The Life and Loves of Larry Lovehart: Chapter Seven

[littleredman]

Okay here's Chapter Seven, then.

The Life and Loves of Larry Lovehart

Chapter seven: a rather peculiar investigation

“Gather round,” were his first words, as he entered the Guest room, “gather round and we will begin.”

Although I was no expert on the man, Inspector Deaf William McKenzie was renowned across the land for his exceptional Detective skills. Since arriving at the Residence, he had solved many of the most heinous crimes to have been committed.

It was quite a shame he had not investigated my claim that I had blown the Duke’s head off, because he would have surely discovered that I was actually telling the truth all along.

Whilst I did not particularly care if I was arrested for the murder of George Holtby, a well respected member of Residential Society, I was worried it would ruin my public image. Even though Holtby was a disgusting man in my own eyes, some people actually liked him. In fact, a lot of people liked him.

I decided it would be in my best interests to try and get away with this one, and sat down on the Couch close to where I had murdered my last unsuspecting, yet deserving victim.

Inspector Deaf William McKenzie wore a most bizarre hat, with little flaps to keep his ears warm. He wore a long, layered jacket of the same style as his hat, and held a pipe in his mouth that was not lit.

He seemed happy to be an Inspector, dealing with this murder case with the same relish a child would if it were a game in the playground. Although, in my play ground at School I was usually bullied and beaten.

“The wind is in the air, and the water is against the windows,” said the Inspector, as he stood in front of the fire, which was now raging once more, “a perfect setting for a gruesome murder indeed. A terrible murder and no mistake.”

He paused, slowly pacing up and down the room. All eyes were following him intently, with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and a little contempt that he would treat a “terrible murder” with such light-hearted humour.

Finally, he took his pipe from his mouth and exhaled. “Let’s get started,” he sighed, “We must establish a means and the motive. The bloody candlestick by our vomit-inducing friend over in the corner satisfies my own concerns with the possible murder weapon. I’d say it’s a safe bet that our departed friend was indeed beaten with it until he died.”

Someone opened their mouth to say something, but the Inspector merely continued, because he couldn’t hear a thing and the room was too dark to really see clearly. “Now we must establish who in here had good reason to murder the victim. I intend to speak to you all separately in order to remove any possible group conformity that may occur. The last thing we want is for everyone to concur on something they don’t really think is true.”

There followed a brief intermission period as the Inspector jotted down some notes and read back through his previous scrawls. He occasionally paused to look at the ceiling, deep in thought, as well as around the room.
“The first person I would like to speak to,” he said finally, “Is… Theobroma Cacao.”

Theobroma Cacoa was a young man I once went to school with, and was something of a celebrity in the Residence for publishing some of the finest volumes on cosmetics. His beauty regime was well known all through the area.

Taking him into the next room, a small study, the rest of us waited in general silence as the time passed until the next person was called in.

And so it continued for about an hour until it was my time to be interviewed, and it was a most bizarre experience indeed, mainly down to the fact my interviewer was as deaf as a headless corpse. In fact, throughout the interview procedure, I envisioned the Inspector as a victim of my murderous ways several times.

I sat down on the small chair he had placed in the centre of the room. He coughed. “I want you to take this,” he said, handing me a blackboard covered in chalk dust, “and these.”

He handed me a cloth and a piece of chalk, and smiled down at me, with his pipe still sticking out of the side of his head. “I want you to write down the answers to all of my questions,” he said, slightly louder than he really needed to.

“First of all, I want to know how you know the victim, and why you elected to invite him to this party.”

I thought for a moment, and considered whether the fact that I had invited George Holtby into my house would make me a prime suspect or not, before writing ‘he’s popular, I wanted popular guests.’

The Inspector read my message and nodded, coughing as he did so. “Excellent,” he smiled, “most excellent. So you were not really his friend? You had no real contact with him outside of such social gatherings?”

It went on like this for about fifteen minutes. He asked me more questions about George Holtby, what I thought of him, whether I’d spoken to him at the party, if I knew of anyone who would want him dead and if I knew of any reason why one of the other guests would want to hit me as well.

Eventually he stopped asking questions and told me to clean off the blackboard and join the others in the Guest Room. I did so, and sat back in my original seating place.

It was around eleven o clock when all of us had been interviewed by the Inspector and I was most definitely feeling tired. Not only had I killed someone tonight, I had also suffered quite a painful blow to the head. The excitement was almost too much for me!

The Inspector strolled back into the room and smiled at us all. He continued his address to the group as a whole.

“Thank you,” he said, “for doing that. I have interviewed all of you separately and examined the case from all angles. I am now convinced that I have solved this heinous crime.”

I was not the only one who was quite shocked at this statement; several of the other guests gasped in surprise and began muttering to their neighbours.

“I assume that you are all muttering to each other, and I can only guess that it is because you are surprised at my keen detective skills.”

Silence followed, and the Inspector smiled. “The Killer is still in this very room,” he said very carefully, widening his eyes and revealing his true age in the wrinkles that formed around his face, “he is indeed a very odd fellow. A man who would kill without a care in the World, and then muse about it later on…”

I was almost sure he had caught me when he said, “… a man who is so bizarre, that he would kill a man and then actually go so far as to spend the entire evening investigating the murder itself, interrogating men he knows to be innocent and taking notes the whole time.”

Even I looked around the room in confusion. Actually, I was probably the most confused Guest of all considering I actually knew who the real perpetrator was.

“That’s right,” the Inspector grinned, “I am the Killer.”
It wasn’t the first time that evening that the Inspectors words had been followed by silence.

“I concealed myself in the room waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then, when fate and luck struck, I lashed out; grabbing the nearest weapon I could and brutally slaying the fellow. I have no shame in admitting it was a near orgasmic moment, when I slipped out unseen after killing the bastard. In fact, my notes aren’t even real notes! I was just drawing pictures of diseased animals!”

This was when Mark-Allen Worchester made his little announcement. He stood up, and nodded to the Inspector. “Sir, I commend you,” he smiled, and looked around the room at everyone else before returning his gaze to the Inspector, “I hated the son of a bitch, he was a poor maker of benches and a shallow man. I, for one, am glad he is dead,” he finished and sat back in his seat. He looked at his for a moment, and then the second person spoke up.

“I put it forth that the Inspector is a liar,” said Theobroma Cacao, with a determined look about him, “he could not have killed the Bench Maker George Holtby.”

“And why is that?” said Inspector Deaf William McKenzie, looking quite annoyed with the other Guests.

“Because I murdered him,” smiled Theobroma, “I heard there was going to be a storm tonight and I knew it would black out the party, so I came along with the intention of killing him all along. My plan worked perfectly, and I put it to you, Sir,” he shouted, pointing at the Inspector, “I put it to you that YOU are a liar and that I am responsible for the murder.”

Now, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Several things crossed my mind; I considered that it was all a great big joke on my part, maybe I was somehow seen killing George and they just wanted me to make my confess? Maybe George wasn’t even dead? But I knew he was dead, because I bludgeoned the bastard myself and it was delicious.

Within the next confused half hour, several more people had confessed to the murder and had subsequently been congratulated for it. It turns out that absolutely nobody liked George Holtby and everyone was glad he was dead. Now I was in something of a pickle, because I had no reason not to confess. All I feared was unpopularity and the revelation that I was the true murderer would grant me everlasting popularity with these Guests. However, now that more than three-quarters of the people here had already thrown their arms up and confessed to the murder, who would believe I had really done it?

It was a most bizarre and confusing situation, but I decided I should confess anyway, because I certainly did not fear being captured. After all, I was the step-son of the Duke of the Residence. “Alright, listen up you slobs,” I shouted, “this has gone on for far, far too long and it is time the real truth was revealed. I killed George Holtby, because of the comments he made regarding my friend Egmont the Goblin. It wasn’t a planned murder, it was a sudden decision when the storm hit. Everything went black, so I killed the moaning idiot and then hit myself and a random stranger in a little attempt at escaping suspicion. But now I see that the murder is rejoiced, and that it was a good thing to do, I confess. I killed him.”

The Inspector nodded and removed the pipe from his mouth for a second to speak clearly. “Another guilty party, everyone. What you don’t seem to understand is that I’ve already confessed to the murder and, as such, I don’t think I’ll be quite convinced of anyone else’s guilt,” he said.

I gritted my teeth and shouted.

“Why? WHY are you admitting to a crime you didn’t commit? It’s really starting to annoy me, Sir!” I spat, in a false polite tone. “I’m your villain! And I demand to be arrested as such! If you refuse, then… you’ll regret it.”

The Inspector smiled.



I was infuriated. This was the second time this had happened, I had killed someone and no one would believe me. It was getting irritating.

“If you don’t believe I’m a killer, I’ll prove it to you right now!” I shouted, and swung around to face Theobroma Cacao, who shifted back a couple of paces nervously. I nodded to him and reached to my right, grabbing a vase full of roses. I tipped out the contents and shattered the wet porcelain into his face, splintering and ruining his face. Using one of the larger pieces, I dug deep into his head, pulling out fragments of skull and muscle; until I dug so far in he finally died.

By now the remaining guests had started to escape, so I grinned and shouted. The Inspector had begun to light his Pipe as I tore my way through the rest of my esteemed council, ripping out their innards and biting through their faces. I killed them all, even the Vice Duke who had been dealing with my Step-Father’s more political issues in his absence.

In the end, I was completely soaked with the blood of the elite members of Residential Society; I was also covered in bits of brain and skeleton. Some of the brain tasted quite nice, some of it was a little bitter.

The Inspector had taken a seat by the fire and had almost finished his pipe, with a sly little smile on his face. “That was most impressive,” he said, and removed the pipe from his lips, “I kind of guessed it was you, but didn’t want to spoil the fun.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, a little out of breath.
“Well,” he smiled softly, “I’m quite mad myself, you know. I enjoy investigating murders for various reasons, ranging from morbid curiosity to inspiration hunting. I was most impressed by the way you killed that lot, I must say. Bunch of raging bores, that they are.”

“Why did you admit to the murder in the first place?” I asked, genuinely curious. This was a most interesting conversation.

“I wanted to see how the killer would react. I noticed your reaction immediately, but it was quickly hidden. Well done for that! Anyway, I should probably arrest you now.” He sighed, and stood up.

My face dropped. “Why?” I asked.
“Because you’ve just killed ten people,” he said, “ten of the highest ranking members of society.”

“That’s a good point,” I mused, “but something needs to happen. Now. I’ve killed the Duke, I’ve killed the vice-duke and I’ve killed most of the other important people. I must call a town meeting, immediately.”

The Inspector, who had begun to light up yet another smoke, looked pensive, “Well about the Duke…”

I cut him off, and pushed him out of my way. Running out into the rain I went through the channels necessary to arrange an impromptu meeting at the Residence Hall. It was about town I put my final plan into motion.

***

An hour later, at almost one o clock in the morning, the bell had been rung and the entire community wandered sleepily into the Residence Hall. I, meanwhile, was donning the outfit I had been preparing for some time.

Adding the finishing touches to the outfit itself, I turned to Egmont the Goblin, who was looking out of the window. “Do you like it?” I asked, “Do you think they’ll appreciate my efforts?”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” beamed Egmont, and I grabbed him by the hand.

The entirety of the Residence, from whatever was left of the Politicians to the lowest of the low, was gathered when I arrived.

I think they were all a little confused when I arrived; the son of the Duke, taking a Goblin by the hand, wearing his best outfit which consisted of a smart red mansgown, with the rotten skin of the Duke himself wrapped around my neck like some ghoulish scarf.

Letting Egmont stand on my right, and Inspector Deaf William McKenzie stand on my left, I stood my place at the podium.

“Silence, everyone,” I said into the microphone, “I have arranged this meeting for a simple, yet extreme announcement to be made. Tonight I killed ten men. Ten very important men; ranging from Cera Alba, the Vice-Duke, to George Holtby, the bench maker. And, since I have already murdered the Duke (several people laughed here), I have decided it is time for new management.

“As of tonight, I officially declare myself the Duke of the Residence. No one here may challenge my authority to do so, as Son of the Duke I have the power to do as I wish. Are there any questions?”

A young man, one who worked at the Infusion building, stood up with his cap in hand, and said “But everyone knows the Duke is just out hunting.”

He was the first suffer the consequences of questioning my new order.
However, it was in this moment that everything changed. As everyone began flooding out, Inspector Deaf William McKenzie leaned in to me.

“I was trying to tell you earlier, Larry, about your Step-Father the Duke…”
He said seriously.

“What? This old thing round my neck?” I laughed.
Shaking his head, he continued, “The Duke is still alive. I have seen him, in the caves north of the Residence. He is taking leave.”

I was shocked, amused and devastated at the same time. “What are you talking about?” I laughed, “I killed the Duke myself! I shot him in the back of the bloody head with an elephant gun! There could be no mistake!”

“I’m sorry; Sir,” whispered Inspector Deaf William McKenzie, “but you have definitely made a mistake. He is there, with a beard and long hair, but he is there. Musing, I imagine.”

Then something occurred to me, as I flung the rotten skin around my neck onto the floor. “Are you not supposed to be deaf?” I asked the Inspector, “Surely you must have heard everything that has just been discussed? And we’re having a conversation right now, you bastard!”

He laughed. “It’s an act. Something for my own amusement,” he said.

Pulling Egmont the Goblin in close, I ordered him to remove the Inspectors ears, and eyes for good measure. He did so.

As Inspector Blind-Deaf William McKenzie lay screaming in a pool of his own blood, I walked with Egmont back to our Quarters to prepare for the expedition that would, hopefully, disprove any claims that the Duke lived.

[scalem X]

I see that you write a lot and keep writing.

That's good. The disadvantage is that you have not yet developed a great writing style in my opinion. I'm affraid it would make a better movie than a book. But I don't know, I'm just one person and maybe dozens of other people do like the style of writing.

The overall story seems fine,a bit bloody ofcourse. it seems like one of them Japanese horror movies.

[jackokent]

I love the uncluttered style. I'm finding this hilarious.

[littleredman]

Originally Posted by jackokent

I love the uncluttered style. I'm finding this hilarious.

What do you mean by 'uncluttered,' may I ask?

[jackokent]

This is very hard to put into words, in an unclutterd way.

The writing allows me to get an imediate and very vivid image without, it feels, having to read through excessive description or unecessary strings of adjectives. This makes the pace very fast and adds to the fun. Obviously you do describe people / things but with excellent litte snippets of info.

Sometimes word use can be laborious, and sometimes, as with your own style, it just seems to breeze along, taking no effort to read and allows the reader to simply enjoy.

Are you making this all up as you go along or have you written it already and are just posting bits at a time?

[littleredman]

I've written several chapters ahead, but I'm posting as-yet unedited chapters here.

Thanks for your comments.