A Beautiful Death

A Beautiful Death



“Tea, please?” Mr. Fonsworth requested.
“Hmm, very interesting. Husband and wife both murdered. How peculiar.”
“That, dear Mr. Fonsworth, is the essence why I called upon you to decode this crime. “Two sugars?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
This was a conversation between Investigator James Fonsworth and Peter Cadbury, head of the Scotland Yard division in London concerning a murder of a millionaire, Henry Lockes, and his wife, Emily.
“I shall be going,” proclaimed James.
“Best of luck!” responded Cadbury.

“I swear, Henry was one of the most decent people which I have ever known. He was a generous man, donating to charity and all. Very friendly and polite. Well, there is one thing…….”
“Tell me now. I have the power of the Scotland Yard and the London Metropolitan behind me. Don’t hold back. This is too important of a matter to hold back!” Fonsworth had rage written all over his face. This was a true problem for James. Always in his childhood he was told he needed anger management. He was strong, capable of much harm. He did not know his true strength. Yet, he had the cunningness of a fox.
“Okay,” said John Hompkins. Hompkins was Henry’s childhood friend, and adult companion.
“Rumors were, that Henry had something secretive going, with a group of his businessman friends, possibly dealing with the black market, illigitemate sterling going around. “
“Can you give me a reference?” asked James.
“Sure,” answered John. “One’s name was Alexander Urban.”
“Thank you for your cooperation. I shall be going.” And before John could turn to say goodbye, James was gone with the wind under the night’s black curtain.

Driinnngggg, Driiinnnggg. Pure aggravation, James thought to himself, that bloody telephone.
“Hello, Mr. Cadbury. WHAT! That’s impossible. Well, that’s sad. Thank you. Goodbye.”

A person found dead. Gunshot wounds to the head. Most shocking of all, London Municipal thought that James was the killer. Well, thought James, I’d assume that too. Poor Hompkins. It was only yesterday James was yelling at him. Death sure plays a wicked game. James felt disgusted.

“NO, when I say it, nothing can be classified!”
Once more Investigator Fonsworth was letting his bad side take him. He sounded like a babbling idiot.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell! We found out the local mafia was up to something. They were smuggling counterfeit sterling pounds, and they had something bad coming. So we stole it from them, hid it. We wanted to let the Yard catch them, and not suspect us. We’re just sitting, all shushed up, and when they’re caught, we’ll burn it. I guess we are crooks too! They’re after us, I know it.” Alexander Urban finally closed his bearded mouth.
James was off.

“DAMN IT, You must be kidding. “
James hung up the phone. Urban was found dead. No surprise. Now, James was off to have a conversation with somebody else. Less important, but nevertheless.

In the warmth of the passing day, James continued on to Katie Winstress’ house. She was a pale woman, in her mid fifties. James began to question her, but he was interrupted.
“How foolish you all are...”
She paused
“Emily tells me everything, I’m her sister, you know. I cannot believe how long it ….”
Silence.
“Speak!” I commanded her.
“How long it took you…..to, to, to figure out who killed them, them, them both... uhhh.”
She stopped speaking; her head jerked to one side, her hand had no strength. He recognized the signs. She was having a stroke. He called an ambulance.
“It was E...Em…Emil..Emily! Wha..What wife would le..let her husband get kill..killed by...”
Her last words were muffled by gunshots. James ducked, and upon recovery noticed a bullet wound in her head. She was dead.

“Alas,” the inspector said,” I begin to understand the beauty of this death. It was not caused by jealousy, betrayal, or any sinful cause. It was out of love”

It was a warm fall evening. Sitting with her husband by a fireplace Emily Lockes proposed a toast.
“My dear Henry, we have so much to be grateful for. We have wealth and comfort.
Cheers!” and champagne slowly disappeared from the clear crystal goblets they were holding. And as the fire in the fireplace died out, so did they.