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The Mysterious Matter of the Poisonous Puncture

John Ragusa

    One summer morning, Trapworth and I were washing his car, which was as dirty as modern movies.
    “You know,” he said, “if I hadn’t gotten so physically fit as a prizefighter, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
    “I’m glad you’re helping me with it,” I said. “An old guy like me can’t wash a car all by himself.”
    I’m Joseph, Trapworth’s loyal servant. Since he’s been retired from boxing, he and I have been solving mysteries. It’s kind of a second career for my boss, though he isn’t paid for it. But it keeps his mind keen, so it’s good that he does it.
    Who should show up then but Inspector Heathfield?
    “I don’t mean to interrupt what you’re doing, but I happen to need your assistance with my latest murder case,” Heathfield said.
    “That’s okay,” Trapworth said. “We were just finished with washing my car.”
    Trapworth turned off the hose, and we went inside his house.
    When we were situated in the den, Heathfield told us the facts of the newest local homicide.
    “The dear departed was Joachim Perez, a wealthy realtor. He died in his car after leaving a bar this past Saturday evening.
    “The medical examiner found that Perez died from snake venom in his bloodstream.”
    “How can it be murder if a snakebite killed him?” I asked.
    “Because it wasn’t a snakebite that caused his death. There was only one puncture in his arm, not two.”
    “Then someone injected him with snake venom in a syringe,” Trapworth suggested.
    “That’s obvious, but the surveillance tapes inside and outside the bar don’t show anyone sticking Perez with a needle, so we have no idea who committed the murder.”
    “He couldn’t have committed suicide by injecting himself with snake poison, could he?” Trapworth asked.
    Heathfield shook his head. “No syringe was found in his car. Besides, Perez had no reason to kill himself.”
    Trapworth frowned. Then he said, “Lieutenant, did anyone have a motive to kill Perez?”
    “His nephew Rey will inherit his fortune now that he is dead.”
    “Let’s go pay Rey a visit,” Trapworth said. “I have some questions to ask him.”
    Heathfield drove us all to Rey’s apartment in the squad car.

X X X

    After introducing all of us to Rey, Heathfield told him, “We believe Joachim’s death was a murder. Trapworth here wants to interrogate you.”
    The latter was about to speak, but then he pointed to a potted cactus on a windowsill. “When did you buy that plant, sir?”
    “I purchased it on Friday morning,” Rey said uneasily.
    “And do you own a snake?”
    When Rey didn’t answer, Trapworth said, “We can get a warrant to search for it until we find it, so you might as well answer my question now.”
    Rey sighed. “All right. I do own a snake.”
    Trapworth nodded. “I see. Were you in your uncle’s car when he got into it at the bar, and did you prick him with a cactus thorn dipped in snake venom?”
    “Yes! I did it!” Rey said, bursting into tears.
    “Why did you use a thorn instead of a syringe to kill your victim?” Trapworth inquired.
    “I figured if someone came along and saw me with a needle, I’d be toast. However, if I were seen with a cactus, the witness would never guess it was a murder weapon.”
    “You should have disposed of the cactus and the snake,” Trapworth said. “That was a grievous error you made.”
    Heathfield took Rey away while reciting his rights.
    “You missed your calling, Trapworth,” I said to him. “You should have become a detective.”
    With a twinkle in his eye, Trapworth said, “But if I had become a murder investigator, the world wouldn’t have had the best boxer of all time.”

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