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The Mysterious Matter of the Tailor’s Trick

John Ragusa

    Trapworth and I were watching a sports DVD of his most famous boxing matches. The DVD had come to stores the day before, and when I glimpsed it while shopping, I knew we just had to view it, so I purchased the disc. I am Joseph, Trapworth’s butler and assistant amateur sleuth. Together, we help solve murders for Inspector Heathfield now that Trapworth is retired from prizefighting.
    We were almost finished watching the disc when the buzzer rang. I excused myself to go answer it.
    Who should be at the door but Heathfield? There he stood, stout as always and impeccably dressed.
    “Now what brings you to these parts tonight, Inspector?” I asked.
    His answer was one that I expected.
    “It’s another homicide, Joseph,” he said. “I can’t crack it, so I need aid from you and Trapworth.”
    “You know you can depend on us,” I said. “Come inside.”
    He entered the foyer, and I took him to the den, where Trapworth and I had been watching the disc. Seeing that our visitor was Heathfield, my boss turned off the DVD and addressed the Inspector, flashing his winning smile.
    “Hello again, Heathfield. Are our investigative skills needed again?”
    “Of course they are,” Heathfield replied.
    “Then give us the lowdown on the case.”
    The Inspector sat back and began to reveal the details. “It’s not a complicated case, really. Two neighbors, Carl Bessie and Ron Picardo, have been at each other’s throats since Picardo put up a Confederate flag on his front lawn. Bessie, a staunch democrat, objected to this racist flag and insisted that Picardo take it down. He flatly refused to do it, so Bessie got angry and told Picardo he’d kill him. Several witnesses heard him say this. Lo and behold, the following evening, Picardo was stabbed to death. Only Bessie had a motive to slay him, but his prints were not on the knife. He obviously wore gloves, but I can’t prove that. Furthermore, he has an alibi. On that evening, Bessie was tired and went to bed early. He told his wife Sue to check on him later; if he were sound asleep, she could watch her TV show in the den without waking him.
    “At 7:30, she looked in his room and saw him lying in bed, motionless. He was obviously fast asleep. Since the murder took place between seven and nine according to the medical examiner, that meant that Bessie had been sleeping while the murder transpired. His alibi is airtight.”
    “Is Sue Bessie certain that the time she checked on him was 7:30?” I asked.
    “She said she’s positive about it.”
    “Let’s go visit the Bessies and sort this all out,” Trapworth said.
    And away we went.
    X X X
    At the couple’s door, Heathfield introduced everyone and told Bessie we were there to search for clues.
    “May I inspect your house, please?”
    Bessie shrugged. “Feel free to look around.”
    When we entered the den, we saw sewing machines, thread, measuring tape, and mannequins.
    “You must be a tailor, eh?” Trapworth asked.
    Bessie nodded. “I’ve been doing it in my home for about 12 years now.”
    Trapworth had the look on his face that he gets every time he’s ready to solve a mystery.
    “Mr. Bessie,” he said, “you intentionally made sure your wife thought that you were asleep in bed at 7:30. But you weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t even in bed! As a tailor, you own mannequins, and you put one of your male ones under the covers before going next door to stab Mr. Picardo. In the semi-darkness, it must really have looked to your wife like it was you in bed, sleeping like a baby. After killing Mr. Picardo, you came back in your room through the window, put the mannequin away in the den, and lay down in your bed. It was all done to give you an alibi.”
    Bessie sighed sadly. “You have me dead to rights, sir. Everything you said is true. Yes, I did kill Picardo last night, and it was all about that stupid Confederate flag. I actually murdered someone over something like that! But it’s done and finished with, so I must now face the music.”
    As Heathfield read Bessie his rights, I told Trapworth, “I don’t know how you’re able to solve case after case, sir. It’s amazing!”
    With a trace of a smile, Trapworth said, “It isn’t all that hard when you aren’t a dummy.”

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