Frank was still inside the wardrobe without making a noise. His heart was beating up so fast that he could even hear the pumping of it. He tried to calm down by breathing slow and deep but it did not help much. He knew that the slightest noise would give him away and the chief inspector would put him behind bars. He closed his eyes and cleaned the sweat of his forehead with one of Colette’s polo necks that were hanging down inside the wardrobe.
Colette unrolled the paper and read it. Her exhilaration turned into despair after reading its content. This time, it was Colette who needed a sherry.
“Mon amour, would you serve me a sherry, please?”, asked Colette while she was pushing the piece of paper carefully into her pinkish dressing gown pocket.
“But you barely drink alcohol,” said Turpin while frowning his forehead.
“Well, here you are mon amour,” said Turpin. Colette sat down in the sofa, sipped the sherry and rolled her glass between her hands.
While the chief inspector was talking about the details of the murder, Turpin noticed that Colette looked puzzled, as if she was not in the room with them. He knew very well Colette only drank alcohol in very specific circumstances but he did not ask her anything. After a few seconds, she asked the inspector:
“Monsieur Brown, why are you so sure that Frank the Knife committed those crimes?”
“Yes, Why are you so sure?”, repeated Turpin.
“Well Monsieur Turpin, the banker was stubbed to death with the same kind of knife Frank uses to break into peoples´ flats,” replied the inspector.
“I see,” said Turpin.
“And how do you know what they look like?”, queried Colette.
“Yes, Monsieur Brown. How do you know?”, repeated Turpin in a parrot-like way.
“Err, well, because we found one of his knives near the window of the crime scene”, answered the inspector.
Suddenly, a noise coming from inside the wardrobe was heard. Turpin looked at his wife but Colette behaved as if nothing had happened and offered the inspector another sherry. Turpin promptly asked for another sherry too and said:
“There is nothing like a good sherry when problems arise, right Monsieur Brown?”
“Certainly Monsieur Turpin. By the way, what time is it? I must go to the crime scene again because I left a document there”, said the inspector.
Colette, rather flabbergasted by his question, kept pensive.
“It is ten o’clock”, replied Turpin.
“Do not leave us yet, Monsieur Brown”, Colette grimaced while she was looking at her husband with a slight smile in her face. “Perhaps it may not be necessary to go to the crime scene”. She stood up, put the empty glass on the table and sentenced with her peculiar soft but muscular voice:
“The murderer is in this room. Am I right, mon amour?”, asked Colette to her husband.
Confused but knowing that she had found out who committed the crime, replied:
“Oui, err, yes. There is not need to go and look into this matter anymore.”
A creaky noise came out of the wardrobe. Frank’s heart took a sudden leap and almost stopped beating. Losing consciousness, he leaned over the wardrobe door and his body fell to the ground nearly hitting the inspector’s new black shoes. The chief inspector froze to death. He could not believe his eyes. Frank the Knife was just there, unconscious.
(to be continued)