Creative Writing: Tony Malkovich's Murder

A brisk walk in the Botanic gardens before breakfast stimulates the mind for a good murder. Tony Malkovich returned from his stroll. He sat back into his chair by the open fire and rubbed his temples with his thumbs, damn these persistent headaches. There was a soft knock on the door.‘Come’, he called.Mrs Fergus wheeled a trolley into the room. ‘G’d morn there, Mr Malkovich.’ She said. ‘The kedgeree is piping hot and I’ve buttered the toast for ye’.’ She lifted the plates and dishes onto the table by the sash windows.‘You’re an absolute wonder Mrs Fergus.’ Malkovich folded and threw the newspaper onto the floor. ‘Where’s Wilson?’Dr. James Wilson looked round from behind the door before he entered the room. A young lady timidly followed him, …show more content…
Wilson went to the window and watched the woman depart the steps of 221b Victoria Crescent. ‘You usually despise such domestic trifles, and indiscretions of foolish men.’‘A trifle it is Wilson, but there is nothing so important ... as trifles.’ Malkovich pointed to the newspaper on the floor. ‘You shouldn’t languish so long in bed Wilson,’ he continued.‘It was on the third column on the second page of the Herald. “Mr Nigel Gilbert, a senior curator of the Huntley Galleries, drowned in the Kelvin, a verdict of suicide has been accepted by the procurator fiscal.” Malkovich smiled.He tipped out the contents of the purse. An ivory Mahjong piece bounced on the table and three casino chips rolled over the breakfast crumbs. He examined the articles one by one.‘This was murder, Wilson. I feel there is an evil force at work.’Dr. Wilson picked up the Herald, shook it open and sat by the window to read with the daylight.Malkovich slumped into his chair. He warmed his hands by the fire then rubbed at his temples to encourage the blood flow into his brain. How else do you sooth the damn headaches.It was certain the woman was destitute. She wore no jewellery although her ears were pierced and her fingers bore the marks of rings on both hands. Most likely pawned, as her husband was being blackmailed, but she couldn’t imagine why.Unable to afford the cab fare, she had walked across the Kelvin gardens this morning. Yes, the hem of her dress was damp from the …show more content…
‘Shut the door Mr Wilson.’ He sat down on a low divan.‘Doctor.’ Wilson snapped. ‘Doctor Wilson if you don’t mind.’ He sat down in an armchair.‘Tell me about Gilbert.’ Malkovich sat on a wooden seat by the window.‘He was a cheerful sort, bad looser but generous when he won, ask Irene she was his favourite. He told her he had a plan and they soon would be rich.’‘How much were his debts Mr Knife.’‘It’s Mac. I’ve tell’t the polis a’ ready. Enough money. Maybe too much.’‘Enough to kill him, you scoundrel.’ Wilson stood up.‘Aw Mr Doctor, If a’ killed them all it would pollute the Clyde.’‘Thank you Mr MacKnife, you’ve confirmed my suspicions.’ He got up shook Mac’s hand and left the Golden Pot Casino. He headed down to the Anderston docks and Dr. Wilson ran to keep up.Malkovich walked between the hawker’s stalls looking for antiquities, but there were none. Museum pieces of aesthetic and anthropological value would hardly be pawned amongst the wicker baskets and cheap porcelain from Hong Kong.‘You’re too late.’ A drunken dock labourer spluttered.‘I am. Too late for what?’‘The last barge left half-n-hour ago, if that’s what your looking for.’ He laughed. ‘It took us ages to load. I wis surprised we got all those crates on. Hundreds of them there were.’‘Where ...’ Dr. Wilson was out of breath.‘To the RMS Britannia at Greenock, sails for New York on tomorrow’s even’s tide.’‘Wilson give the man