Investigators: Mr. Eldon Glass, Ms. Grace Carrington

Byron Hall arrived at Eldon Glass’s office at nine o’clock one cold morning. Eldon’s office was in the heart of the city, furnished by the Detecting Company, and shared with Grace Carrington, Eldon’s apprentice. The three of them gathered in the conference area, sinking into plump armchairs, avoiding the frigid draft around the window. There was a dying flicker of hope in Byron’s eyes. His last ounce of optimism was hanging on this consultation.

Eldon sipped a hot cup of coffee as he reclined in his chair. His shirt and tie were pressed smooth, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. With each sip, Eldon was careful to keep his lip hairs out of the coffee. A pair of round eyeglasses rested on his nose. Through the thin glasses, his shrewd, blue eyes studied Byron. Byron was a tall, thin man in a thick coat, leather bag over his shoulder, nose red and wet from the stinging cold. His eyes were tired.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hall,” said Eldon.

“I’m not sure if you’ll be able to help me,” said Byron. “But I don’t know where else to turn.”

“Elaborate, and I’m sure we can confirm whether or not your journey—from Norwell, if I’m not mistaken—has brought you to the right place,” said Eldon.

“That’s right… how did you know I’m from Norwell?” said Byron.

“We see many clients,” said Eldon. “I’m familiar with the symptoms of a long trek to this office. Your composure and expression are indicative of an early rise and long travels, the fresh spots of snow and mud on your shoes and trousers tell a tale of transit by carriage and foot, and the scent of wood smoke and creases on your clothing from prolonged sitting leads me to believe you traveled via a steam locomotive for at least two hours. Based on the regional train schedule, and the tinge of your accent, I suspect you took the Belmond Express from Norwell.”

“Harrogate Limited,” said Grace. She sat with legs crossed and a notepad and pen in hand. “The Belmond Express transitioned from wood to coal last year—you’re thinking of the Harrogate Limited. Not to mention, the Harrogate Limited stops briefly in the town of Hanrahan, which is surely where Mr. Hall purchased his Hanrahan-distinct pomegranate jelly donut. Note the flecks of powdered sugar and jelly stain on his sleeve, and the subtle, sweet smell of the leftover donut in his bag.”

Eldon ran a finger over his mustache hairs. “Hmm, yes, well spotted. Well, Mr. Hall, was it the Harrogate from Norwell?”

“Uh, yes, that’s right,” said Byron. He brushed a white spot of powdered sugar off of his sleeve.

Grace gave a little nod and a smile. Her light hair was tied back in a bun, and she wore a beige cardigan that she wished was a little warmer. She tapped the pen on the notepad—she had sketched a rough portrait of Byron, but she was having trouble getting the eyes right. Grace had consulted on over one hundred cases with Eldon over the years, and the apprentice-mentor relationship had morphed into a more equal partnership.

“And what is the purpose of your journey?” said Eldon.

“It’s my brother,” said Byron. “My brother is to be hanged in four days for a crime that he did not commit.”

“Not much time to waste,” said Eldon. “Tell us about your brother, and the circumstances of his conviction.”

“Of course,” said Byron. “My brother, Wayman, has always been a gentle, quiet man. Like myself, he lives in Norwell, though he has bounced between prison cells and court rooms for the past six weeks. On the eleventh of December, the start of this affair, one of Wayman’s neighbors was bludgeoned to death in her own home, struck down by some violent lunatic. Her name was Mrs. Phoebe Barnett. The local constabulary arrested Wayman that same night, accusing him of breaking into the Barnett home, murdering Phoebe, and stealing a pearl necklace from her fallen body. This must be some terrible misunderstanding, I thought, and I was hopeful that the courts would see through any confusion and find Wayman innocent, as he claimed he was. I’m certain that Wayman would not lie to me about this! But the prosecution claimed that the killing blow was dealt with Wayman’s cane, his bootprints were found at the scene of the murder, his bloodied clothes, discarded in the woods after they had been soiled, were discovered by Norwell constables, and the pearl necklace was hidden in Wayman’s home. No witnesses could account for Wayman’s movements at the time of the murder. The jury found him guilty, and he was sentenced to death by hanging.” Byron pulled a thick folder of papers and photographs from his leather bag, and passed it to Eldon. “These are copies of all the materials that I could obtain from the investigation and trial. Please, take them, and see if you can make sense of this madness.”

Eldon took the folder and flipped through the documents as he spoke. “I see that he did not provide much of a legal defense.”

“We hired a defense attorney, but he was convinced of Wayman’s guilt from the beginning… he was no help at all,” said Byron. “After the accusations, and his initial confinement, Wayman seemed hopelessly defeated, mentally, emotionally and physically. He wasn’t the only one that was distressed. It was as if a dark fog had come over Norwell. Seymour Barnett, husband of the victim, and the one to find her body, was absolutely devastated. He himself passed away from complications of a lingering illness not long after Phoebe's death. I’m sure the grief did little to help his chronic heart condition. There should be some notes from his physician in there, if that’s of any value. Seymour’s health deteriorated rapidly after the murder.”

“Does Wayman have any enemies?” said Eldon. “Those that would wish ill fortune upon him?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” said Byron.

“We’ll take the day to review these documents,” said Eldon after clarifying a few minor details about the case. He passed the notes over to Grace, perceiving the countless times that Byron must have gone through the pages by the folds and smudges throughout. “Tomorrow, we will travel to Norwell and see what can be done.”

“So, you think there is a chance?” said Byron. “You think that my brother may be exonerated?”

“I cannot say without more time to digest this information,” said Eldon. “And I wish to speak directly with the accusers and the accused before casting judgment.”

“Have you ever seen an appeal granted for a case with such an unambiguous verdict?” said Byron.

“Depends on the judge,” said Eldon. “Depends on the legitimacy of the jury. Depends on the methods used by the Norwell constabulary. We’ll examine every avenue, rest assured.”

After Byron had departed, Eldon and Grace studied each document, every testimony and photograph. Eldon poured himself another cup of coffee, and sat back in quiet reflection. Grace took down notes and constructed a timeline of events.

Seymour Barnett had discovered Phoebe’s body in the kitchen of their Norwell home at seven o’clock in the evening on December eleventh. Phoebe had been home alone all day, while Seymour’s coworkers attested that he was at his office across town. Phoebe had been slain by eight blows with a cane, and had likely been taken by surprise judging by the locations of the wounds, most delivered from her blind spot, and the absence of any signs of a struggle leading up to her death. Her wristwatch had been struck and broken in the flurry of swings, rendering it stopped at thirteen minutes past five o'clock . Bruising on the neck was indicative of someone yanking her pearl necklace away postmortem. There was a trail of bloody bootprints exiting the house.

Seymour ran to the constabulary station, arriving in a state of shock at half past seven. Constables found that a back window of the Barnett home had been forced and left open, and the killer had left marks on the sill upon intruding. Searching the nearby woods, constables discovered a bundle of bloody clothing, boots and the cane, hidden under a pile of frozen leaves. These bloodstained artifacts were identified as belonging to Wayman Hall.

Constables entered Wayman’s home at a quarter after ten o’clock, but Wayman had been working his shift at the factory, which had started at half past six o’clock. Constables discovered the bloody pearl necklace stashed above the cabinet in Wayman’s bedroom. He was arrested at the factory at eleven o’clock.

Grace turned the events over in her mind. It seemed that the only way Wayman was innocent was if someone else was working hard to incriminate him.