The Singular Narrative of the Amateur Sleuth

Mystery by: Laurence G. Valladolid

                “Death is a part of the human existence, but the way in which it is executed makes the difference. Did you know, Aunt Luisa, that all of father’s enemies are imbeciles?” Nestor del Rio said.

                Luisa Seguir just frowned upon her nephew.

                Nestor chuckled sardonically. “If they really wanted to take revenge to my father, they shouldn’t have assassinated him that way. They just helped him ease the penitence which has long been bestowed by the realities of this world. They could have had father live like a dead man, the poor paralytic, and let him live up to the last days of his life as an impaired and futile man, or worse. He could choose to end his own sufferings by tearing the life out of himself.” He said, with the emphasis on almost every adjective.

                “I understand, Nestor. That’s normal. Relieve yourself of the strong emotions. Just don’t let your emotions come to life. Avoid violence. It does us no good.” Luisa said.

                “And I envy my father,” Nestor started again, unheeding Luisa’s remark. “for he will not be able to see the bitter realities of this world anymore. But on the contrary, I think, he will envy me for he will not see his dear foes kneel before the very mud in which they had sunk him. They will witness the sea wither, and with their ignorance, they will wake with the color out of their poor faces.”

                Luisa is becoming annoyed. “Look, Nestor. What happened to your father must be taken as bad example. What did you say? You will take revenge on them? You’re beating on the wrong pavement, my boy.” said she, turning her head left and right.

                Silence covered the next several minutes, and then suddenly Nestor broke it with a startling remark.

                “I will take criminology.”

                She was bewildered. “What?! Are you dumb? Yes, I know you are smart and intelligent. No question. But you can’t construct a house with just stones, you get me?” then in an entirely different tone, “You’re father wanted a different life for you. Now I fancy you aren’t smart at all. Think of it, when you are not anymore in the grasp of anger.”

                “He’s not my father. I will decide for my own path to tread.”

                Luisa’s systems stopped suddenly. Good Gracious. He knew it? Since when?

                “I had long known about it. No sense denying it to me.” he stared directly at Luisa’s eyes.

                She gave up. “Who told you?”

                “I told myself. When he showed me the identification card of his wife, I saw that she had blood type A. As we knew, father was also.”

                “What’s with it?”

                “Basing on genetics, a child’s blood type must at least match with one of his parents. I knew I had blood type O.”

An abrupt knock at the door held the conversation afloat.

“Ah, that’s Roger.” said she.

                “No, he’s not.”

                Luisa glared at Nestor for over a second, then walked away to open the door.

                An unknown man appeared into view.

                The man and Luisa chatted for a while, the words of which were inaudible to Nestor. She frowned at the man. Then Nestor thought he heard “Okay,” went out from the mouth of Luisa. Only then did he become satisfied in observing the two, and then turned back to the window to watch the twinkling stars.

                Luisa shut the door, then came back to Nestor.

                “It wasn’t Roger.” she said.

                “I know.” Nestor smiled. “ Nestor smiled. “The door was unlocked, you see, aunt?”

                “What does that have to do with it?” she said impatiently.

                A wider grin from Nestor. “The door was not locked. The owner of the house, I think, would not knock if the door is unlocked.”

                “Ah, yes. I forgot. Well, how did you know it was a man?”

                “Aunt Luisa, I think Uncle Roger badly needs you there. I can imagine he’s rolling down again in the swamp.”

                She seemed contented. “I’ll go, then. If you want to eat, there’s food in there.” And then she departed, swaggering her way out.

                Alone at last, he busied himself strolling through the house, cross-examining almost every obscure corner, as though in search of something. He ended up neither pleased nor disappointed by his results. He knows in himself that he has still a lot to face in the path that he chose to tread, and so constant preparations should be made. Creating strong bricks with the seemingly futile clays, using the trifles which as Sherlock Holmes had said: “The Foundation of his Deductions”.

                He entered the kitchen, a well-furnished one. The source of ventilation being only the two screened apertures located immediately after the ceiling.  There is a non-metal faucet protruding from the field of cream tiles sprinkled with peach, and a water dispenser with one full transparent vessel spare just below it. Another thing caught Nestor’s attention, a glass half-filled with water between the dispenser and the faucet. He picked it up, raising it to the light. After a while of observing he smelled it, and having found nothing interesting, he filled it with water from the faucet, until it spilled. He drank one gulp, and brought it down. For a second he thought, then found another empty glass and filled it with water from the dispenser. As if readying himself, he also drank it with one gulp.

                “At last!” he shouted triumphantly.

                Wasting no time, he took several quick looks around him. He searched every cabinet or opening he saw, but to no avail. Composing himself again, he found bread under a cover in the dining table. Then he picked two loaves, ate them hastily, and ran to the dispenser for water.  He drank furiously, to the extent that the water even spilled from the glass and his mouth. The drops fell silently into the floor, a few seconds passed and the majority of the kitchen floor was sprinkled with water drops.

                 Suddenly again, another knock at the door rattled him out of his ponderings. Wiping his mouth, making himself decent, and he was ready again for another acquaintance. As he walked to the door, he murmured under his breath: “Brilliant, but I am the magnificent.”

                “Good Afternoon, sir.” the man who looked like a sales agent said. “I’m Jaime Martirez from the Creole Philippines Incorporated, manufacturer of…” and the lengthy sales talk began. Nestor just answered nods, shrugs, and remarks of amazement. It took almost a few minutes, minutes which went to waste, he said in his mind. He later said that the true owner of the house had just left, and that he can’t afford the price of the salesman’s product. With a few pleasantries, and the man finally left.

                Nestor locked the door twice. He came back to the kitchen, his sight locked to the sprinkled floor. He smiled. In fact he felt overwhelming joy, and it seemed that he was just suppressing the emotion. It’s his own custom, derived from the very few but essential experiences which has molded him from the benign Tor, to the even gentler but fierce Nestor.

                With a quick search on his own bureau, he found his sole weapon, or taking into consideration the words of his foster father, his sole tangible weapon. He examined it again minutely, but it only took a few seconds. Later he searched again for the load, which he concealed away from his personal belongings. Under his bed, he put his hand to look for it. With one swipe, he caught it with his fingers. To the second bureau, he obtained a pair of hand gloves, and he put it at once. There he loaded his gun, gently and certainly. Spilling it on his thighs or feet would not be a good idea. After which, he knew well he was ready.

Now it’s time to put the nets to work.

He pointed his gun in the general direction in front of him, and with a loud voice, he started the introduction.

“Get out from your little den, my friend, or do you want me to pull you out there wan and cold?” though it sounded more funny than scary.

A few seconds and a man moderately-built, taller and bigger than Nestor went out from a corner behind the refrigerator. He was serious when Nestor saw him, but when the man’s sight swiped on the object which Nestor holds, his great weapon, the man burst out in laughter. He seemed to be in an unstoppable joy, that his laugh reached a high pitch.

“A water gun?” he guffawed. “What is this, lad, a practical joke?” guffawed again. “This is ridiculous! Ha! Ha! Lad, you will be the death of me yet!” But when he attempted to step near Nestor, he was stopped by the mouth of the gun.

“Oops. Wouldn’t be a good idea to move. Unless you do it real slow.” Nestor grinned, putting his forefinger in the trigger.

This time the man had recovered from the joy, and definitely serious now. “I’m not in the mood to play, lad. I have things to attend to.” then he ran towards Nestor, swiftly and smoothly. With startling speed, he almost reached the neck of Nestor. But with a single press at the bottom of the water gun the man just stood there, bathed with tiny droplets of liquid which seemed tiny animals devouring him. The man grunted and shouted curses, foul words, and his skin gradually becoming cloud-white. He can’t even open his eyes a single millimeter, they were also damaged.

“What the hell was that?!” he yelled impatiently.

“How’s the feeling of a solution of hydrochloric acid in your smooth skin, sir?” Nestor giggled joyfully. “Why, sir, why don’t open you eyes? Are you sleepy? Well then, here,” he pulled a handkerchief in his pocket. “Time to sleep,”

Nestor put the cloth to the man’s nose and mouth, and in a few seconds, consciousness ran away like a rat.

*              *              *              * 

                The man was bound on the wrists and in the heels, the former on a tie bar above, and the latter on a thick, circular metal connected to the floor. Nestor sat in a stool clasping his hands, his elbows touching his knees, as though in a serious thought. The man just jerked his head forward, but this was enough to bring Nestor out of his deep ponderings. He stood, and in sotto voce he said something in a foreign language.

                “ ‘Quidquid latet, ad parebit nil inultum remanebit.’  as our national hero Jose Rizal said in his Noli me Tangere. So let us end the pleasantries, and begin at once in discussing a very serious matter at hand. “ Nestor began.

                The man jerked his head sideward, as he can’t still use his sight, it seemed that it has been seriously damaged. “If you will try to extract any information from me, you will fail. Better kill me now, for your work will just be futile.”

                “Well, then I will not, if you want.”  he took a breath.. “Perhaps you are still quite dark on how I laid my nets to outrun you. Or should I say you and your team? Let’s start it this way. First, when I went to the kitchen, I at once saw a half-filled glass of water located between the faucet and the dispenser. By the examination of the lips of the glass I can say that it has not been drank by anyone. Consequently, as I tasted the water, it seemed that it is processed water. Yet I am certain that it did not come from the dispenser which contained processed water.  Isn’t it curious? It could only originate from the faucet, as there is no other source to be found in the premises. And how did it taste like processed water? There I started to venture that something’s been put in the glass. I am also certain that whatever it is its powder in form.”

                The blind man smiled sarcastically, then, “What a pity. I find many loopholes. How did you know that the water did not come from the dispenser? How can you say that the substance is powder in form? You can’t steer a hard-headed jury with that.” he pointed out.

                “Ah, my conjecture became a certainty. Your organization adopts a herd of imbeciles. The whole day I am at the living room. The gush of water from the dispenser must have created a sound to raise suspicion. What could be the reason of putting a substance in the drinking water? The first thing that came into my mind is that something was amiss, taking the situation that the family has plunged into. They had plenty of enemies. Now, assuming that the substance was liquid in form, what is the use of dissolving it in the glass of water, when you can just put it directly into the spare vessel with no inconvenience at all? Therefore that puts us to conclude that the substance was powder, for if you do not dissolve it, it would be evident for the naked eye that a curious substance has been mixed with the drinking water.”

                Silence.

                “To be certain of my ideas, I did another little reconnaissance. I left drops of water in the kitchen floor. In this way, even I didn’t see you roaming in the kitchen, the signs they will leave will tell me if someone is indeed present. I even fancy the sales agent that came by is one of your org member, to divert everyone’s attention for you to accomplish the mission perfectly.

                “With a stroke of luck, I just stood near the brink of death. The substance you put, as it turned out, was only an enhancer of the growth and activity of a certain microorganism in the intestines of the water and food borne disease carriers. The Seguir family has that unlucky inheritance, or punishment if you can say. They carry about them a short but acute waterborne disease, but when it once reached its peak, it is undeniably fatal.”

                Nestor cannot see the eyes of the man, but the slight contortion of the man’s features is more than ample to betray his emotion.

“I was really wondering why you did it that way, when you could have mixed it even before you came to the house.  It seemed as though you were too confident of your plan.. Or is it…what happened to your master plotter?” he turned his back to the blind man, facing the window. “Tell me, did a mutiny take place in you ranks? Or was he assassinated also? I daresay also, for you had done it once. I know. And you know.” he laughed and turned his face to the man’s.

                The blind man wasn’t even moved by the remark, but Nestor waited for a reply, but in vain. All of a sudden, the blind jerked his head forward, accompanying with the shudder of his body. When he walked to the rear of the man, he saw a small syringe needle sticking out of the man’s sides. Nestor turned quickly to almost all directions, and in his face disappointment can be read. He pulled the needle out, and at once he withdrew in his pocket a handkerchief, and picked on the floor a matchbox. He covered the needle with the cloth, and put it inside the box, which in turn he put in his waist pocket.

                The war had just begun.

Laurence G. Valladolid, age 16, contact: chulaurence07@yahoo.com 

Copyright 2008 Laurence G. Valladolid.

Reviews and Comments requested.

Posted 12/07/2008