The Thornhill Secret

I turned right when I got out of the elevator and walked down a long corridor. I stood outside office 3057 and knocked on the door. “Come in,” a voice shouted from inside. I opened the door and walked in. “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Rainer.” We shook hands and he offered me a seat. “Good afternoon, Detective. Victoria Green.” I sat down and my eyes swept the room. It was a small office and the desk was piled high with papers. Not quite as chaotic as Houghton’s archives though. An ashtray crammed full of cigarette butts had pride of place next to his telephone. In one corner there was another table full of files, next to that was a water cooler and a small cabinet with a decrepit-looking fan on it. “I understand you have some information concerning the Jason Bridge case?” Rainer said, as he opened his desk and reached for a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to me, but I refused. I had smoked at Yale, but gave up when I met my last boyfriend. He complained about my breath. It’s like kissing an ashtray, he used to say. It still amazes me how quickly I gave up. Just like that. Well, the things you’ll do when you’re madly in love, one of my friends had remarked at the time. I took a deep breath before answering him. “Yes, I have.” I knew that I needed a good excuse to speak to the police. I was just searching for one. Rainer looked at me. “Mind if I smoke?” Rainer had the cigarette between his lips with a lighter poised ready to flick it into action. “No, of course not.” Another nail in your coffin, I thought. Despite my earlier encounters with cigarettes, I now detested the smell of cigarette smoke, but I was on his territory so I had little choice but to put up with it. I quickly dismissed thoughts of secondary smoke inhalation. “You were saying, Miss Green?” Rainer took a drag of the cigarette, the smoke emanating from his nostrils; the rest came out of his mouth. “I was looking for some information concerning the death of a relative of mine, Detective, and discovered an article written by Jason Bridge in 1925. I had wanted to speak to him about his research, but never got the chance. He wasn’t interested in speaking to me. I persuaded my great aunt, who’s a friend of his, to contact him directly and ask for an interview on my behalf. The next thing, we get a call to say he’s dead.” Rainer looked at me. “So what’s this got to do with his death?” “It seems a coincidence that he’s dead, just when I’m trying to find out the events surrounding my relative’s death.” Did my excuse sound corny or what? Maybe I was overreacting after all. “Miss Green, people die all the time in this town. The guy was in his nineties. He wasn’t gonna live forever.” I looked puzzled because of the information Cindy and Houghton had given me. Bridge was found at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think that his death wasn’t natural, Miss Green?” Here we go, I thought, he’s fishing. “Perhaps. I very much wanted to speak to him. I did hear from a friend of the family that he was found at the bottom of the stairs.” Rainer probably knew that news, good or bad, spreads faster than a bush fire in a small town. “Yes, he was. We can’t quite figure out how he got there.” “What did his niece say, Detective?” Rainer stubbed out his cigarette. The butt lay in the ashtray as a trail of smoke rose into the air. “She awoke around six thirty to go to the bathroom. She looked into his room to see if he was okay, but he wasn’t in his bed and his wheelchair had gone. She got about halfway down the stairs when she saw her uncle lying at the bottom. She screamed and her husband came running. They both checked the body for any vital signs, but he was as dead as a doornail. Soon after, they called the family doctor then the police. The local doc put the time of death at between ten and half past midnight.” “Does the doctor know what killed him?” “We’re waiting for the autopsy results. I should have them later this afternoon.” Rainer got up and looked out of the window. He was standing with his back to me. “Do you suspect foul play, Detective?” “What makes you say a thing like that?” He swung around. “Well, he suffered from arthritis. How easy would it have been for him to get out of bed into his wheelchair?” “Good question. We know that he could walk a little and the wheelchair was still at the top of the stairs. Maybe he thought he’d go downstairs for something. We don’t know. It’s all speculation at the moment.” Rainer sat down again and lit up another cigarette. “You said that a relative of yours died in 1925. Who was that?” Rainer leaned back in his chair, the smoke lingering above him like a big white cloud. “My great aunt, Emily Thornhill. They said it was a riding accident, but I believe Bridge knew something that implied it wasn’t an accident. Hence my reason for wanting to meet with him and my interest in the case.” “I see. Well, forensics are still going over Bridge’s home, so we’ll see what happens when we get those results.” If Rainer knew more, he wasn’t going to admit it. “Detective, thank you for your time. Please call me if anything else comes up or if I can be of any use.” I left his office and walked back to my car, which was still parked outside Frankie’s Diner. __________ She’s a proper little Sherlock Holmes, the person thought, watching from the doorway across the road. You couldn’t see me in my car as I drove past Victoria, but I could see you. Oh yes, and I’m watching every little move you make. __________