“Did you hear Mr Hookeye leave his room at any point during the night?”
“I heard him go to bed about midnight, because my clock chimed twelve. I slept soundly through the night, so I have no idea when he got up. If you’re wondering if I might know who would want him dead, I have no idea. My son-in-law relied on him for work with the Professor, so I would find it strange if he had killed him. Mr Hookeye was a rather dislikeable fellow, but to chop his head off is a rather bold statement.”
“What work did he do with your son-in-law?”
“Something to do with corpses for the students at the university; to practise cutting up. People can request their body to be donated for research for medical advancement. My son-in-law has a lot of connections through his previous work as an undertaker.”
“Really. I believe Professor Hummingbird is an expert on anthropology, so why is he involved?”
“You’d better ask him,” Grandpa Applecore replies.
“Can you tell me anything about the Professor?”
“Very little. And I may be blind, but I am not an idiot, Inspector. My son-in-law is a greedy but stupid man. If you are looking to cast your net for the killer, don’t waste your time with the tuna… go and talk to the shark.”
“And why do you consider the Professor involved?”
“Call it a gut instinct.”
“I would very much like to interview the children, perhaps separately, considering the fight yesterday.”
“They are all in their rooms.”
Prunella and Estelle share a large room on the second floor, next to their brother and parents. The girls sit playing with their dolls on the floor. A sandy haired rocking horse sits in the corner of the room. Both girls are stout and possibly twins.
“Young ladies, I am from Scotland Yard and I have come to ask you some questions about Mr Hookeye.”
“Is he really dead?” asks Prunella, excitedly.
“Yes,” I reply.
“How?”
“It appears someone cut off his head.”
Both girls’ eyes light up. “Uuurrggggghhhhhhhhh!” they say together.
“Did either of you see or hear anything strange last night?”
Prunella shakes her head and Estelle speaks. “We both went to bed at ten o’clock and went straight to sleep.”
“Neither of you left your room at any point during the night?”
“No, sir,” says Estelle.
“What did you think of Mr Hookeye?”
“Boring,” replies Prunella.
“Yes, boring,” mimicked Estelle.
“That’s incredibly helpful,” I say, wearily. And I leave them to it. I’m not going to get anything useful from them.
I knock and enter Cornelius’s room. He is sitting on his bed, carving a piece of wood with a little knife, shaping it into the form of a man.
“Hello Cornelius. I am–”
“I know who you are,” he interrupts me, not looking up from his carving.
“I need to–”
“I don’t know who killed Mr Hookeye. I don’t know anything. I don’t care that he’s dead.”
“If you know anything that might assist my investigation, you need to tell me.”
He remains silent, continuing to carve the little wood man. I step closer to him. He stabs the little doll in the head. “Like I said, detective, I don’t know.”
I shut the door and leave him to his voodoo.
A young boy approaches me in the hallway. He is small for his age, with a smooth, round face and nut-coloured hair. He shakes my hand. “Pedrock. Age ten. Mr Grubweed is my Uncle.”
“Nice to meet you Pedrock. My name is Detective Sergeant White. Is there anything you know that could help with our enquiries?”
“Mr Hookeye and Mr Grubweed were arguing last night about the Professor. I heard Uncle say ‘He will drag us both to hell’. Mr Hookeye threatened to have my sister committed to a madhouse.”
“Anything else, Pedrock?”
“Yes, inspector,” and Pedrock looks worried, “yes, there is something. I keep hearing noises at night coming from my sister’s bedroom. She is only six and I hear something talking to her at night. I went in her room, but I found nothing, I am worried that…”
“I understand. And I will look into it for you.”
“Thank you so much, sir.”
Constable Walnut comes up the stairs. “The body has been removed for the physician. No sign of the murder weapon so far, sir.”
“Thank you, Walnut.” I open the door to Boo Boo’s room. She is sitting on the floor, playing with a large axe covered in blood.
“Good God,” I say under my breath. I approach her softly. “Boo Boo, please give me the axe.” And she does, without any problem. I hand it to Constable Walnut who says quietly, “Well that was unexpected.”
She is smiling, the little thing. Black eyes, black hair. There is something unusual about her that reminds me of an insect. But, she is six years old. She does not have the strength to wield an axe, let alone cut a head off. She looks up and me and points to Walnut and laughs.
“Funny face!”
“Yes, he does have a funny face, Boo Boo. I am a police detective. My name is Percival. Can you tell me where you got the axe from?”