The Broken Bottle Top Part 5

Part 5

When I came to, I was lying in my mother’s bedroom. I stared at the items around me wondering how I’d come to be lying there.  Then the whole scene came flooding back to me. I wondered, “Had he been caught or had he escaped?”  He had seemed so elusive that I would not have been at all surprised if I had learnt that he had fled once more.

Uncle Seifert was the sergeant in charge of the investigations into my father’s death. The strange thing was that there was every diligence shown yet no headway was made in uncovering any important clue that would lead to my father’s assassin.  The only clues discovered were the pieces of broken bottle beneath the tree that confirmed the doctor’s finding that he was stabbed with a broken bottle.  The actual murder weapon was never found.

The investigations became long and drawn out principally because I had not gone to the police with my secret information.  No one would have believed my story anyway.  The irony of the entire situation was that I was questioned.  I unswervingly communicated my ignorance of anything remotely connected with the crime.  I was trembling and showed the wild panic and shock that lay within me but the clever, and all too sympathetic police sergeant, explained that perhaps I was very shaken by the recent happenings and that it might be better not to subject me to any more interrogation at that time.

I rose from the bed and pulled the bedroom door.  I was confronted by voices.  They seemed to be coming from the sitting room.  Using the support of pieces of furniture, I unsteadily made my way to that room.  I was still feeling somewhat groggy.  My mother was the first to notice me and she came towards me.  She held me gently by my shoulders and led me to a chair.

My Uncle Seifert was the first to speak.  He looked across at me with a very sympathetic look on his face.  He said, “Sorry son, he got away.  We did not even get a chance to see his face.  One of the policemen chased him but he vaulted the paling and escaped.  But don’t you worry, we have everything in place to trap him when he tries again.”

 

I said to myself, “This assassin really has some nerve.” Then it occurred to me,  “But did he really escape?”

     To be continued...

Stewart Russell © 1979