Arthur burst into the small flat with all the grace of a bull in a China shop. Sat on the bed was a young woman of about 20 with a small gun in her hand which she was casually waving around. The woman looked at Arthur dressed in his velvet jacket, paisley shirt and cravat, he certainly knew how to dress that was for sure.
“You heard that then?” She asked innocently.
“You could say that,” he answered. “Tell me, why are you here? This has been only just cleared as a crime scene, are you sort of ghoul?”
“No! I am trying to work out how Carla shot herself,” the woman answered.
“I would have thought by pointing the gun at herself and pulling the trigger,” replied Arthur.
“Well… You heard that shot.”
“This room is as stuffy as hell, so let’s assume she had the window open,” she began. “There were several people in the beer garden so how come none of them heard anything?”
“There was a band playing that evening you know-”
“Yes but we- they didn’t start until nine. The description of the body suggests she died much earlier in the evening.”
“I see it is a famous question then,” answered Arthur.
“What do you mean?” Queried the woman.
“In all of history, has anyone commited suicide by gun with a silencer?” Asked Arthur. “If you were being discreet you’d take a much quieter option.”
“What are you saying?” Asked the woman.
“What you have guessed, Carla was murdered.” He stated grimly. Arthur then lightened up in body language. “Arthur Fransure, pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sort of a policeman.”
“Betty Stevens, Singer and Pianist. I also read way too many Nancy Drew books as a child.”