MURDER IN SLOPNÁ

THE RESOLUTION OF MURDER IN SLOPNÁ

The resolution according to an amateur among the genius detectives – that person – the Mayor of the Slopná municipality.

That person unexpectedly spoke:

            “Please, I beg you, let me finally say that…” the detectives turned to that person and then – as if on cue – back to Mr. Wintermantel. Clearly, none of the detectives remembered anyl onger who that person was or why he was there. Mr. Wintermatel introduced him again:

            “The Mayor of Slopná.”

            The mayor gazed at the table, scratched behind his ear, shook his head and sighed, clasping his hands as if he was praying.

            “People! I have been trying to tell you ever since the first moment, but he,” the mayor said pointing accusingly at Mr. Wintermantel, “would not let me speak. I know, you’re all important literary and movie characters and it is an honour that you are all here, but I have to finally tell you…”

            Embarrassed, the mayor fell silent and only after a long while said:

            “Vojto Prihnanec woke up.”

            Twelve big detectives looked at him with puzzled expressions. He continued:

            “Excuse me, please, excuse me, but you have to know.”

            Again he gave Mr. Wintermantel an accusing glance. He took a deep breath and started explaining:

            “Here in Slopná, the unemployment and social benefits always come on the twentieth. That Saturday was the twenty-third, that’s three days. Money was running short and the men didn’t have any left for drinks.

That’s when Vojto Prihnanec remembered that his brother-in-law owed him 80 crowns. Ludo was the name of this brother-in-law. Last name Prihnanec, Ludo Prihnanec. So Vojto went to get them. An hour later he came back crying that he surely must have killed his brother-in-law, because he was lying there with a knife in his heart. And that he looked weird, that he didn’t even look like himself. The men thought that he was drunk as usual, and didn’t pay him any attention. That’s when Vojto took out the what-do ya-call-it. The shoe horn.’

            Mr. Wintermantel just sighed:

            “For God’s sake! What shoe horn?”

            “This one.” said the mayor and took a gray iron shoe horn out of his briefcase.

            He placed it  before him with reverence.

            “He said that he took it from the dead body of Ludo Prihananec, because he had always wanted one like this. The only thing is that the Ludo Prihananec guy, the brother-in-law died of cirrhosis about a year ago, you see. And everyone was so shocked, you see, so how would Vojto kill him now? You know that a local, one of our guys, doesn’t like making rash decisions, so they were thinking what to do about everything. And Vojto wanted to turn himself in, that he was a killer and all; they didn’t stop him, I mean if it made him happy go for it! Only he mistook the way and instead ended up in the church yard. He’s been sleeping there since. That’s what I‘ve been trying to tell you the whole time, that he has woken up.”

            The detectives stood in stunned silence. Mr. Wintermantel was silent, too. The mayor scratched himself behind his ear again.

            “So the guys were at the pub until now deliberating. You know, Vojto Prihnanec always gets mixed up. Once he went to Poland to smuggle stuff and instead he ended up in Gabcikovo. And not too long ago he forgot that he‘s married, and tried to talk cross-eyed Jula that comes mushroom picking here, into something.”

            Mr. Wintermantel squinted his eyes painfully. The mayor waited obligingly until he opened them again, and only after that continued:

            “So in the end the men took the shoe horn and came to me. That I am the chairman, that I should decide. I wasn’t at the pub at that time. I had a sore on my mouth.” he added apologetically.

            Mr. Nero Wolfe raised his index finger:

            “Ludo Prihananec was the original owner of the house at Kincar, into which Mr. Pravda, another author, had moved, as we were informed by Mr. Wintermantel some time ago.

            All the detectives nodded. And then Lieutenant Colombo turned to the hapless mayor:

            “You want to say, that it took them all that time, for them to put together the murder of Mr. Pravda and the allegations of that gentleman…. Prihnanec, that he killed someone?”

            “Like I said,” the mayor raised his hands, “a local doesn’t like to jump the gun.”

            Sergeant Makepeace sharply objected:

            “But Mr. Prihnanec couldn’t have been sleeping off his hangover until now!”

            The mayor was surprised:

            “Why couldn’t he be? It’s only been three weeks!”

            The troubled Mr. Wintermantel burst out angrily:

            “You are claiming that this Prihanec fellow killed Mr. Pravda, because in his drunkenness he confused him with his brother-in-law who’s been dead for the past year?!”

            “I am not claiming anything, you see, I am just repeating what the guys at the pub said. Vojto recalled that he owed him 80 crowns, and left the pub. When he returned, he said he had surely murdered him, but that he didn’t look like himself. But I’m saying that he‘s woken up, I would summon him, you see..”

            “Mon Dieu,” Hercule Poirot exclaimed suddenly, “but why the shoe horn?”

            “That I don’t know,” said the mayor, “I’m guessing a shoe horn like that comes in handy anytime, wouldn’t you agree?”

            Mr. Wintermantel pounded the table with his fist.

            “But that is unheard of! In a mystery, the killer cannot be someone who hasn’t been in the plot since the beginning! What pub, what brother-in-law, what shoe horn? And who will explain the ‘secret sign’, the line about conscious, money, the character that the drifter saw, the lost writings about saints? Huh?”

            The mayor hung his head:

            “That I don’t know, you see. Vojto Prihananec will explain everything himself, although I wouldn’t believe him too much. Recently he was claiming to have been speaking with an alien that one day Slovakia will have colonies in Kuwait. Maybe he made everything up again. Or he mixed it up. Or he was never even there. Or maybe he found Mr. Pravda murdered already Or…”

            Mr. Wintermantel let out a groan.

            Otherwise it was perfectly still.

            The mayor of Slopná offered again, confusedly:

            “So you don’t want to question Vojto Prihnanec? Or the men from the pub? They are sober now. The unemployment money hasn’t been paid out yet.”

            Mr. Wintermantel bowed his head and whispered: “Twelve of the most brilliant detectives of all time, twelve of the most brilliant resolutions and all of it for nothing. We can start from the beginning.” He said almost choking back his sorrow.

            “So that’s that,” stated Mr. Nero Wolfe and got up. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m leaving.” He whispered to Mr. Wintermantel:  “I have a great recipe for cranberry pie. If it wasn’t….” He didn’t answer warningly. He walked out, followed by his assistant, Mr. Goodwin, who managed to grin at Sergeant Makepeace and salute major Zeman.

            Agents Scully and Mulder slammed shut their laptops simultaneously, got up at the same time and extended their hands at the same time to Mr. Wintermantel. With professional smiles on their faces, they wished him a successful future.

            Mr. Sherlock Holmes whispered to Dr. Watson:  “I told you, it’s a peculiar nation!” he went over to the shoe horn and examined it carefully with a magnifying glass. He even measured the width with a slide rule. Then he picked up a case containing a violin from underneath the chair, bowed and left gracefully, along with his friend Dr. Watson.

Steve Carella, a first class detective, did not say a word. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone, just left. When he was at the door he turned around, nodded at the mayor of Slopná and walked out immersed in his thoughts.

            Lieutenant Dempsey walked over to Mr. Wintermantel and grinned:

            “Don’t worry about it. Nobody is perfect.”

            Sergeant Makepeace whispered to Dempsey: “Nobody besides me, of course.” Soon after you could hear the sound of their departing car.

            Mr. Colombo got up indecisively, knocking down a ball of wool that was sitting on the table in front of Miss Marple and also dropping an unlit cigar from his pocket. He picked it up, looked at it for a while as if he didn’t know what it was, then scratched his forehead, symbolically saluted Mr. Wintermantel and walked to the door. There he paused and said:

            “Before I forget, Mr. Wintermantel, let me know how it all ends. Mrs. Colombo would surely be interested in knowing.” After that he finally lit his cigar and walked out.

            Miss Marple went over to Mr. Wintermantel and smiled amiably:

            “Dear Mr. Wintermantel, for me it definitely was not wasted time, believe me. Look!” Miss Marple pulled out a knitted children’s cap, which she put into a big black bag along with the rest of the wool and knitting needles, and scurried away with a smile.

            Mr. Wintermantel gave a troubled sigh and closed his eyes again, opening them only after being tapped gently on the shoulder.

            “Whenever you come to France, stop by,” said Commissioner Maigret, “Paris is so overrun by tourists in the summer… it was very nice here… so quiet… so homey…”

            Mr. Stefan Derrick and his assistant Harry Klein waited patiently until Mr. Wintermantel relaxed, and then they shook his hand. Inspector Derrick said:

            “Til we see each other again, Herr Wintermantel. Send us the final report once you have it so we can add it to the file. Thank you.”

            “Thank you, and don’t forget the report so we can add it to the file,” his assistant Harry Klein repeated.

            Comrade Zeman turned to the mayor with a question:

            “That Prihnanec guy, that dead Prihnanec guy…. Wasn’t he the agent with the code name Falcon? I think I remember something…”

            The mayor shook his head in disagreement:

            “That certainly can’t be the case, because all of Slopná would know about that. Once we had this guy that worked in the cooperative farm with livestock….”

            Comrade Major raised his index finger decisively:

            “We will find out, don’t you worry!” and left.

            Monsieur Poirot picked up the shoe horn and turned to Mr. Wintermantel:

            “Could I keep it as a souvenir? Along with a blowpipe for poisoned arrows from South American Indians it will blend into my collection of rarities perfectly.” When Mr. Wintermantel resignedly nodded his head, Hercule Poirot put the souvenir into his back pocket, bowed to the four corners of the earth and gracefully walked away.

            Mr. Philip Marlow watched him and grinned: “You pay with shoe horns here? We use dollars…. But at least I know what the rate per day is here.” He pulled his hat down over his forehead, put a piece of gum in his mouth and disappeared with a quiet laugh

            The mayor and Mr. Wintermantel were left alone. The mayor asked worriedly: “For God’s sake, why did everyone leave? I only told the truth.”

            Mr. Wintermantel just waved his hand.

            “The truth! These were big -ime detectives and you tell them just the plain truth… Big-time detectives need psychological plots, thought-out crimes, unusual, breathtaking revelations. You presented them with a bunch of guys at a pub. Who cares about that?”

            The mayor looked confused, saying:

            “Prihnanec and the men are waiting at the pub across the street. They promised they wouldn’t touch a drink. If all of those detectives had stayed, the case could easily have been solved.”

            “And what for? So they could find out that some drunk…” Mr Wintermantel just shrugged his shoulders.

            “So much effort for nothing!” the mayor sighed.

            Mr. Wintermantel looked around the empty room.

            “At least that Miss Marple finished knitting her cap,” he said gloomily. All of a sudden he cried:

            “Do you know what you made of me? I am no longer… a protagonist, all of a sudden I am an antagonist. What am I going to do?” he sobbed.

            The mayor’s voice shook:

            “That’s the last thing I wanted to do, believe me, don’t worry about it. I don’t know what I should… but wait, I have an idea.’ His face lit up. ‘ Not an idea, I have something much better.”

            He got up, and shortly returned with a bottle and two glasses. He poured two drinks.

            Mr. Wintermantel toasted resignedly. Then he toasted a second time. And then a third time. His resignation was leaving him. He said:

            “In any case, they were beautiful solutions, weren’t they?”

            “Beautiful,” the mayor agreed, “each  more beautiful than the last. What Mr. Colombo said was great. The thing with the flower.”

            “Let’s drink to that!” Mr Wintermantel said clearly more relaxed.

            The mayor poured them a drink and said:

            “I really like Miss Marple’s solution. That the sign doesn’t mean anything.”

            This time it was Mr. Wintermantel that agreed and added:

            “But in any case, hope you don’t mind, Mr. Poirot’s solution was the most beautiful.”

            The mayor cried admiringly:

            “It was brilliant. Truly bril-li-ant! And let’s drink to that!”

            The clinked their glasses. Then again, and again, and again, and again.

            By the time evening rolled around, they were both smiling blissfully.

            “End… ended… ending… in the end” Mr. Wintermantel finally managed to correctly say, “it really did make sense to come here, to Slopná.”

            “And let’s drink to that!” the mayor agreed.

            And then both gentlemen hugged each other affectionately.

                                                                                        Translated by Viridiana Carleo