A Rather Unique Shade of Purple

By F J Shindler

A Rather Unique Shade of Purple is one of a number of stories in the Doctor Goodier and Harry Mysteries compilation.

Clocks, Watches, two devoted sons and the blood-spattered corpse of their Father, whose suicide opens the door to a past no-one knew existed. But did the kindly Watchmaker pull the trigger himself? As Doctor Goodier discovers, the man was entirely alone in the room when the shot was heard, so death by suicide would appear to be the obvious verdict. Miss Scattergood, the Watchmaker's neighbour was away from home, so can't possibly know. Except that what she has to say turns everything on its head!

• Language: English
• Publisher: F J Shindler
• Release date: Aug 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463272268

F J Shindler

F J Shindler was born in Manchester, England, but subsequently lived in various parts of the country before moving abroad. He now lives in a very hilly, very rural part of the Czech Republic in an old, though charming former farmhouse.The author of the ever-expanding short story series, ‘The Doctor Goodier and Harry Mysteries’, F J Shindler’s debut full length novel is the first of twelve interrelated works in the ‘Klub Päris Fantastiline’ series. Written in adult noir fiction form, Book one, ‘The Ninth Case File’, is set in 1966 and is titled ‘Mikey’.

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Copyright 2022 F J Shindler

Published by F J Shindler at Smashwords

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

Title

About F J Shindler

Other books by F J Shindler

Web-site

Acknowledgements

Acknowledgement to gursimrat-ganda-itB1O_WpMKY-unsplash for their kind permission to adapt and use the cover image.

Preface

A Rather Unique Shade of Purple is one of a number of stories in the Doctor Goodier and Harry Mysteries compilation.

Clocks, Watches, two devoted sons and the blood-spattered corpse of their Father, whose suicide opens the door to a past no-one knew existed. But did the kindly Watchmaker pull the trigger himself? As Doctor Goodier discovers, the man was entirely alone in the room when the shot was heard, so death by suicide would appear to be the obvious verdict. Miss Scattergood, the Watchmaker's neighbour was away from home, so can't possibly know. Except that what she has to say turns everything on its head!

A Rather Unique Shade of Purple

A Doctor Goodier and Harry Mystery

Doctor Goodier paused in the doorway to take in the spacious Reception room, his back to the gloomy hall where a lofty Police Sergeant waited patiently close behind. Meeting the Doctor’s inquisitive gaze, a foreboding long-case clock stood to attention in the darkest of two chimney recesses, the aperture furthest from the deep bay window over to his right. That particular clock was by far the tallest in the house, but by no means the only one. A plethora of clocks and watches lay about the place; on every floor, in every room, in every corner, the inevitable consequence of the Watchmaker’s policy never to refuse a valued customer, or a discarded time-piece. Between the recesses, a somewhat plain chimney-breast boasted an elegant fireplace, cast-bronze fire-dogs at its feet with no fewer than four mantel clocks seated spaciously upon its substantial shelf, each awaiting restoration. A large, though otherwise uninspiring mirror returned images of moving pendulums from an as yet undiscovered part of the room, their metrical swings assured by burdensome weights suspended on tired cat-gut strings. An orderly row of recently serviced wrist-watches lay on the extreme right-hand end of the mantel, the Doctor noticed, the end closest to the bay, where insubstantial window panes looked out over a stunted front garden and the deserted road beyond.

Resting more or less equidistantly between the window sides was a former Estate-desk, a soft-leather inset made host to a miscellany of specialised tools and components. Prominent among these was an untidy array of main-springs, hair-springs, escape movements, balance wheels, exposed gear-trains, the meticulously extracted entrails of metal skeletons whose formerly pristine carcasses had been rendered unworkable now by a dark veneer of blood.

The Doctor moved further into the room, sufficient only to take in its extents a little at a time. Central to the bound-carpeted floor was an old and somewhat basic wooden dining table, one of two leaves extended, an undersized linen cover laid with care at its centre, edges made parallel. Beyond the table the corpse was seated still, his slender frame held fast against the desk by a sturdy, high-backed wooden chair. A small fragment of skull had departed the left-hand side of the head, the Doctor observed, careering through the glass dome on a nearby carriage clock as it traced an obligatory trajectory to the wall, where a sticky amalgam of brain matter, blood-soaked hairs and skin ensured that the horrific mass remained, stuck fast. Askew of that singularly perverse scene, a deep crater in the soft lime plaster made no secret of the bullet’s ultimate resting place.

Doctor Goodier lowered his sights to the floor, experienced eyes picking up on a threadbare patch in the blood-stained carpet close to the Watchmaker’s feet.

Looks like the chair was habitually angled somewhat to the right as he worked, the Doctor commented, using quiet tones.

Oh? the Sergeant acknowledged, half expecting a continuation. But Doctor Goodier’s attentions had already moved on, fastened now to the Blued-gunmetal weapon lying a short distance from the carpet patch.

A single, fatal shot, he proclaimed, with a dejected sigh, following which he slumped forward and sideways onto the desk.

Don’t know ‘ow the man could put up with all this tickin’, the Sergeant responded, changing the subject dramatically. "Didn’t even notice the gentle tick from the ol’ bedroom wall clock we used to ‘ave