The Chess Game

Doctor Penn’s face was relaxed and pleasant as he watched his opponent. Captain Staley smoothed his mustache and considered the board. The white knight and a flank pawn sat side-by-side on the third rank, completely abandoning the center to the Captain’s pawns.

“You know,” the Captain said, bringing his own knight into play, “If you were going to just hand over the board, we could have played checkers.”

The Doctor chucked amiably as he tucked his light-squared bishop into the pocket in front of his rook.

A refreshing breeze blew through the veranda. It was a particularly lovely afternoon at Windcroft House. The warmth of summer still lingered in the air, but the oppressive humidity of August had finally lifted. The Doctor took a deep breath of fresh seaside air and admired the pristine garden that surrounded the house.

The large Shingle Style house had seen better days. Moss spread freely beneath the gables and the cedar shingles had begun to curl, warped by the salty Atlantic air, but despite the obvious signs of neglect and decay, the garden had been beautifully kept.

“I must say, Captain, your garden is quite stunning.”

The older man’s face lit up for a moment before sliding back into the self-deprecating posture of the Rhode Island elite. “Yes, well,” he said, castling his king, “it keeps me out of the house in the afternoon. Mostly just trying to keep the weeds from taking over.”

The Doctor grinned into his teacup. His old friend had done his best to adopt the reserved patrician manners of the New England aristocracy into which he had married, but he couldn’t hide the pride he had for his garden.

Penn pretended not to notice this betrayal of his friend’s working class roots. A lot had changed since the two men had served together during the war. In some ways, the John Staley sitting across from him was still very much like the man he had known - the Newport police officer who had come running to enlist when Uncle Sam called - but in many ways, Doctor Penn felt like he was looking at a stranger.

“Well, one must stay busy,” the doctor said, putting another pawn on the third rank. “And I’m sure it’s a nice refuge for you and Mrs. Staley.”

“It was,” the Captain shifted uncomfortably, “but Elizabeth is seldom well enough to come down to the garden anymore.” He gestured toward the empty chair and side table where Mrs. Staley’s abandoned tea tray still sat. A sudden spell had left her feeling faint and the housekeeper had bundled her off to bed.

“Then I consider myself very fortunate indeed.” The Doctor’s eyes lingered on the china teacup, thinking about something Mrs. Staley had said, but then turned his attention back to the game. “You mentioned that Elizabeth has been unwell for some time. Was this a sudden illness?” Penn kept his tone casual, but watched his friend’s reaction carefully.

The Captain did not seem bothered by the question. “Yes and no,” he said. “She’s been afflicted with a weak heart since childhood, but her condition has taken a decidedly downward turn since around mid-summer.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, John,” the Doctor said. “She seems like a lovely woman.”

The Captain nodded. Penn thought he saw his face tighten briefly. “That’s very kind of you,” he said.

The Captain seemed to lose himself in thought, but came back after a moment. “Come now,” he said with a bright tone, “let’s turn to happier things. What is it that brings you all the way out to the ends of the earth? Business or pleasure?”

“Business, I’m afraid,” said the Doctor.

“Ah, a case!” the Captain sat forward, his interest piqued.

The Doctor nodded, “Quite an unusual one, in fact.”

“Well, it would have to be to drag the great Hugo Penn all the way out to Narragansett. And at the end of the season no less!”

“You flatter me, Captain.” The Doctor moved his second knight out in front of his queen.

The Captain shook his head at the sight of the clumped knights. “So,” he said, moving his c-pawn to the fifth rank, “you’ve come to avail yourself of my considerable knowledge and expertise?”

“As a matter of fact, I do think you may be able to help, though I fear it may be difficult to discuss.”

The Captain cocked an eyebrow.

“I was brought in to investigate the death of a young woman who was struck by a milk truck several weeks ago,” the Doctor said, cautiously, “I believe she worked for you.”

“You don’t mean Rose Campbell?” The Captain sounded surprised.

Penn nodded.

The Captain sat back in his chair. “Well, it was a horrible tragedy. Dreadful – absolutely dreadful, but I’m not sure I can tell you any more than you already know. As I understand it, Rose was walking back to town along the main road and she was struck by a milk truck making late morning deliveries. Ghastly to be sure, but, sadly, not uncommon. The driver said she was out in the middle of the road. I understood the authorities had determined it was a blameless accident.”

“Curious,” said the Doctor, moving a pawn to e4, “that Ms. Campbell should be walking down the road at all at 10 o’clock in the morning, in the middle or otherwise.”

The Captain moved his knight out to fend off the Doctor’s attack, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Just that I wonder why she would be walking back to town at that time of day,” the Doctor said, forcing the Captain’s knight back with his pawn. “Surely Ms. Campbell would normally have been going about her duties here at Windcroft House at that time?

The captain frowned, “I suppose, but I really wouldn’t know. Mrs. Peterson manages the household staff.”

The Doctor slid his rook over to the center, but said nothing.

“Are you suggesting that someone ran that poor girl down on purpose?” the Captain asked, launching a queenside attack. “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” the Doctor replied, “I am suggesting that Ms. Campbell was not killed by the truck at all.”

Penn shuffled his knight backward. The Captain smiled, mistaking this for a retreat, and continued his line of attack.

“My dear fellow,” the Captain said, “I can assure you she was. It happened nearly right in front of this house.”

“You misunderstand me, Captain. I do not dispute that Ms. Campbell was struck by the milk truck, merely whether it was the collision that led to her ultimate demise.” The Doctor quietly moved his h-pawn forward, preparing to target the black king.

Captain Staley stared at his friend for a moment, then let out a deep guttural laugh.

“Good god, Hugo, you have completely lost your head! The girl was hit by a truck in the middle of the road, and you think it was something else that killed her?” The Captain shook his head, still chuckling, and moved his b-pawn into enemy territory.

The Doctor was unfazed.

“I did say it was an unusual case.”

“Most unusual, it seems,” The Captain lit a cigarette. “Go on then, what is this mysterious second cause of death?”

The Doctor considered how to proceed, then brought his dark-squared bishop into the game.

“In addition to the injuries she sustained in the collision, Ms. Campbell’s autopsy revealed signs of sub-endocardial bleeding and multi-organ medullary hemorrhage and severe pulmonary edema.”

“The poor girl was hit by a truck, Hugo! Surely damaged organs are to be expected.” The Captain ignored the white bishop and continued advancing his pawns.

“Certainly; however, in Ms. Campbell’s case, her internal organs had started to fail in a very specific, congestive sequence, and the bloodwork indicated lethal hyperkalemia. I’m sure you will agree it would be usual for a car accident to alter molecular biochemistry.”

The Captain folded his hands under his chin. “When you say altered biochemistry?”

“I mean the autopsy shows classic signs of a toxicological death, not simple mechanical impact.”

“She was poisoned?”

The doctor nodded, moving his a-pawn forward to force open a line on the queenside.

The Captain sat silently for a moment before taking the bait.

“So, you’re saying someone poisoned her, and then arranged to have her run down on the road? What, to cover their tracks? Sounds a bit fantastical.”

“Oh, no,” the Doctor said, voice still pleasant and steady, “I’m afraid you misunderstand me again. I do not believe Ms. Campbell was poisoned deliberately. As for the milk truck,” the doctor captured back, “I’m afraid that was simply a matter of chance.”

The Captain cleared his through and sat forward on his chair, charging his knight into the center of the board.

The Doctor moved his own knight backward, clearing a path for his queen.

“I’m sorry Penn,” he said, moving his rook over to claim the open file. For For the first time that afternoon, he sounded like the retired police officer and military man Penn had known, “this all sounds like something pulled from the pages of a dime store detective novel. Your theory is that this was a random coincidence? She came into contact with some unknown poison by chance, and then, unrelated to that, was separately run down on the road?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t say that.”

The Doctor moved his queen to the edge of the board, allowing the Captain’s knight to fork his rooks. A smug smile spread across the Captain’s face as he sat back, waiting for the response.

“You’re not making sense, Doctor.”

“Random would imply the lack of any clear plan or pattern, and to say the poisoning and the accident were unrelated would mean there was no logical, causal connection between the two.” The Doctor ignored the threat to his rooks, instead moving his knight to h6. “Check.”

The captain gave his friend a quizzical look, capturing the knight with his pawn.

“Regarding the matter of relation,” the doctor continued, capturing back with his bishop, “we must consider how Ms. Campbell came to be in the middle of the road that morning.”

The Captain moved his pawn forward, trying to stave off the attack, but remained silent.

“You see, according to Mrs. Peterson’s statement to the police, Ms. Campbell left work early that day, saying she felt ill. Mrs. Peterson told the officers that she had found Ms. Campbell’s sudden illness to be highly convenient, happening, as it did, so soon after Mrs. Peterson had reprimanded her for sneaking food in the kitchen.”

The Doctor captured en passant, and continued.

“Mrs. Peterson seemed to think Ms. Campbell was merely playing the invalid. I suspect, however, that Ms. Campbell was already feeling the effects of the poison.”

“You mean she fell ill on the road, and that’s why she didn’t see the truck?” The Captain captured the Doctor’s pawn with his knight, threatening the white queen. His shoulders were tight now, and while his face didn’t show it, there was a slight edge to his voice.

“If my theory is correct, which I now know it to be,” the Doctor moved his queen to g5, “Ms. Campbell was already in dire straits before the milk truck came around that curve. The poison would have brought on severe delirium and disorientation ahead of heart failure. By the time the milk truck came upon her, Ms. Campbell likely had no idea where she was and would have barely been able to stay on her feet. Check.”

The Captain did not respond to the threat against his king.

“The poison? So you know what it is then?”

The Doctor picked up his teacup and examined it thoughtfully.

“Yes, sadly my visit to Windcroft House has filled in that final piece of the puzzle.” The Doctor picked up his teacup. The white bone china was decorated with a thin line of little blue flowers. “Mrs. Staley said something very interesting earlier,” he continued, “she said detested these ‘dreadful yellow teacups.’”

The Captain said nothing.

The Doctor stood and walked toward the high backed rattan chair and table previously occupied by Mrs. Staley. The tray with her tea things was still sitting on the table. He picked up the ceramic beehive honey container and lifted the lid. Instead of the earth smell of wildflower or clover, a powdery perfume-like scent hit his nose. He turned back to the captain,

“There are several dozen species of plant that could produce that pattern of cardiac symptoms with yellowed vision. Of course with your background you would know digitalis would show up on the autopsy. That still leaves a variety of botanical toxins that could produce that pattern of cardiac symptoms and yellowed vision, but only one of them is growing in your greenhouse.”

“Listen here, Penn, I don’t know what you’re implying–” the Captain started, but the Doctor cut him off.

“Rose Campbell’s last meal – the meal she ate in your kitchen – was bread with honey. Honey your housekeeper assures me you procure specially for Mrs. Staley. For her health.”

The Captain stared hard at the other man, but still said nothing.

“Honey is an interesting substance,” the Doctor said, placing the honeypot on the table in front of his host and producing a brass matchsafe from his pocket. “It’s almost entirely sugar with just a tiny amount of water, which means I can coat a match head in pure honey, and it will still ignite and burn right through.” He pulled a match out of the case and dipped the head into the container. “But, when you add water - or alcohol, it raises the moisture level. The match will absorb the extra water and…”

The Doctor dragged the match across the striking plate, but instead of bursting into a bright orange flame, it produced a dull publish spark that was instantly smothered. The matchhead bubbled and hissed releasing a dense, oily black smoke. The powdery cosmetic scent was replaced by the bitter stench of scorched vegetation and burnt almonds.

“Oleander,” the Doctor said, dropping the smoldering match into his teacup.

The Captain stared at his old friend. Jaw clenched. His thumb traced the edge of his wedding band.

“I assume you’ve already alerted the police?”

“And her doctor.”

The captain nodded, but stayed in his seat. After a moment, he raised his right hand, placed his index finger on his king and tipped the wooden monarch over onto its side.