The Perfect Crime

A Vince Grayson Adventure 

By Dixon Kinqade

A dense shroud of rain hammered the city. The streetlamps glowed eerily through a gray and misty haze. The faint murmur of traffic seemed distant, hushed, and mysterious.

Relentless waves of rain pounded the asphalt and rapidly filled the gutters. This heavy downpour made even walking hazardous. Moving quickly through the night, I rushed toward the Daily Gazette building. Typically crowded streets were now deserted. Only a fool would venture walking in the cold November rain.

Even ducks were smart enough to fly south before winter fell upon the Midwest. But me? I was an idiot. Choosing an easy profession would have been wise, but I screwed up. I chose to be a writer. Now I was paying for it, walking in the rain, beating my brains out, and searching for an idea.

Why? Because I had a deadline. We mustn't forget that ever-loving deadline. What a way to make a living. I could've kept that job as a news-hound for The Dixon Telegraph and enjoyed those nice little assignments, like reporting political speeches or covering a new manhole opening. But oh, no. Not me. I had to write mystery novels. I had to do things the hard way.

It must have been a rather comical sight. Me, standing at the want-ad counter in the newspaper office, while rain dripped from my hat, trickled down my trench coat, and pooled around my shoes.

"Hey, Jeannie. Anything for box sixteen?"

"Hi there, Vince. There's only one message for you. Here you are."

"Thanks."

Reaching inside that rain-soaked trench coat, I tucked the envelope into the front pocket of my trousers.

"Say, aren't you gonna open it?"

"Sorry. Not here, Jeannie bean."

"You know, everyone here at the paper is awful curious about that ad you're running."

"Are they?"

"You've been running it for months. Why don't you change it?"

"It's been a while since I read it last and I've forgotten the wording. How's it go?"

She tossed a copy of that day's paper on the counter. It was folded back to the section listing classified ads. She pointed and I leaned forward to read the notice.

---

ADVENTURE WANTED

Will go anyplace! Do anything!

Box 16 c/o The Daily Gazette

---

"Well, how 'bout that? Sorry, honey, but I still like it."

"You'll do better finding adventure if you run a photograph with that ad. You're a good-looking guy and?"

"Oh, no. That's not the type of adventure I'm seeking."

"You sure? I bet lots of girls?"

"No thanks, sweetheart. Just keep running it as is."

"So, you gonna tell me what it's all about, Vince?

"Same old question, same old answer? No."

I wasn't going to explain it to her or anyone else at the Gazette. If anyone knew why I truly placed that ad, they'd think I lost my marbles. Well, maybe I had.

There was no time to think about that now. I had to keep moving. Sam was expecting me and I was running late.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Upon entering the diner, I spotted Sam immediately. He was sitting at a table near the back and reading my latest manuscript. He hadn't noticed my arrival.

"What's up, Sam?"

He greeted me without even bothering to look up.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite mystery novelist, Vince Grayson."

He set the manuscript down and turned to me with a smile. When his gaze fell on my sorry condition, a hearty chuckle ensued.

"I swear, Vince. You are quite literally a walking cliché! Take off that silly trench coat and fedora. You're dripping all over the place."

"Yeah, it's good to see you too."

"Sorry, Vince. I simply can't get over the best-selling author of detective yarns running around, dressed up like the proverbial P.I. of yesteryear. Only in corn country, Illinois, could you get away with that, never in New York."

"Maybe that's why I don't live in New York."

"I rather wish you did. It would be more convenient for me. It's a long trip out here, Vince. Anyway, I took the liberty of ordering your coffee. So sit down and enjoy it. We have some business to discuss."

"I assumed that or you wouldn't be here. What's it all about?"

"You know that I love your work, Vince."

"But?"

"I read this again last night."

Sam held up a copy of Black Diamonds. That book had made the New York Times Best Seller List. I'd written at least eight books since then and each had sold well, but none had made the list.

"This has an edge and that's something your new stuff just doesn't have. I'm not going to lie to you, Vince. The publishing house is concerned. You need a best seller and you need one soon."

"I'm just going through a dry spell. Seriously, Sam, how long has it been? Two years?"

"Four."

"Alright, four. It's no big deal. These things happen to writers."

"Four years, Vince? You think that's no big deal? Back in the day, you were the hottest writer on the market. You were the 'rock star' of authors. Now you're dangerously close to becoming a 'has-been'. From there, it's a slippery slope to obscurity."

"Look, Sam, I'm researching all the time. I just can't come up with any

new crimes."

"Here's an idea. Get married again. You'll think of crimes you never knew existed."

"Getting involved with a woman is the last thing I need."

"Vince, you haven't been with a woman since?"

He paused a moment and concentrated. I folded my arms, raised an eyebrow, and waited for the inevitable.

"That nineteen-year-old exotic dancer you were fooling around with. What was her name? Candy?"

"Her name was Brandy and?"

"Forget about her, Vince. She was nothing but trouble and you know it."

Sam turned his head and nodded.

"That's what you need."

I followed his gaze only to find a waitress bent at the waist and busy arranging plates on a low shelf. She was pretty and just my type. She certainly had an attractive figure, but I wasn't interested.

"What I need is a story."

"So sleep with her and take notes."

Sam called the waitress.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Then he motioned for her to come closer. As she approached our table, Sam leaned toward me.

"Go for it."

I stared at him incredulously and petulantly.

"Go on."

The waitress stood beside the table with an expectant expression and a smile.

"Hello, my name's Vince and I wrote this."

I reached across the table, grabbed Sam's copy of Black Diamonds, and held it up for her to see.

"Hello, my name is Kathy and I wrote this."

She placed their bill on the table, smiled politely, then turned and sashayed away. Sam stared dumbly at me and shook his head in exasperation.

"My god! You're pathetic. No wonder you aren't getting any action. I thought you were a professional writer. Aren't you supposed to be creative and clever?"

"Like I said, I'm going through a dry spell."

⚜️⚜️⚜️

After returning home, I removed my hat and coat. I hung them by the door and shoved my hands in my pockets. I felt the sharp edge of an envelope. Then I remembered that message from box sixteen. I'd forgotten all about it.

Northern Illinois University

1425 West Lincoln Highway, DeKalb, IL. 60115

My dear Mr. Grayson,

I do not address you as Box 16, because I've managed to uncover your identity. Having read your advertisement, I was intrigued. It required a bit of investigation and a little financial coaxing, but I managed to establish the connection between your name and this box number.

I recognized the name at once. A few years back, you conducted a guest lecture about creative mystery writing at Northern Illinois University. I am a criminology professor there and attended that lecture.

In the course of discussion, you addressed the eternal challenge of inventing the perfect crime. Given that subject is my area of expertise, I took it upon myself as a personal challenge to do just that. I now believe that I have something of enormous importance to both of us.

As an author of mystery stories, it may interest you to know that I have constructed the perfect crime and I'm going to commit it! Won't you be my audience? If it pleases you, come to my office at the university.

Sincerely,

Dr. Jim Dobbs, PhD.

Dept. of Sociology

At first, I wasn't sure whether the letter was on the level or not. I decided it was best to investigate the good doctor before reaching any conclusion. If Dobbs was the man he claimed to be, a meeting with him just might prove to be the inspiration I needed.

I walked swiftly to my office and switched on the laptop. A few seconds later, I was searching NIU's website for information on Jim Dobbs. Sure enough, it listed Dr. James H. Dobbs, PhD. Professor of Criminology, Department of Sociology, Northern Illinois University.

A subsequent internet search returned a website that was a veritable who's who in American education. Dr. Jim Dobbs received his first Philosophical Doctorate from Yale University. He possessed degrees in criminology and abnormal psychology. He'd authored over fifteen volumes on crime and the criminal mind.

It appeared that Dr. Dobbs was quite a personage. I decided to take his letter seriously.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

When I arrived, Dobbs was waiting in his office. He was a pleasant and harmless-looking man of about sixty-five. He smiled shyly and greeted me.

"Mr. Grayson, I'm so glad you came. How long can you stay?"

"All evening. My time is yours, Professor."

"Wonderful! After reading that letter, you probably think I'm a little crazy.

Don't you?"

"Aren't we all?"

Dobbs chuckled slightly.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Glancing around the room, I noticed the walls were completely lined with bookshelves. Those shelves were filled with all manner of literature relating to the fields of crime and criminal psychology. Then I spied a rather curious series of works.

"Do you like mysteries, Dr. Dobbs?"

"If they're well written."

"You must think I'm a swell writer. You have the entire Dick Harden series. Have you read them all?"

"All of them, yes."

"Tell me, Dr. Dobbs. As a professional criminologist, what do you think of them?"

"What I think is irrelevant. Your books are very popular."

"Why do you suppose that is, Professor?"

"Why do you like writing them?"

"They're fluff, but they're fun. The entire point of any story is to entertain and amuse. That's what the art of storytelling is all about. Anything above and beyond that is academic, but you didn't invite me here to discuss my work."

"Actually, Mr. Grayson, in a way I did. Tell me, in your professional opinion, what is a perfect crime?"

"One that isn't solved."

"Yes, yes, of course. However, nine times out of ten, such crimes aren't planned. What I propose is premeditated murder, perfectly executed, perfectly concealed."

"Dr. Dobbs, you're a great man in your field. Therefore, you should know that nobody ever gets away with it."

"And why not?"

"There's always a clue, some minute trace evidence that inevitably points to the murderer."

"True, but suppose there were no clues, none at all."

"You're ignoring one significant factor."

"And that is?"

"The body. It's difficult to dispose of a body. Dr. Hawley Crippen was executed because police allegedly found dismembered remains of his wife's body in the basement."

"Suppose a body could be destroyed altogether."

"Well, that's never been done. With today's scientifically advanced crime labs, even a microscopic clue is enough to convince a jury. Juries are big on DNA evidence these days."

"Yes, that's very true. Nevertheless, suppose the victim's body was never found."

"Sooner or later, the remains are always found."

"Granted, but suppose they were not."

"There wouldn't be enough evidence to support allegations of murder. No body, no evidence, no crime."

"My point exactly."

"Okay, let's back up a minute. First, you have to find a victim. One who isn't even remotely connected with you. Then you actually have to kill that person."

"Yes, go on."

"Having found a victim and killed him, then you must dispose of the body altogether."

"Those are the conditions, yes."

"After fulfilling those conditions, you must escape detection and subsequent punishment."

"So you agree that under those conditions the perfect murder would have been committed."

"Not quite. There's one more condition."

"What might that be?"

"The problem with your little scenario is motive. Why choose a victim that has no connection to you? Murder, premeditated or not, is always a crime of passion. Even serial killers are driven by passion. There simply must be a motive. Without motive, there is no story. I'm sorry, Professor, but it's a classic catch-22 situation."

"Suppose I told you, I can do it. I can select a victim to whom I have no connection, kill him, and dispose of the body. Then escape detection and punishment. I am going to do all of this and provide motive as well."

"You're asking me to believe the impossible. First, you're a well-known man. It's hardly likely, you'll risk everything you've worked for simply to satisfy an insane whim."

"Continue."

"Secondly, I don't believe you're serious."

"But I am, Mr. Grayson. You see, I'm rather tired. I've spent a lifetime with books, study, and students. Even my name is prosaic, Jim Dobbs. I've become a crusty old bachelor and now I desire excitement. "

"Professor Dobbs, I'm still not convinced that you're serious. Maybe you're kidding me for some reason that I haven't been able to see or even guess. No, I refuse to believe you."

Dobbs laughed heartily and with childlike glee.

"What are you laughing at?"

"At what you said."

"I don't understand."

"You refuse to believe me."

"Why is that amusing?"

"You see, Mr. Grayson, that's part of my plan and only fortifies my determination. I'm certain that I can and will execute the perfect murder."

I stayed with Dobbs until three in the morning and we talked. He had a marvelous knowledge of crime and I left with great appreciation of his intellect. Nevertheless, I was reluctant to believe that he was unbalanced enough to actually kill anyone.

Three days passed and I'd heard nothing from him. I was pacing about my office, drinking coffee by the cupful, and searching for inspiration.

That's when my cell phone rang. It was Dr. Dobbs.

"You remember our conversation the other night?"

"I certainly do. Why?"

"Would you care to witness the start of my plan?"

"Sorry, but I refuse to take you seriously, Professor."

"That's perfect. Would you happen to be free today?"

"Why?"

"I wish you to accompany me to Chicago."

"What's in Chicago?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Will you go with me?"

⚜️⚜️⚜️

I met Dr. Dobbs at his office. He preferred that we take his car. With the current price of gasoline, I wasn't about to argue. I offered to drive, but he insisted that as his guest I should sit back and enjoy the ride. Again, I wasn't going to argue.

"Do you like Chicago, Mr. Grayson?"

"It's a great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there."

"Why is that?"

"I have nothing against Chi-Town itself. I simply wouldn't enjoy living in

any large city."

"I agree completely. Personally, I much prefer a rural environment."

"Will you tell me now, Professor, why we're going to the windy city?"

"Here, read this."

---

MURDER STILL STUMPS POLICE

Authorities are at a loss for clues in the Rick Hanlen murder investigation. All leads have come to dead ends.

---

"Why do you want me to read this, Professor?"

"Because I am going to confess to that crime."

"You're what?"

"I'm going to confess that I killed Rick Hanlen."

"Oh, I don't believe that."

"Shortly, we'll arrive at the Cook County Sheriff's Department. Then you'll see."

"But you couldn't have killed this fellow."

"Oh yes, I could have. He was killed the day before yesterday. That was Sunday. It's only an hour from DeKalb to Chicago, depending on traffic. Additionally, Rick Hanlen is a complete stranger."

"And being a stranger satisfies the first condition of the victim. That he should not be even remotely connected to you."

"Exactly!"

⚜️⚜️⚜️

"Okay, let me get this straight, Dr. Dobbs. You claim to have murdered Rick Hanlen?"

"Yes, that is correct. I killed him, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant turned his attention to me.

"And your name is Vince Grayson?"

I nodded in affirmation.

Satisfied with that response, he continued to question the Professor.

"Well, Dr. Dobbs, we ran a background check since you walked in here an hour ago. We've got quite a bit on you. Your profession as a criminologist was of particular interest. With that said, explain to me how you killed Mr. Hanlen?"

"Simple! I shot him."

"And what kind of a gun did you use?"

"A thirty-eight caliber."

"That was in the newspaper."

"I know."

"Umm, Mr. Grayson, what do you know about this?"

"Nothing. Except that Dr. Dobbs asked me to come here with him."

"Oh, I see. Well, you can both go home."

Dobbs was obviously pleased and grinned mirthfully.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. It isn't often that a murderer is sent home scot-free."

Obviously, I was missing something. This just wasn't making any sense. My curiosity had gotten the better of me and I interrupted.

"Why are you letting him go, Lieutenant?"

"Rick Hanlen was killed with a thirty-eight, but two hours ago we apprehended the actual perpetrator. He had the murder weapon in his possession.

Preliminary ballistic tests have confirmed that."

Dobbs grinned cheerfully.

"Then I'm free to go?"

"As fast as you can get out the door."

"Come along, Mr. Grayson. I'm afraid the Lieutenant has his killer and it doesn't seem to be me. So, we'll go back home."

"And then?"

"I'll be in touch with you."

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Two days passed without any interruption to my routine. I was still pacing about my office, drinking coffee by the cupful, and racking my brain for inspiration when my cell phone rang. Again, it was Dr. Dobbs.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Grayson, this is Dr. Dobbs."

"Oh, you."

"You don't seem pleased to hear from me."

"Where are we going this time?"

"So you've guessed, eh?"

"Guessed what?"

"That I'm going to Philadelphia and confess to a murder there. The same thing I did in Chicago. Will you come along?"

"Oh, no! No, thank you."

"Very well, but I suggest you continue reading the newspaper. You may notice some very startling developments. Goodbye."

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Without fail, a few days would pass in silence. Then I'd receive another phone call from Dr. Dobbs. It was always the same.

"Mr. Grayson, I'm leaving for Boston today to confess another crime."

"Grayson, I don't suppose you'd care to visit Hartford with me today."

"It's San Francisco this time, Mr. Grayson. I'd enjoy your company."

So it went for two solid months. Dr. Dobbs confessed to every murder that hit the newspapers and every confession was laughed at. His name had become well-known to police departments around the country. Then he visited my home.

"Well, Mr. Grayson, what do you think now?"

"Professor Dobbs, I know what you're doing, but please stop."

"Does it concern you?"

"Yes, it does. Look here. Each of these newspapers has your name in it. You've made a mockery of your once esteemed reputation. I've read your books and I've talked with you. I admire you and I'd like to think we've become friends. Why are you so intent on shattering a brilliant career?"

"Because I intend to follow through with committing the perfect murder, like we discussed the first time we met in my office."

"That's what I fear and if that's the case, count me out. I don't want any part of it."

"But it's no fun committing the perfect crime without an audience. I need you, Vince. You're very intelligent. You could appreciate what I'm going to do."

"Listen, Professor. Forget all this and go back to the university. Say you did this as an experiment."

"I've already been given a vacation from the university. The publicity was bad for the school. The president suggested that perhaps I'd been working too hard and required a sabbatical."

"Well, you brought that upon yourself and being a worldly man, I'm certain you saw it coming."

"That's correct. I foresaw the repercussions of my intended actions. But now I want you to grant me one small favor."

"What?"

"There's a small town about three hundred miles from here. Go there with me."

"So you can make another phony confession?"

"No, no, no. So I can reveal to you the identity of my actual victim."

"Say that again?"

"I want to show you my victim. The man I'm going to kill, the man whose body will never be found, the victim of the crime to which I shall confess, legitimately this time."

"I don't believe you."

That was a lie. I did believe him. He'd already begun setting up the framework for his perfect murder. "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" routine was inspired. I feared this wasn't merely a mental exercise. I feared that Dobbs truly planned to commit murder!

"Please, accompany me. Everyone thinks I'm a little cracked. Remember? Humor me."

"And if I do?"

"You and I shall have a sort of mental chess game. I'll give you the opening gambit. That, of course, is murder. From there on, it will be your job to checkmate me. Agreed?"

It was an open challenge. He intended to commit the perfect murder and he was daring me to stop him. If I were to have any chance of that, knowing the identity of his intended victim would definitely be to my advantage.

"Alright, Dr. Dobbs. I'll go with you, but this will be the last time. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand. This will be the last time."

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Well, I accompanied Dobbs to the small town. We sat in a quaint little restaurant and enjoyed a pleasant lunch. Even though we'd finished our meal, he wasn't willing to leave, and the entire time, he seemed to be watching for someone.

"Look, Vince. There he is!"

"Who?"

"The man I'm going to kill."

"The one who just walked in?"

"Yes. Describe him to me. I want you to be able to recognize him anyplace and under any conditions."

"What for?"

"Please, just do as I ask."

"Well, I see a man about your build, a little younger perhaps."

"Yes, his name is Alexander Ferris and he's a buyer for one of the department stores here."

"How do you know all this?"

"I searched all over for a victim. Then I saw him in Chicago one day. I followed him and discovered he lives here. He doesn't even know he's going to die."

"Dobbs, this is nonsense."

"But it's not! Ferris is a bachelor. He lives alone. Once a month, he makes a trip to Chicago."

"Go on, you're not finished."

"No, I'm not. You may be interested to know that Mr. Ferris is going to make one more trip to Chicago and that will be his last."

"Tell me one more thing. Why did you pick him?"

"Because he seems a logical choice. He does things by routine. He stays at the same hotel, utilizes the same train. Oh, I hate monotony."

"Now suppose I walk over to Mr. Ferris and inform him that a madman is going to kill him?"

"Go on! Try it! You know what he'd do."

"Yes, I think so. He'd think I was a madman. Then he'd call the police and I'd be stuck in a cell until a judge decided I was harmless."

"Exactly. Alright, Vince. We're finished here. You've seen the victim. Now we'll return home and I'll let you know when the game begins.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Little more than a week passed before I received another phone call. When Dobbs finally called, I debated whether I wanted to answer or not. Nevertheless, I decided it was my responsibility to end this before it was too late.

"Look, Dobbs, let's call off this game. I'm getting tired of it."

"Alexander Ferris leaves today. He will arrive in Chicago on the Lake Shore Limited at seven thirty this evening. He'll get a taxi and go to the Cass Hotel. He will never leave there alive. Goodbye, Vince."

The Professor had me over a barrel. I didn't want to believe that he was capable of murder. He was an educated, intelligent, and logical man. That's what concerned me. He was intelligent and you know what they say. There's a fine line between intelligence and insanity.

Had Dobbs crossed that line? Was he so convinced by the superiority of his own intellect that he actually believed he could get away with murder? That was one chance I couldn't take. I had to keep an eye on Alexander Ferris.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

I'd decided to warn Ferris. So that night, I met the Lake Shore Limited. I tried to reach him, but before I did, he hurried into a taxi. I grabbed the first empty cab I could find and went directly to the Cass Hotel.

As I entered, Ferris had already registered and was vanishing into the elevator. I ran across the lobby, but the elevator door had closed and Ferris was gone. I got his room number from the attendant and stepped into the elevator.

It was passing by the fifth floor when two distinct gunshots echoed through the building. Unless I missed my guess, they came from the seventh floor. Room number 708 to be precise.

I didn't miss my guess. When I arrived at the seventh floor, I found the door to room 708. It was locked and I couldn't get in.

"So, your curiosity got the better of you. Didn't it, Vince?"

I recognized that voice. I turned slowly, holding onto hope that I was wrong. Dobbs was standing in the dimly lit hallway.

"Dobbs!"

"Hello, Vince."

"Did those shots come from this room?"

"Ye,s they did. Those shots came from this room. I know because my room is right next door."

"Your room is next door?"

"Yes, I've been living here for nearly a month. The front desk can verify that. Convenient, isn't it?"

"Is Ferris?"

"Yes, he's dead."

"You shot him, I suppose."

"I killed him, yes. Shall we wait in my room until the police arrive?"

"Oh, no. I'm not moving from this spot until they get here."

"Why?"

"To ensure no one has an opportunity to remove Ferris's body."

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean, professor?"

"I've already disposed of the body."

"Impossible! You couldn't have, not in the short amount of time before I arrived."

"See for yourself."

He produced a key, opened the door to room 708, and stood aside. I remained in the hallway and merely poked my head inside. The bitter metallic incense of sulfur and cordite lingered in the air. A tell-tale sign that a gun had indeed been fired in this room recently.

I surveyed the room but saw nobody! Ferris's coat, hat, and luggage were on the bed. There was no blood and no bullet holes. Something was very wrong here.

Still standing in the hall, I closed the door. The automatic lock clicked into place and the door was secure. I turned to Dobbs.

"Satisfied?"

"Hardly! On second thought, I will have a look at your room."

"I was just going to suggest that myself."

He produced his key, opened the door to room 706, and stood aside. Again, I remained in the hallway and leaned inside. I scanned the room and again found no corpse! There was no blood and no bullet holes.

"I saw him get on the elevator and come up here."

"Alright, you saw that."

"I heard two gunshots and I can smell burned gunpowder in the room."

"I believe you."

"There's no way a man of your diminutive stature and mature age could have moved the body very far in the few seconds available to you."

"So, where do you suppose the body is, Mr. Grayson? There's no fire escape. I didn't shove it out the window, and I assure you the body is nowhere in this hotel. Well, Vince, what do you think now?"

"I don't know."

Just then, police officers arrived, guns drawn, ready to fire, and aimed right at us.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

It was a sensational case. Two shots were fired. No corpse was found and no one was able to locate Alexander Ferris. Dobbs had confessed to the crime. Of course, he wasn't taken seriously. He'd already established his reputation as a crank. The fool confessed to all murders. Unfortunately, he wasn't a fool and this last confession was genuine.

Three days later, Dobbs visited me.

"Well, Vince, have you made any headway?"

"I'm not trying."

"Oh, yes, you are!"

"It's a hoax! The whole thing is a hoax!"

"Not the whole thing, Vince. On my honor, I give you my word that I killed Ferris. But where is his body? How did I get it out of the room?"

"You didn't. You couldn't have."

"But you saw Ferris in the hotel and the bellboy verified that Ferris entered the room next to mine. Yet, his body has not been found. So, what have you got?"

"Dobbs, I don't believe you killed Ferris."

"Alright, then, where is he?"

"I don't know."

"So I've fulfilled three of the conditions we discussed that first night. Remember what they were?"

"Yes. The victim had to be a stranger to you, you actually had to kill the victim, and the body had to disappear."

"The next condition was that I escape detection and subsequent punishment. Vince, why don't you tell the police about me? Tell them what you know and what I've told you?"

"We both know they wouldn't believe me."

"No, they would not. Therefore, I have satisfied four conditions."

"That still leaves number five. What is the motive for killing a stranger?"

"That is simple! The motive was to prove that I could commit a perfect murder. Ferris was specifically selected because he fit a predetermined list of qualifications. That is not any different from methods used by serial killers to determine their victims. Much like a serial killer, my motive was an emotional and psychological need or desire to exercise my superiority."

"The possibility of being caught and punished still exists. Eventually, the body will show up. If you did, in fact, kill Ferris."

"Perhaps, the body will turn up. Perhaps not. In either case, I assure you that I killed Ferris. If you figure out how, I'll admit it and accept punishment."

"I am not the police."

"No, no, you're not, but you know more about this than they do. You're an unusually intelligent fellow and mysteries are your specialty. You have the whole solution in your head. All you need to do is connect pieces of the puzzle. It's really very simple."

With that, Dobbs bid me goodbye.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Over a week had passed and authorities had been unable to locate the missing corpse. However, investigations had confirmed that Alexander Ferris was missing. He left his hometown and boarded the train to Chicago.

I watched him exit the train and enter the taxi. I saw him at the hotel. There had to be an answer.

No one, not even an admitted genius such as Dobbs, could kill a man and do away with the body. He had only fifteen seconds to kill Ferris, then hide the body. Bodies don't simply disap...

Of course! That's it! Bodies don't just disappear!

Ever see a magic act? Sleight of hand? Now you see it. Now you don't. Watch the pretty woman disappear before your very eyes. Keep your eyes on the magician and miss how the trick is done.

I made phone calls to every town between Ferris's hometown and Chicago. However, I didn't ask any questions about Ferris. Instead, I inquired about a perfect stranger.

It was a shot in the dark, but it hit the mark. I was certain that I'd solved the illusion and smart police work in Ferris's hometown proved it. So I invited Dobbs to my place for a visit.

When Dr. Dobbs arrived, he was different somehow. He was in good cheer and smiling, but he seemed older and paler than before. His face was thin and drawn. He'd obviously lost weight. I wondered if the realization of what he'd done weighed heavily upon his conscience.

"It's nice to see you, Vince. I was wondering if you'd forgotten me. Everyone else seems to have done so."

"Oh, quite the contrary."

"How do you mean that?"

"Just the way I said it."

"You've asked me here for a very special reason, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. I've been in contact with the police in Ferris's hometown."

"Hmm, did you guess or did they?"

"I did."

"Oh, I'm glad. I am glad you were my audience. It was fun playing to you."

"Yes, you were the illusionist. I was the kid in the audience with his eyes open and his mind closed."

"Illusionist? Not quite."

"Oh, yes. Like that trick where the magician shows the audience a big red ball. He conditions them to its size and shape. Then he covers the ball with a cloth, makes a mystic pass, and the ball vanishes."

"Yes, go on! What then?"

"The ball never really disappears. In fact, it never even goes under the cloth. All the audience perceives is a similar shape outlined beneath the silk."

"Simple misdirection."

"Ferris never did get off the Lake Shore Limited that night. You did."

"What else, Vince?"

"You called me and told me where Ferris would be and where he'd go. That day in his hometown, you pointed him out. You made me take a good long look. He was about your height and build. I even mentioned that, I think."

"Yes, you did. Please, continue."

"You intercepted him in his hometown and poisoned him. You did not shoot him. You took his hat, coat, luggage, and identification. You dressed him in old ragged clothes and dumped the body in a freight yard. That's where an unidentified body was found."

"Yes, Vince, unidentified because the police weren't anxious to identify that particular body. Based on a lack of identification and the manner of dress, local police assumed the man was simply another homeless transient. Everyone assumed Ferris had been shot. Any description of an unidentified body with no bullet wounds would not arouse suspicion."

"I'm sorry, Dobbs, but they identified the body this afternoon. You see, there's always a clue. There is no perfect crime."

"I am very happy that I chose you as my audience, Vince."

"I'm not. I don't like being the one to catch you."

"Why not? I took the risk. Ferris's body has been found and identified only because of your involvement. Had I not involved you, no one would be the wiser. Regardless, I've managed to escape detection and subsequent punishment. How is anyone going to prove what you suspect?"

"I'm certain there will be some trace evidence that will link to you."

"I suppose that's possible, but not likely. I was very careful. Remember, I am a criminologist."

"Do you remember making a certain promise to me, Professor?"

"If you solved the mystery, I would confess and accept punishment?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember that I already confessed to this and many other crimes? I'm quite willing to confess again, but they won't believe me."

"You can identify the exact substance used to poison Ferris. That should get their attention."

"You think a jury will convict me on that alone?"

"Probably not."

"Do you suppose my fate hinges on the discovery of any possible trace evidence?"

"Yes, Professor. I do."

"Not quite. You see, I have one final move on the chessboard."

"And what is that, Dr. Dobbs?"

"I'm terminally ill, Vince. The day I sent that letter to Box 16, a team of physicians concluded I had roughly three months to live. That was over two months ago. I'll never live long enough to see a preliminary hearing, let alone any trial or conviction."

He stood and walked slowly toward the door.

"Farewell, Vince. Please, use this adventure in one of your books. Explain how I did it. It's no fun doing something clever if no one appreciates it. Thank you for being my audience. It's been a wonderful chess game, but I do believe that is Checkmate!"

- TERMINUS LIBRI -