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The Mysterious Matter of the Musician’s Murder

John Ragusa

    Trapworth had just showered and gotten dressed when Inspector Heathfield came calling.
    “The Inspector is here,” I informed my boss. I’m Joseph, his butler.
    Trapworth emerged from the bathroom, fit as a fiddle. He’d looked that way when he was a boxer in years gone by. Now we work together to solve cases for Heathfield.
    “There must be a mystery to unravel,” he said.
    Heathfield nodded. “That is indeed the reason I came.”
    We sat down, and Heathfield gave us the background on the case.
    “The deceased is Armie Dodson, a young rock musician. He was shot to death as he practiced playing his guitar in his own home recording studio.”
    “I’ve heard of him,” Trapworth said. “He’s one of the hottest artists in the business today, isn’t he?”
    “He is. He’s also accused his manager, Gus Flatts, of cheating him out of a fortune in royalties.”
    “He was probably going to take legal action against Flatts,” I said. “Doesn’t that give the latter a motive to kill Dodson?”
    “Yes, and Flatts is our prime suspect. But there’s no hard evidence to prove he did it.”
    “Doesn’t ballistics reveal that Flatts’ gun fired the fatal shot?” Trapworth asked.
    “The murder weapon hasn’t been found.”
    “Flatts was wise enough to dispose of it, I presume.”
    “That’s pretty evident,” Heathfield said. “If anyone can solve this case, it’s you and Joseph. Will you do that for me, Trapworth?”
    “We’ll certainly try to,” Trapworth said. “I want to stop at Dodson’s home studio and do some looking around. I might come up with some undiscovered evidence.”
    Off to Dodson’s house we went.

    At the victim’s recording studio, we gave it a thorough search, but we found nothing of evidential value. Then Trapworth pointed at the tape machine.
    “Look at this,” he said. “The red light is on. That means the tape is recording now.”
    “Is it possible that when Dodson was practicing, he was also recording his playing, and that after he was killed, the tape kept rolling and captured something the killer said that can identify him?” I asked.
    “It’s quite likely that’s what happened,” Trapworth admitted. “Let’s rewind the tape and listen to it.”
    Heathfield rewound it and played what was recorded. Dodson performed his song for about five minutes. Then he stopped playing and said, “What do you want?” There was a gunshot. Dodson dropped his guitar and fell to the floor, dead. Then we heard a tapping sound for a few seconds, though the killer said nothing.
    “What was that noise?” Heathfield wondered.
    “I don’t know,” Trapworth said, “but let’s go question Flatts. He might hold the answer.”

    Flatts looked peeved when he answered his door and saw us.
    “You woke me from a sound sleep,” he said. “This better be important, whoever you guys are.”
    Heathfield introduced all of us and stated the reason for our visit. Then he said, “May we come in?”
    Flatts complied, but he didn’t appear too happy about it. When he walked, we heard the same tapping sound that was on the tape.
    “You wouldn’t happen to have a wooden leg, would you, sir?” Trapworth asked him.
    “Yeah, I do,” Flatts said gruffly. “I got it after losing my right leg in a motorcycle accident a few years ago. So what?”
    “So when Dodson was playing music at the time of his death, he was recording it, but the killer didn’t know that. He shot Dodson dead and walked out the studio. On the tape, we heard a tapping, like the kind of sound your wooden leg makes when you walk. Thus, the perp had to be you. You were stealing tons of money that were to be paid to Dodson in royalties. He was going to have you charged with larceny, and you couldn’t let that happen, so you put a bullet in his head. Is that correct, Mr. Flatts?”
    He hung his head. “Yes, it is. I killed Dodson. I couldn’t spend most of my life in jail.”
    Trapworth shook his head. “Now you’ll spend all of your life in jail.”
    Heathfield led Flatts away, reading him his rights.
    “Way to go, Trapworth!” I said. “You’re getting to be a real pro at detection.”
    “Well, I do excel in everything I do,” he said.
    You have to admire a man who shows confidence.

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