From the Memoirs of A.S. Quinn
Case file 206:
Zugzwang 

It was during one of those dreary winter days of which this part of the world is known for when I first learned of the death of Master Arthur Breckeridge of 207 Kinsington Square. Business was as usual slow to the point of non-existence and my apprentice Collins and I were entertaining ourselves with an unusually long-lasting game of chess. We were locksmiths by trade but were entertained by all manner of puzzles, including those of which are seen within a game of chess.

As I previously mentioned we had been playing chess for an unusually long time, during which neither of us made any truly beneficial moves to give us an edge over the other, that is until I observed Collins’ error in the positioning of one of his pawns. He had foolishly moved it in such a way that with one move of my own piece I was able to force him into the unpleasant situation of having no other option than to make a self- detrimental move.

“Collins! You’re losing your touch, ha! You’ve let yourself be put in Zugzwang!” I teased and Collins sunk low in his chair.

“Zugzwang! Look here! I’ve come to ask for advice from a madman who makes up words! Truly I must be desperate!” Cried a booming voice hung with just the slightest bit of sarcasm.

I turned in my seat to see that unbeknownst to me my brother had entered the room from the outside and now stood hovering between the doorway and the chessboard, a self-amused smirk spread across his wide face.

“Brother! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to have killed you and run off with Collins in a burlap sack, had it been to my liking,” he answered with a laugh that rattled the pieces on the playing board, “And long enough to hear the sort of nonsensical words used by madmen and fools ! Zugzwang! What a word! Ha!”

“Oh! If only I were a madman or fool, so much would be explained! But I must confess it is you who stands the fool! Zugzwang is a word, although preferred less by those of brawn and more by those of brain, thus it stands you would be unfamiliar with the term.”

My words, seemingly cruel to most, were discarded by my brother with a wave of his massive hand. It was a known fact that where his physical strength was superior to mine my mental strength was superior to his. How he ever became the chief detective in our town was always beyond me, I doubt there was ever a case he solved without my assistance, not that he ever confessed to coming to his invalid brother for help.

“Zugzwang,” I continued, “Is the position in chess when a person finds himself in a sort of trap where they find themselves forced to make a move against their wishes, after which they find they are in a much worse situation than they were prior to moving, such as in poor Collins here,” I gestured to the board and my brother gave a disinterested glance.

“I take it you have a case you wish to discuss?” I asked as he pulled up a chair, and sat with his back to the dying fire in the hearth and his face resting in his palm.

“Well,” He said, feigning as though he was reconsidering, “I was, but I see you are a bit preoccupied with your game…”

“No!” Said Collins sitting up, “I mean, no sir, we’re not too busy,” He gave the detective an eager look.

“Why Collins! Surely you aren’t so eager to leave the game because it has just become apparent that I shall win?”

Collins reddened, “No sir, I mean yes sir, I mean,” He turned from my brother to me and back again to my brother before sitting back in his chair muttering to himself, “Zugzwang…bloody zugzwang.”

I laughed, “Collins, clear the table, we have work to do. Now brother, what seems to be the problem?”
He began speaking, a bit loud at first, to cover up the clatter of chess pieces as they were put away and then in a voice more suited to the soft light of the study.

“There has been a murder,” he announced, pausing for a moment as Collins sat back down. “Mr. Arthur Breckeridge was killed, shot to death almost three nights ago while out for a walk with his daughter and wife. His daughter escaped unharmed but his wife was hit so hard in the head she has of yet to wake up”

“Breckeridge? Breckeridge… Collins, why does that name sound familiar?”

“We worked for Master Breckeridge this last October, after his estate was broken into, remember?  We replaced all the locks on his house?” Collins replied.

“Ah, yes I remember, nasty old man! I could hardly stand to work for him, but his daughter was so frightened of another burglary that I made myself finish the job.” I turned to my brother, “The poor dear, I remember she was in quite a state after the break in, I can’t imagine what witnessing a thing like that would do to her.”

“It has been rough for her but Evangeline is a strong girl, tougher than she seems, she has kept her wits about her, she has even identified the murderer.”

“Identified the murderer!” I exclaimed, “Well then brother, what do you need me for? It seems so to me all you need is to arrest the culprit, not much I can help with there!”

“We have the man in custody, the same man we arrested for the burglary in October, but he claims to be innocent.”

“And you believe him? Why?” It was unlike my brother to doubt his actions, especially not when it came to making an arrest.

“The man, Hugh Fronts, was imprisoned for the burglar and only let out two weeks ago. It doesn’t sit right with me that he would waste his new found freedom by killing Mr. Breckeridge and leaving a witness behind.” He said pulling at his beard thoughtfully.

Collins spoke up, “Freedom is one of the few desires all men share, take that away from any man and surely he’ll want to avenge it. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! But to gain freedom only to lose it again seems like a miserable cycle to me! Please, Brother, all the other detectives think I am daft! Does my own brother think the same of me?”

“I’ve always thought you were daft,” I responded, “Seemed quite obvious to me. But I have learned that the simplest answer is often the incorrect one. I see no reason not to at least look at other options. Perhaps Mr. Fronts is innocent; perhaps he is a liar, either way I should like to speak to him myself.”

“I’ll have him sent over at once,” Said my brother rising.

“No need,” I said, shifting in my chair, “I shall come to him; I assume he is at the station? It is not terribly far away, assuming Collins does not mind pushing me?”

“Not at all Master Quinn,” said Collins rising hastily, he helped me into my jacket and then began the impressive task of pushing my wheelchair out of the study while simultaneously shrugging on his own coat.
He pushed me out into the hall and past a staircase that was never used, past a library with shelves I could not reach and through the parlor with windows too high for me to see out of. Once outside I was pushed down a small ramp and into my yard, from there we took to following my brother who was wise enough to take a slightly longer but less hilly route to the station. I was grateful when we finally arrived, it was further away than I had remembered and by the time we got there Collins was heaving as though he’d run a full marathon.

While attempting to enter the Police Station I was reminded of why I seldom visited my brother’s workplace. The station was a poor excuse for a building with uneven layers of brick, falling off shutters and a half-caved in front porch which was difficult to maneuver even on two legs, let alone while in a wheel chair. Nonetheless after much effort had been asserted into the matter we finally succeeded in entering the establishment.

“Brother, I have made a decision; I wish to read the testimony of Miss Evangeline Breckeridge before interviewing Mr. Fonts,” I announced as we turned left into a room full of desks and the hazy smoke from cigars.

“What for? I have told you all there is to know.”

“What I need to know,” I told him, “Is the exact recollections of the witness, not a brief summary.”

Although clearly agitated my brother consented to my desires and had a secretary pull out the case file and witness statement. Here I have copied the information enclosed therein.

“THE FOLLOWING IS THE EYEWITNESS TESTIMONIAL OF MS.EVANGELINE BRECKERIDGE REGARDING THE DEATH OF MR. ARTHUR BRECKERIDE AND THE   INCAPACITATION OF HIS WIFE MRS. CLAUDIA BRECKERIDGE (i.e. CLAUDIA MAYNES):

My family and I had just finished our dinner and had decided to take a stroll through the gardens of our estate. My mother and father were holding hands and walking together only a few strides ahead of me as I paused to observe a bee flying amongst the rose bushes lining the path we were on. It was as I was thusly occupied that I heard a rustling noise from up ahead. A man had leapt out of the bushes on the eastward side of the path and was now holding a gun to my father’s head (I am not very familiar with guns but I believe it to have been some sort of pistol). I recognized the man almost immediately from the trial we had been involved with months ago. It was the same man who was convicted of breaking into our home, Hugh Fronts, I am truly certain it was him.

I cried out when I saw him but no one was around to hear me. He quickly shot my father in the head, twice I believe, and then turned to leave; pushing my mother to the ground he dashed across the path and through the bushes. I then ran to get help from our nearest neighbors, the Derrings, but by the time they returned to the scene with me it was too late, my father had passed and my mother had suffered a substantial head wound from being knocked to the ground. She is alive but currently remains in a comatose state from which she cannot be aroused.

I am without a doubt certain that it was Mr. Hugh Fronts who killed my father and incapacitated my mother and that he did so knowingly and as part of a pre-thought out plan of revenge.”

I stopped reading and looked up, Collins had listened quietly as I had read it aloud but my brother appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair where he now lay snoring.

“Well what do you think?” I asked turning to Collins.

“What do I think about what?”

“The witness statement! How did it sound to you?” I leaned forward curiously, “You’ve heard many witness statements in your time with me, how did hers’ sound to you?”

Collins paused before answering, “It sounds perfect. Most witnesses would be too hysterical to recount the events with such detail and certainty. Miss. Breckeridge has not left out any detail, there would be no need for detectives if each witness was as certain and thorough as she!”

“Well then I guess it’s lucky for me that Miss. Breckeridge is a rare find.” Grumbled my brother as he sat up in his chair and stretched, “Now that we’ve established that Miss. Breckeridge is a marvelous witness let’s see about proving her wrong, no? Come along.”

He rose and Collins and I followed silently along the dreary hallway into a room with a wall of cells, in which sat drunks coming out of hangovers and pickpockets awaiting their release. In the corner, in a cell all to himself sat Hugh Fonts in all his infamy.

He was a large man, larger than my brother in both length and width, his chest (which was visible due to his lack of shirt) was covered with the sort of tattoos that come with life in prison, as were his muscular arms. His face was round and rough looking with a bushy red beard that was matted like the fur of a mutt.

One glance at him and I knew he was innocent of the crime for which he was accused.

I immediately turned my chair around and was halfway down the hall before Collins and my brother had time to react. I stopped and waited for them to catch up.

“Master Quinn! Where are you going? I thought you were going to interview Mr. Fronts?” Collins was running down the hall.

“No need. He is innocent.” I said simply and began moving down the hall again.

“I knew it!” cried my brother triumphantly and then he paused, “But how did you? How could you be so certain he is innocent without even speaking to him?”

“Simple. He was unharmed.”

“Unharmed? So what? Mrs. Breckeridge never said anyone fought back, it would make sense that he would be unharmed.” Collins said, as if I didn’t already know that.

“Ah, no human fought the culprit. But that does not mean the roses didn’t!”

“The roses? The bloody roses? Brother, you have gone mad!”

“Oh have I? Tell me, when was the last time you waited in rose bushes without so much as a scratch from the thorns? It’s impossible! That man was completely unscathed, not a scratch on him! And yet we are to believe he lay in wait and burst from the rose bushes? And then escaped through another rose bush? All without receiving a single scratch? Ha!” I continued down the hall with my two friends trailing behind in stunned silence.

Leaving the station was a difficult as entering it, perhaps even more so due to my brothers’ anger that he had missed such an obvious fault in the witness statement and his distracted nature towards the task. 
Once we made it out of the station and into the street I made a point of turning my chair eastward, much to Collins’ surprise.

“We’re not going back to the shop, are we?” He asked.

“No, we’re not.”

“Well then where are we going?” Collins asked. When I didn’t respond he sighed and began pushing me in the direction I had pointed myself, we continued on for some time until my brother eventually broke the silence.

“We’re going towards Kinsington Square. You want to talk to Evangeline yourself, don’t you?” He was right but I said nothing and we continued on until we got to the palatial front gates to the Breckeridge estate.
They were unlocked and as we continued up the path to the front door I observed the neatly trimmed rose bushes on either side of the walkway. Being so deep into the winter very few bushes actually had any remaining blossoms but all of the plants were trimmed to perfection and in pristine condition. All except for a small cluster not that far past the gate, here the plants we smashed in and leaves were strewn all about and lay rotting in the snow.

“At least one portion of Breckeridge’s statement was true; someone certainly did run through those bushes, just not Mr. Fonts…” I thought.

We were escorted into the mansion by a quiet servant girl who ushered us into an opulent parlor with rich velvet furnishings and dramatic oriental carpeting. It was only moments before the woman I assumed to be Evangeline entered the room followed by a young man of the same age.

“Miss. Breckeridge,” said my brother with a gesture towards me, “This is my brother, Allister Scott, and his apprentice, Collins. My brother is helping me with your case.”

The young woman looked at me, “Are you a detective as well?”

“No, a locksmith, actually I reinstalled the locks on your house after it was burglarized.”

“Oh, oh yes, I remember you now,” she said, embarrassedly, “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, I’m not in my right state of mind.”

“No one would be considering what you’ve been through, we are so sorry for your loss,” I said, “It must be hard for you, going through this alone, and I understand you are an only child?”

“Yes, I am, but I am not completely alone, I do have Lucas,” she gestured to the man she had entered with.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Lucas,” I said shaking his large, brawny hand, “May I ask what your relation is to Miss. Evangeline?”

“He’s my fiancé,” answered Evangeline before Lucas could speak, “We announced our engagement during dinner, just before--” Her voice broke and she slumped forward crying.

Lucas tried vainly to comfort her before turning to me, “It was supposed to be a happy night, a time of celebration, not mourning. Tell me you will catch the coward who did this.”

“We have a man in custody,” my brother spoke up, “Hugh Fonts, the man Miss. Breckeridge identified as the culprit.”

“You have him in custody,” she sat up right, “Well then why on earth are you here? You have the man! Prosecute him!”

“Hugh Fonts didn’t kill your father Evangeline, he couldn’t have, he would be covered in scratches from the roses which he is not.” I answered coolly and I watched as Lucas stood up and leaned against the mantle to the ebony fireplace, examining the dying flames as though he wished to learn their thoughts.

“Are you accusing me of lying? How dare you!” Evangeline looked livid but beneath the anger I saw something else, something more timid, something like fear.

“No, no!” Said my brother hastily, “We weren’t saying that at all, perhaps it is possible you were mistaken?”

“Actually,” I corrected my brother, “That’s exactly what I was saying. You’re lying Evangeline, and I want to know why.”

The silence in the room was tangible, no one spoke, they just stared at me, four pairs of eyes all wide in shock. Finally Evangeline broke the silence with a mangled cry that was part sob and part scream.

“W-what?” she was trembling, “I-i don’t know what--”

“You’re not from around here Lucas, are you? Your accent… Boston?” The look on his face confirmed my guess, “Wonderful, I do love Bostonians, they have the most wonderful voices, tell me, would you please grace us with your voice? Here, read this,” I tossed him a book of poems which had been resting on the table to my left and he caught it without even looking at it.

He looked from me, to the book, and back again, “I can’t”

“You can’t what?” I said, though I knew very well what he meant.

“I can’t read.” He looked at the book as though it was a source of pain.

“You can’t read,” I echoed, and turned to Evangeline, “I wonder how your parents reacted when they learned you were planning on marrying an illiterate Bostonian, rather than a rich businessman they chose?”

She said nothing but began sobbing erratically. Lucas grimaced at the sound and then looked at me.

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying Mr. Quinn…”

“What are you implying Mr. Quinn?” Collins was standing dumbfounded next to me.

“What I am implying is that the only true thing spoken here so far has been that on the night of the tragedy Evangeline announced her marriage to Lucas. I believe that Mr. Breckeridge was horrified that his daughter was in love with a man beneath her stature and kicked him out of the before he even had a chance to defend himself. I believe that you, Lucas then became enraged (who wouldn’t be?) and on your way out grabbed the pistol that Mr. Breckeridge always kept handy on the table in the foyer and took to wandering the gardens in a state of fury. Then, later, when Mr. Breckeridge was out taking a walk you burst from the rose bushes and shot him in the head out of anger. You then hit Mrs. Breckeridge upside the head so she would never reveal what happened and then agreed with Evangeline to blame Mr. Fonts for the incident.”

Lucas rubbed the rosebush scratches on his arm and then turned his back to us.

“Yes it’s all true; I killed Arthur Breckeridge, but know that it was never my intent! When I took that pistol it was with the intent of killing myself, the thought of living without Evangeline was too terrible to bear. I had the pistol to my head when I heard them walking past me… I just snapped.” He turned around and looked at me, “I had no other choice once they put me in that position; it was either live without Evangeline or make sure he couldn’t stop me. I didn’t want to kill him. I couldn’t do anything else.”

“No choice but to make a terrible move,” said Collins, looking at me, “A true Zugzwang.”

“Indeed,” I replied, “indeed…”

“No,” said Evangeline rising, her face still wet with tears; “He’s lying.”

“Evy, shush,” Lucas said, “It’s over, I’m caught. I’m going to jail”

“No you’re not! Not for something you didn’t do,” She turned to me, “It was I who knocked my mother out, not him. I didn’t want her to tell the police what he did”

“Stupid girl! You should’ve let me take the fall, now we’re both in trouble.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you both,” said my brother rising and approaching Lucas.

Lucas made no move to offer his hands to my brother for the cuffs, “I don’t think so,” he said raising the gun in his hand so that it was aimed directly at my brother’s heart. He must’ve taken it from off the mantelpiece while we were distracted with Evangeline.

The next moments were handled surprisingly calm by both sides. Lucas handed off the pistol to Evangeline who kept it aimed simultaneously at all three of us while Lucas bound us tightly with the rope ties from the curtains. Lucas was careful to tie the hands and feet of Collins and my brother tightly but only bound my hands to the armrests of my chair. He made no move to fasten my chair or my legs in place since it was obvious they were useless. His choice to not gag our mouths made me wonder where the servants had gone, until I realized it was Sunday and just about time for evening mass. No one would be back for quite some time.

We sat there in silence for quite some time after Lucas and Evangeline fled, I believe my brother was mad that I hadn’t given him any warning as to my theory, but in my defense I hadn’t been certain about it until moments before Lucas pulled the gun on us. I suspect it was nearly 10 ‘o clock when we heard the front door open and the servants rushing in from a late-lasting service. You could have heard my brother’s yells halfway across the continent, I’m sure.

By the time the police had been alerted Evangeline and Lucas had been on the run for hours, the odds of finding them were growing slimmer by the second.

We sat in my brother’s office, listening to those terrible seconds tick by on the desk clock as my brother sat drumming his fingers in disgust. The only reason he wasn’t out searching for them himself was that he had been put under temporary suspension while they investigated how he “let” himself get be overwhelmed by Lucas and how he “let” them escape.

He was furious.

I felt useless. I had a nagging sensation in the back of my mind that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard I tried. I was missing something, something important. I knew that if I could just identify what I had missed I would know where Lucas and Evangeline were headed. I began going over the events of that day in my head.

The seconds continued to tick away and I continued to struggle with my quest. I don’t think I would have solved it in time had it not been for Collins’ low tolerance for pain.

“Ugh,” cried Collins suddenly, breaking the drowsy silence, “Those blasted ropes! Those knots were so tight my arms so ache for weeks!”

“They were naval knots, very strong” I commented absently, “The kind used by sailors.”

The kind used by sailors.

“The fiancé is a sailor!” I cried, sitting upright, “They’re headed to the docks! Brother, send a telegraph to the police over at Dellings’ Bay! Tell them to be on the lookout. That has to be where they’re headed!”

My brother was out the door within seconds and when he returned he seemed hopeful that the Dellings’ bay police would do their job fine.

Collins and I were sent back to the shop with the promise that we would be informed once they were caught.
It was late but we were both too excited to depart for bed and so we began another game of chess. I had just corned Collins’ bishop when my brother burst inside in a frenzy of excitement.

“They’ve been caught! Just like you said, they were trying to buy a boat to escape in!”

“Well done!” I said, although my brother had nearly nothing to do with their capture.

“Fool!” cried Collins’ loudly and delightedly.

“Collins! What on earth has gotten into you?” cried my brother indignantly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking to you sir,” He turned to me and smiled before pointing at the board proudly.

“What is it?” asked my brother, looking as clueless as ever.

I looked at the board and smiled before answering at the exact same moment as Collins:

“Zugzwang”

 

Zugzwang

By: Danielle Watkins