I was woken far too early the next morning, still half dazed by sleep
and slowly realising that the telephone was ringing, its shrill voice
shattering the grey peace of the pre-dawn hours.

I got out of bed and made it down the stairs in time to grab the
receiver. “Yes? Sullivan here.” There was no doubt but that it
would be bad news – some sudden illness, most likely.

“Sullivan?” barked a voice at the other end of the line. I couldn’t
quite place it yet, although I knew it was familiar. “We need you out
here as soon as possible – I’m sending a car. It’ll be with you
shortly, so be ready.”

I was left with the phone in my hand, slowly realising that it had
been Inspector Mackenzie. Knowing how impatient he was, I got dressed
as speedily as I could, grabbed my bag and coat and was ready just as
the car pulled up the drive.

I was right. This was serious.

*

A few minutes later, I was with the Inspector himself, crouching over
the dead body of Polly Wright.

*

The Inspector led me up the hill and then down into the copse of trees
by the mill cottage and on to the spot where she was lying, near to
the stream, her face mottled and her eyes bulging. It didn’t take too
detailed an examination to confirm that she had been strangled.

I was feeling sick about the whole thing. The poor girl had come to
me and warned me that this might happened. It seemed obvious now that
I could at the very least have given her the train fare out of here.

“Well?” prompted the inspector.

I turned. “She’s dead, sir.”

He looked back at me. “I can see that much for myself, Sullivan. I
was hoping you’d fill in some of the fiddly details.”

“Oh,” I said, “yes, of course, sir. It’s a bit of a shock. I’m
sorry. She seems to have been strangled – some sort of thin cord –
you can see the marks quite clearly here.” I pointed to the tell-tale
marks around her neck.

He nodded, pulling out his notebook and pencil. I couldn’t help
feeling that there was something a little bit old-fashioned about our
inspector. “And time of death?”

“She can’t have been here more than a few hours – I’d estimate three.”

He wrote that down, muttering, “Three hours,” under his breath.
“Right. That gives us time of death at about -.”

“Midnight,” I said for him as I worked it out. “A murderer with a
sense of timing, eh?”

He wrote that down. “And there’s no sign of the murder weapon.”

“No,” I agreed, glancing around instinctively at his words. I thought
about our conversation again. “I should say, Inspector, that this
poor girl came and told me she thought this might happen.”

He paused, his pencil hovering above the narrow notepad. “She did,
did she? And did she suspect anyone?”

“No, not specifically – well, me, actually, but of course -.”

Inspector Mackenzie frowned. “Dr Sullivan, you haven’t been drinking,
have you?”

“No,” I said, insulted and then explained the whole thing to him.

*

I went back home afterwards, intending to catch a couple of hours
sleep before the day began in earnest, but all I landed was a
nightmare or two.

I got up and set about trying to make myself some breakfast, which
rattled Mrs Hudson when she arrived. She went on about horrible
murders and men in the kitchen for the rest of the morning, in between
telling me I looked a sight. I thought wistfully about getting a new
housekeeper.

I still had some calls to make, so I set off as usual, the episode in
the night feeling unreal by now, but it clearly wasn’t as no one I met
wanted to talk about anything else. I have to admit that most people
seemed to vaguely feel that it must have been Polly’s fault. Her dead
face in my mind and the guilt still trailing me, I felt tempted to hit
the next person who hinted as much.

*

As it turned out, the next person to corner me was Miss Smith. She
was leaving the village shop and crossed over to me.

“So,” she said, “I hear there’s been a murder and you know all about
it.”

I paused. “Who told you that?”

“Miss Rumford, Miss Marple, Miss Smythe, Mrs Magister,” she said with
a smile, “and then your Mrs Hudson was in the Chancellors’ shop. You
did say that news travels fast here.”

“I’m afraid I do have some visits to make, Miss Smith.” I tried to
look stern, but it failed (as usual) since she wasn’t noticeably
daunted.

“Yes, but I was thinking that, since I’m on the spot, you could help
me write something up.”

I couldn’t help but be disturbed by the idea. “Miss Smith, some poor
girl has been murdered and you want to let the papers know?”

“So it was a girl,” she said, taking notes, rather like Inspector
Mackenzie. “And, yes. That’s what I do, Dr Sullivan. Besides,
someone will come down and put it all in the papers anyway. If you
let me know the details, I promise not to write the sort of scandal-
mongering thing you’re so worried about.” Then she smiled at me
brightly.

I supposed it made sense, but I hesitated.

“Who knows?” she said. “Maybe we can solve the mystery?”

I gave in. “It was Polly Wright,” I informed her, “as I expect you
already know. But there’s nothing exciting about it. It’s all pretty
dreadful. She came to see me weeks ago and told me that she was
afraid she might be strangled and now she has been.”

“Really?”

I was feeling downright miserable about it all – the sight of Polly’s
staring dead eyes, the fact that there must be some lunatic loose
about the village and the guilt of wishing I’d done something when I
had the chance. “Yes. The whole thing sounded unlikely to me.”

“What did she say?”

I told her what Polly had said about this being a murder mystery story
and the nonsense about me being the narrator and all the rest of it.

She looked thoughtful. It suited her just as well as smiling, I
noted. Not actually, of course. I didn’t have a pen handy and
anyway, it would have been a pretty odd thing to do.

“Well,” she decided, “I’m in the right place – I’m going to carry on
with Professor Smith’s interview.”

I smiled then. “In that case, I may as well walk along with you, Miss
Smith. He’s decided that he does want to see me today.”

*

The professor was in a crotchety sort of mood this morning. I thought
that was perfectly understandable, given what had happened to his
young secretary. However, it turned out that Smith’s pity was all for
himself.

“It’s very inconvenient,” he said, as Sarah sat herself down and I
placed my bag on the small table and opened it up. “I shall have to
find a new secretary now. Young people these days, never thinking of
their elders and betters before they go out gallivanting and getting
themselves murdered.”

I was thinking to myself that if Polly had killed the old boy it
wouldn’t have been half so surprising. “I say,” I put in, “I hardly
think that’s fair.”

Both of them ignored me.

“Can you think of anyone who would have had a reason to kill her?”
Miss Smith asked (Sarah Jane, as I’d learned half way up the hill
towards Mill Cottage).

He narrowed his gaze and said, “I thought you were here to talk about
my work, young lady – not scandal and tittle-tattle.”

“Of course,” she returned demurely. “But I thought you might have
some idea – you knew her well, you’re clearly observant and I’d guess
that you’re a good judge of character.”

I was beginning to realise that she was a pretty determined sort of
girl and an adept at getting her own way.

Professor Smith waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it was probably one
of those young fellows of hers – I’m afraid she was a flighty young
thing.”

“Oh?”

He tapped his stick with impatience. “Now, where were we? I believe
I’d reached the turning point in my work with the institute.” He
glanced up at me. “What are you doing, hovering around like that?”

“You said your back was troubling you,” I reminded him. “You sent for
me.”

He glared. “Nonsense. Really, I’m going to change practice if you
keep up this sort of thing. There’s nothing wrong with my back and I
don’t want you littering up my study with your medical whatnots.”

“I’ll be on my way, then,” I said, maintaining a cheerful tone as I
replaced the thermometer I’d accidentally left out beside the bag.
“Miss Smith.”

She nodded distractedly, her attention on Professor Smith. As
yesterday, I was in the way, so I removed myself. This time there was
no Polly to show me out of the door and give me a sympathetic grimace
at the old man’s unreasonable behaviour. There never would be again.

I didn’t take his threat to change practices too seriously. It would
be nice if he did, but the only other doctor around here is Dr Solon
and he’s a little too eccentric for most people’s tastes, and, besides
which, a lot of them insist there’s something foreign about him,
although I don’t think it’s true. Miss Maren thinks he’s the devil,
but that’s Miss Maren for you.

*

Inspector Mackenzie was waiting for me at the bottom of the hill,
despite the drizzle.

“Sullivan,” he greeted me. “Have you got a minute or two? I could
use your help.”

“Of course,” I said.

He coughed. “Turns out that the girl’s fiancé, Mr Jackson, arrived
yesterday evening and is putting up and the Bell and Boat. Maybe you
could come and break the news to him? You’re used to that sort thing,
I imagine.”

I nodded, although I didn’t like to remind him that I’d only been in
practice a couple of years and you could hardly say that people had
been dropping like flies since. And a good thing, too – as I said to
Polly when she came to see me, that sort of thing doesn’t do a doctor
any favours. However, I’d be better than Inspector Mackenzie. He’s
said to be good at his job, but he’s not exactly tactful.

“Good,” he said, marching off ahead of me. “And then I shall arrest
him!”

“What?”

“It’s always the husband or wife,” he explained, “or the boyfriend or
what have you. Saves a lot of trouble if we get on and arrest him
now.”

I paused, wondering if I could believe my ears. “Don’t you need
proof, that sort of thing?”

“Oh, we’ll find it,” he barked. “The girl’s dead, Dr Sullivan. Isn’t
that proof enough?”

*

I can’t say that I was happy about this arrangement, but I followed
him along to the Bell & Boat. What made it worse was that, when we
arrived, and the landlady fetched him for us, it turned out that he
was a naval man.

Ben Jackson came across to meet us eagerly. “What’s this about? Has
something happened to Polly? People keep saying things, but I didn’t
want to believe it.”

I felt sorry for the poor chap. “I’m afraid it’s true, old thing.
There’s no easy way to say this – she was found dead on the hillside
last night.”

“Strangled,” put in the Inspector abruptly. “Nasty bit of work.”

He sat slowly on the chair in front of us, taking a while to let that
sink in. “No,” he said eventually. “It can’t be. Who’d do that to
Pol?”

I interrupted here because the Inspector seemed to be about to swoop
in and follow that piece of bad news up with an accusation and
arrest. “That’s a good point. Did she have any enemies, Mr Jackson?”

“Call me Ben,” he said and then shook his head. “No, not what you’d
call enemies. I mean, there’s the odd Dalek and Cyberman, but you’d
know right off if one of them had done her in.”

Inspector Mackenzie reached for his notebook again and coughed, pencil
at the ready. “And what about you, Mr Jackson? Where were you
between 11 and 1 o’clock last night?”

“Where d’you think?” he returned. “I was here, asleep in bed. I’d
had a long journey and Pol said the professor had a load of work on,
so she’d see me in the morning. Wasn’t much else to do.”

The police inspector scribbled something down on the pad. Sitting
next to him, I couldn’t help but notice that it looked suspiciously
like a grocery list. “And can anyone verify that, sir?”

Ben paused and looked back at Mackenzie in disbelief. Then he turned
to me. “Is he saying I did it?”

“It’s his job to ask,” I said apologetically.

He leaned back in his chair and glared at both of us. “Well, I
didn’t. And yeah, I was here, by myself. I told you, Pol said she
couldn’t come down this evening. I suppose you could ask the landlady
or the other guests if they saw me leave, but I can’t give you more
than that. You ought to be out there, chasing the murderer, not
pestering me.”

“And do you know anything about this other fellow of hers?” continued
the inspector relentlessly. I winced. People have been known to
comment on my lack of tact sometimes, but compared to the detective I
was nothing.

Ben stared at him. “What?”

“Several of the women around the village seem to think -.”

He clenched his fists. “You’ve got no call to be sitting there,
saying things like that about Polly. I don’t care what a load of old
gossips say. It’s not true.”

I had a try at peacemaking. “Some other fellow could have been
bothering her, though. Maybe that’s who killed her.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, “but I don’t know anything about it. Like
I said, I only got in last night and she never said anything about
some bloke giving her trouble.”

I patted his shoulder as the inspector and I got up to leave and he
propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands,
looking glum.

“Let’s go, sir,” I said to the inspector in an undertone. “It’s clear
he didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He looked at me and shook his head slowly. “It’s as well you’re not
in the force, young Sullivan.”

*

My walk back along the road towards my practice coincided with Sarah’s
return from Mill Cottage.

“Miss Smith,” I greeted her. “Did you have any luck with the
professor?”

She smiled back at me. “Not about the murder, but I have got nearly
all I need for my other article.”

“I’ve seen Inspector Mackenzie,” I returned. “He seems rather
determined to arrest Polly’s fiance, Ben Jackson, and I don’t believe
he’s the one behind this.”

She tapped my arm. “So you see, Dr Sullivan, it really is up to us to
solve the mystery. We can’t have the wrong man getting arrested and
hanged. Now, what shall we do next?”

“Well,” I said, “I need to pay a call on Miss Marple. Why don’t you
come with me?”

“I hardly think that’ll help,” she said, giving me a puzzled look.

I tried to explain. “Oh, but Miss Marple’s a whizz when it comes to
solving mysteries. You know, when Miss Smythe had lost a valuable
brooch, she’d quite given it up and then Miss Marple worked out the
whole thing – it was almost uncanny.”

I stopped, because she was giving me that vaguely pitying look again.
“Well, you go visit your little old lady, Dr Sullivan – I think I’ll
see if Ben Jackson will talk to me.”

“Be careful,” I said, not quite liking the idea. I was as sure as I
could be that the chap wasn’t the murderer, but after all, who was I
to set myself up against Mackenzie? Maybe I was wrong and he *was*
the killer. Miss Smith shouldn’t go putting herself in danger.

She laughed at my concern. “Dr Sullivan, I’m perfectly capable of
looking after myself. I promise I won’t go down any dark alleyways
with him. Now, how about we meet up afterwards and compare notes –
what do you say to 3.30 at the tea shop?”

I was horrified. “The tea shop? Miss Smith, you don’t know what that
place is like!”

She rewarded me with yet another amused look. “Yes, I do. I went
there yesterday. They do very good cakes.”

“That woman who runs it,” I said, lowering my voice, “she’s enough to
put anyone off their cream buns, and the waitresses are a pair of
gorgons. I avoid the place like the plague.”

She sighed. “There really isn’t anywhere else, Dr Sullivan.”

“If you must,” I said, “but I warn you, if we meet up in there, it’ll
be all over the village that we’re seeing each other. Probably be
engaged by Saturday and married off before the month is out.”

Sarah shook her head and smiled at me. “In the first case, Dr
Sullivan, I’ll protect you, and in the second, well, I promise to jilt
you nicely!”

With that, she left me and headed off back to the Bell and Boat, still
laughing to herself at my provincial peculiarities. I sighed.