The Pride
Age-old Envy
Following the inscrutable account of the Production Manager, the detective crosses dangerous territories. A revered veteran is next in the list and everything was meant to be “crystal clear” from him.
“This Sergeant sounds like an interesting character. In real life, I mean. Seems to have been an actor before the war, got drafted instantly and was a part of the war for nearly its entirety. Got injured right as the Nazis were getting pincered, so he never got to see the end with his own eyes. Discharged with full honours, but the injury- shrapnel in his knee- doesn’t seem to have fully healed since they couldn’t remove it all,” the constable rambled.
“Are you done with the gossip for now? We’ve got a case to solve,” the detective said.
“Send him in now, he’s waited long enough.”
Sergeant Hans Evans was clearly a man who you hear before you see. Not because of his walking aid, but because of the way he seems to march wherever he goes. His entry into the room wasn’t spectacular, but his mannerisms and his smile managed to change the temperature of the room- clearly an actor’s trait and one of a military man as well. However, the fact that he was smiling under such circumstances caught the attention of the detective.
“You appear oddly cheerful for possibly being the man behind the execution. Is there something I’m missing here?” the detective mocked. He knew that the Sergeant was a seasoned veteran, but being this jolly after a murder was definitely not normal.
“It was just something funny I realised as I walked in,” the Sergeant said. “You see… actually, never mind. I don’t want to disrespect a person after their death, no matter how terrible they were when they were alive.”
“Well, I feel this would help out with the investigation- finding out the character of the victim goes the distance to help find the murder. So please, do tell me more,” the detective answered.
“Fair enough. I never liked Henry’s acting. The only reason he was so successful was merely the fact that he was too young for the draft, and managed to develop his popularity during the war. I believe the only reason he’s cast as the main character is that the director needs him for eye-candy,” the Sergeant continued.
“During every rehearsal, I’d see a hundred emotionless executions of the role by that hull of an actor and I’d be angry that a role that I deserved through sheer talent was taken away from me so unfairly. As you can see, my limp seems “distasteful” according to the critics who saw the other plays of mine after the war. Those pricks did nothing for Queen and Country and seem to talk like they fought on the frontlines, running over corpses of friend and foe alike. Pompous pieces of-”
“I’ll cut you off right there. You seem to have digressed. I’m a busy man and I have more people to question.”
“Alright then. So, I’ve seen all that terrible acting during the rehearsals, right? Except I suddenly realise that he actually could execute emotions perfectly. The only problem being it was during his last play, right as he was dying. Pretty dark, I know, but it made me laugh that I never acknowledged him until he died.”
“That’s definitely amusing, but you do realise that you have a clear motive to have committed the murder, right? In my eyes, you’re one of the prime suspects here,” the detective said bemused.
“Me murdering Henry?” The Sergeant roared with laughter. ”I mean, I’ve always imagined strangling that moron in my dreams, but no thanks. I’d rather not end up in prison no matter how painful it is to watch him act.”
“And anyway, while I can’t deny that it pissed me off when those idiotic fans seemed to flock to him and act like I didn't exist, again missing the point that I’m a much better actor than that imbecile, I’d never find the need to kill him for such a trivial reason. I’m still clearly secondary to old Haddick as a suspect. It was a running joke on the set that if Henry ends up disappearing, we should look inside his basement since there was clearly a lot of hatred between them.”
“That’s actually the first time we are hearing about this. Thank you for the help Sergeant, we’ll get back to you in some time,” the detective concluded, noting that the journal seemed to line up with what Evans had mentioned.
“Thanks a lot, detective, this was enlightening,” the Sergeant grinned as he continued, “Oh and one more tiny detail that slipped my mind earlier. I always keep a bottle of Scotch handy in my dressing room and it went missing on the day of the miserable play. It magically came back after the next day though, with less in it of course. Except nobody seems to know who took it in the first place.”
“I’ll take that into account, thank you again for the help,” the detective said, puzzled by this new piece of information.
As the Sergeant walked out, the detective noticed that the limp completely disappeared for a few seconds and started again. He didn’t know if he was too distracted to notice the limp, but there was clearly more to the Sergeant than met the eye.
The interrogation with the war veteran opened more doors to venture into and inspect. Seeking concrete answers, he gives Henry’s wife the third degree.
