The Three Ws

This was my first short story written in 1997 and I managed to find it

'Good morning, Sir,' came the crisp voice of Detective Constable Annabelle Dawson as she stepped into the cluttered office. Detective Inspector Daniel Kard looked up from his half-drunk cup of Earl Grey, the steam curling in the cold morning air.

'Miss Dawson? What on earth brings you here on a Sunday morning?'

She closed the door quietly behind her, her expression grave. 'Bad news, sir. It's about Sir Albert Crowther. He's been found dead... in his study at Crowther Hall.'

DI Kard's face drained of color. The teacup clattered against its saucer. 'What? That's not possible I only saw him two days ago. He looked perfectly well.'

'I haven't all the details yet, sir. The local station tried calling you several times, but when there was no answer, they rang me instead.'

DI Kard groaned, running a hand through his disheveled hair. 'I must've slept through it. Bloody hell.'

The drive to Crowther Hall was solemn. DC Dawson sat quietly at the wheel, sensing her superior's deep disquiet. A light rain began to fall, droplets racing across the windshield like tears. She knew the history DI Kard and Sir Albert had known each other since boyhood, alumni of Oxford, both brilliant students of law. But while DI Kard pursued justice in uniform, Sir Albert had inherited both title and estate, becoming the Duke of Somerset after his father's untimely demise.

'He wasn't just my friend,' DI Kard said suddenly, breaking the silence. 'He was like a brother.'

DC Dawson nodded, unsure what comfort she could offer.

Crowther Hall emerged like a phantom from the morning mist, its stone towers and ivy-strewn walls surrounded by a still, dark moat. Even in death, it projected the same aristocratic austerity as its master. The drawbridge creaked slightly as they crossed it, as if the ancient home itself were groaning in mourning.

Inside the study, time had stopped.

Sir Albert sat slumped in his high-backed leather armchair, head drooping toward his chest, a half-smoked cigarette wedged between his rigid fingers. His study was as grand as the man himself lined with ancient books, artifacts from his travels across six continents, and the faint aroma of sandalwood and ash.

Detective Chief Inspector David Brown, a stout man with bristly sideburns and tired eyes, greeted them. 'DI Kard, I'm sorry old chap. I truly am. I know what he meant to you.'

DI Kard nodded, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body of his oldest friend. 'Any idea what happened?'

DCI Brown shook his head. 'Too early to say with certainty. Medical examiner says he's been dead roughly ten hours. The PM should tell us more.'

DI Kard moved closer, examining the desk. Two cigarette boxes Wills and Benson & Hedges lay nearby. The former nearly full. The latter, empty. He noticed a well-worn book 'Macbeth' and under it, Sir Albert's leather-bound diary.

'One appointment yesterday,' DI Kard muttered, flipping the diary open. 'Sir Larry Crowther. The stepbrother.'

He turned to DC Dawson. 'Get the body to the morgue. Send the cigarette butts and the one in his hand to the lab. I want a full toxicology screen.'

DCI Brown added, 'Larry moved out last week. Now lives with Lady Edwina Hatch in Salisbury. We've informed him. He's on his way.'

DI Kard stared out the window, watching the rain intensify. 'You suspect foul play?'

'I'd be lying if I said no.'

'And I'd be disappointed if you did,' DI Kard replied, his voice hollow.

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The post-mortem arrived later that evening. The three detectives gathered in DCI Brown's makeshift office in the east wing of Crowther Hall. Brown cleared his throat and read the preliminary findings aloud.

'The cause of death - cyanide poisoning.'

DI Kard sighed heavily. 'I knew it. But look at the neurologist's notes he had glioblastoma too and it was terminal. Wouldn't have lived more than a week, even without the poison.'

DC Dawson murmured, 'Why would someone kill a dying man?'

DI Kard's voice hardened. 'Because someone didn't know. Or someone didn't care.'

The next morning, the trio assembled again in DCI Brown's office. The rain had stopped, but a thick fog clung to the grounds of Crowther Hall like a shroud.

'No guards, no servants?' asked DC Dawson, reviewing her notes.

'He dismissed them all for a week,' DCI Brown replied. 'Most unusual for him.'

'Very odd indeed,' she said, frowning.

'Two suspects then,' DI Kard said decisively. 'Sir Larry Crowther and the chauffeur Leon Bridgewater. The were only the two present that night.'

Bridgewater arrived first for questioning. A lanky, nervous man with grey at his temples and hands that couldn't stay still.

'Tell us about Saturday,' DCI Brown asked, pen poised.

'Sir Albert asked me to stay while the others had a week off. At 10 a.m., I reported in as usual. Around 11, he had me drive him to St. Bartholomew's Church. Stayed in the confession box a long while. Came out... looking shaken. Sad. Almost like he'd been crying.'

'Where to after church?' asked DI Kard, watching the man intently.

'We drove around. Across the moor. To the coast. Even to Poole, sir.'

'Poole? To my place?'

'Yes, sir. We didn't go in. He just stared at your house for nearly an hour. Said nothing the entire time.'

DI Kard and DC Dawson exchanged glances.

'We returned around seven thirty. He offered me a hundred quid to stay late. I agreed. Around ten, Sir Larry arrived in a cab. I told him Sir Albert had requested not to be disturbed, but he said it was family business and went in anyway. Fifteen minutes later, he came out looking angry and left without a word. I stayed till eleven, then retired to my quarters.'

'Did you see anyone else that night?'

'No, sir. Just Sir Larry.'

'What brand did Sir Albert smoke?'

'Only Benson & Hedges, sir. Never touched anything else. Said all other brands were beneath contempt.'

Then came the forensics report, delivered by a young constable who looked like he hadn't slept in days.

'The cigarette he smoked last?' DC Dawson asked, skimming through the pages.

'Wills brand,' the DCI said, tapping the report. 'With cyanide in the filter.'

DI Kard frowned, pacing the room. 'Why would he smoke Wills when he loathed them?'

'Let's hear from Sir Larry,' DCI Brown suggested.

The younger Crowther was tall, well-dressed, and clearly shaken. His face bore the unmistakable marks of grief, but also something deeper fear.

'You're our primary suspect, Larry,' DI Kard began without preamble. 'You'll need to speak plainly.'

'Fine,' Sir Larry exhaled, his voice tight with restraint. 'Albert had become... impossible these past months. Ever since I announced my engagement to Edwina, he'd been on edge. Said I wasn't fit to inherit the family estate. Threatened to cut me off completely. Then, out of nowhere, he summoned me back to Crowther Hall on Saturday night. I got there around ten.

He said he was out of cigarettes and asked for one of mine Wills, not his usual. I handed one over without thinking. That's when he told me... he was dying, he had a brain tumor and it was terminal. Said he had a week, maybe less. Then he begged me not to marry Edwina. Said he couldn't explain why, just that I mustn't go through with it. I told him I would, no matter what. That set him off. He lost his temper, shouted at me to get out and never come back. So I left.'

'What time did you leave?'

'Ten thirty. Got back to Salisbury by midnight. Edwina can confirm that.'

'Alright,' said DI Kard. 'Wait outside.'

DCI Brown leaned back in his chair as soon as the door closed. 'That's it then. Open-and-shut. He gave Albert the poisoned Wills.'

DI Kard shook his head slowly. 'Too neat. Why poison a Wills when he could lace Albert's usual brand?'

'Maybe because the B&H pack was empty,' DC Dawson suggested.

'Or maybe... it wasn't.'

Later that evening, haunted by doubts, DI Kard returned to Crowther Hall. The cold stone walls echoed his footsteps as he made his way through the grand hallway. He entered the study and sat in Sir Albert's chair, feeling the ghost of his friend's presence all around him.

He stared into the dying embers of the fire. Then his eyes fell on the wastebasket beside the desk. A half-burnt note inside bore the words:

WINE - crossed out.

WEALTH - crossed out.

WOMEN - crossed out.

The Three Ws.

A shiver ran through him as realization dawned. He grabbed the phone on the desk and dialed quickly.

'Get me the lab. Yes, now. It's urgent.'

A moment later 'Check the tobacco used in the Wills cigarette. Was it really Wills? Or B&H?'

Half an hour later, the call came back.

'Tobacco inside was Benson & Hedges. Not Wills.'

DI Kard closed his eyes, pieces falling into place. 'He framed his brother.'

He picked up the phone again.

'DCI Brown, release Sir Larry. Albert's death wasn't murder it was suicide, brilliantly staged to look like murder.'

'Are you certain?' came the incredulous response.

'Beyond doubt. He emptied his B&H, filled a Wills shell with his tobacco, and laced it with cyanide. He knew Larry would bring Wills cigarettes. He asked for one, but smoked his own poisoned creation instead.'

'But why?'

'Vengeance,' DI Kard said grimly. 'His last act of spite.'

The next morning, DI Kard met with Sir Larry and explained everything. The young man's face crumpled in anguish.

'Why would he hate me so much?'

'It wasn't just hate,' DI Kard said softly. 'It was the Three Ws. Wine, wealth, women. The things Albert valued most. Things he believed you were taking from him.'

'I don't understand.'

'He didn't want you to inherit his wealth. And Edwina...' DI Kard hesitated. 'Albert loved her once, didn't he?'

Sir Larry's eyes widened. 'Years ago, before she met me. But she rejected him.'

'The one woman he couldn't have. And you, his younger brother, won her heart instead.'

Silent tears streamed down Sir Larry's face. 'He would have destroyed my life. Made me a murderer in everyone's eyes.'

'Yes,' DI Kard said. 'His final revenge. But he didn't count on old friends who knew him too well.'

Three days later, DC Dawson met DI Kard at the church steps following Sir Albert's funeral. Rain fell once more, as if the heavens themselves mourned.

'He really wanted Sir Larry to suffer,' she said as they watched the mourners disperse.

DI Kard nodded. 'Jealousy consumes like no other poison. He couldn't bear to see Sir Larry happy with love, legacy, and a life beyond the shadows that haunted Albert.'

'And yet, he cried in confession that day.'

'Even the proudest lions mourn their downfall. He knew what he was about to do was unforgivable.'

DC Dawson looked away, eyes moist. 'He had all the three Ws once. And he died with none.'

DI Kard sighed, watching Sir Larry and Lady Edwina walking arm-in-arm toward their waiting car. 'A man can have everything yet if he can't let go of envy, he'll burn it all down just to warm his hands.'

As they turned to leave, DI Kard spotted a small, delicate package in his car. Inside was Sir Albert's copy of Macbeth, with a note:

‘For my oldest friend the only one I knew would solve my final puzzle. The three Ws destroyed me. Don't let them destroy you too. Albert’

DI Kard closed the book and watched the rain wash over Crowther Hall one last time. In the end, the great house stood as it always had proud, imposing, and utterly alone.

Reviews

[Ash]

HIYA how long did this take I saw that it was added today this is very long just curious I will read it here shortly too