Write what you know

"Who did it?" the Teacher asked those clustered around the collapsible table.

He handed each of them a coloured folder with different names and ages printed on the front. The boy, Matt, picked up the pitcher of water and filled everyone's glasses before finishing his own.

The Teacher walked to the far side of the room and stood beside the floor lamp. A large patch of the wall behind him had recently been painted over and was now a vibrant white island in the middle of a faded yellow sea. At this distance he could make out the dozens of pin holes pock marking its surface.

"Did you buy this place after the police were done?" Matt turned his chair to face the Teacher before straddling it.

"Something like that." the Teacher said.

Susan, the older women, gave him a knowing smile.

Matt sniggered, then continued flicking backwards and forward through the neatly typed pages as if hunting for something.

"We all know why we are here, aspiring crime writers looking to learn from a real life locked room mystery. Three strangers where found dead right here and the police still have no clue as to why. Today each one of you will attempt to solve the mystery. To put those criminal minds to the test. To see if you can come up with a plausible solution to our little problem."

Matt rolled his eyes. The Teacher had taken an instant dislike to boy's unpleasant cocktail of youthful arrogance, alpha male energy and middle class entitlement.

"Matthew is there something not to your liking?" the Teacher asked.

"It's Matt and..well would you mind laying off the theatrics a little. I'm not sure about the girls but I'm here for a writing class not an acting one." Matt looked at the others like a clever dog expecting a treat.

"Matt, while I agree we could with a bit less of the melodrama," Susan paused and gave the Teacher an apologetic look, "it's either Susan or Mrs. Summers, I haven't been a girl since before you where born."

"That just leaves...," the Teacher turned towards his final student.

"I'm Louise and this sounded like fun...I mean...well obviously I'm a writer but...you know...I mean my name is Louise." Each word tumbled from her mouth at a different pace.

"It's a pleasure to meet the three of you. As you can see I have reconstructed the room as best I could. You are positioned almost exactly where the victims where found in fact." A shudder ran through Matt and Louise like an electric current had been fed through their chairs.

The room was little more than a white box. A bare light bulb hung over the table and there was one dirty window overlooking the corpse of the Clyde shipyards.

"I handed each of you a biography of one of the victims. I want you to tell me a story. What happened in this room? Because at the end of the day that's why you are all here, to learn to be better storytellers and what better stories to tell than those that may very well turn out to be true."

"Who wants to go first?" the Teacher asked, already knowing the answer.

Matt jumped up and the two men swapped places. Once back in his seat the Teacher saw how nervous the boy was. It looked as if he was waiting to be given permission to speak. He passed the folder from one hand to the other and rocked back upon his heels.

"Take your time. Just let us know a bit about yourself and then tell your story. Please feel free to treat the walls as a white board if you wish. They can always be painted over." the Teacher reclined in his chair.

"My name is Matt and I'm a fantasy author. I plan on writing elements of crime fiction into my series..."

"Oh I must have missed something when I was vetting you. I didn't find any credits under your name..." the Teacher pulled out his phone and frantically searched his notes. He knew he was being petty, but he couldn't help himself. "...perhaps you write under a pseudonym?"

"Well...I've not actually finished anything yet. My first book is with Beta readers just now..."

"I understand. Please continue." the Teacher put his phone away. He heard Susan let out an almost imperceptible laugh.

"So...yeah...this case is pretty simple. Ron Brown is dying, cancer has all but devoured his body. Faced with his mortality, he decides to settle old scores. Obviously it would have to be things from his childhood, back when there wasn't a digital thread tethering people together. Anthony Norris and Charles Wright were the kids who bullied him mercilessly for his latent homosexual tendencies. The two of them had gone on to live full rewarding lives. Whereas Ron had no family, few friends, nothing but an aggressive lymphoma to show for his fifty years. In the end he lured them here and poisoned them." Matt's demeanor filled with his growing confidence.

"Are you sure?" Louise whispered. Annoyance flashed in Matt's eyes while his face presented a look of friendly concern.

"It's just that my folder says Anthony Norris moved away from the area when Rob was still a toddler." The pages slipped through her hands as Louise tried to read them.

"And according to this, Charles Wright didn't move into the area until after Norris had left." Susan added without consulting either her notes or the file.

"We're not saying it's bad Matt, but you can't just change characters to suit whatever plot you have in your head. Someone might behave in drastic and often shocking ways when faced with their own mortality, but to kill two complete strangers seems a little much."

"Fair point," Matt said, his tone contradicting his words.

"Louise, perhaps you would like to take the stage." the Teacher didn't take his eyes off the boy as he and and Louise swapped places. Matt slumped down, pulled his t-shirt over the bottom half of his face and waited for the girl to make a mistake.

"Well...emm I'm Louise and I'm studying English and I hope one day to write for a living." the Teacher and Susan gave a little clap, Matt eventually joined in with a half-hearted effort.

"Thank you," Susan cheeks turned crimson and the room fell silent. She held up her notes as a makeshift barrier between herself and the audience.

"The three men didn't know one another." Louise gave Matt a fleeting apologetic look, "So what brought them together? I don't think Rob's dying was the reason. I did a bit of digging and this room used to belong to someone called Alex Fineman. He was, among other things, a sex worker. He died a few weeks before our three, hit by a drunk driver. I think our victims were long time clients of his, people who loved him deeply, who came to say their final good byes. Each hoping for one last clandestine romantic moment, only for them to discover the other two. Faced with a threat to their carefully curated fantasies the men turned on one another and tragedy ensued." Louise looked down at her feet, her long blonde hair falling over her face.

"They each happened to have a different poison on them?" Matt said, ceasing his opportunity.

"Well...I mean they could have...maybe they just used stuff they found in the room..." Louise said.

"One that had, presumably, been emptied by his relatives or the council or whomever owned the place," Matt spoke with such force the girl took a step back.

"Stop being a dick," Susan commanded, then, softening her tone, addressed Louise "It's not bad, at least you didn't bend the established narrative to fit your plot. And if the victims had been shot or stabbed then I would be in agreement. There isn't much in Wright's file that says he was a homosexual but men lie, mostly to themselves."

"I agree. The addition of Alex was an inspired choice, reaching outside the confines of the scene and established characters is sometimes all a story needs." Louise returned the Teacher's smile.

"Which just leaves me," Susan sipped her water, gave Louise a pat on the shoulder and took her place at the front of the room. Her presence filled the space and commanded the audience's full attention.

"Good afternoon. I'm Susan Summers, a retired Chief Superintendent with the Greater Glasgow Police Force. I took early retirement to pursue my dream of writing crime fiction. My husband always jokes about it being a busman's holiday, but at least in my fiction I can be sure the right person is punished and the deaths do no damage to their loved ones." Susan stood with her shoulders square and her hands clasped behind her back.

"We've established that none of the three men knew one another. We also know that they come from different social and economic backgrounds. And while it is plausible that the three had dealings with the previous tenant, it's likely just a coincidence. I do however agree with Louise that a third party was involved. What kind of person would connect a terminal man, a stock trader and a night club owner? A dealer. So the three come here to shoot up or get high and something goes wrong. The dealer stages the scene to look like something it's not and everyone goes searching for complicated motives and hidden connections. When the truth is three broken men had a bad trip and a criminal with a little imagination got lucky." Susan spoke like she was presenting facts, rather than telling a story.

Even Matt sat silent when she was done.

"Write about what you know." the Teacher smiled and stood up, signalling for Susan to take his place.

"I must say I'm a little disappointed, not that the stories were bad...but each one was flawed in a different way. Matt, you bent everything to fit your plot. Louise you loved your characters so much, you failed to see them clearly. And Susan, you allowed your experiences to dictate theirs. Do I think there are nuggets of worth in there? Maybe." the Teacher offered a hopeful smile.

"OK then, let's hear your version of the story." Matt looked hurt.

Louise took a long drink from her glass and settled in to watch the show. Susan simply raised a meticulously manicured eyebrow towards the Teacher.

"Very well, in answer to my original question, who did it? I did." the Teacher poured himself a glass of water as the others regarded him with growing uncertainty.

"It's really rather simple, three people answered an ad they had seen online. Offering a meeting of like minds, with a unique opportunity to discuss a shared problem. A modern day Victorian Salon. Only for the person who placed the ad to poison each guest, watching them laugh, argue, hypothesize and, eventually, die." the Teacher said, before raising the glass to his lips and smiling.