“Hello, Ms. Rogers? I am so sorry to be the messenger of the unfortunate news, but your husband was found dead this morning,” these were the last words Mrs. Rita Rogers, the old lady married to Mr. Hugh Rogers, heard before she collapsed onto the creaking wooden floor of her small cottage located in a village next to the vast, undulating moor that seemed to touch the horizon. It was there that her late husband was known to have taken his final breath.
Upon settling down a little, she cried a pool of tears and drowned in a sea of confusion. She had known that her husband had gone to the moor for a short stroll, but had not in a thousand years thought that it would be the last walk of his life. Devastated, Ms. Rogers was desperate for answers. She decided to see her husband at the moor and say a final goodbye before the grave-men took his body away.
Rita walked up to the moor, where her husband lay in his forever’s sleep. She could see the deep cuts on his neck and back, too clean and even to have been slashed by a rock or torn by an animal’s claw or tooth. His still lifeless face stared her in the eye. Rita burst out in tears and walked away, itching to look away from the horror. Upon the delay of the grave-men, vultures settled at the sight. Soon after, the place was just a heap of bones. This was a huge loss for the inspectors.
A few hours after the finding, investigations began and every citizen of the village was heavily interrogated by policeman Bunting, the lead investigator on the case. The interrogation, however, was a dead end. The villagers quaked in their seats but had no answers to his questions. Frustrated with the results, Bunting decided to call the great Sherlock Holmes, who luckily, was happy to help. So he drove up the following night, scheduled to start work the next morning.
That morning Sherlock, who was dressed all in black and grey, as though perfect for the dire situation as well as policeman Bunting in his blue uniform and proudly pinned police badge, set out to meet the person who was known to have last seen Mr. Rogers, Ms. Catherine Lilac.
Catherine was a young and pleasant lady, who was almost always charming. Though, she rather disliked Mr. Rogers, who was patriarchal, and slightly foolish. While Bunting interrogated her, Holmes had decided to take a stroll inside her cottage, which seemed beaming with life. Its window sills were dotted with bright flowers of numerous colours, and its brightly painted walls had tasteful pictures hung upon them. It was upon entering her room, that he noticed an envelope. What caught his attention was its subject. There, written in bold black letters were the words ‘Hugh Rogers’ but no name from who it was written by or to. “Strange,” thought Sherlock and did not think twice before ripping open the envelope.
There in smudged black ink, were the words, “He seems to have only grown more obnoxious, my hate for him is growing and I am afraid one of these days I might do something wrong.” “Bunting!” Sherlock cried with a terrible urgency in his voice, “Come quick!” Upon hearing Sherlock, Bunting hurried along to the other side of the cottage where Sherlock was present, his expression grave. Bunting quickly saw what Sherlock was holding. He snatched it from him and began to read until an alarming expression masked his face. “Ms. Catherine!” he shouted. She quickly scurried where they were, and upon seeing the letter in Bunting’s hand, her face froze. “Is this your’s?” policeman Bunting asked with a scowl. She started to run, tumbling out of the cottage, but it was not long before Sherlock caught her and dragged her back. Upon reaching the cottage he declared, “The case must go to court”. A month later the court date was set and the trial continues…