Murder Killing
5. The Place of the Murder

The road where the tragedy took place was a junction of the highway. Mrs Stores. Ascher is located in the middle of the street, on the right.

When we veered down the street Poirot looked at his watch, and I understood why he had delayed seeing the scene until then. We got there at exactly 17:30. He wanted to experience the atmosphere of yesterday's event as close as possible.

But if that was the goal, he failed. Obviously the current atmosphere of the streets is not at all similar to the atmosphere of yesterday. Several small shops interspersed with the private homes of the lower class people. I think there are usually quite a lot of people passing by there mostly low-class people and children playing on the sidewalk or on the street.

Nowadays a dense crowd of people are standing looking at one particular house or shop. It is easy to guess which house. What we saw was a large crowd of people with great curiosity, paying attention to where the murder took place.

It became more real as we approached. In front of a small store that looks dirty and all its doors are closed, stands a young policeman who looks restless and secretly urges the crowd to ”just go straight there”. With the help of his friend, the men began to move some people reluctantly and while grumbling back to their original activities. Suddenly, other people appeared in their place to see where the murder had taken place.

Poirot stopped some distance away from the crowd of people. From where we were standing, the writing affixed to the door was quite clearly legible. Poirot whispered it over again.

”A. Aschers. Oui, c’est peuteetre la Ya, maybe” He did not finish his sentence.

”Let's go in, Hastings.”

I was ready for that.

We opened the crowd and greeted the young policeman. Poirot showed me the mandate letter the inspector had given. The policeman nodded and opened the door so we could get in. We entered followed the very curious gazes of the people who were looking.

It was dark inside because all the doors were closed. The policeman grabbed the light switch and turned it on. The lights were low-power, so the room still remained gloomy.

I look around.

It's a dirty little place. Some cheap magazines were scattered, and also some newspapers yesterday were all covered in dust that day. Behind the display table there are shelves lined up, high up to the roof. There is stored tobacco and packets - cigarette packets. There are also two jars of cheap spicy candy and whole-grain sugar. A simple little shop, one among many such shops.

The policeman explained the mise en scene of the situation there with his Hampshire accent slowly.

”That's where the victim was found. Doctors said the woman never knew what hit her. Maybe he's grabbing something on one of the shelves.”

”Nothing in his hand?”

”No, Sir, but there's a pack of Players falling by his side.”

Poirot nodded. His eyes swept around the small place, scrutinizing and paying attention.

”And where is that train guide?”

”Here, Mr.” The policeman pointed somewhere at the display table. ”The book opens on a page pointing at Andover and is put face down. Apparently the man was looking for a train majoring in London. If so, he's definitely not an Andover. However, it could be that the train guide belonged to someone who had no relationship at all with the perpetrator, he forgot to bring it.”

”Fingerprints?” my many.

The man shook his head.

”All places are checked immediately, Sir. No fingerprint.”

”On the display table there is also not?” ask Poirot. ”Too many, Sir! Mixed and confusing.”

”Is Ascher's fingerprint in between?” ”Too early in the morning to say it, Mr.”

Poirot nodded, then asked if the victim lived in the store.

”Ya, Sir. You can go through the door behind it. Sorry, I can't drive you, I have to stay here”

Poirot passed the door and I followed him. Behind the shop was a small room that also served as a neat and clean kitchen, but was gloomy and lacking furniture. On the shelf are some photos. I approached and noticed, Poirot followed me.

There are three photos. One photo with a cheap frame, is a photo of the girl we met this afternoon, Mary Drower. It was clear that he wore his best clothes, confidence and a stiff smile adorned his face, an attitude that often ruined the expression of the arranged graphite photos, so that photos taken were naturally preferred by people.

The second photo with a frame that looks more expensive is an artistic reproduction that is already quite blurred from an aged woman with white hair. The high collar of animal fur adorns his neck.

My guess is, it's a photo of Miss Rose who has left a bit of a legacy on Mrs. Ascher to start his business.

The third photo is very old, has blurred, and yellow in color. There was a man and a young woman in rather old fashion, standing hand in hand. On the buttonhole the man was embedded with flowers and there was a past party atmosphere in the background.

”Possibility of marriage photos,” Poirot said. ”Note, Hastings, didn't I tell you, she used to be a beautiful woman?”

He's correct. Although it looks a bit strange with an old-fashioned hairdo and odd clothes, but it does not cover the beauty of the girl in the photo, who has nice facial lines and a warm attitude. I looked at the picture of the man next to her more closely. It was hard to recognize Ascher's mum in that handsome, military-uniformed young man.

I remember the old drunk and the braggart, and the face of the woman who was tired from working to slam bones all her life. I shuddered a little at the thought of the abomination of time...

In that room was a staircase leading to two rooms located at the top. One of them was empty and unfurnished, the other was clearly the victim's bedroom. After a police check, the room was left as before. Two worn blankets on the bed, a little stash of underwear patched in the drawer, recipes in the drawer

another, a thinly-coated storybook titled he Green Oasis, a new pair of low-grade stockings, some simple jewelry, and, shepherd statues of cracked Dresden porcelain and blue and yellow striped dogs, black raincoats and wool sweaters hanging on the nails were all treasures of the late Alice Ascher.

If there were any personal documents, the police would have taken them.

”Pauvre femme poor woman,” Poirot murmured. ”Come, Hastings, there's no point in us being here.”

When we were once again on the road, he was stunned for a minute or two, then crossed the road. Almost directly across from Mrs's shop. Ascher is a grocery store that displays almost all of its inventory outside rather than inside.

Poirot gave instructions to me softly. Then he went into the store alone. After waiting for a minute or two, I followed him inside. At that time he was bidding on lettuce leaves. I myself bought half a kilogram of strawberries.

Poirot was engrossed in talking to the fat lady who served him.

”The murder happened across your store, didn't it? How horrible! Sure makes you anxious!”

The fat lady obviously seemed tired of talking about the murder. Maybe he's been talking about it all day. He said, ”More anxious again

when the crowd that was watching did not disperse. What the hell are they looking at? I want to know.”

”The atmosphere yesterday must have been very different,” said Poirot. ”Maybe you even saw the killer enter the store of his tall, white, bearded person, right? Russian, as I heard.”

”What do you say?” The woman stared hard. ”Russian says you?”

”I heard the police have him.”

”Are you?” The woman spoke agilely and fiery. ”Interness.”

”Mais. I thought maybe you noticed it last night?”

”Wah, I don't have time to pay attention, and in fact it is. That evening we were always busy and there were always a lot of people passing by, returning home from their workplaces. A tall, white, bearded man no, I don't think I see that kind of person around here.”

”Sorry, Sir,” I told Poirot. ”I think you're misinformed. I heard the guy was short and dark-skinned.”

Finally the order was ready and we left the store without correcting our boasting.

”And what do you mean by all that, Poirot?” sue me for reproaching.

”Parbleu to be sure. I want to ask you about the possibility of a stranger being seen entering the store across the street.”

”Can't you just ask that without that kind of booze?”

”No, mon ami. If I ’just ask’, like you said, I won't get an answer to my question. You're British yourself, but apparently you don't understand how the British react to direct questions. They are, no exception, full of suspicion, and as a result they are more silent. If I ask those people for information, they'll shut up like oysters. But by making a statement (and which is somewhat distorted and unreasonable) then contrary to your opinion, suddenly their mouth will open by itself. We also know, that the time is ’hours of busy’ everyone is engrossed with his own busyness and many people passing on the sidewalk. Our killer picked the right moment, Hastings.”

Poirot paused for a moment and added with

regretful tone, ”Where is your common sense, Hastings? I've told you, ’Buy something quelconque, anything’ but you deliberately chose strawberries! The water has soaked the bag, and will dirty your clothes.”

I anxiously found Poirot's words right. I immediately gave the strawberry to a little boy who seemed very astonished and

somewhat suspicious.

Poirot added his jam leaves, and made the boy even more confused.

He explained the reason, until I understood. ”In the cheap vegetable store, it should not be stro-

gimme. Unless freshly picked, strawberries will be juicy. Banana, apple, or even cabbage but strawberry” ”The first thing that occurred to me,” I explained my reasons.

”Your imagination sucks,” reply Poirot spicy. He stopped on the sidewalk.

House and shop next to the Mrs's shop. Ascher's empty.

The ”Silakan” sign is plastered on the window. On the other hand there is a house with curtains that look thin and rather dull.

Poirot headed for the house, and because there was no bell, he knocked on the door hard. After a while, the door was opened by a very shabby child, with a nose that needed to be cleaned.

”Goodnight,” said Poirot. ”Is your mother around?”

”What?” knock the kid.

He looked at us unhappily and suspiciously.

”Your mother,” says Poirot

After twelve seconds, the new boy turned around and shouted towards the stairs, ”Mother, someone is looking for you.” Then he disappeared quickly into that gloomy room.

A thin-faced woman looked up from behind the bars of the stairs and walked down the stairs.

”You are wasting your time” said, but Poirot interrupted.

The friend opened his hat and bowed respectfully.

”Goodnight, Madam. I'm an Evening Flicker staffer. I'd like to persuade you to accept a five-pound bill for an article about your neighbor, the late Mrs. Ascher.”

His words stopped on his lips, the woman went down the stairs while fixing her hair and tidying up her skirt.

”Let's go in, please on the left, here. Please sit down, Mr.”

The small room was crowded with big furniture, a clone of Jacob's model, but we finally managed to put ourselves on a hard sofa.

”I'm sorry,” the woman said. ”Really I'm sorry to have spoken rudely earlier, but you won't believe the anxiety I'm having people come to sell this that, and so on floor cleaners, stockings, lavender flower bags, and so on, and other counterfeit goods and everything is so reasonable and polite. Know and memorize my name. Mrs. This fowler, that, and so on.”

After quickly catching his name, Poirot

said, ”Yah, Mrs. Fowler, I hope you want to do what I ask.”

”I'm not sure I can.” The five-pound money looks alluring in front of Mrs' eyes. Fowlers. ”I know Mrs. Ascher of course, but if to write something”

Poirot immediately convinced him. Mrs. Ascher was not asked to do anything. Poirot will ask for information and write down the results of the interview.

Once sure, Mrs. Fowler happily reveals her memories, conjectures, and everything the woman heard about Mrs. Aschers.

Mrs. Ascher is very closed. Not a person who could be said to be friendly, but that was because he had a lot of problems. What a pity, everyone knows. Franz Ascher was arrested years ago. Not because of Mrs. Ascher was afraid that the woman could be so violent when she was angry! Mrs. Ascher is generous, despite his mediocre income. But yeah, that's how people can be reckless. He's been many times, Mrs. Fowler, warned him, ”One day the man will carry out his threat. Remember my words.” Those words proved, didn't they? That guy did it. And as the nearest neighbor, Mrs. Fowler never heard any sound.

At the moment he was silent, Poirot cut in with a question.

Was Mrs. Ascher ever received a strange letter, a letter without a clear signature for example from ABC?

Love, Mrs. Fowler gave a negative answer. ”I know what you mean they call canned letters mostly containing words that are inappropriate to say. I don't know if Franz Ascher ever wrote such a letter. If so, Mrs. Ascher never told me. What did you say just now? A train guidebook, an ABC? No, I've never seen that stuff and I'm sure Mrs. Ascher once accepted it, I certainly know. It's so dead I've never heard of this. Only my daughter Edie told me. ’Mother,’ said ’ada many police in the house next door.’ I was very surprised. ’Yes,’ answered I heard that, ’indeed he should not stay alone in the house should his nephew be able to accompany him. Drunk men can be wolves,’ I said. ’And I think her bastard husband is nothing more than a beast. Mom warned him,’ said me, ’have been a few times, and now my words have come true. He will do something,’ I said. And that guy really did it! You never know what a drunk man would do, and the murder proved it.”

Mrs. Fowler ended the story with a deep sigh.

”I don't think anyone saw Mr. Ascher went into the store, didn't he?” poirot hatch.

Mrs. Fowler showed scorn. ”Of course he won't show himself,” he said.

He would not explain how Mr. Ascher was able to enter the store without appearing. He confirmed that there was no way past the back of the house and that Mr.'s face. Ascher is well known in the area.

”But the man was afraid to face reality and hide himself.”

Poirot continued to let the conversation last longer. But after sure Mrs. Fowler had already revealed everything he knew not once, but over and over again, Poirot stopped the interview by giving away the money he had promised.

”It's futile to spend five pounds instead, Poirot,”

I ventured into commenting after we were once again on the road.

”Until this stage is indeed in vain.”

”You think he knows more than he has disclosed?”

”Friends, we are in a difficult position, not knowing what questions we should ask. We are like children playing Cache Cache compartment in the dark. We spread our hands and grope. Mrs. Fowler told us, he thinks he knows and he has thrown up conjectures to predict an appropriate move! But in the future, the evidence may be useful. For the foreseeable future I invested five pounds.”

I didn't really understand the point, but we met Inspector Glen.