the trap. Or should I say, The Mousetrap? Constable, this is not the real Inspector Lestrade. Do your duty, arrest him...
John's entry:
“Why have they put those two chairs there?” Mrs Bluett asked the concierge.
“I don’t really know Madam, except that we have some visitors later today.”
Mrs. Bluett snorted, “Visitors, in our residence, we ought to have been consulted.” She started to walk away.
“I believe they are coming to see that American lady who has taken the Penthouse Suite.”
She climbed the staircase, and joined the other residents who were gazing down at the activity.
The colonel, who was one of her favourites, asked, “Well dear, what’s going on?”
“Our posh American friend is having a soirée I think – we’re probably not invited.”
Constable Jenkins spoke, “Well I am staying here – ensuring law and order you know.”
The group gazed at him in astonishment, but didn’t contradict him. They all wanted to see what was going on as well.
The two chairs stood there in splendid isolation, gilded, with beautiful arms and red velvet plush seats, they looked very elegant, placed as they were at the entrance to the Great Hall.
Tom Spinks leaned forward, “Can you hear that? There’s a band coming down the street.”
Heads were craned over the balcony, and soon they could all hear it. It was indeed a fine sound.
“By Jove!” The colonel exclaimed, “They make a splendid show.” They certainly did. Everyone gasped as the Band of The Royal Marines marched through the portico, and took up position around the foyer.
Almost immediately, the American lady appeared and sat on one of the chairs.
A limousine drew up outside the residence, and they noticed a red carpet had been laid across the pavement. The Prince of Wales entered the building, and as the band played background music, and to the amazement of the watchers, Mrs. Wallis Simpson greeted him warmly.
Tara's entry:
I can still smell his cheap cologne as I stand on the balcony surrounded by our neighbours. Nobody can believe Dad’s gone. Malcolm is wittering on about films they saw together, PC Andrews just sighs a lot and paces the room. My sister Ethel and I hold hands and try not to cry.
Then there’s old Mrs Higgins. She must be at least 80, yet she never misses a thing. If someone in Paris sneezes, Mrs Higgins will hear it here in Hackney. She’s lived next door to us for years and we’ve come to love her idiosyncrasies.
Ethel pulls her hand away sharply and I stumble slightly against the wall. “Sorry,” she mutters.
“He was a good man, Lizzie.” PC Andrews sighs.
“Yes.” I agree.
“We shall all miss him.” Malcolm joins in.
“But why did he jump off the balcony?” Mrs Higgins goes for the jugular in typical style.
“He must have copied mum.” Ethel explains.
“Did anyone actually see him jump?” Mrs Higgins’ asks her shrill voice setting my nerves on edge.
“Lizzie was out here alone with him, weren’t you Liz?” Malcolm answers.
“Yes.”
“I still don’t understand why such a handsome, popular man would take his own life.” Mrs Higgins, like a child with a favourite toy, refuses to give up.
“Did he say anything to you, Lizzie?” PC Andrews asks gently.
“No. I didn’t know what was going on.”
My heartbeat starts to stabilise. I have nothing to fear now. My parents can’t hurt me anymore. They were devastated when I was born. They’d wanted a boy after their beloved Ethel, but instead got me. For years I suffered their cruel taunts and abuse, but balconies are handy things …after all, who would ever suspect the blind girl of foul play?
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