THE CANCELED WEDDING

 THE CANCELED WEDDING

   Two months before his wedding with Anne, Alan Berwick found her corpse in their bedroom. The blood had stained his hands and dyed all the bed sheets: she had been killed with a sword by someone and he had to solve her murder immediately!

A few weeks later the lieutenant Ronald Hatherwood arrested him as the main suspected of the case. He spent three fortnights and a half inside a cell of the police station sharing that quiet and shadowy room with his wife’s killer without knowing who was that outrageous man.

Afterwards that time the judge initiated the legal proceedings and asked him to visit her as soon as possible and ordered to Hatherwood to bring the evidences of Mr. Berwick’s incrimination.

Peter Stone drove the patrol car and took his friend to the court. It was in the middle of Huddersfield and they had a traffic jam sooner arriving at the building where Diana McMillan was drinking a cup of tea and eating a piece of cake with the public prosecutor. They arrived earlier than their much-anticipated, however.

He parked his car and came into the hall of justice with the prisoner, waving at Mrs. McMillan and her boyfriend who was sitting in front of her talking with his partner about the mystery.

Alan knew that Diana was McGovern’s successor because she was his lover and pupil during the university. He met her and followed to her office which was on the last floor.

She opened the door and while Diana and Alan sat down in their chairs, McMillan’s secretary asked her something who Mr. Berwick didn’t understand because the women were talking in German: “May I open the door?” Diana’s administrative assistant questioned her.

Later, she began to inquire of Alan with the typical questions but suddenly Ronald Hatherwood and Peter Stone went into the suite and told them that they had committed a mistake: the scientific police had found something special which have demonstrating his innocence; the weapon had not his fingerprints.

Alan became the new leader of the investigation and came out of the workplace with his friends who were disappointed because of that horrendous screw-up.

“Now, Ronald Hatherwood and I have to go to interrogate Anne’s parents whilst you and a police officer are going to my home to find fingerprints and something else to find the murderer such as gloves either mobile phone or its wallet too!” commissioner Berwick told them before beginning the mission.

He drove his police car to Leeds, the town where marriage Johnson were living nowadays. They were living in Cork but four years after Anne’s birth, they decided to move to Yorkshire.

Ronald Hatherwood and Alan Berwick arrived. The two policemen alighted there and one of them knocked that wooden door which was opened by Anne’s father named Kilian Johnson a tiny and old man with a blonde hair.

“Good afternoon Kilian!” said Alan. “How are you? We are carrying out your daughter’s murder. Could we ask you some questions?” he questioned Mr. Johnson.

“Yes, of course!” Kilian exclaimed. “How can I help you?” he asked to his visitors who were sitting on the sofa.

“Explaining us what did you do the night of the murder. Did you argued with your daughter?” wanted to know Alan. “It’s important for us because if you argued with her, may well we can help you!” he said.

“Yes, we did! She asked for money because she had financial problems and I denied it because I thought that she was lying!” he told them something what Alan did not believe because while he had been with her she was in a good monetary position.

“Does she had a brother?” enquired of Kilian Johnson.

“Yes. She had a brother who lives in Manchester working as a postman!” he replied.

“Thank you very much. If we need more information we call you to meet with us in the police station!” Alan said while he went out with Ronald Hatherwood of that comfortable cottage.

At the same time, when Peter Stone knew the results of the autopsy, rang up his friend and explained him what had happened the night of the unlawful killing: she was raped by someone who hit her because Anne attempted to protect her live. The rapist saw that was a difficult challenge and his accomplice helped him to kill Ms. Johnson. It took place in a street near Berwick’s house and in order to have an alibi, they went into the house with the victim putting her on the bed where Alan had found his girlfriend, the next morning.

“Who is the rapist?” he urged to know.

“We think that was her male sibling and a friend of him!” Peter answered immediately.

“Thank you very much!” riposted Alan and put the phone down.

He began to drive his car going to Manchester and they got there at Mr. Johnson junior’s house.

When Andrew heard the bell, he welcomed his visitors and invited them to eat a piece of pumpkin pie and a cup of the best delicious milk that they’ve ever drunk.

“How can I help you, my dear friends?” Andrew asked.

“We are investigating a murder. Did you have a strengthen relationship with your sister Anne Johnson?” replied Ron Hatherwood.

“Of course!” he exclaimed “I was his stepbrother!” Andrew continued.

“What did you do the night of her death?” wanted to know Alan who began to be annoyed with the sketchy.

“First, I am going to explain you why I was his stepbrother and later I will told you what I did that evening, ok?” riposted Andrew with a rhetorical question. “Her father divorced when she was 13 years old and married with my mother who was killed in a jihadist attack. He gave me his surname because I was 12 years old and I had no family except Mr. Johnson. I met a drug pusher and we became friends. Anne began to be addicted of heroine and I offered her his services. She had a debt with him before her murder!” Andrew replied.

“Thank you. Where did your friend live?” Alan enquired of Johnson junior. “We need to ask him some questions!”.

“He lives in Liverpool” he told them.

They took the train in Manchester and got off in that ermous town of the west coast of England.

Alan and Ron walked through streets that were old and squares that were full of people who were buying in the street market, fruits, vegetables, fish, potatoes, meat, … when they found someone who helped them and showed Johnson’s friend house.

The dealer was living in an odd block of flats: it was in the middle of the city closed to the bus stop. The outside of the apartment block was likeness a sphere; the inside seemed as a triangle and his house such as square in the midst of a small semicircle.

They were invited to drink a glass of beer with coke which Ron and Alan drank with pleasure.

Commissioner Berwick interrogated him, who lied them, although his cleverness showed him the truth: he remembered the weeks that he had spent indoors the cell with the awful man and saw that Andrew’s homeboy was wearing the same clothes as that evil guy.

“I know you was Anne’s drug pusher and her debt with you because the lieutenant Stone found a chat among Anne and you where you was asking her when she would be pay the amount due.” Alan began to say “And I know too your threaten to Ms. Johnson!” continued. “Which was your plan when you saw that the debt wouldn’t be paid?” asked him.

“Well done, well done… Yes, you tell the truth, but I hadn’t a chat with her. You have told me that I was her drug pusher; it’s correct… And you have said that Anne had an amount due with me; it’s correct too. Also, you have explained that I threatened her; it’s incorrect because I not threatened her! When I saw that the debt wouldn’t be paid, I planned the murder with her stepbrother. We decided that he would be the rapist cause of he loved his stepsister but she not wanted to be his lover and when she wanted to run away of his paws fiercely, I decided to kill her to defend him!” he answered.

Andrew Johnson and Albert Firewater were arrested and supervised by the lieutenant Hatherwood right up to the judgement and the sergeant Peter Stone requested Alan how did he find the solution of the conundrum, as well as possible.

“I knew that they were the guilties of Anne’s death when I had known the post mortem results. As you told me, she was raped by a man and killed by his friend. When I inquired of Kilian, I discovered that she had a brother and Ron and I went to see him to asked some questions. He explained us something outstanding of the case: Anne was addicted of heroine regardless of we knew before in the autopsy. How can he knew it if he didn’t know the results of the necropsy? Because he was his stepbrother and a friend of her dealer. He told us the debt that she had with his friend and I implicated the drug pusher as the killer who helped Andrew Johnson when he fighted with the victim!” Commissioner Alan riposted sarcastically.

Phoenix of the Literature

THE COTTAGE

THE COTTAGE

      Mr. O'Connor had killed his wife that cold and windy night of October in their cottage near York.

When his fellows called him at 3 a.m. explaining what had happened while he was in his bedroom sleeping with his girlfriend, he dressed up quickly and went out of his house without kissing Anne because of the emergency.

Alan Berwick had borned in the suburb of Chelsea on 1991, three evenings before Christmas. He had a chestnut-coloured curly hair and a brown eyes. He was tall and thin… Alan was very tone up because of his status inside North Yorkshire Police; he needed this physique because he worked as a superintendent.

He drove his patrol car through a motorway from Sheffield to Harrogate within thirty minutes and a half and when he arrived at this town, he parked the vehicle in front of a little house which was situated in the main street of that small but welcoming village.

Mr. Berwick knocked the door and a policeman opened it asking him his name and the reason of his visit. When he answered that he was a police officer, the man invited him to drink a cup of coffee and eating some biscuits before asking the different suspicious where did they were while the murder had happened.

One of Alan Berwick’s friends, who was a lieutenant and his name was famously inside the police station -he was named Peter Stone-, arrived and told to his officer that they had found the weapon which the killer had use to commit the crime: it was a handgun without gun license.

“Can you rang the scientific police while I am finishing my biscuits?” superintendent Berwick asked to his comrade.

“Yes. I have did it before your arrive but they have found an accident and for this reason they are arriving too late!” lieutenant Stone riposted.

The scientific police arrived and the forensic surgeon began to do the autopsy. She finished sixty minutes later and made clear to Alan the post-mortem results. The victim had die violently: her husband had caught some screws and a hammer to put the bolts onto her neck. Subsequently, Quentin O’Connor had wedged a handgun and had shot her some bullets furthermore to finish off with her.

Superintendent Berwick asked to sergeant Johan Murray if they had find the screws inside that gloomy room. Murray answered negatively and told him that their policemen were searching clues to discover the guilty of that mystery.

Mr. Alan Berwick went out of the scene of the crime going to his office and try to find on the law database if Quentin had a criminal record.

He arrived at 7 a.m. and came across with a foreign woman who told him that she was an attorney. Her name was Olivia Johnson and she was defending Sir O’Connor in that case.

Alan offered her a cup of tea with milk and asked to Mrs. Johnson if her client had been arrest in another time.

“I don’t know. Let me think… I remember a conversation with him where he told me that he had been a suspicious of a steal case with a victim. Monsieur O’Connor spent two years in a jail near Glasgow and in that time he knew his wife.” she answered.

“Thank you very much. Did you love him?” interrogated her while she was finishing to drink the tea and eat that delicious pumpkin pie.

“Yes. I was his partner inside the firm of lawyers which he was managing with his wife’s help!” she affirm nodding.

“Madame O’Connor knew your relationship with her husband?” Alan asked before lieutenant Stone arriving.

“No. We took that romance with caution because we knew that if we didn’t take with caution, she would be kill us!” Olivia yelled.

When Peter Stone arrived, he put his jacket on the chair and told me that they had been discover Sir O’Connor’s car in a forest between Harrogate and Newcastle.

Superintendent Berwick interrogated to Mrs. Johnson if she wanted to see the corpse but she had to go to the court because she had a meeting with the judge who found guilty Quentin O’Connor.

Lieutenant Stone and Olivia Johnson went to the hall of justice while Alan Berwick and two policemen were going to the penal institution where Mr. O’Connor had spend his sentence.

They arrived at Glasgow penitentiary and questioned to the gaoler who was the governor of that prison. The jailer ordered them to follow him and the three policemen came into the old building.

Berwick and his fellows had walk through a hallway ten minutes and arrived in front of the governor’s office. The guard whacked the door and a man opened it.

The room was cold and wet. It was a small workplace which have a shelf with some file folders, concealed at the back of the only table. The man sat on the chair which was in front of the biggest window that they’ve ever seen until that foggy day of november.

The three policemen sat on their chairs respectively before that bald man and the responsible offered them a glass of whisky which was accepted by Alan and his subordinates.

“Did you meet Quentin O’Connor the 104 weeks which he had spend in this secure facility?” asked Mr. Berwick.

He was thinking few minutes and following replied that question lying them. They threatened to the governor with the consequence of his falsehood. At the end, the answer of that question was the truth: he met Mr. O’Connor in his first interview with him and became his friend.

They went out of that tight office and superintendent Berwick commanded his two policemen to the woods where they had find Quentin’s car and his cadaver whereas Alan was going to the justice building whereabouts Olivia Johnson and Peter Stone were questioning the magistrate.

The inspector arrived forty-five minutes ensuing and parked his Citroën next-door the courthouse and went into the justice building, meeting with Mrs. Johnson and lieutenant Stone.

“We interrogated Sir David McGovern about O’Connor’s case and he told us that madame O’Connor gave a hand him on snatching the Bank of England money which the long arm of the laws found in their house before arrest him. His wife denied each and every charge of ripping off the ten million of pounds that we tracked down. Olivia Johnson thinks that he is the blameable but I think that it’s impossible!” uttered Peter Stone to Alan Berwick.

“Thank you. The law enforcement have hunt down the bolts which the killer have used to carry out the slaughter within O’Connor’s station wagon. The forensic boys in blue have found some fingerprints but we don’t know the dodgy’s name. Sergeant Murray is foraging the digitmarks in our inputs and soon he will give us a tinkle explaining the newness!” mentioned the commissioner.

The hours passed and the buzz didn’t arrive. They opted to go to the base of operations to behold what had cropped up and how soon they got into the department, they stumbled on the deceased John Murray and a lot of vital fluid rushes.

Alan Berwick rang up the forensic surgeon and he digged up the source of Murray’s death. The sufferer had been murder by the same slayer that had butchered the marriage O’Connor.

“Did you located the murder weapon?” wanted to know, as well as possible, inspector Berwick. “It is crucial to clear up the issue!” he shrieked.

“Yes!” the man responded whilst was demonstrating him an object which seemed as a cutlass or a dirk. “Whose is that? Unfortunately we don’t know whom belong to this switchblade!” he pushed on.

Sir Berwick went out of the chamber going to the scrubland, at which point was Quentin’s automobile. He took the wheel, coming out of York, to cease the speedway in the city of Sunderland.

He followed a path and pulled in the misdemeanor area, in the place where the force identified O’Connor’s stiff inside that old-fashioned car.

Alan detected something awfully odd and caught it owing to be the key of the conundrum. It was the murderer’s smartphone.

The detective chose to go to the store, in the place where the main suspect had buy the phone.

Commissioner Berwick got there and inquired of the shop assistant about the guilty’s attributes who described the appearance of the killer. He was baptised as David McGovern and his fingerprints was the same as the screws, the dagger and the gun.

Sir Berwick and his policemen took him into custody and McGovern told them that the hit man was Olivia Johnson. They captured her also and she admit all the accusations: when Peter Stone and Mrs. Johnson met with David was to find a solution and avoid that the two murders would be solved. They thought that the best option was to kill Johan Murray moreover and David McGovern commit the third… Officer Stone had call his supervisors asking for McGovern’s criminal record while Olivia and David were talking in the hall of justice.
“Wherefore you lynched them?” he whimed to know.

“Owing to their rejected. We desired to have a part of money due to we were abettors in that mugging!” talked back those guys.

The puzzle had solve and Alan Berwick came back to his house where his sweetheart Anne was cooking the dinner. Without being expected, her gentleman pounced on her and kissed his girl.

MRS.CLARK’S DEATH

MRS.CLARK’S DEATH

My name is Alan Smith and I am the great-great-grandson of the United Kingdom’s prime minister and private detective named Harry Smith. I am a twenty six years old man and I work by Scotland Yard as a police inspector. I have a wife called Nicole and two child: one boy and one girl. Their names are Andrew and Cassandra. I was borned in London on December the 31st, 2001. My parents are scottish and they are named George and Lilybeth.

I am tall and thin. I have a brown courly hair and a brown eyes too. Under my nose I have a moustache and under my chin, I have a bit of beard. I am a shy person but I have five friends. Four brothers: two of them are famous and they are named Viktor and Anne who were borned in Germany and their surname is Leichter. Viktor is a writer and Anne is a thief who robbed three million of pounds in a bank near Edinbourgh. The other two aren’t famous but one of them helps me to investigate some cases. His name is Peter Stone and he has a beautiful sister named Amanda.

The last friend that I have is the lieutenant John Morrison. He lives with his wife in Cardiff and he has four child with the first wife that he had. His children life nowadays in Barcelona with their mum.

That night I was in my living room reading the newspaper when John phoned me to tell me something very important. “Alan, I want to say you some news… Mrs.Clark was killed by someone yesterday and I need help to investigate the murder. Can you help me and come to Cardiff?” he asked me very nervous.

I didn’t answer but when I hanged up the phone, I prepared my suitcase and I kissed Nicole to say goodbye. I went out of our home and got into my white Smart car to go to the capital of Wales and help my friend.

When I arrived it was Monday. I went to the hotel and I checked in. I upstairs and I opened the door of my room. I put my clothes inside the cupboard and when I finished, I went out going to the police station to talk with John Morrison.

He saw and offered me a cup of coffee. While he was preparing the drink, he began to tell me all the success. “Our comrades are asking some questions to Mr.Clark while the commissary was investigating the family of the victim. We think that she had something with someone but we don’t know what, who and why!” he told me. “What do you think?” he asked me with a little fear.

“I think the same. But I affirm that the killer is not one member of her family like her sister, brother, parents or husband… I think is her lover or someone who works with her!” I answered.

“At the moment we know that she don’t has a lover!” he said me. “We know that she has a lot of enemies but no lovers or something like that!” he declare very irritated.

The commissary came on to talk with us. He explained that the victim was poisoned with cyanide in her meal. He told us too that she was a drug addict and she was kidnaped some months before her death because the kidnapper wanted her debt with him.

I asked the name of the kidnapper and he told us that he was in jail nowadays. He gave us the address of the jail to go to the prison on the next morning. We went to the restaurant to eat something and after that, I came to the hotel to sleep.

The following day I waked up and I breakfast two eggs, three sausages and a bit of rice too. When I finished my breakfast my father phoned me to say that Nicole was arrested by the police because she was suspected to help my friend Anne Leichter with the robber of one jeweller’s.

I hanged up very unhappy while I went with my car to catch and bring the lieutenant Morrison to the prison with me.

We arrived and we had to show our badges to the guard to come in. I parked the car and we asked for our odd named Quentin Redhorse. He was in the cell number 38 and we went to visited him.

Another guard opened the door and we came on. When we were inside with Mr.Redhorse, the guard close the cell and we began to talk with him. He was very arrogant and he told us something very important. Morrison writted the information and we went out of the jail.

“So, her parents wanted to kill their daughter because of her addiction. Isn’t it?” I asked very happy because of the news.

“Exactly my dear Smith but you don’t have the proves!” he declare. “We only have the conversation with Quentin but I think that the judge will decide to declare nullity this prove!” he said.

Only we have to talk with her parents and ask some questions to her husband again.

When we arrived at police station, the commissary told us some more news which didn’t help us with the case and forced us to begin again with that very complicated case.

That evening the lieutenant phoned me to say that her father told him the truth and Scotland Yard arrested him. I went out of the hotel and when I arrived at police station the commissary explained me that while John Morrison was taking care of him, someone killed the victim’s father, mother and husband.

John Morrison discovered a knive into the cell and the scientific police discovered two guns too with the fingerprints of her principal enemy. She was named Noah Anderson and she lives in America with her family.

Noah Anderson was the president of United States and the most important member of the Republican Party of States.

They phoned her to explain that they wanted to talked with her in London that weekend. She answered positively and on Thursday morning they organised the police operation to arrest Noah.

On Sunday, when Mrs.Anderson came to talk with them, Scotland Yard arrested her and I could ask some questions. She told the truth and explained us that Mrs.Clark wanted to be the new president of the party and occupy her charge to become the Prime Minister of United States. Anderson didn’t want this and ordered to Quentin and the victim’s father to kidnap and kill Mrs.Clark.

The judge decided to close her in an american jail and Noah Anderson resigned from her electoral charge.

I went to my house when I say goodbye to my friend John Morrison. My wife was talking with my father George after her freeing. She wasn’t the accomplice of my friend Anne Leichter and I kissed her to celebrate the zillionth victory.

Nine months later, on December the 27th, our third son was borned. He was named Alex Smith.

MRS.McGREGOR’S MURDER

MRS.McGREGOR’S MURDER

Harry Adam Smith was a police inspector who works by Scotland Yard. He was born on 1901 December the 23rd in Glasgow. He was tall and thin. He had a long brown courly hair and a brown eyes too. Under his medium-sized nose he had a bit of moustache and under his mouth and chin he had a bit of beard too. Inspector Smith had a wife named Jane.
The marriage were living in a small house near Inverness. They had two shy teenagers: Arthur was a seventeen years old boy and his sister Mary was a fifteen years old girl who was wonderful and magnificent.
When a man knocked the door that evening, I opened it. The foreign was
called Charles McGregor, my brother-in-law who lives in Manchester and
works as a baker. He said me that his wife was killed by someone in the street, two days before Christmas.
“I will investigate the murder” I said him. “But I can’t promise it. If the
commissary accept the case , I will help you... Ok?”. He was in silence three minutes and after this time, he went out of the room.
My son, who was behind the door, he said me he wanted help me. I accept his offer and I began to investigate the case. The following day we went to
McGregor’s home and Charles invited us to drink coffee with him and talked with us.
While he was explaining how his wife was discovered by him, I answered the commissary’s phone call. “We find some fingerprints on the gun but we don’t know who is the main suspected of the crime!” he told me. “I think your wife will be the killer. Isn’t it?” he asked me.
“Yes. Will be possible but Mr.McGregor explained us that his wife had a debt with someone. I think Charles is the killer because she had a lover or his wife often had smack him!” I answered. “I am seeing some wounds on his face and on his arms and legs!” I explained him.
When we finished asking the questions, we went out of his home. We went by my car, a green Simca Aronde, to the Police Station. We were greeted by the commissary called Simon McAllan and he told us that the name of the killer was Andrew Peterson. McAllan gave us his postal address and when we finished to eat our lunch, Simon and I went to Peterson's house while my son went to my parents home to spend the afternoon.
We arrived at 3 p.m. and we knocked the door. A man opened it and invited us to drink a cup of tea. We accepted his friendly invitation and while he was preparing the teas, we sat on the sofa.
The living room was more beautiful and bigger than mine, decorated by some antique furniture and the famous Da Vinci’s paintings. I saw a letter and I opened it.
The letter was written by Andrew Peterson who wanted to send it to Mrs.McGregor because he was in love of her. Five minutes later, he served the teas and we began to talk with him.
“What did you do the night before Mrs.McGregor’s death?” I asked him.
“I was in my house watching the television with my wife named Anne. You
can talk with her if you will think that I am lying!” he answered very angry. “I have a twin who live in Glasgow but that day was in a hotel near Manchester... He is called Walter Peterson!” he added.
We went out of his home when we finished to drink the teas and we went to
the hotel mentioned by Andrew Peterson. When we arrived the commissary
decided to stay inside the car while I was asking the receptionist the people who were in hotel that night. Andrew Peterson was not lying us!
When I knew the news, I said it to Simon McAllan. He ordered his police
officers and other members of his Police Station that they ought to go to
Walter Peterson’s home to arrest him because of Mrs.McGregor’s murder and other crimes caused by him.
The judge decided to declare Walter Peterson not guilty because of the murder but I demonstrated that he was the killer. Six month later, before the beginning of the Second World War, the judge closed Walter in a jail near London.
We celebrated the victory in a scottish pub and I resigned the post of
inspector to become a private detective and the new Prime Minister of United Kingdom. My son got marriage with his girlfriend.

WILLIAM HARRY BLACK'S MURDER

                                  WILLIAM HARRY BLACK'S MURDER
Two weeks before April I got marriage with my girlfriend Mary Clark and my brother William Harry Black was killed by someone. Scotland Yard arrested me because of the murder and a severe judge closed me in a jail situated on the north of Scotland.
Eight month later I went out of the prison and my father gave me a new car... It was a brown C3 citroën which made me very happy. He said me that John Moore had a new case for me and I went with my wife to the police station. The commissary explained me that he had a clue about William Harry’s murder and he wanted to show me where he discovered it.
We went to the scene of the crime by my new car while my wife went with my father to our house. When we arrived at the hotel where Mary and I spend the nuptial night, I began to cry and cry. Why the judge thought that I was the killer? I was a bad person in his opinion?
I upstairs to the second floor and I went into my brother’s room. John Moore asked some questions to the receptionist and lieutenant Peter Smith stayed inside the car waiting our come. I found a knive stained with blood and fingerprints. I brought out to show to my friends and one day after that success the forensic explained us that the fingerprints was of a person named Simon McWood.
John Moore explained me who was Mr.McWood and where does he live nowadays. He is a famous thief and he live in a big city near London: Stratford-upon-Avon, the village where William Shakespeare borned four hundred and fifty four years ago. I went with him to asked some questions.
It is a sunny day and the birds are on the top of the trees singing songs to make a smile on the people who are unhappy every day. We arrived at twelve o’clock and we go, firstly, to the restaurant to lunch a big dish of rice with fried eggs and tomato soup. When we finished to ate our lunch, we went to Simon McWood’s home to drink a cup of coffee and talked with him.
He opened the door and invited us to came on his little and comfortable house. We sat on a big sofa while he was making the coffee. It was a very nice living room decorated with his family’s images. The wall was painted by him with a lot of different types of blue and yellow. He had one Picasso’s painting and a lot of flowers too.
“What did you do when my brother was killed by someone?” I asked him when he brought the coffees. “Did you stay in our dinner or did you went to talked with him and killed him?” 

“Why?” he asked. “What are you trying to say me? That I am the killer?” McWood asked me while commissary Moore was reading a message written by the judge who close me eight month ago.
“I don’t want offend you. I’m just trying to know who is the killer!” I answered his question with a little apprehension. At this time, John Moore explained me that he ought to came to the office because the judge wanted to talk with him and few minutes after, he went out of the house.

Simon McWood took out a gun and shoot me three cannonballs on my legs to stop me if I will wanted went out of his home. He began to tell me the truth while the sky became dark because of the clouds.
“It was two years ago. One night someone knocked the door because of the rain and wanted to talked with me. He said me “I want to kill someone, so, I need help!” while I was preparing the dinner. The victim was named William Harry John Black, your brother. He gave me your wedding dinner invitation and he advised me that if I will not wanted to cause the murder, he would kill me!”.
“Do you know his name?” I asked him. “On the one hand, if you help us, you will be closed until one year. On the other hand, if you not help us, you will be closed the rest of your live. You choose. If I would be you, I will choose “help us”!”.
“His name was Charles McBlood!”. he answered offering another cup of coffee. “He live in Glasgow with his family and he works as a journalist on the BBC radio. You could find him only the laboral days because he spend the weekends in London with his grandparents!”.
I called commissary John Moore and I explained him that. When he hanged up the phone, I called an ambulance and I spend two days in hospital. When I went out of the hospital I went with my friends to arrest Charles McBlood while the lieutenant Peter Smith arrested Simon McWood.
John Moore asked to Mr.McBlood why he wanted to kill my brother and he said him because William Harry was a lot of selfish, cheeky, jealous and very violent with him. “He punched me when we were pupils and he went on the same classroom as me!”. This answer remembered me something: when I was young, one day, I wanted to kill him because he said me that I was ugly and bad person.
When we finished to celebrate the victory my father said me that Mary Clark and I have two babies: son and daughter. The son was named Andrew Argider and the daughter Sophie Eloïse.