A Classic Mystery Review and A Murderous Free-Write
Book Review: Dumb Witness by Agatha Christie
I've said in the past that Christie can frustrate me when she deliberately holds back information so the reader has no chance of working out the solution. Dumb Witness, however, felt much more accessible. There's still some details that are deliberately held back, and some scientific knowledge that isn't revealed until the very end.
However, these details don't overly contribute to the 'whodunit' of it all, and although Christie leads us down a delightful array of rabbit holes, keeping me second-guessing myself right up until the end, I found that my guess at the culprit turned out to be right. There were plenty of details I hadn't worked out, and Christie's reveal was as satisfying as ever, but for once I felt that she hadn't quite pulled the wool over my eyes.
As always, my greatest fault with Christie has to do with dated ideas about race and gender that haven't aged well. There's a conversation about a "n*gger in the woodpile" that is particularly cringe-worthy. Of course, I find it difficult to fault writers for simply being a product of their times. If we're going to step back in history, we must acknowledge that one of the blessings of our own times is that such ideas have changed, and will inevitably continue to change. One day someone will read our work and cringe, marveling at how small-minded we once were, and I would hope that those readers will forgive us for not knowing what no one in our times has thought to ask yet.
The only other complaint I have about this particular work of Chrtistie's is a scene early in the book that doesn't seem to quite fit in the with explanation at the end. Trying not to spoil anything, I'll simply say this: if the explanation for a person's behavior is that they're trying to cast doubt on a another person, why bother to keep up the charade when the two of you are the only people in the room? There's a line in this early scene that doesn't make sense to me: "I suspect you'll do exactly as I tell you to." That line never seems to come to fruition, and goes directly against the explanation at the end of the book.
Overall, this is a standard Christie mystery. Delightful if you're a fan of mysteries, but I wouldn't rate it amongst her best works.
Free-writes are short scenes that come out of a short stint of writing time on a program called FlowState, which deletes everything I’ve written if I stop writing. I go into them blind, can’t stop to think while I write, and don’t edit them before they’re posted here beyond correcting any typos or punctuation. Basically: I don’t know what this is about, either!
Blood in the Bay
A 40-minute free write about love and murder
The boardwalk was quiet, only a handful of couples walking slowly along under the lamplight. Ethan kept his head down as he passed them, finally hesitating behind one of the benches. It wasn’t any different than any of the other benches all along the water. It was unremarkable. The same wooden slats, the same coiled iron arms and structure. Something about it’s particular placement, though… the angle of the view across the water, the spacing relative to the other benches and the couples that had sat down to take in the view, the distance between one end of the boardwalk and the other. All these things came together, and this bench became The Bench. Ethan rounded the side of it and sat, stretching his feet out toward the bottom edge of the fencing.
He looked out at the bridge and the shore behind it, both glittering with light. It was pretty, he supposed, if one liked that sort of thing. On the other hand, it was a poor trade, he thought, looking up at the black swath of sky un broken by pin-prick stars.
He sat there, feet stretched out, head tilted back to stare at the washed-out sky. The breeze sifted through his hair. The cold of it burned in his nose. He shut his eyes.
Eventually he blinked them open, sat up, and popped his back. There was a time for resting, and a time for morbid thoughts. He wasn’t on a schedule, but he was in something of a rush. He glanced down one side of the boardwalk, and then the other. One couple remained, close to the south shore, too absorbed in each other and too far away to pay him any mind. He shifted in his seat, and slowly pulled the paper bag from his pocket. He opened it, reached in to take the knife out, then paused, considering. The bag would have to be gotten rid of, too, now. Was it better to leave the knife inside it? Would it float if he left it in the bag? If he got rid of knife while it was in the bag, it would look like he was just littering, if the couple happened to glance up. But would it sink all the way to the bottom? Perhaps it was better to get rid of the knife now, and burn the bag when he got home.
He shifted in his seat, struck by indecision. He glanced around again. The distant couple was standing, walking away, down to the south shore. Something loosened in his shoulders. Without the bag, then. He made to pull the knife out, but froze as he turned to check back down the other end of the boardwalk and spotted another couple walking towards him. He shoved the bag, knife and all, back into his pocket and stared blankly out at the bridge, watching a car progress steadily across it as the couple approached. He tugged at his hood, ducking his head, and willed them to pass him by without notice.
“It’s gorgeous, this city,” the woman purred. “I love walking along the water like this.”
“This is one of my favorite places to go.” The man agreed. “I thought it was pretty boring, when I was a kid. My mom always wanted to come here after a dinner out, and I just wanted to go home and play video games.” He laughed. “I always come here after a dinner out, now. Reminds me of her.”
“She sounds wonderful, from everything you said at dinner,” the woman said softly. The couple was passing behind him, now. She laughed, lightening the mood. “Does that mean you take all your dates here?”
“No, no! I, uh, I mean, I don’t usually do dinner like this. Not for a first date. So it’s been a while. Since I brought anyone here.”
“Relax,” the woman hummed, “I was only teasing.” She paused, steps slowing. Ethan cursed internally, glancing over to see she’d taken the man’s hands and was staring up at him. They were stood underneath a lamp, the light pouring over them like some cheesy movie set. The man’s face was open and startled, his mouth open with awe and his eyes wide with wonder. Ethan couldn’t see the woman, but he could imagine the look on her face that might inspire the man to look so gobsmacked. She would be pretty, and her smile would be coy, her eyes bright and sparkling with humor. She leaned closer to him. “So I must be special, since you took me to dinner on a first date.”
“I… well…”
“I think you’re special, too.”
The man’s mouth shut with a snap and he stared at her, his cheeks turning pink. Ethan rolled his eyes and stared determinedly back across the bay. He could hear pleasure curling around the words as the man responded, “Good. That’s good.” Then there was a wet sort of noise, and Ethan was sure they were kissing. God, he hoped they wouldn’t stand there familiarizing themselves with each others’ tonsils for the next hour. No doubt it would be suspicious for him to sit here staring at the bay for that long. He’d have to fid another spot. Or another night.
The couple parted. The woman tugged the man further down the boardwalk. “Come on, you promised me ice cream.”
“Did I?”
“Oh yes. And I never forget about ice cream.”
They giggled at each other, this voices fading as they drew further away. Ethan watched them go for a moment, waiting to see if they would turn back, but they were lost in their bubble of joy. He took the bag back out and pulled out the knight, looking at it for a second. He hadn’t dared wash it. He’d seen CSI. He knew they could still detect blood even if you tried to clean it up. Having blood in his sink if anyone ever came looking wouldn’t be a good look. So the knife was still painted red. More black, now, as it was starting to dry and the light was dim. Ethan tried not to think about how it had looked when he’d first pulled it out. When the blood had been fresh. How it had beaded on the blade and dripped off the tip.
He shoved the knife back into the bag and tried to scrunch the paper down as much as possible to get the air out, hoping that would be enough to make it sink. He took one more glance around, noted the young couple had disappeared and he was now entirely alone, and then he stood up, drew his arm back and threw the bag as far as he could out into the bay. He sat back down, heavily, and stared at the ripples until they’d smoothed back out.
Then he stood up and walked away. Away from the bloody knife. Away from the young couple. Away from the spot where he and Joy had shared their first kiss.
He didn’t look back.
