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Whether it's a dark and stormy night or a bright and sunny day,
readers love to play armchair
detective and follow a fictional hero's attempts to solve all
manner of skullduggery. The secret of
a good mystery is to provide them with just the right balance of
clues and red herrings to make
them feel smart and yet keep them off balance.
Have a little read: ... My Detective Story On the third night of
October 2003, we, meaning Sir Dexter
Holland and I, Travis Barker, were standing in a small, dimly
lit gallery. I couldn't help but think that the
five paintings everyone was making such a fuss about, were -
well, they were awful and I believe that my
friend and senior detective, Dexter was also thinking of
something along the same lines. However, we
were being paid well for our detection skills and not our
abilities as art critics. The exhibition had caused
quite a stir in the press; each painting was worth a cool
million and we had been hired to make sure that
everything went smoothly and according to plan. "Well Mr.
Holland, Mr. Barker what are your verdicts?"
said Mr. Ulrich, the curator, hovering nervously. I watched as
Dexter looked thoughtfully at the gallery
and followed his example. I had pushed my brain to the limit to
find possible ways that a criminal might
try to take the paintings. The walls and ceiling were solid
concrete. There was no cellar below the floorand the only door had
a security guard posted beside it. There were no windows, and both
air vents
were no bigger than a shoebox. "It's my belief that these five
paintings are impossible to steal," said
Dexter distantly. "I sincerely hope so," said a small,
bald-headed man as he marched into the gallery.
"Ah, Detectives, allow me to introduce the man who created these
masterpieces, Mr. Thomas Delonge,"
said the curator. "Forgive me, Mr. Holland," said the little
man, ignoring me entirely, "I'm sorry if I seem
ill-tempered, but I'm sure you heard about the attempted theft
of the entire exhibition when it was
showing in Birmingham last month?" "Yes indeed! That was a most
unpleasant business. I'm only glad
these... fine works of... art were not lost to the public," I
said, smiling warmly. Duly, we said our
goodbyes and Dexter and I returned to out homes until the
following morning. The next day Dexter and I
met at the entrance of the gallery. Dexter dressed as nobly as
he could that day, being the son of an earlor lord or something or
which I cannot recall. He was wearing black trousers with a white
shirt and a
darkly shaded tie, followed by a long brown jacket that could be
easily seen as being more expensive
then most people's entire wardrobes! I, on the other hand, was
wearing some old brown trousers, a
white shirt, and a black jacket, which I had bought from a small
market stall in a place called Ilford, for
five pounds. Dexter nodded as we met and with that we walked in
together to join the crowd listening
to Delonge's speech on his work. "So you see the artwork of my
painting..." I stifled a yawn as Delonge's
speech dragged painfully on. The public had turned out in droves
for the opening day of the
controversial exhibition. "Masks are a part of us all.
Have a little read: ... DETECTIVE STORY ~ I needed a new case
fast. Sitting in my dump of an office was
not going to earn me money. It had been a while since I was in
action, and my office looked like a huge
tornado had walked through it. The wallpaper was beginning to
peel off and turn yellow. My desk
looked like it had seen better days and my floor didn't even
exist due to the sea of papers. I was
beginning to get a headache thinking about the state of the
place. One glass of whisky should solve that
problem. As I sunk into my leather chair, I turned and looked
out of the window. That was the only
positive aspect about being in this office. The view was
magnificent, especially in the evening when the
city lights were on. With darkness covering the city, all its
flaws were hidden and for a few hours every
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night, London looked attractive. I was beginning to relax when a
knock on the door ruined the peace. I
muttered a curse and yelled "Come in." The door slowly creaked
open and my annoyance increased. For
goodness sake, the door wasn't that hard to open and the area
around it was actually paper free. But my
complaints stopped short when I saw who stepped in. This one was
a looker. Even just looking at her
legs was enough to tell me that this was going to be an
interesting client. My eyes travelled from her
legs further upwards to find a tight-fitting black pencil skirt
that wrapped itself snugly around her legs
and hips and a pristine white shirt that clung to the top half
of her body, outlining her wonderful figure.
After staring at that for a while, I finally tore my eyes away
to look at her face, I wasn't disappointed.
Blessed with such a body, she even had the face to match. Golden
blonde hair that was carefully styled
framed a face that had a pair of big, crystal-blue eyes, a
petite nose and round, full lips. I must have had
my mouth hanging open as her luscious lips curved into a
dangerous smile that told me she knew she
had this affect on men. Her eyes scanned my shabby office,
taking in the peeling wallpaper and the
avalanche of files. "You're needing a spring-cleaning here
detective," she finally said, her voice soft but
also with
