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The Silent Soprano — Part 1

4/28/2018

Last week we learned of the tragic death of a diva. It turns out one of the world’s best detectives reads this blog. Based on her extensive experience, she has produced FOUR explanations. Yes, I said four.

Review the circumstances next, and then examine the submitted solutions. At the end I will reveal a bit of information about this detective.

There is still time if anyone else wants to dip into the detection pot. Please send me any solutions by this coming Friday.

Then we’ll see what Elmo Sherwin was able to figure out.

* * *

A narcissistic universally hated blackmailing brilliant opera soprano locks herself in a room to practice her aria for an upcoming production. When she fails to emerge after an hour, the maestro uses his key to enter the windowless single door space to find his star crushed by the chandelier. The floor is littered with a mixture of orange shards from the lights, a small number of other fragments similar to that of the large crystal burgundy wine glass resting on its side on a nearby table, several small screws, and twist nuts of the type used to secure the connection of two or more wires. The carpet has a small hole underneath the fallen body.

Solution 1: The opera singer was narcissistic, and so she was focused on her mirror when she walked in the room. She did not see the filament that ran from below the floor (through the hole) to the top of the chandelier, and when she walked through the filament she broke it and the chandelier dropped on her head.

Solution 2: The connections on the wire that holds the chandelier on the ceiling were loosened just to the point before separating the wires. When the opera singer hit the high note in her aria and held it, it was at the right frequency to cause the connectors to vibrate and twist the small amount needed to drop the chandelier on the singer. The hole in the floor occurred when her elbow hit it very very hard.

Solution 3: The singer was so enthralled with herself that she did not even look towards the floor, where the murderer had drilled a small hole. As the singer approached the hole in the floor, the murderer shot a small caliber bullet from the hole to the wire holding the chandelier, causing it to drop on the singer.

Solution 4: Someone poisoned the wine and when the hefty singer drank it then fell to the floor in death, the resulting thud vibrated the room so much the chandelier fell.

Are you shaking your head at the creativity here? I am. Did one or more of the solutions give you a good laugh? They did me.

As I read these solutions I thought that the ideas in them could be fleshed out into a full story that would rival some of the best work of John Dickson Carr. I’m impressed, and I promise not to steal any of them despite the temptation.

So who is this secret detective hiding behind a completely different career? I am proud to say it is my daughter. Should I worry I have spawned a child with such a chimerical mind? Not at all. Just the opposite.

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The Locked Room Lure

4/21/2018

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He hung from the rafters, the noose tight about his neck. The Inspector crashed through the locked door and noted all windows were secured from the inside. Only a slight dampness on the carpet beneath the corpse seemed out of place.

The inspector’s subordinate declared it murder and ascribed guilt to a local politician who had publicly feuded with the dead man for years.

“Not so,” said the Inspector. “It was suicide, intended to cause his rival to be arrested for murder.”

This was one of a variety of “impossible” stories making the rounds of my high school cohorts. It was my introduction to locked room mysteries. Of course, most are familiar with this tired plot. The dead man had stood on a block of ice to attach the noose and stepped off it. The ice melted, leaving only the dampness.

I’ve mentioned previously the intrigue of the locked room, how much I wanted to write one, how difficult I found it to be, and how finally I had come up with a scheme in Patriotism.

I knew several authors had tried the genre, but I’d seen relatively few in my readings. Then a couple of years back my wife gave me The Black Lizard Big Book of Locked-Room Mysteries.

Some of the authors included are Stephen King, Agatha Christie, and P. G. Wodehouse. The book contains 68 stories by 68 different authors (well, mostly—there is one by John Dickson Carr and another by alter ego Carter Dickson) in its 937 pages.

In the Introduction the editor, Otto Penzler, warns the reader that disappointment will follow when a locked-room mystery is explained because, after all, “impossible crimes cannot be impossible.” It’s a fair warning, and sometimes one does feel the author is cheating, but in the vast majority of instances one is thrilled to be confused, like at a magic show. If it all seems unrealistic, well, so what?

This book includes The Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allen Poe, long considered the precursor of the mystery genre.

What surprised me as I worked my way though all those Gone With the Wind number of pages was the many forms locked room mysteries can take. They include, but are not limited to, stabbings in a sealed environment, bodies in sand or snow surrounded by no footprints, folks or objects disappearing in impossible ways, shootings in inconceivable circumstances, thefts of valuable objects from a guarded room, and poisonings that cannot have occurred.

Locked-room mysteries had their heyday between World Wars I and II. Lately they seem to have gone out of style, though not completely. (I gently congratulate myself here with a supercilious smirk) Penzler mentions that Howard Haycraft in his 1941 Murder for Pleasure said that writers should stay away from such puzzles because “only a genius can invest it with novelty or interest today.” (Uh oh—maybe I smirked too soon)

To illustrate why Haycraft said we amateurs should stay away from the locked room concept, here’s one I just dreamed up.

Let’s suppose a narcissistic universally hated blackmailing brilliant opera soprano locks herself in a room to practice her aria for an upcoming production. When she fails to emerge after an hour, the maestro uses his key to enter the windowless single door space to find his star crushed by the chandelier. The floor is littered with a mixture of orange shards from the lights, a small number of other fragments similar to that of the large crystal burgundy wine glass resting on its side on a nearby table, several small screws, and twist nuts of the type used to secure the connection of two or more wires. The carpet has a small hole underneath the fallen body.

Accident? Or murder?

What do you think? If you’ll send me an explanation, I’ll publish the best in the next blog. Feel free to let your mind create. Remember, these explanations often are ridiculous and stretch believability, so don’t hesitate to suggest the wildest implausible solutions. Wait until you see what Elmo Sherwin comes up with! I bet you can do better.

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One-of-a-Kind

4/14/2018

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There’s a special book, one like no other in the universe. And it’s mine!

If this singular item were the largest diamond in the world, or the original manuscript of Gone With the Wind, or an authentic Monet or Alexander Graham Bell’s patent application, I could take it to Sotheby’s or Christie’s or any of a number of prestigious auction houses and make a mint. Then I could drive to my early morning Saturday runs in a Rolls.

But this one-of-a-kind book does not have huge monetary value. Nevertheless, it is one of my most treasured possessions, given to me as a gift by my son.

It contains 84 pages, 42 sheets of paper printed on both sides. Each page is a copy of the front page of the New York Times, dated on my birthday every year beginning with the year of my birth. From this information you should be able to determine my age. Hint: It’s not 84.

The pages are ensconced in a beautiful heavy-duty cover imprinted with “The New York Times” in its iconic font, my full name, and the date of my birth.

Simply scanning the headlines teaches about labor unrest related to the depression, Japanese attacks prior to Pearl Harbor, German assaults on London, various presidencies, wars, scandals. And segregation. An early entry describes a politician complaining that news was “faked.” One wouldn’t become a renowned historian by inhaling all the information in my book, but there’d be a good introduction to events of the past eight decades.

As I peruse the pages of my prize I’m reminded of my father. He was an electrical engineer working for Bell Telephone Laboratories in New York City. Since we lived in New Jersey, he commuted to his job on the Lackawanna Railroad. Occasionally I would accompany him for a special day at his office. I observed many riders digging into the Times.

Of course, opening the paper would create a horizontal expansion destined to infringe on an adjacent rider’s space. So instead of doubling the original dimension, it was halved creating a long narrow front displaying half the columns of a page. A turning technique mastered by the readers provided eventual access to the entire paper without elbowing one’s neighbor. Many years later while I worked at the same Bell Telephone Laboratories, now located in New Jersey, I took the train into the city to attend graduate school. The same technique was in use, but my time was spent on more conventionally shaped textbooks. My guess is this approach is still the norm, for those few not reading the news online.

I have noted with interest changes over the years in the format of the Times’ front page. In the early days there were eight columns of incredibly small print. I can only imagine how much linotype effort went into each day’s paper, and what I was looking at was only Page One. Anywhere from 10 to 15 different stories began on that page.

The first photograph, black and white, appeared in 1944 although some maps were present earlier as World War II heated up. It wasn’t until 1951 that two photos adorned the page. Over time more and more pictures appeared, always in black and white. In 1976 there were four, and simultaneously the number of columns plunged from eight to six! The font size stayed the same and remains small today.

Color photos first appeared in 2001. One of two that year depicted New York City Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani giving President Jacques Chirac of France an aerial tour of the World Trade Center site just days after the terrorist attack of 9/11.

Here are some headlines from more than two decades past. All in some way are pertinent to today. Some are in the category of “Have we learned nothing?”

1936: War on Privilege Vital, Lehman Says. 1951: Atom Scientist Develops TV Tube Giving Both Color and Monochrome. 1955: Governor Calls for Federal Aid to Save Nation’s Schools. 1963: Goldwater Says Test Ban Creates Illusion of Peace. 1971: Young Voters May Change Make-up of Congress in ’72. 1974: Officer Who Killed Youth, 14, Is Relieved of His Police Duties. 1981: A Potpourri of Protesters. 1984: Florida Begins All-Out Battle To Save Citrus. 1987: Iran Campaigning To Bar Sanctions. 1988: Homeless Plight Angers Scientists. 1993: F.C.C. Clearing Airwaves For Phones of the Future. 1996: Conferees Agree On More Coverage For Health Care.

Truly, this book is special.

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LOL

4/7/2018

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I don’t often laugh when reading a novel. Not surprising. Most books aren’t funny. They’re not intended to be. Many mirror the myriad problems facing today’s society, and there’s not a lot of humor to be found there. I read multiple mysteries and the nature of crime tends to limit moments of hilarity.

But there are exceptions. Even where there’s crime.

Sir Henry Merrivale comes to mind. I was introduced to him by an Australian acquaintance when I had a Fulbright there. This baronet, barrister, magician and doctor is an older fellow created by Carter Dickson (John Dickson Carr). He never met a locked room mystery he couldn’t solve, after the requisite 300 pages.

When I started another one of his tales I could not wait to see what antics he’d be up to. I remember one from a novel I read over 60 years ago. He was visiting New York City and was fascinated by its subway system, especially the turnstiles into which you deposited a coin and thereby gained access to the trains.

One day Merrivale joined the line entering a station, waiting for his turn at the rotating guard. The second person in front dropped his coin and entered. Then the one immediately preceding him. When it was his turn he approached the device and confidently walked right through after depositing zilch. People were astounded. The man following Merrivale realized a good thing and proceeded to follow the baronet’s example. Except the turnstile was resolute in blocking the way, until the man dutifully deposited the correct change.

The reader was to learn that at some earlier time Merrivale had managed to drop a coin in the unit but not enter the station. From that moment on all prospective riders had honorably deposited their coin and passed through. Until Merrivale. The system had recorded it had an extra coin, allowing Merrivale to employ it during his dramatic entrance.

I never experimented to see if the system actually worked that way, but it was fun reading about it, and all the other Merrivale tricks.

A modern example is the Stephanie Plum books by Janet Evanovich. Stephanie is a bounty hunter working in Trenton, New Jersey for her bail bondsman cousin Vinnie. She lives with her pet hamster Rex, spending occasional overnights in the company of vice cop Joe or security company C.E.O. Ranger.

Visits to her childhood home for meals allow her to be with Grandma Mazur who packs a gun and enjoys social outings to the funeral of anyone, acquaintance or not. Her mother takes to the bottle when things with Grandma get too bizarre and her father escapes Grandma with a second job driving a cab.

Lulu is a large, black former hooker addicted to unhealthy food. She favors spandex, sized significantly smaller than her body. Often accompanying Stephanie on her adventures, Lulu has to be constantly reminded, “Don’t shoot anybody!”

These and other oddball characters provide a steady stream of humor lasting from page one until the final leaf is turned. When a new member of the series appears, I devour it.

But the absolute funniest book I’ve read, maybe ever, is The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared by Jonas Jonasson. Living in a nursing home and limited in his permitted intake of vodka, the man decides to skip a celebration of his 100th birthday and take off. We get to follow his adventures and learn of his, well, let’s just say unusual life.

Now I read this book via audio, and that is what I recommend. I suspect reading it on paper would be equally hilarious, but I know for a fact that the audio approach had me reeling. I’d be listening while walking my dog, often breaking out in loud laughter and observing others on the sidewalk cautiously retreat.

If you have been to the movie version of this book, I’m sorry. After reading it, I could not wait to see the movie. Frankly, it doesn’t come close to doing justice to the original. So if you’ve seen only the movie and thought it a so-so story, please treat yourself to the book.

And if you want a little humor from my scribblings, get acquainted with Elmo Sherwin in Math Is Murder, Murder By the Numbers and You’re Almost There.

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The Silent Soprano — Part 1

The Locked Room Lure

One-of-a-Kind

LOL

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