Free The Map of Chaos by Félix J. Palma Page A

preserved using a mixture of arsenic and chalk, like in the old days.”
    The butcher, to whom Doctor Russell’s explanations were beginning to sound like a lullaby, nodded and gave a deep sigh.
    â€œThat’s all very well, Doctor, but I can’t help wondering how a fellow like Hollister could make a costume like this and, more to the point, why he killed those three people. Alas, due to his tragic demise he will never be able to answer these questions. However,” he said, turning to Clayton, “you promised us you would, Inspector, and I think we are all so anxious to know.”
    â€œWith pleasure, gentlemen.” Clayton grinned, aware that the moment he had been waiting for throughout the meal had finally arrived.
    He stood up from the table, avoiding the countess’s gaze, and gave a cursory glance at his audience, which was standing in front of the costume as if posing for a group photograph, a look of intense expectation on their faces.
    â€œWell, I assume you want me to begin with the first question: How could someone as unsophisticated as Hollister produce this outstanding piece of taxidermy? There is a very simple answer to that, gentlemen: through books. As you know, once we discovered Hollister was the werewolf, Captain Sinclair and I searched his shack, where we found books on taxidermy, bestiaries containing images of werewolves, and a variety of substances and tools used in taxidermy. But why would anyone go to such lengths to commit a murder when there are many easier ways of doing it?” Clayton clasped his hands behind his back, pursing his lips ruefully, as if to say he didn’t know the answer to that either. Captain Sinclair smiled to himself at his subordinate’s weakness for theatrical pauses. “Let us consider for a moment what we know about Hollister’s character. Before he threw himself into the ravine, all of you considered him a harmless clodhopper, with just enough brains to resent the unlucky hand life had dealt him—something he used to complain about whenever he drank: he was forced to quit school because his parents died when he was still a boy, leaving only a mound of debt and a few acres of stony soil he would struggle to grow anything on. He was also an extremely good-looking young lad, although alas none of the ladies he courted, all of them of noble birth, deigned to show any interest in him. Apparently a poor wretch like him was aiming too high. Now, let us take a closer look at his victims: What did Anderson, Perry, and Dalton have in common?” Clayton observed his audience with a grin. “Their land was adjacent to Hollister’s but, unlike his, theirs was fertile. Thus my inquiries led me in that direction. And so I discovered that Hollister, in his eagerness to make money, had attempted to purchase their lands, but that his neighbors had never agreed to sell. Indeed, two of them, to whom Hollister’s father had owed money, even threatened to seize his property if he didn’t pay up. That must have been when the lad, at the end of his tether, cooked up his plan. A brilliant plan, in my view: he would kill his stupid neighbors in a manner that would not only divert suspicion from himself but would also compel the dead men’s families to sell their land quickly and at a reduced price. Why? Because it was cursed. Because a terrible monster had begun prowling there, exacting a life at each full moon. But turning into a werewolf was beyond his capabilities, and so he resorted to using a costume, which, in order not to arouse suspicion, he was forced to make himself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how poor, honest Tom Hollister became the werewolf of Blackmoor.”
    There was an awed silence. Even Sinclair, who was familiar with Clayton’s exposition, seemed delighted by his performance. Satisfied with the outcome, Clayton looked straight at the countess and thought he glimpsed a fresh sparkle in her