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The Mysterious Matter of the Spoiled Actress

John Ragusa

    Trapworth and I were drinking wine and smoking cigars while discussing local politics. That was when the front doorbell rang.
    “I’ll get it, sir,” I said.
    Trapworth was a former professional boxer who was now an amateur sleuth. While boxing, he used his body. Now, after retiring from the ring, he used his brain. He helped Lt. Heathfield solve many of his toughest murder cases. Numerous killers had been arrested because of Trapworth’s sharp deductive skills.
    As for me, I am Joseph, Trapworth’s butler and friend. I assist him with homicide investigations. Lt. Heathfield often relied on us to smoke out murderers. It has become a sort of hobby of ours.
    I opened the door and saw Lt. Heathfield in the doorway.
    “Good afternoon, Joseph,” he said. “Is Trapworth around?”
    “Yes. He’s in the den. I’ll take you to him.”
    We walked into the den and seated ourselves on the sofa.
    “I’m stuck with another difficult mystery,” Lt. Heathfield said. “I really need your help.”
    Trapworth put out his cigar. “All right. Fill me in with the details.”
    “Our victim, Lucille Banton, might have been murdered by her meek husband, Hondo Banton. Lucille was a stage actress who was used to getting her way. If Hondo wasn’t at her beck and call, she’d nag him about it. Instead of incurring her wrath, he would obey her orders without protest.”
    “That sounds like a solid motive for murder,” Trapworth said. “So why haven’t you arrested Hondo yet?”
    Lt. Heathfield looked disgusted. He said, “Because it seems like Lucille’s death was a suicide. You see, on the fatal night, the couple were in their bedroom with the door closed. Their maid was sweeping the floor in the hallway next to their room. The maid told me that she heard Lucille say, ‘I’m going to kill myself, and you can’t stop me.’ The door opened and out came Hondo, saying hysterically, ‘Dial 911! Lucille has stabbed herself!’ The paramedics arrived 15 minutes later, but it was already too late; Lucille died of her wounds.”
    “So it looks like suicide, yet you’re convinced it was murder, and you’d like Joseph and me to prove it. Right?”
    “That’s exactly right.”
    I snapped my fingers. “Maybe Lucille’s blood got all over Hondo’s clothes. If we found them, we’d be able to prove that he killed her.”
    Trapworth shook his head. “Hondo has probably burned his clothes if they did get blood on them.”
    “What about fingerprints?” Trapworth said. “Were any of Hondo’s prints found on the knife?”
    “No. Only Lucille’s prints were on the knife.”
    “Could Hondo have imitated Lucille’s voice when the threat of suicide was spoken?”
    “I don’t think so. It’s hard enough to imitate a man but mimicking a woman’s voice is next to impossible.”
    “We have a real mystery here,” Trapworth said.
    Lt. Heathfield sighed. “This case has me stumped.”
    “I think Joseph and I should go over to the Bantons’ house and search for evidence that your men may have overlooked.”
    “That sounds like a good idea,” I said.
    Trapworth stood up. “Then let’s get over there!”

    When we knocked on the door, it was answered by a young lady in a maid’s uniform. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
    “You must be the maid,” Trapworth said.
    “Yeah, that’s me. Who are you fellows?”
    “I’m Trapworth, and this is my sidekick, Joseph. We’re assisting the police in Lucille Banton’s murder investigation. May we come in?”
    “Of course.” She held the door open as we walked into the house.
    “We’ll just look around for any evidence that might point the finger of guilt at Hondo Banton,” Trapworth said.
    After going through the other bedrooms and finding nothing, Trapworth said, “There’s one place we haven’t searched yet: the Bantons’ bedroom. Let’s go in there and look for clues.”
    “Lucille Banton must have been a dedicated actress,” I said. “Just look at all the show business items that are in here.”
    We looked around a bit more. Then Trapworth saw a tape recorder on the dresser.
    “I wonder what’s on this tape,” he said.
    “It has dialogue from a mystery play that Mrs. Banton starred in recently,” the maid said.
    “You mean she would record her lines?”
    “Yes, sir. She recorded her speeches so that she could hear them and improve her delivery of them in the future.”
    “May we take this tape recorder with us?”
    “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t,” the maid said. “Just remember to return it once you’re finished with it.”
    “Thank you.” Trapworth tipped his hat and we walked out of the house. We got in the car and headed over to police headquarters.

    Lt. Heathfield was incredulous when we gave him the news. “You mean you’ve cracked the Barton case already?”
    “That’s right,” Trapworth said. “We know how Hondo made his wife’s murder seem like a suicide.”
    He took out the tape recorder and pressed play. “Now listen, Lieutenant,” he said.
    We all heard Lucille say, “I’m going to kill myself, and you can’t stop me.”
    Trapworth turned it off. “That line was from a mystery play titled, ‘Suicide Attempt.’ Lucille recorded her dialogue so that she could study it later and improve her delivery.
    “Hondo stabbed Lucille to death and then played it so the maid would hear it. She would testify that she heard Lucille say that she was going to kill herself.”
    “But how can we prove Hondo did all this?” Lt. Heathfield asked.
    Trapworth smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find Hondo’s prints on the tape.”
    I patted Trapworth on the back. “You’ve done it again, boss. You’ve caught another killer.”
    “Hondo was smart,” Trapworth said. “But I just happen to be a lot smarter!”

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