Free Ripper by Isabel Allende

Esmeralda, to imagine the black kid in the baseball cap as Conan Doyle’s celebrated detective, or this scrawny, acne-ridden, agoraphobic teenager as a retired English colonel. Only the anorexic girl in Montreal looked a little like her character—Abatha, the psychic, a skeletal figure more spirit than substance. They said hello to the games master and aired their concern that they had made little progress in the Ed Staton case during the previous session.
    “Let’s discuss what’s come up in the Case of the Misplaced Baseball Bat before moving on to the Constantes,” suggested Amanda. “According to my dad, Ed Staton made no attempt to defend himself. There were no signs of a struggle, no bruises or contusions on the body.”
    “Which could mean he knew his killer,” said Sherlock Holmes.
    “But it doesn’t explain why Staton was kneeling or sitting when he was shot in the head,” said the games master.
    “How do we know that he was?” asked Esmeralda.
    “From the bullet’s angle of entry. The shot was fired at close range—about fifteen inches—and the bullet lodged inside the skull; there was no exit wound. The weapon was a small semiautomatic pistol.”
    “That’s a pretty common handgun,” interrupted Colonel Paddington, “small, easy to conceal in a pocket or a handbag; it’s not a serious weapon. A hardened criminal would use something more lethal than that.”
    “Maybe, but it was lethal enough to kill Staton. Afterward the murderer pitched him over the vaulting horse and . . . well, we all know what he did with the baseball bat. . . .”
    “It can’t have been easy to get his pants down and position him over the vaulting horse; Staton was tall, and he was heavy. Why do it?”
    “A message,” murmured Abatha. “A sign, a warning.”
    “Statistically, a baseball bat is often used in cases of domestic violence,” said Colonel Paddington in his affected British accent.
    “And why would the killer bring a bat rather than just using one he found at the school?”
    “Maybe he didn’t know there would be bats in the gym and brought one along,” suggested Abatha.
    “Which would indicate that the killer has some connection to Arkansas,” said Sherlock. “Either that, or the bat has a particular significance.”
    “Permission to speak?” said Kabel.
    “Go ahead.”
    “The weapon was an ordinary thirty-two-inch aluminum bat, the kind used by high school kids—light, powerful, durable.”
    “Hmm . . . the mystery of the baseball bat,” mused Abatha. “I suspect the killer chose it for sentimental reasons.”
    “Ha! So you’re saying our killer’s a romantic?” mocked Sir Edmond Paddington.
    “No one practices sodomy for sentimental reasons,” said Sherlock, the only one who did not resort to euphemisms.
    “How would you know?” asked Esmeralda.
    “Surely it depends on the sentiment?” said Abatha.
    They spent fifteen minutes debating the various possibilities until the games master, deciding they had spent long enough on Ed Staton, moved on to what they called the Case of Branding by Blowtorch, committed on November 10. Amanda asked her henchman to outline the facts. Kabel read from his notes, embellishing the tale with a few choice details like any aspiring writer would.
    Starting from this scenario, they began to play. Ripper, the kids agreed, had evolved into something much more gripping than the original game, and the players no longer wanted to be limited by the dice and the cards that had previously dictated their moves. It was therefore decided that players could only use logic to solve cases, with the exception of Abatha, who was allowed to use her psychic powers. Three players were tasked with working up a detailed analysis of the murders; Abatha would appeal to the spirit world, and Kabel would continue his offline investigation, while Amanda would coordinate their efforts and plan a course of action.
     
    Unlike his granddaughter, who had no time for the man,